#calculator traders family

[carabelajaronline]

Traders Family Komunitas Trading Terbaik di Jogja

[wholoveseggs]

Yearning

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Request from @sweetieseven: Lissaa, I have something in mind right now I've been thinking about Elijah in 1400s (his long hair and sweet smile! The way he kissed Katherine's hand!) I would love to read a story about a lady that's very smitten of him! And that she's married (so, it's kinda controversial) And my favourite author is you, so I hope you can make this happen! Luvv

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} Hired by Rebekah to paint her family’s portrait, you find yourself irresistibly drawn to her eldest brother, Elijah. But with a husband bound by ambition and society’s stifling expectations, surrendering to forbidden desire could change your life forever...

♡♡ Thank you for the request darling!!! Medieval Elijah is such a dreamm ♡♡

9k words {I can't be contained} - Warnings: smutttt, oral sex {f!receiving}, riding, public sex, outdoor sex, forbidden romance, Rebekah wants to eat you... but then becomes your friend, medieval court intrigue, Elijah being devastatingly intense and charming, lots of sexual tension, marital discord, possessive Elijah, protective Elijah, manipulative dynamics, cheating, mild violence, betrayal, secrets, gardens, power imbalances && a family portrait..

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@origshipfan @cocoabliss @eternalnoble

Your husband, the son of a wealthy trader, was as calculating as he was relentless. He lived for the approval of the court, bowing and scraping before the nobles in hopes of securing a title. You’d never felt much for him, even in the early days of your marriage, when your father had insisted this union would secure your family's future. But his recent desperation to curry favor with the visiting Mikaelson family had made his flaws all the more glaring. Every word from his mouth was flattery, every gesture self-serving. You knew he would sell his own soul if it meant earning the smallest amount of praise from one of his betters.

And yet, you could not entirely blame him. The Mikaelsons had a reputation that preceded them. They were a family steeped in power and mystery, their arrival casting a shadow over the court. The noblewomen gossiped in hushed whispers about their strange allure, their almost otherworldly beauty.

"Have you seen the younger one? Ser Kol," one woman had whispered during the last banquet. "He’s often in the lower streets... no doubt consorting with common girls."

Another had leaned in closer, voice dripping with scandal. "And the middle brother? Niklaus. I heard he shares his bed with whomever pleases him, man or woman."

"And the sister, Rebekah," a third chimed in, "has every lord at court vying for her hand. A face like hers could launch kingdoms."

But it was the eldest brother who had caught your attention. Unlike his siblings, he carried himself with quiet restraint, his presence commanding without needing to demand. You’d only seen him in passing.. a fleeting glance in the library, the sweep of his long hair as he walked the castle corridors, or the faintest trace of a smile during a royal symphony. The whispers about him were fewer, but they lingered in your mind.

Elijah Mikaelson. The name alone made your pulse quicken.

You knew better than to seek his attention. And yet, you couldn't stop yourself from wondering. What was he like beneath his noble composure? What thoughts occupied his mind as he listened to the symphonies, or perused the stacks of the castle library? Was his heart truly as cold and hard as the rumors suggested?

A royal feast had been organized in honor of the Mikaelson family, a grand display of wealth and power that you suspected was meant to impress the siblings. The entire court had been invited, including yourself and your husband, whose eyes were constantly darting between the different noblemen, as though seeking an opening for conversation. You knew he had plans to corner Lord Elijah and attempt to curry his favor.

You were already growing weary of his scheming.

The music drifted throughout the great hall, a delicate blend of lutes and drums that you could barely hear over the din of chatter. Your husband had left your side, and you watched as he approached a group of young lords, joining their conversation with the usual charm and flattery.

You sighed. How you despised these affairs. Nothing of substance ever came from the empty conversations, the meaningless platitudes, the frivolous displays. All around you, people were dancing and laughing and drinking, while you stood in the shadows, a hollow ache settling in your chest..

It was in this moment of despair, when you felt most alone, that you noticed him. Lord Elijah was standing beside the great oak doors, his long hair pulled back from his face, the faintest hint of stubble shading his sharp jaw. He was dressed in a black doublet and pants, the silver embroidery catching the light as he moved. His expression was placid, almost unreadable, his dark eyes focused on something across the hall.

When you followed his gaze, you saw he was watching his brother, Niklaus, as the blond lord conversed with a young lady. There was a strange tension in the air, one that was almost palpable. You couldn't be sure, but you sensed Lord Elijah's disapproval of his brother's behavior.

As if sensing your attention, Elijah's eyes shifted, and he turned his gaze to you. His expression was difficult to read, his eyes dark and deep, and for a moment, you thought you saw something there, a glimpse of the man behind the facade.

A flush rose to your cheeks, and you quickly averted your gaze, looking away, heart racing. You had not expected to be caught staring. You cursed yourself for your foolishness.

When you dared a glance back at Elijah, he was gone. You scanned the hall, searching for him, but there was no sign of him among the throng of people. He had disappeared as quickly and as quietly as he'd arrived.

You let out a breath, feeling strangely disappointed, and then headed towards the table, where the wine was flowing freely. If you were going to survive this night, you would need to numb yourself with drink.

You poured yourself a cup of wine, the dark liquid sloshing over the rim, and took a sip. The sweet taste washed over your tongue, and you closed your eyes, savoring the sensation. You had a feeling it would be a long night.

"It's not that good," a sweet voice teased from behind you.

You spun around, nearly spilling your drink, and came face-to-face with Lady Rebekah. She looked lovely in a soft blue gown, her fair skin glowing in the candlelight, her golden hair cascading down her shoulders and her eyes sparking with mischief.

"Forgive me," you said, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt.

She took the cup out of your hand and tasted the wine, her lips twisting with disgust. “Just dreadful.”

You smiled despite yourself, charmed by her candor. "What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you." Her words were bold and direct, and you had the sense she was used to getting her way.

"Me?"

She nodded. "Your husband told me you're an artist. I wanted to see your work."

"You have an interest in art?" You were surprised. Most ladies of the court had no such inclinations.

"Of course," she said. "Everyone else is obsessed with the latest fashions and gossip, but I prefer to occupy my mind with more meaningful things."

You couldn't help but feel a sense of kinship with her, and your heart warmed towards her. It was lonely being a woman at court, and it was refreshing to have someone understand the need for more than just the petty concerns of the nobility.

"I'd be happy to show you my paintings," you said, and the smile she gave you made your stomach do a little flip.

"Excellent." She tucked her arm into yours, pulling you close, and began to lead you out of the great hall. "Let's go, before anyone else decides they need our attention."

You laughed, feeling light and free, as she pulled you down the corridor, the two of you giggling like girls at their first festival.

"Rebekah," a stern voice cut through the laughter.

You froze, heart pounding. The voice belonged to none other than Lord Elijah.

Rebekah's smile fell, and she turned, pulling you along with her. "Yes, brother?"

Elijah's eyes landed on you, and you felt your heart skip a beat. He was even more handsome up close, his features strong and striking. "Where are you off to?"

"To look at some paintings that my lovely companion has made," Rebekah said, her arm still looped around yours.

"That sounds delightful," he said, his tone even. "I'd like to join you."

Rebekah pouted, a silent conversation passing between the siblings.

"Please," he added, softening his words.

You weren't sure what was happening, but it seemed the two of them were having a private discussion, and you were only getting fragments of it.

Rebekah let out a dramatic sigh. "Very well, brother."

She led you down the corridor, Elijah following behind. You tried to ignore his presence, but the sound of his footsteps was like a drumbeat in your mind, a constant reminder that he was near.

You stored your work in a small chamber adjacent to your rooms. There was a single chair and a narrow window that looked out onto the courtyard.

"I come here to sketch," you said, by way of explanation. "It's peaceful."

Rebekah glanced around the room, taking in the canvases and the brushes, the jars of paint and the wooden easel. She seemed bored by it, which disappointed you, but Elijah looked curious, his gaze sweeping over the room.

"You are quite talented, a true artist," he said.

"It's a hobby," you replied, shrugging.

"No," he said, his eyes finding yours. "An artist is an artist, whether it's their sole occupation or simply a pastime. It doesn't diminish the passion and dedication."

"Such a flatterer," Rebekah quipped, a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

Elijah ignored her, his gaze still fixed on you. "May I see more of your work?"

You nodded, unable to find your voice. There was something about his attention that made your stomach flutter, and you had the sudden urge to please him.

You pulled out a sketchbook and handed it to him. He opened it and began to leaf through the pages, his eyes scanning the drawings. You tried not to watch his reaction, but it was impossible not to notice the small smile that tugged at his lips.

"These are lovely," he said, and the sincerity in his voice made you blush. "You capture nature in such a unique way."

"Thank you," you said, and he closed the book, handing it back to you.

"Perhaps you'll paint a portrait of me," Rebekah suggested.

You shook your head, the suggestion startling you. "I'm not very good with portraits. People are difficult to capture."

"Nonsense," she replied. "If my brother can see the beauty in your work, then surely you can capture my own."

"Rebekah..." Elijah's voice was a warning, and you had the sense there was more to this conversation than you realized.

She turned to him, a defiant look on her face. "What? I wish for a portrait. Is that so wrong?"

"Not at all," he replied, his tone measured. "But perhaps now is not the best time."

She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. "Are you really going to spoil this for me? While Kol and Niklaus drink from every-"

"Enough," he cut her off.

She let out a frustrated sigh and stormed out of the room.

You stood there awkwardly, not sure what had just happened.

"My apologies," Elijah said. "Rebekah can be... a bit much at times."

"It's fine," you said, but the tension in the air was palpable.

He turned to leave, but then stopped, his hand resting on the door frame. "Be careful with her," he said, his voice softening. "Rebekah can be very charming, and she doesn't always think about the consequences of her actions."

"I'll keep that in mind," you said, not entirely sure what he meant.

He paused for a moment, and then met your gaze, his eyes dark and intense. "I look forward to seeing more of your work."

With that, he left, the door closing behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

What a strange family.

Rebekah returned the next day, her demeanor much calmer. She came to visit you in the morning, before the court was abuzz with activity. You were seated in the main room of your chambers, sketching as your husband droned on about something unimportant. You could barely hear his words over the scratching of your quill on the parchment.

As soon as Rebekah entered the room, her presence commanded attention, and your husband immediately stopped speaking.

“Lady Rebekah,” he said, quickly rising to his feet.

“Forgive me,” she said, her words dripping with insincerity. “I did not mean to interrupt.”

“Nonsense,” he replied, smiling. “You are always welcome here.”

“Thank you,” she said, returning his smile before turning her attention to you. “I was hoping we might continue our conversation from last night.”

Your husband looked from you to her, clearly puzzled. He had been desperate to gain favor with any of the Mikaelsons, and the fact that she had sought you out was both unexpected and unnerving to him.

“Of course,” you said, rising from your chair. “You wished for a portrait.”

Your husband scoffed. He had never approved of your artistic pursuits and often complained about how much time they occupied.

“Actually, I was thinking a family portrait,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Wouldn’t that be splendid?”

“Absolutely,” your husband replied, eager to seize any opportunity to curry favor. “She would be honored.”

“Wonderful,” she said, her smile broadening. “I shall send someone to fetch you later.”

With that, she turned and left, leaving the two of you alone once more. Your husband was practically giddy, his excitement over the prospect of gaining favor with the Mikaelsons clearly evident. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of irritation, as though your work was only valued for its potential to impress the nobility.

“I don’t know how you managed it, dear wife, but you’ve secured us a place at their table,” he said, practically beaming.

You sighed, knowing there was no way out of this. The prospect of painting the family was daunting, but it would make your husband happy, and perhaps bring him one step closer to his dream of earning a title.

"Of course," you said, forcing a smile.

You didn't share his enthusiasm. In truth, the thought of spending any amount of time with the Mikaelsons made you uneasy, but you really couldn't say why. There was just something about them that told you to run far away.

Elijah had secured a large chamber with ample light, the morning sun streaming in through the tall, arched windows. The Mikaelson family was gathered around a heavy oaken table, their expressions ranging from bored to mildly irritated. Rebekah was the only one who appeared genuinely enthusiastic, her radiant smile lighting her face as she posed for the portrait.

"Is this really necessary?" Kol complained.

"Yes," Elijah replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Kol, go sit next to Niklaus, and stop complaining," Rebekah chided.

Kol grumbled, but did as he was told, taking his place beside his brother.

You felt a nervous tremor in your hands as you adjusted your easel and arranged your pigments, your hands shaking slightly. You could feel their eyes on you, the weight of their attention making the task feel impossible.

Niklaus was particularly unsettling, his eyes tracking your movements, a slight smile playing on his lips. You couldn't read his expression, but something about it made you uneasy.

“I hear you paint landscapes,” he remarked, his tone laced with condescension.

“I do,” you replied, doing your best to sound composed.

“Interesting,” he mused, his words slow and deliberate. “What makes you think you are qualified to paint my family’s portrait?”

“I suppose I’m not,” you admitted, unable to hide the tremor in your voice.

“Ignore him,” Rebekah interjected sharply, shooting her brother a withering look. “He only grows competitive when the subject of art is raised. He acts as though he has some divine monopoly over the matter.”

“That is not true,” Niklaus retorted, though his tone lacked conviction.

“So you are a painter as well?” you asked Niklaus, striving to keep the conversation light.

“Among other things,” he replied, the faintest trace of a smile playing on his lips.

“Like what?” you asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Many things,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “But mostly, I enjoy capturing the human form.”

The innuendo was not lost on you, and you felt your cheeks flush. Kol chuckled softly, clearly amused by his brother’s remarks.

“Enough, Niklaus,” Elijah interjected, his tone sharp and unyielding.

“Yes, yes,” Niklaus replied, his tone bored but his expression still mischievous.

You turned your focus back to the painting and began sketching the outline, but the arrangement of the siblings felt awkward. The positioning of their bodies only seemed to emphasize the tension in the room.

“How is this?” Rebekah asked, adjusting her posture gracefully.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted, struggling to find the right words.

“You could paint me nude,” Niklaus offered, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “That would certainly liven things up a bit.”

Elijah smacked the back of Niklaus’s head with a swift hand, and the room erupted in laughter.

“Enough,” Elijah commanded again, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

Despite your unease, you couldn’t help but feel drawn in by the Mikaelsons’ strange energy. There was something magnetic about their banter, even if it was overwhelming.

You stood and began repositioning Kol and Niklaus, each of them watching your efforts with mild amusement.

“Must I hold still?” Kol teased, feigning irritation.

“Yes,” you replied, your patience already wearing thin with his antics.

“How long will this take?” he complained, shifting in his seat.

“I’ll make sure to paint you first,” you promised, trying to keep your composure despite his constant interruptions.

“Excellent,” he said, grinning as though you had done him a great favor.

Rebekah was easy to pose, her natural grace evident in the way she carried herself. When you approached Elijah, however, your heart quickened, the thought of touching him sending a rush of heat through your body.

“Could you turn towards the light?” you asked, striving to keep your voice steady.

“Certainly,” he replied, shifting his position with an elegance that matched his demeanor.

You reached out to adjust his arm, your fingertips brushing against the firm muscle beneath his finely tailored doublet. You swallowed hard, determined to ignore the way his presence unsettled you.

“Is this acceptable?” he asked, his voice low and smooth.

“Yes,” you said quickly, stepping back to regain your composure.

He gave you a knowing smile, as though he could read the thoughts you were struggling to suppress.

As the session wore on, you found yourself more at ease among the siblings. They were an odd bunch, much like the other ridiculously wealthy nobles you had encountered, but with a surprising playfulness that set them apart. Their teasing and laughter filled the chamber, and by the time the sun began to dip in the sky, you realized you were enjoying their company.

“How many more sessions will there be?” Kol asked, stretching his arms above his head like a restless squire.

“As many as it takes,” Elijah replied, his tone leaving no room for debate.

“Only one more for Kol and Niklaus,” you said, carefully packing away your supplies.

“Thank goodness,” Kol quipped, his grin as mischievous as ever.

You smiled, charmed by his lightheartedness. Despite their eccentricities, the Mikaelsons were not as imposing as you had first feared. Perhaps, given time, you might even consider them friends.

“Shall we continue tomorrow?” Elijah asked, his tone both calm and assured.

You nodded, a strange thrill coursing through you at the thought of another day in their company.

With that, the siblings departed, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Your emotions were conflicted, and the sensation was foreign to you. You were used to feeling numb, resigned to your fate as a lonely wife, but the Mikaelsons had sparked a flame within you, a spark of curiosity and interest that you hadn't felt in years.

You let out a sigh and began tidying up the chamber. Your life was full of rules and obligations, but there was something about the Mikaelsons that made you feel like a bird longing for the sky. You couldn't explain it, and perhaps you never would, but the pull was undeniable.

You took a long walk before returning to your chambers and your husband greeted you, brimming with excitement.

“Lord Elijah has invited us to a private supper next week,” he announced, his voice filled with pride.

“A private supper?” You were surprised. Elijah had been polite but distant, and you hadn’t expected him to show such a level of interest.

“Yes,” he replied, practically giddy. “He is apparently eager to hear my thoughts on the kingdom’s trade agreements.”

You weren’t entirely shocked. Your husband had managed to carve out a name for himself among merchants and lesser nobility, though his opinions were rarely sought after by those of Elijah’s rank.

“That is wonderful,” you said, forcing a smile.

“Indeed,” he replied with a flourish. “We shall need to procure new attire.”

You frowned, knowing this would cost dearly. Your husband’s ambitions had already drained much of the household’s coffers, and yet another expense seemed likely to drive you further into debt.

“Whatever you think best,” you said, unwilling to provoke an argument.

He leaned down and kissed your cheek, his mustache brushing against your skin and making you suppress a cringe.

“It’s going to be a good year,” he declared, patting your arm with confidence. “I can feel it.”

You smiled and nodded, trying to match his enthusiasm, though the truth was, you longed for something of your own.

One thing that didn't have to be tainted by his aspirations.

The next few days were a blur as you worked to complete the portrait before the supper. The siblings had grown accustomed to sitting for the painting, and you managed to finish Kol and Niklaus without much difficulty.

Rebekah was particular, but you understood her desire to present herself at her best. You took care to subtly enhance her already striking features, ensuring she seemed alive on the canvas.

“You are all done, Rebekah,” you said, feeling a surge of satisfaction at the finished product.

She rose gracefully from the chair and approached the painting to inspect it. She looked radiant, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders, her blue eyes glinting with vitality.

“It’s perfect,” she declared, turning to smile at you. “All that remains now is dear Elijah.”

A flush rose to your cheeks at the mention of his name. Elijah was the last to be painted, and the thought of being alone with him was both thrilling and nerve-wracking.

He smiled then, his gaze locking with yours, and for a moment, it felt as if he could see straight into your soul, discerning every unspoken emotion swirling within you.

Rebekah kissed your cheek in farewell, her touch light and affectionate, before sweeping out of the room.

Now, only Elijah remained.

You had already sketched his outline, and all that was left was to refine the details. As you studied his face, your nerves fluttered anew. The faint creases of his smile, the dark stubble along his sharp jaw. He was so handsome that it almost hurt to look at him.

Picking up a brush, you dipped it into the paint and began the final stage of the portrait. His eyes followed your movements, though he remained silent, the quiet stretching between you.

“Have you always enjoyed art?” he asked suddenly, his deep voice breaking the stillness.

You startled slightly but recovered quickly. “I suppose so,” you replied, keeping your focus on the canvas. “Since I was a child, I’ve always been fascinated by color and light.”

“An admirable quality,” he said warmly.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your cheeks warming under his praise.

His eyes lingered on you, and you felt your pulse quicken beneath his steady gaze.

“Your husband has been quite vocal about his ambitions,” he remarked, and your heart sank.

You had hoped the task at hand would steer the conversation elsewhere, but it seemed your husband’s reputation for greed had preceded him.

“Yes,” you replied softly, unsure how best to answer.

“He seeks a title,” Elijah said, his tone calm and matter-of-fact.

“I’m aware,” you replied, unable to mask the bitterness that crept into your voice.

“You don’t seem enthused by the prospect,” he observed, his sharp eyes studying you.

“His ambitions are his own,” you said, deflecting as you focused your attention on the canvas.

“And what of your ambitions?” he asked, his words soft but pointed. You felt the air between you shift, heavy with unspoken meaning.

“What do you mean?” you asked cautiously, glancing at him.

“I mean, what would make you happy? Is a title something you desire?”

You paused, his question taking root in your mind. The truth was, you hadn’t often considered what might make you happy. Your happiness had never been a priority, least of all to your husband.

“Are you married, Lord Mikaelson?” you asked, changing the subject as you carefully added the dark wisps of his eyelashes to the portrait.

“It’s Elijah,” he corrected gently, his eyes meeting yours. “And no, I am not married.”

“Well… marriage is about compromise,” you said, your tone measured. “My duty is to support my husband and help him achieve his goals.”

“But what of your own needs and desires?” he pressed, his gaze unwavering. The question caught you off guard.

“I am fortunate enough to have a hobby that satisfies some of those,” you replied, though the words felt inadequate, leaving you feeling unexpectedly exposed.

He was silent for a moment, and you thought the conversation had ended, but then he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You deserve far more than that.”

Your breath caught, and your gaze lifted to meet his. His words struck deeply, piercing through the layers of propriety and obligation that had shaped your life.

“I’m sure your future wife will be a fortunate woman,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

He chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with quiet amusement. “I doubt that very much.”

You didn’t know how to respond. The sudden intimacy between you was overwhelming, and you quickly turned your attention back to the canvas, focusing intently on the portrait to steady yourself.

But Elijah continued to ask you questions... questions no one had ever bothered to ask. He seemed genuinely interested in your thoughts and feelings, and you found yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn’t expected. You spoke of your childhood, your dreams, your fears, and he listened, his attention unwavering.

“And what of you?” you asked, hoping to shift the focus away from yourself. “It must be difficult, being the eldest brother.”

“It can be,” he admitted, his smile fading into something more introspective. “My brothers can be… boisterous at times.”

“Rebekah mentioned that,” you said lightly, hoping to ease the mood.

“She’s the wildest of us all,” he replied with a soft chuckle. “But she has a good heart.”

“I can see that,” you said, smiling.

He paused, his expression thoughtful, as though weighing his next words. “It’s rare for my family to enjoy the company of someone outside our circle,” he said, his gaze meeting yours. “Your friendship is a gift.”

A flutter stirred in your chest at his words, which touched something deep within you. You hadn’t realized how lonely you had been until you spent time with the Mikaelsons, who had brought a warmth into your life that had long been absent.

“I am honored to be considered a friend,” you said sincerely, and his smile softened in response.

“May I see?” he asked, gesturing toward the portrait.

“Of course,” you said, stepping aside.

He moved closer to the painting, his gaze traveling across the canvas. His eyes widened slightly, and you caught the glimmer of admiration in his expression.

“You have captured us all so perfectly,” he said, the sincerity in his tone sending a rush of warmth through you.

“Thank you,” you replied, unable to hide the pride in your voice.

“Rebekah was right,” he said, turning back to you. “You are an artist.”

You smiled, and he stepped closer, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“I shall treasure this painting,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “And, of course, ensure you are handsomely rewarded for it.”

“It’s a gift,” you said softly, wanting him to understand just how much this meant to you.

“Nonsense. I cannot accept a gift of such value,” he replied, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “Perhaps we could reach a compromise.”

“What did you have in mind?” you asked, curiosity stirring within you.

“I will grant the title your husband so desperately seeks,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

You could only stare at him, his offer leaving you stunned. It was the last thing you had expected, and for a moment, you wondered if he was jesting.

“But in return, I would ask for one more thing,” he continued, his eyes holding yours with unwavering intensity.

“And what is that?” you asked, your breath catching.

He reached for your hand, his touch warm and startlingly intimate. “A truth.”

“A truth?” you repeated, your confusion evident.

“Yes,” he said, his tone as soft as the flicker of a candle’s flame. “Tell me... do you feel the same way about me as I do about you?”

Your eyes locked with his, and your heart raced as if caught in a dream. The answer came easily, as if it had always been waiting to be spoken.

“Yes.”

His lips curved into a smile as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your palm.

“You are beautiful, like one of your paintings,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours. “I find myself quite envious of your husband, who shares your bed each night.”

You had been drawn to him from the start, and now, as he stood before you, you felt an undeniable connection. He was kind, charming, and devastatingly handsome, and for a moment, you wondered if perhaps you had found someone who could understand you, someone who could see past the walls you had built around your heart.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. A spark of heat coursed through your body, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to dissolve into nothingness.

The proper thing would have been to pull away, to remind him of your vows and the sanctity of your marriage. But instead, you returned the kiss, the passion igniting within you like a forbidden flame.

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and as the kiss deepened, you knew you were lost. Your heart was his for the taking, and nothing else seemed to matter.

Gently, he guided you back until you felt the sturdy surface of the table against your hips. Your fingers threaded through his hair, drawing him closer, and he let out a low moan that sent a fiery thrill through your veins.

Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his hands stilling on your hips, though his voice carried a tremor of restraint.

"No," you breathed, the word barely audible.

He grinned and lifted you onto the table, his mouth crashing back against yours. He lifted your skirts, his fingers brushing against your bare thighs, and you felt a thrill of pleasure run through you.

Your hands sought the laces of his doublet, fumbling as you tried to feel the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric. You couldn't get enough of him, his taste, his scent, the feel of his body pressed against yours.

"So lovely," he whispered, his hands moving up your thighs, his fingers finding their mark.

A gasp escaped your lips as your body responded to his touch, heat building within you. His grin was both knowing and triumphant as he began a slow, torturous rhythm that left you breathless, each stroke teasing and coaxing you closer to the edge.

He pressed kisses along your jawline, his lips trailing a molten path down the curve of your neck. Your body arched against him instinctively, your hips moving in time with his hand.

Then he knelt before you, his head dipping beneath your skirts, and you gripped the edge of the table, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Elijah, what are you-” The question died on your lips as his tongue found a place of exquisite sensitivity, drawing a low moan from you.

His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, and your toes curled as waves of pleasure rippled through you. You had never imagined that a man could kiss you there, and the feel of his hot, wet tongue was utterly exquisite.

His tongue danced across your most sensitive core, the sensation unlike anything you had ever known. The pleasure built steadily, a white-hot heat coiling low in your belly, threatening to consume you.

Your husband had never touched you like this, had never made you feel this alive. Closing your eyes, you surrendered to the moment, your moans growing louder as the ecstasy surged within you.

Your fingers wove into his hair, tugging him closer, and he groaned against you, the vibration sending a shudder through your body. The release was powerful, leaving you trembling in its wake.

He emerged from beneath your skirts, his lips glistening with evidence of his devotion, a satisfied grin lighting his face. Your cheeks burned, feeling exposed, and yet, utterly content.

He kissed you again, his lips warm and insistent, and you tasted yourself there. Instead of repulsion, it only stoked the fire within you, the desire flaring anew.

“If you were my wife, I would cherish you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

You froze, his words washing over you, leaving your mind spinning. Was he serious? Could this truly be happening?

“I would love you,” he continued, his gaze unwavering. “Every day.”

“Elijah,” you whispered, his name catching in your throat. Your hand rose to cup his cheek, and he leaned into your touch, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your heart ache.

He was offering you everything you had ever dreamed of. It was all too much, too fast. You knew the cost of this moment. The ruin it would bring to your marriage, your reputation, and the life you had known. But as you looked into Elijah’s eyes, you saw the glimmer of something more, something wonderful. It was terrifying to believe in.

“We cannot,” you said at last, your voice trembling.

His smile faltered, and a shadow passed over his expression, leaving it guarded.

“I understand,” he said quietly, though the disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable.

“It’s not what I want,” you added quickly, desperate for him to know the truth.

“But it is what must be,” he replied, his tone heavy with resignation.

You kissed him once more, the touch lingering as if to hold onto the moment just a little longer, before pulling away.

He helped you down from the table, his hands steady as your skirts fell back into place. You straightened the fabric with trembling fingers, the weight of what had transpired pressing upon you.

He sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. “I will see you at the supper,” he said, his voice carrying a sadness that pierced your heart.

“Until then,” you replied softly, fighting the desperate urge to stay.

He took your hand, pressing one last kiss to the back of it, the gesture tender and filled with unspoken meaning. Then he bid you farewell and turned to go, leaving the chamber.

You watched him leave, your chest tight with conflicting emotions. You knew you had made a mistake, one that could ruin you both, and yet, as you recalled the way he had held you, you could not bring yourself to regret it.

The night of the supper arrived, and you felt a flutter of nerves. It would be the first time you had seen Elijah since your encounter in the studio, and you knew that your feelings would be impossible to hide.

As your carriage pulled up to the Mikaelson manor, its grand stone façade illuminated by the glow of torches, you could barely contain your racing thoughts.

Stepping out, you gazed up at the magnificent hall, its imposing architecture a testament to the wealth and influence of the Mikaelson family. Your husband, beside you, was brimming with excitement, his greatest ambition on the verge of realization. You, however, felt only apprehension.

He spoke animatedly with some of the other guests, his arm draped loosely around your waist, using you as an ornament to enhance his image.

“Ah, Lord Elijah!” your husband called out, his voice cheerful. “Just the man I wished to see.”

Elijah approached, dressed in a formal white doublet, composed and handsome as ever. His dark eyes flicked over you, lingering for a moment, and you felt a blush creep up your neck.

“What a splendid home,” your husband remarked, oblivious to the tension in the air. “It must require great effort to maintain a residence of this size.”

Elijah smirked, though his gaze was still drawn to you. “It does,” he replied smoothly, his words laced with an undertone only you could catch, “but I find the cost well worth the investment.”

Your husband launched into a lengthy discourse on his vision for the kingdom’s agricultural policies, extolling the opportunities for a new golden age and hinting at Elijah’s potential involvement. Elijah nodded politely, offering measured responses, but his focus never truly left you, his dark eyes drinking you in.

“Your wife is an astounding artist; the portrait she painted of my family was truly breathtaking,” Elijah said, his dark eyes meeting yours and holding them.

“Oh yes, she has many talents,” your husband replied dismissively, his tone devoid of the admiration Elijah's carried.

“We shall present it to the court this evening after the final course,” Elijah announced smoothly.

“We shall?” you blurted out, unable to hide your surprise.

“Of course,” Elijah said with a grin, his expression full of delight. “It is far too beautiful not to share.”

You blushed, the compliment sending a rush of heat through you. Your husband didn't value your work, not the way Elijah did. It was a heady sensation, knowing that someone thought so highly of you.

"Well, isn't it out darling artist," Kol said as he approached you. "My sister is absolutely mad about the portrait."

Your husband’s posture stiffened as he noticed how at ease the Mikaelsons were with you.

“Yes, well, my wife is skilled in her pursuits,” he said, his smile tight and uncomfortable.

Elijah continued speaking with you, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he encouraged you to share your thoughts. The conversation flowed easily, and you found yourself opening up in a way that felt both liberating and dangerous. Elijah seemed genuinely engaged, his attention unwavering, which only made your husband’s irritation more apparent.

Thankfully, Elijah soon excused himself, moving to greet other lords and ladies.

“I did not realize you were such a popular figure among the court,” your husband said sharply, his displeasure evident in his clipped tone.

You didn't know what to say, the question caught you off-guard. Your husband hated being upstaged, and by his own wife? Such a thing could not be borne.

“They seem to enjoy my work,” you replied cautiously.

“Are you blushing?” he accused, his voice low and edged with anger.

You avoided his gaze, fiddling with the clasp of your necklace instead.

“You cannot expect me to believe they are so enamored with you simply because of your art,” he pressed, his mustache twitching as his frustration grew.

"What should they be taken with? Your endless monologues about the economy?" You asked, losing patience with his jealousy.

He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "Do not let it go to your head. I'm the one who gives you that platform, without me, you'd be nothing," he spat.

“Nothing?” you scoffed, your voice sharper than you intended. “I could say the same about you. How many times have your dealings fallen through? How many empty promises have you made and broken?”

Your husband’s face turned an alarming shade of red, his knuckles tightening until they turned white. He leaned in, his eyes blazing with anger.

“You are my wife,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Never forget your place.”

He stormed off, his fury radiating in every step. You felt a pang of guilt, but it was overshadowed by an unexpected surge of relief. For the first time in years, you had stood up for yourself, and it felt strangely wonderful.

Throughout the supper, the animosity from your husband was palpable. His simmering rage showed in his flushed cheeks and clenched jaw. The food was exquisite, but the atmosphere at your table was heavy with tension.

Elijah was seated beside you, and the placement only deepened your husband’s ire.

Kol, as ever, was holding court with his wild tales, Rebekah and Klaus laughing at his expense. Even Elijah allowed himself a rare smile, and you couldn’t help but giggle, his sister’s joy infectious.

Your husband straightened in his chair, preening like a peacock, desperate to reclaim attention. He launched into a self-aggrandizing tale about how he had single handedly financed the next great expansion of the local market. His gestures were large and theatrical, but his words fell flat. Rebekah’s eyes glazed over in boredom, and she stifled a yawn, twirling her fork idly between her fingers.

Kol, undeterred, followed with a ridiculous story of the time he had escaped an angry mob by rowing a boat down the river, only to be pursued by a flock of starlings. The table erupted into laughter, the sound spilling out into the hall.

You were enjoying yourself thoroughly when you felt a warm hand on your knee. Startled, you glanced at Elijah, whose gaze was steady and knowing. His smile was suggestive, and he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear.

“Once the painting is revealed, can you slip away...go outside?” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

You nodded, your cheeks warm. Elijah sat back, his grin widening. You knew what was coming, the chance to be alone with him. It was forbidden, and yet, you couldn't deny how much you wanted it.

As the final course was cleared away, Elijah signaled for a footman to unveil your canvas. The gathered lords and ladies reacted with gasps of admiration and murmurs of approval.

Your husband’s displeasure was evident, his lips pressed into a thin line as he observed the attention your painting commanded. His frustration simmered beneath the surface, his irritation growing with each word of praise.

As the hall began to empty, you turned to your husband, murmuring that you needed fresh air. He barely acknowledged your words, too preoccupied with engaging another lord in animated conversation.

You stepped out into the cool night, the sky above alive with stars. The full moon cast a silvery glow over the gardens, illuminating the landscape in an otherworldly light. You paused, momentarily struck by the serene beauty around you.

Faint strains of music and laughter drifted from the ballroom, mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves. As you approached the rose garden, you felt the warmth of a hand resting lightly on your back.

“I love the scent of roses,” Elijah said quietly.

“They’re beautiful,” you replied, your gaze fixed on him, transfixed by his presence.

“They are,” he agreed, though his eyes never left yours.

“Are there any here you favor?” you asked, curious.

“This one,” he said softly, plucking a dark red rose from a nearby bush.

He presented the flower to you with a subtle flourish, its delicate fragrance drifting upward to greet you.

“It’s exquisite,” you breathed, running your fingers over the velvety petals.

Elijah stepped closer, his hands gently cradling your face as his dark eyes searched yours. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss.

“You’re even more beautiful,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet reverence. Your heart skipped, the words igniting a warmth deep within you.

His lips claimed yours once more, the kiss deepening as you surrendered to the moment. The rose slipped from your fingers, forgotten, as your hands found their way into his hair, drawing him closer.

His hands roamed over your curves, his touch igniting a fire that coursed through you. You could hardly believe this was real. That he was here, kissing you, holding you. It all felt like a dream, one you never wished to wake from.

He lifted you onto a stone bench, his hands unlacing the front of your dress. You knew this was forbidden, but you no longer cared. You wanted him, and in this moment, the risk felt worth taking.

Your gown slipped, pooling around your waist and revealing the soft lines of your bodice. Elijah leaned in, his lips trailing reverently across the exposed skin, eliciting a shiver of pleasure from you.

As he captured your lips in a kiss once more, his hands cupping your breasts, you moaned, a wave of desire flooding your core. You reached down to unfasten the laces of his breeches, your need growing with every passing moment.

He slipped a hand between your legs, finding that sensitive spot of pleasure, and you let out a gasp. Your fingers fumbled as you worked the laces loose, a flutter of nervous anticipation running through you.

"Is this what you want?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion. "If you're sure-"

"I want this," you cut him off. "I want you."

His fingers teased at your entrance, gently dipping into you, before withdrawing. He repeated this a few more times, before finally sliding a single finger inside of you. You let out a soft moan as he curled his finger inside you, before slowly withdrawing it again. He added a second finger, slowly pumping them in and out of you as you gripped his arm.

"I have a plan," he whispered to you, leaning closer to you as he continued to slowly move his fingers in and out of you. "When the sun rises, you are going to leave with me, and we are going to get as far away from this court as we can. Do you understand?"

You looked into his eyes, your breath catching at the intensity of his gaze. His words lingered between you, heavy with promise and risk. The court, your husband, the consequences. All of it seemed so distant compared to the man before you.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling with both fear and excitement. “I understand.”

Elijah’s lips found yours again, the kiss deeper this time, as though sealing the vow you had just made. His fingers continued their deliberate rhythm, drawing gasps from your lips as your body arched into his touch.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured against your lips, his voice filled with possessive tenderness. “And I’ll keep you safe.”

His words could have terrified you, but instead, they wrapped around your heart like armor, shielding you from the unknown future that awaited.

Your hands slipped into his breeches, wrapping around his length. His hips bucked instinctively against your palm, a low groan escaping his lips as his head tilted back in pleasure.

His reaction sent a thrill through you, your core throbbing with need. You began to stroke him, your fingers sliding along his length, feeling him grow harder beneath your touch. His grip on you tightened, his breath hot against your neck as he struggled to maintain his restraint.

You knew how dangerous it would be if someone caught you like this, but your desire to be with him, to have him in any way you could, outweighed any fear of discovery.

The risk only served to heighten the pleasure, your arousal pooling at the apex of your thighs. You sat up on your knees and he helped guide himself into your warmth, the two of you both gasping as your bodies joined at last.

The feel of his hardness inside of you was exquisite, filling you in a way you hadn't expected. His hands moved to your hips, holding you steady as he began a steady rhythm.

The sound of his labored breaths mixed with your own soft gasps and moans as the two of you found a familiar rhythm, moving as one. You clung to him, your arms wrapped around his neck, letting him guide your hips up and down in the most delicious of ways.

Your husband was always quick, in and out, and gone before you could catch your breath, but Elijah took his time, savoring the feeling of being buried deep inside you, drawing out every gasp and whimper, making sure you both reached the peak together.

As the two of you came together, his warm seed spilling inside of you, the sound of his name on your lips seemed to echo across the stillness of the night. He kissed you passionately, his lips swallowing every last whimper, before breaking the kiss to press soft kisses down your neck and along your collarbone, making sure to leave no part of your body untouched.

You rested your head on his chest, feeling his heart thundering against your ear, listening to the soothing sound of his breath as it began to even out.

The sound of distant voices coming towards you broke the spell of the moment, and you both began to hurriedly redress. He helped you fix the bodice of your dress and tuck your skirts in order to keep up appearances. The two of you shared a nervous glance, a flicker of uncertainty flashing between you, as the voices drew nearer.

Then he grabbed your hand and tugged you deeper into the garden, the two of you hiding among the trees and shrubbery, pressed tightly together in an effort not to be discovered.

As the sound of the voices passed by, your nerves seemed to settle and a playful giggle slipped out of your lips. The look in his eyes when they met yours again was intense, and before you knew what was happening he was kissing you once more, the warmth of his mouth moving over yours, slow and passionate.

It was in that moment that a shocked gasp broke through the stillness of the garden. The two of you sprang apart, whirling to face whoever had discovered you.

Your husband stood there, his face contorted in horror and fury. You opened your mouth to speak, to explain, but no words came out.

His hand flew to the hilt of his sword, but before he could draw it, Elijah stepped forward, his hand pressing firmly against your husband’s chest.

“Please, sir,” Elijah said, his voice a commanding force that could have made the devil himself tremble. “Do not act in haste.”

Your husband froze, his hand falling still as he stared at Elijah’s outstretched arm in disbelief.

“How dare you,” your husband hissed, his teeth clenched, his rage barely contained.

Elijah removed his hand and stood tall, his presence radiating a quiet menace. “I know what it is you truly desire,” he said, gesturing toward you with a slight tilt of his head. “And it is not her.”

Your husband’s expression twisted into one of offense, but it quickly faded into something darker as understanding dawned.

“How much?” he asked bitterly, his tone cold and calculating.

Elijah smiled, but it was not a kind smile. It was sharp, predatory, a smile that promised victory. “Your wife, in exchange for that title you’ve sought so desperately. It seems a fair trade.”

Your husband was many things. A selfish, ladder-climbing opportunist. But even he had a shred of pride. Elijah’s offer was too much for him to bear.

“My lord, this is a dishonorable proposal,” your husband said, his voice trembling with indignation.

“No more dishonorable than your ambition,” Elijah retorted smoothly, his gaze unwavering.

Elijah turned to you then, his eyes searching yours. In that moment, you gave him a small nod, your love for him shining through, along with your silent plea for the freedom he had promised.

“You are a despicable man,” your husband spat, his voice filled with venom. “The king shall hear of this. I swear, I will see you both hanged.”

Elijah chuckled softly, a sound that sent a chill down your spine. Stepping closer, he grasped your husband’s face, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Do not make threats you cannot keep,” he murmured, his voice a deadly caress.

Your husband’s fury faltered as Elijah’s dark gaze bore into him, his expression shifting to confusion, then calm. His breathing slowed, his body slackening as if under a spell.

“You no longer have a wife,” Elijah said, his voice low and hypnotic. “Any trace of her in your mind is like dust on the wind. You shall never seek her again.”

Your husband’s voice turned hollow, devoid of emotion. “I no longer have a wife. I shall never seek her.”

“And when you return to court, you shall speak of her as if she has passed on. Do you understand?” Elijah continued.

“I shall act as though my wife is no more,” your husband repeated in that strange monotone.

Satisfied, Elijah released him, watching as he stumbled away from the garden in a dazed, trance-like state. The shadows of the manor swallowed him whole, leaving the two of you alone once more.

Elijah turned back to you, his hands gentle as they cupped your face, brushing away a tear that had escaped down your cheek.

“How?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “How did you do that? It was as if you cast a spell over him.”

A sly grin spread across Elijah’s lips as he leaned in to kiss you softly. “Let us not waste another moment dwelling on such things,” he murmured. “Come away with me, my love.”

“And where shall we go, my lord?” you asked playfully, your heart lighter than it had been in years.

He shrugged his broad shoulders, his eyes sparkling with promise. “The world is ours, my sweet. Where shall we begin?”

[avelera]

Ideas for different takes on Hob Gadling

I was just musing on Dreamling fic and came up with a list of some Hob-centric things I think would be super interesting to see more of in Dreamling fic. (These are NOT criticisms, these are things I've been ruminating about trying to include in my own works as well!)

Hob who still isn't good at predicting what Dream wants or Dream's moods. Canonically, Hob has gotten impressing Dream wrong almost every time (case in point, his 1589 wealth, 1789 "shipping" and 1889 "offering friendship"). Dream can be more tolerant now post-fishbowl and this concept could even be used for comedy but... yeah. Less "intuitive" "instantly knowledgable" Hob. Hob who still kinda sucks at guessing what Dream wants and gets it wrong at least half the time.

"Old Man Hob" - the guy is technically old enough to be a grandfather (if on average one becomes a grandfather at ~60 throughout time) 11 times over. Even if he doesn't *show* or *feel* his age or get nostalgic for the old days, I think he could be grouchier (see his comic canon self) or more conservative, or just have blindspots that being an old, if progressive (see: professor) white guy would have. Basically, if the IWTV fandom can write snarky Old Man Daniel, I'd be interested to see more of Hob acting maybe not "his" age but more than 30-ish.

Sailor/Maritime Hob - in comic canon at least, sailing and working on ships is the most common job we see Hob have. From the Tudor shipyards up through Hob's Leviathan, he spends a lot of time on boats. (Probably because Hob is at least a little bit the anthropomorphic personification of the English "Everyman" and they are rather famous for their navy, but I digress.) It's just a job I don't think I've seen any fic give him even though it's one of those ones most attested to in comic canon besides printing books.

Materialist Hob - I think there's a lot of evidence that in TV show canon, Hob stopped being as materialistic after Dream didn't show in 1989. Teaching is not a career you go into to get rich. There's also a lot of evidence for Hob that's made more money than he can spend through being immortal so he doesn't have to think about it at all anymore. But I would be curious to see more of Hob who thinks about money as much now as his earlier iterations did (1589, obviously, but 1689 mentions his loss of his gold almost as mournfully as the loss of his family, 1789 is another obvious one, and 1989 has major pro-Thatcher stock trader vibes). I dunno, even a Hob who is trying not to be as obsessive about money and materialism but still can't stop himself from tallying things up, comparing himself with others, checking out ways to get rich quick even if he does't use them, just... a guy who has been a merchant for longer than he was ever a soldier, to the tune of centuries, who is still always making these calculations even if he doesn't act on them (or is trying to impress Dream with more "erudite" pursuits these days). Hell, he could be economics professor for all we know, perish the thought.

[tamayula-hl]

Headcanon about Sebastian and my mc, Sakurako

NOTE ･Sakurako is a Mary Sue-like character with an unrealistic personality. Reading is not recommended if you don't like Mary Sue-like OCs! ･It's very long. To be honest, all the descriptions of Sakurako are nothing more than a product of complacency for me. I am a little embarrassed to disclose my headcanon, which is filled with these particular settings and delusions...😳 ･Read from the top right in Japanese manga style. ･And again, please bear with my poor English🤣

Until admission to Hogwarts

In 1875, Sakurako was born into a former samurai family when the cherry trees (sakura) were in bloom. In Japan, the samurai society was abolished around 1868 and the samurai were forced to take the status of commoners. Sakurako's samurai-turned-commoner father became a successful trader and took young Sakurako and his family to Britain to get serious about the raw silk trade with Britain. (At the time, there was a thriving raw silk trade between the British and Japanese.)

Her father, who had a male-dominated mindset due to his birth in a samurai society, restricted her from academic opportunities that she did not need for a better marriage. Whenever she went out of the house, local children always made fun of her yellow skin. One day, after such a depressing life, with the sudden awakening of her magical powers, Sakurako received her Hogwarts acceptance letter and became a member of the Wizarding World, a place free of sexism and racism, where she had a fateful meeting with Sebastian and formed a warped love with him.

During the relationship quest with Sebastian

In my personal opinion, I consider Sebastian to be a very calculating character. Sebastian initially comes into contact with Sakurako as a means of breaking Anne's curse. Sakurako takes an early liking to the boy, Sebastian, who is very kind and helpful to her in her first time in the wizarding world, but it is around the 'In the shadow of the study' quest that Sebastian begins to take a liking to Sakurako. Having grown up watching her parents become arrogant new rich through their success in the trades, Sakurako has a desire to be a good person who is not conceited by her talents and luck. Impressed by the fact that the wizarding world is free from sexism and racism and that everyone treats her with openness, Sakurako is so excited that she takes on any request from anyone without refusal. Sakurako feels threatened by Sebastian's obsession with the relics after "In the shadow of the study", but she can't refuse Sebastian's request and continues to cooperate with him. Then came the tragedy of 'Avada Kedavra'.

After all is over, Sakurako realises how stupid she has been. She continued to help Sebastian (and the other students) out of kindness and goodwill, but as a result she realised that she was not a good person, but an arrogant monster with no sense of right and wrong. Sebastian's mistakes were all her fault, and she blamed herself from this moment until her death, and she would have lifelong thoughts of 'rewinding time and starting all over again'. Sakurako was deeply in love with Sebastian at this point, but out of remorse she tried to distance herself from him. However, Sebastian forcefully continued to contact Sakurako, confessed his fondness and they began dating.

About relationships

Elsewhere, Sakurako had established a friendship with Anne over a number of correspondence until tragedy struck, which was disrupted by Anne's disappearance after Solomon's death. In my headcanon, Sebastian heard the news of Anne's death in the seventh year, and Sakurako was also deeply saddened and even more remorseful when she heard of her death. Sakurako kept Anne's letters and the last letter she was unable to send to Anne for the rest of her life.

Subsequent relationship with Sebastian Since she and Sebastian have been seeing each other, Sakurako has been constantly worried that the love Sebastian has for her is not genuine love, but an obsession caused by the confusion and trauma of losing Anne. She was aware that their relationship was codependent, not healthy love, yet she spent her days loving Sebastian so much that she could not reject him. She dreads every day that one day Sebastian's love will disappear and he will instead resent her and saying 'Solomon's death was your fault'. When she is in the seventh year and thinking seriously about her future life, she finally decides to break up with Sebastian.

When Sebastian realised that Sakurako was acting strangely and that she wanted to break up with him, he asked her to marry him in The Great Hall at a crowded time, in front of many people watching, in a situation where she could not say 'no'. As per Sebastian's cunning intentions, Sakurako is unable to reject Sebastian and becomes engaged to him. However, even after her engagement, Sakurako's insecurities were not exhausted. Worried that she would never be happy even if she married him in an unhealthy codependent state, Sakurako finally came to her senses and, after secretly returning the engagement ring in Sebastian's bag after the graduation ceremony, disappeared without saying anything to him. Sakurako then went to Japan and spent her days learning about Japanese native magic, which she had long been interested in. However, after about a year, she is discovered by Sebastian. After Sebastian apologises for how selfish he had been, he asks Sakurako to marry him again. After a few days of deliberation and discussion with Sebastian, Sakurako accepts his engagement with a smile.

(This is an Illustration I drew for a previous Twitter post introducing the MC's image song) Afterwards, Sakurako returned to Britain and officially married Sebastian, giving birth to their first daughter the following year, and then to male and female twins the year after that.

About the death of Sakurako Sakurako became Unspeakable of the Department of Mysteries shortly after returning to Britain. https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Department_of_Mysteries#Early_history It is official canon in the Wizarding World that the Department of Mysteries conducted time travel experiments in the 1890s and then had a serious time accident in 1899. I have built on this canon to create a head canon in which Sakurako dies in 1899.

Ever since the tragedy of 1890, Sakurako had been harbouring a wish to 'go back in time and do it all over again so that Sebastian would not make the same mistakes'. Then, she is asked by the other Unspeakables to help them with a time travel experiment using her ancient magical powers. She understands that it is a dangerous experiment, but with a strong desire to redo the past, she accepts the request and takes part in the experiment.

Then one day in 1899, Sakurako was involved in a time accident with Madam Mintumble and her existence was lost. The Department of Mysteries determined that she had died in the chasm of time.

When Sebastian heard the news of his wife's death, he despaired violently, but had no time to grieve as he had the three young children Sakurako had left behind to look after. He vowed to raise them well on his own. After his wife's death, Sebastian, who had been active in the outside world as an Auror, moved inside work and, after the twins entered Hogwarts, became a Professor of Charm, watching over his precious children as they grew up.

The consequences for Sebastian and Sakurako I consider an even more specific headcanon for Sakurako: 'She survived only her soul by the power of an ancient magic, losing her memory and trapped in an endless loop of time'.

She loses her memory but somehow survives with only her soul and travels back in time to 1890 with only her soul for her obsessive wish to 'start all over again for Sebastian'. But because she has lost her memory, she ends up repeating the same mistakes and is unable to save Sebastian, despairing and wishing to 'start all over' again. Trapped in the Ouroboros circle of time and tormented by eternal guilt… is the headcanon about her. (I love novels and movies about time leaps and infinite loops… 😳) But I also have two possible outcomes when she is able to escape the endless loop. The first is route A. If Sakurako is able to time leap without losing her memories.

(I like Butterfly Effect soooooo much!!!!!!!!) During that fateful encounter with Sebastian at DADA on her first day of transfer, when he spoke to her after class, she rejected him and said terrible things to him. Sakurako thinks that that tragedy happens because she and Sebastian have become friends, so she tries to save him by making Sebastian hate her… and so the ending goes.

And Route B. If by the power of love she accidentally escapes from the infinite loop and travels back in time to a world 100 years later. (Never mind the details. The power of love is powerful in the Wizarding World, right?)

She is miraculously reunited with Sebastian, who has been surviving and waiting for her return for all of a hundred years… and that is the ending. Having fulfilled his purpose in life, Sebastian soon dies, and Sakurako's soul, weakened by multiple time slips, also ascends.

In any case, Sebastian and Sakurako do not end up completely happy… which is my preference. I love tragic love stories 😂 But it's nice to see these tragic couples having fun in extra episodes and so on!

(The drawing on the left is part of a cartoon I drew when the Sebastian T-shirt was decided to be launched. The drawing on the right is a parody/trace of a meme that used to be popular in Japan)

These are my headcanons on Sebastian and Sakurako! I'm honestly embarrassed to reveal my brain fantasies 😳. Thanks so much for taking the time to read this long post! 😭💓 The following are the Japanese versions!

[hastyprovocateur]

I have seen many calling Akemi an annoying brat for running away from her father's guardianship. And I laud their critical thinking abilities on this because really, why would a girl whose father is forcing her to marry a stranger openly known for being a sadist and killing his first wife over an unhappy marriage want to do anything but jump gleefully into the union, right? Especially when all Akemi's father has to say for her life-or-death situation is "Hey learn these sex positions and keep him happy like your dead mother kept me happy lol."

Akemi loved Taigen for a set of reasons. First and foremost, he was the path she chose and finally got her father to agree with in part for his honorable stature, aware that Taigen, though imperfect, isn't as cruel or selfish as men in said period typically were. You have to understand that women were rarely afforded the choice to love without having underlying motivations. They have to choose the lesser of evils. Which in this case, is Taigen. Akemi has far greater chances of survival with him than any other man she knew. Marriage wasn't a tic-tac-toe game for her, she was ensuring her survival. To ensure she wouldn't get violated or killed or tortured or forcefully impregnated for not falling into the narrow set of rules aristocratic women especially had to follow.

Come to Taigen and Mizu's duel following which he loses his honour and possibly his engagement. Akemi stayed undeterred because regardless of what Taigen felt about his honour, Akemi didn't have a backup option that she knew would ensure her security as much as being with Taigen would. She tells him that his chonmage being cut is no obstacle as he can style it to suit other noble men, that she will convince her father to maintain their engagement and that his honour was intact as Mizu hadn't officially challenged him. Her sexual advances are a calculated move, she narrates to him a version of events where he defeats Mizu to massage his bruised ego. And while Taigen is her singular route out of her imminent marriage to a stranger, Taigen, ignorant of the same, claims he'd rather commit seppuku and sets out to trail Mizu.

With Taigen gone, she is in deep water, and naturally, her father quickly sets her up with a fresh suitor from a family he chose for the sake of furtherance of his political expansion over any concern for his daughter's life. When she tries to escape, Seki sees it as another funny haha situation, making it a teachable moment where he profoundly tells Akemi, already fearful of her bodily autonomy and life: that a woman has 2 paths "to be an improper whore or a proper wife." To which Akemi very wisely responds that they are one and the same thing, only one is shrouded with aristocratic niceties and huge houses that women are an extension of. Regardless of her (father's) wealth, status, and relative comfort in life, no woman deserves to be put in a position of ownership under a man, vulnerable to assault, coercion, intimidation just because "at least she'll be assaulted on a nice bed."

Akemi wasn't enjoying her round trip searching for Taigen, selling herself out to flesh traders and getting betrayed by Seki, her confidante, for funsies. Seki had seen her plight and only given her the singular choice to be a proper wife to a stranger after Taigen had already left her to her own fate. She was still determined to do right by him because she wanted to live. Her seeking out Mizu was key to saving her marriage. Thereby trying to drug and bring Mizu to Taigen so she could restore his honor and go back on their engagement and live somewhat peacefully. Which we now know wasn't going to ever be because Daichi Tokunobu had already schemed to compromise the Shogunate by wagering his daughter as an alliance.

I am convinced that most people can't understand complex female characters outside of "ruthless. fighter" or "perfect victim." Akemi's fault, it seems, that through her process of running from a dangerous marriage, a callous father, getting brokered by Goro, joining Kaji's brothel, seducing her first client, trying to subdue Mizu is that she didn't get brutally violated in any of scenarios. Because I'm sure if she had, not half of y'all would be crying about her being annoying and bratty or "having it too easy." As for her trying to attack Mizu, what else was she supposed to do? Be told that this stranger robbed her fiance's honor, ruined their engagement, and killed him, and what? Pat him on the back? Or was she supposed to have a prophetic vision that Mizu is going to save them from Hamata's men?

And no she did not resort to name calling, abusing, threatening after she was tied down, she was far more benign in assessing Mizu's disposition as opposed to Mikio or Taigen who straight up called Mizu monster, dog, beggar, scavenger and what not. Mikio sold Mizu's favourite horse to get back at her, abandoned her for the bounty hunters to get her, killed her mama. Taigen was a bully who accused her of digging through his trash and near damn killed her with a rock with his friends. Yeah, him being a kid makes no difference to the one who was traumatised because that'll last Mizu a lifetime. In both cases Mizu posed no threat to them as opposed to Akemi who truly believed that Mizu had killed her fiancé.

Taigen continued to be a bully in the present time (growth in latter eps aside), calling Mizu a dog, monster boy, whore mother, scavenger of Kohama's gutters, reminding her of her house burning down. He stalked her, threatened her to duel, gave her consistent trauma reminders. Oh btw- Akemi called Mizu "nothing special" and "angry" and yall decide she has mentally abused this woman after knowing her for a good 3 hours. Yall fr just hate women.

She didn't know about Kinuyo either, or anything about Mizu's past. Despite only knowing her in the worst way, she largely softens towards Mizu knowing she's helping save Kaji's workers. She could've easily stayed tight and comfy in the cellar. She doesn't know a thing about fighting yet stands by Ringo and later saves him. Not for her sake because she says "Now they have to get through the both of us." She didn't fear death either, only being helpless. "I'm not brave" she said "I've been a captive my whole life. If I die today, I die free."

She didn't stop there "Mizu can't possibly hold them all off" and then goes up to save Mizu when the assassins attested that "The samurai has been cornered." And yes Mizu was unconscious from being choked until Akemi intervened. She just had to stay low like the others and not give a FUCK, especially not Mizu, someone who shittalked her as far as she knew, but she did because she saw the honour in Mizu's actions.

Unfortunately, Akemi didn't magically mind read Mizu's ptsd and all the flashbacks she's been getting about her past betrayals, what happened with Kinuyo and made the mistake of trusting Mizu, WHO SHE THINKS IS A MAN, to fight for her when the guards come. All but 3 men. This isn't about numbers because Mizu totaled an army and has the plot armour of Jesus, it's not about being innocent, because Mizu killed that clawed dude she spared initially, not to mention Kinuyo who was just a means to get to Fowker. And some people talked about Mizu not wanting Daichi's men coming after her... um... are you sure you're watching the same show because as far as I know Mizu doesn't give a flying FUCK about being careful or who comes after her because she's recklessly creating collateral all down her path of revenge. That's the wholeass point.

Akemi wasn't ordering Mizu around, cuz she asked "I'm not going anywhere, right Mizu?" She wanted her approval, her support in that moment. To fight for her because she doesn't have the agency to fight for herself. What did Mizu do in this crucial moment? She doomed Akemi to an arranged marriage and made her choice FOR her. Especially being someone who's always been shown to do exactly what she wants and then fight whatever consequences come her way.

Mizu "thought" Akemi's better off with being married to a stranger because "atleast the abuser is rich, not everyone gets a rich abuser." And yes she assumed hella things because Akemi's reasons for chasing Taigen are literally so she can live by an iota of her choice and not because she's "begging to eat trash." And Mizu didn't consider the reputation of the Shogun's son, regardless of if he's a horrible person, how is being forced to marry a stranger justified?? Another day, another man Akemi trusted, dooming her to a path with no cognizance of how much apprehension of death or joyless life she actually faces in that position.

Mizu was no different from Daichi, Seki, Taigen in that moment. Akemi had no one. Despite doing all in her power to turn her fate, she was unsuccessful because she wasn't able to physically fight for herself and no one chose to step up for her. She was about to solve her own problems by throwing herself off the balcony, evident in how much she didn't desire the marriage. Takayoshi not being an outright brute chauvinistic killer is no justification for "hey didn't turn out to be so bad, huh." Would you rather she have gotten brutalised? Been treated like absolute shit? Would you then believe how scary the marriage could have been for her? Kaji herself told Mizu that "if you killed every man I've seen who couldn't come till someone bled... you'd wear your blade to a stump."

Ringo was justified in criticising Mizu. While Mizu doesn't care about anyone in her path of revenge, Eiji, her own father figure struggles to teach her that she NEEDS people to fight. To strengthen her blade and resolve. Mizu did return to save Akemi as her conscience would have it, Seki also came around and Taigen was finally ready to pursue a life with her over his honor and greatness but it was too late. I don't blame Akemi for asserting twice to Mizu that "We're not friends which Mizu showed too in her actions prior. I don't see it as Akemi being ungrateful but asserting the truth before Mizu slams it in her face. Mizu doesn't want friends so she doesn't get any.

I also don't blame her for rejecting Taigen, I too wouldn't ever wish to be blindsided like that again. It's better to choose your own reality than rely on love or friendship only to get betrayed. As for Akemi's new venture, I laud her for taking Kaji's word and to fight with the agencies she has even though I feel that Kaji shared Mizu's tone deafness in terms of seeing Akemi's (father's and now husband's) wealth as a neutralizer to the abuse she could face which could've been much worse than it was shown to be.

I do agree that having free choice, even after Seki tells her to pursue her own path, is a tad too idealistic for the place and time. She basically just complied to the choices Seki, Taigen, Mizu's made for her. So I loved seeing Akemi make the best of the cards she was dealt, choosing to use her body and mind to seduce, manipulate and progress. To make her choices whether she is loved in the process or not. . To exploit her meek husband's position, to subdue her scheming (now hopefully crispy) father and be great.

[gabessquishytum]

From the horny discord chat today, someone posted a picture of Trader Joe's trail mix, branded the "Omega Trek" mix. It snowballed from there.

Scheduled subscription boxes for omegas in heat! All the most cutting edge nutritious and tasty snacks and over the counter remedies to make the process more bearable for unpartnered omegas. But what happens if your heat comes early and your goodies aren't there yet?

So. Dream is a loner alpha who runs a company that makes products for these boxes, and omega Hob has signed up to be one of his product testers, but his heat comes and the shipment has gotten lost (or whatever we like.) Fortunately Hob happens to be in the same city as Dream and he could just drop by with the items he really needs tested! It's just... there's a deadline, right? And he really needs this data. Very important data! He can't wait another 3 months or whatever or take the time to have new volunteers do the legal paperwork needed to be his product testers or he won't make the production deadline.

So he'll just drive the snacks over to this guy himself, no problem! What could possibly go wrong?

Actively yelling over the idea of Startup Company Guy Dream. His siblings laugh at him because what does he do for a living?! Put nuts and seaweed and chocolate into boxes?? Spend hours calculating the vitamins and minerals needed for a healthy heat?? Even his kinder family members think it won't last a month.

But Hob saw the product advertised on tiktok or something and thought it was a great idea!! So he signs up to test it about 6 months before the product is launched, and agrees to fill out a bunch of questionnaires and do an interview.

...and the data really IS important, which is how Dream ends up standing on Hob’s porch, waiting for him to answer the door. He should probably just drop the box there and leave but... it seems polite to at least check in with this guy who has agreed to help him out!

Unfortunately when Hob cracks open the door, he gets a whiff of yummy snacks AND yummy alpha. His mouth starts watering, and he accidentally swings the door wide open. It all goes a bit downhill from there.

Well, not downhill. But Hob’s experience of taste testing the snacks mostly involves him sitting on Dream’s knot and being lovingly fed in the brief periods when they're not fucking hard. So Hob probably can't give an entirely objective review of Dream’s project, but he can say with absolute certainty that everything Dream has given him tastes absolutely divine. Not just the snacks 😉

The snacks give Dream and Hob a great opportunity to stay in touch, because Hob does genuinely want to help because the product was yummy and left him feeling much better than usual after his heat. Every time they meet up to discuss the product though, it inevitably turns into another excuse to fall into bed together!

When the snacks finally launch to be sold on the open market, they're obviously a total success! At the launch party Hob finally, timidly suggests that maybe he and Dream should start seeing each other like... normal people? Not just under the guise of business stuff?

And Dream shyly hands him a personally curated box of snacks with all his favourites, and asks if Hob would consider sharing his next heat with Dream? As boyfriends this time?

And then they fuck in the bathroom, and Dream is late to give his speech, but it's totally worth it <3

[dailyadventureprompts]

Adventure: Hunting in the Ghostglade

Beyond the fortress city of Amaranth there is a wondrous and serene landscape where phantom animals wander among their flesh and blood counterparts, dissolving into light at the slightest touch. For generations hunters have ventured to these Ghostglades to sharpen their skills and engage in sport year round, all without fear of damaging the local game populations. Whether the after effect of some long forgotten conjuration or, as many locals believe, the concession of a wild god to protect their beloved beloved children... the sight truly must be seen to be believed.

-A wanderer’s guidebook to the cities of the basilisk coast, 6th edition

Hooks:

While conducting business in the city of Amaranth, the party gives offence to some minor noble who challenges them to a duel.. though local custom differs greatly from what the party might be expecting. The Amaranthine nobles consider themselves to be peerless hunters, and so settle matters of dispute by determining who’s bow arm and spear hand is truest: riding through the ghostglade and its surrounding forest at high speeds while trying to tag as many of the phantom animals as possible. Since their quarry dissolves into light and mist after being struck, these riders are also followed by a pair of neutral judges who keep tally of the competitors’ kills, deducting points for unsportsmanlike behaviour.

A foreign priestess of Corellon has journeyed to the edge of the Ghostglade seeking answers and would gladly pay the party in escorting her further. Many of her order have debated about whether this magical patch of nature might be a working of their god and thus a worthy site of pilgrimage, though they’ve had only the generations old accounts of dead sages to mull over. Seeking the presence of her god, this priestess will have the party follow her as she seeks to find the natural temples of these meadowlands, or atleast places where they might be built. Her divinations do not bode well: no specific god seems to hold claim over these wilds, and reaching out to touch the land’s magic seems to make the phantom animals glitch out and become erratic. 

Not long after their first trip out to the Ghostglades, the party are approached by a fur trader who claims his brother has gone missing. Their family came up as trappers specializing in the mundane beasts that made their home in the strange landscape, and though the two of them have moved on to bigger and better things, his brother still considers himself a prime outdoorsman. At the end of the trail, the party find a very badly wounded merchant’s brother who’s doing his best to not be spotted by an eerily silent pack of phantom humanoids, faceless, but armed with bows and spears and far more resilient than any of the other ghostly creatures they’ve seen.

There is an artifact in the dead centre of the Ghostglades, hidden in a rather out of the way cave, an alien cube of unplacable metal with a surface that shifts imperceptibly like a puzzlebox made of sand.  What this object’s origins are, none can say, but its purpose is to understand, to observe and replicate animal life in real time by projecting hard-light holograms throughout the region in an attempt to build a model of their behaviour. However long the mechanism has been operating, it’s only been a few hundred years since the city of Amaranth was founded and people worked up the courage to start poofing its holograms for fun, disrupting its careful calculations.   It’s taking the intervening years for the device’s un-mind to create a working model of what sort of animal a “hunter” is, having only recently concluded that they are entities that stalk, chase, ambush and kill anything that moves. Over the coming days, more and more of these projections will appear in the ghostglades, searching for interlopers, posing a definite threat to any who make their living off the surrounding meadowlands and forests.

[proffesionalalpaca]

Things I’d love to see in Avatar 3

1. Varang is a cleopatra like figure; I don’t mean a captivating beauty but a deadly strategist, intelligent negotiator, innovative thinker (cleopatra was a chemist among other many things) & formidable threat beyond the femme fatal archetype.

2. Quaritch & Lyle’s growing understanding of the Na’vi language shown with broken sentences in the subtitles, only showing what they can understand - enough but not quite.

3. Jake & Neytiri (plus the kids) still grieving for their eldest and adjusting to life with that missing piece

4. Lo’ak finding his stride as a Metkayina and making efforts to prove his worthiness of Tsireya to her parents

5. Spider carving out a place for himself among the Na’vi despite Neytiri’s hostility

6. Tuk beginning to grow from a child and into the warrior she’ll one day become - giving Jake 2 or 3 heart attacks daily

7. The Wind trader tribe being chill nomadic traders who just roll with the insane nonsense that happens around the main characters: Archenemy resurrected? - bummer, Teenage girl controls the environment like a Demi-god? - very cool, Sky person boy just walking around acting genuinely Na’vi? - I like your stripes brother!

8. The Ash people being more than just aggressive warriors but who are rather a calculating and intelligent culture - one that, compared to other Na’vi clans, is uniquely multi-cultured from the many generations of outcasts from other tribes who brought their own skills, knowledge and aspects of their culture into the collective. - complete with Na’vi subspecies we have yet to see (Tundra/snow Na’vi? Taiga?) , hybridised offspring and descendants of them just intergrated into the cultural identity of the ash people.

HC - Varang is like 1/4 wind-trader/dessert na’vi and has a tundra Na’vi somewhere in her ancestral family tree.

9. Showcasing that a good portion of new humans arriving to Pandora come as refugees who genuinely mean no harm to Pandora and RDA staff who are opposed to the measures being taken by the leadership against the natives.

10. Exploration of Na’vi history and why the ash people appear to be outcasts themselves among other Na’vi. -my theory is that they were once an advanced civilisation like the Aztecs but were destroyed like them by all the Na’vi they ticked off under the first Toruk Makto (who supposedly rallied the clans to defeat a volcano- oral history passed by hundreds of generations and metaphor diluting the real history - instead defeating the tribe of the volcano?)-

[unabashedly-so]

⚜️ SDV Elliott HC ⚜️

Elliott's family...

Content warning: One-off mentions of homophobic/biphobic microaggressions, alcohol, abusive parents, child favoritism.

I came up with a short story that keeps getting longer about Elliott bringing his partner back to meet his parents (not necessarily by his choice) and confronting a lot of what he'd left behind. The refrain is "To be loved is to be changed," and also part of the resolution is Elliott and his partner totally have nasty revenge sex in his parent's old money country club.

Y'know, therapeutically.

Laurel - 36yo (older sister) - currently a lawyer/attorney in a large city not far from home. She's a very serious person, but not to the point of sternness or coldness. In contrast, she's actually very warm, especially to her siblings, but she's kindly ruthless in her pursuit of what she feels she should pursue. She and Elliott grew up rather close and Elliott idolized her a lot of his childhood, preferring her company over the company of other boys/kids because he felt he could be unabashedly himself around her. She still calls Elliott "Ellie" "Lelly" "Lellit" (Elliott as a toddler would say his name like "Lellit" because all his siblings names started with L so he thought his did too.)

...So anyway here's Elliott's family made for a story that I'll probably never actually get around to writing. "Spoilers" for the story and character growth are in the parentheses at the end for his parents. Also, no they don't have last names because that feels weird.

Loren - 34yo (older brother) - currently a stocks trader or something, but it's not his passion. He mainly does it to make money so he can indulge in his hobbies--traveling, and collecting calculators and typewriters. He has taken Elliott on some of his travels but he's a bit distant emotionally, very much someone who gets lost in his own head, but unlike Elliott, he doesn't really care to share it with others. There are moments of good connection between him and Elliott, but it's a lot of work to get those moments, so Elliott stopped trying to force it. As a kid, Loren was a typically older brother to him and antagonized him appropriately. Elliott was appropriately a younger brother to him when he wasn't dangling off of Laurel. As older siblings, they did share some commonalities that they bonded on, like sharing books, and he was a good listener for Elliott's story ideas.

Elliott - 32yo - as the middle child with two very successful older siblings, Elliott is often overlooked by his parents. There's no incredible pressure for him to be wealthy or successful, but that doesn't mean they aren't disappointed nonetheless. As a child, he was imaginative, creative, and loved to be the center of attention when he had a good story to tell. Otherwise, he was rather quiet. His mother likes to joke that Elliott was the "baby" of the family for 8 years and he's never once forgotten it, saying that he needs more coddling than most, as he was always so attached to his older sister, Laurel.

Samuel - 24yo (younger brother) - very much The Accident. Susannah tells everyone he dropped out of medical school to go practice field medicine in war torn Gotoro. In actuality, he's currently living off the family's fortunes (and Loren's kindness) "finding himself". Elliott's relationship with Samuel is a bit distant, mainly due to the age gap. Elliott is fond of his youngest brother and has fond memories with him, but it was always tainted by a perceptible difference with how he was treated vs. Elliott and the rest of the kids.

Susannah - mother - Motherly but outsourced much of the emotional work to servants. She does care for her children and wants the best for them, but like her husband, very much thinks that they can only be happy in the ways that she comes up for them. Her main style of communication is through double-entendres and snide, passive aggressive remarks. ie, if Elliott brings home a wife, she'll remark, "Oh Elliott, I knew you'd find the right girl to fix you right up!" (talking about his bi/gayness) Laurel followed Susannah's hopes for her, so Laurel is the golden child in her mind. Loren does well for himself and doesn't cause any trouble so he's another good egg. Elliott... well, she doesn't quite understand the path he's chosen. She thinks he's too in-his-own-head for his own good. She tells him to be more like Loren all the time directly, and indirectly reveres Laurel to him. (It's revealed that Killian barely supported her in her raising the kids, which was why she outsourced so much of their raising, because she couldn't handle it on her own and knew it wouldn't be good enough. She also comes around to accepting she doesn't understand Elliott's path in life AND that that's okay as long as he's happy and taken care of. She also says that she and Sir Killian have been seeing a marriage counselor (their "advising consultant") for years and she's so sorry she didn't do it sooner.)

Sir Killian - father - very hands off with the kids. Led by stern example, but not cruel, just not accepting of deviation from his expectations. One-on-one and in private, he can be very warm and caring, even jovial and soft. But there's a military history, one that he's not escaped and comes through in much of his interactions and the persona he puts off. "Sir" comes from that experience. He appears quietly disappointed all the time that none of his children took up the mantle of military service. (It is later revealed that he did not partake in childrearing or supporting Susannah in it because he knew the father he would be was not the father his kids deserved--his father was militant, alcoholic, abusive, etc. He shares that he regrets not even trying, but at the same time, sees how it was a benefit. He shares that he is actually relieved that none of his children went into military service and that his experience made him very anti-war, but coming out with those views would have excommunicated him from his family, and he felt he had to uphold that connection for fear of not being able to provide for his family.)

[twistedmindtales]

The Penthouse

Justin was a wealthy stock trader known for his extravagant lifestyle, reveling in the opulence that money had bestowed upon him. Now in his mid-thirties, he hailed from a modest family in a small town, he grew up with dreams that seemed far out of reach. Yet, even from a young age, Justin possessed an unwavering determination and an insatiable hunger for success. His analytical mind and innate ability to predict market trends led him to pursue a career as a stock trader.

Leaving his hometown behind, he ventured to Wall Street, immersing himself in the fast-paced world of finance. With relentless dedication and a sharp intellect, he swiftly ascended the ranks, accumulating a significant fortune and earning a reputation as a shrewd trader.

Charismatic and confident, Justin exuded an air of self-assurance that commanded attention. His belief in his abilities drove him forward, propelling him through high-pressure situations with ease. Ambition coursed through his veins, and he refused to settle for anything less than extraordinary. Setting his sights on ambitious goals, he pursued them with relentless tenacity, using his sharp intellect and a keen eye for opportunities to make calculated decisions. Though his drive sometimes manifested as arrogance, it stemmed from his unmatched confidence in his capabilities.

Yet, beneath his ambitious exterior, Justin wrestled with an insatiable hunger for more. The pursuit of success often left him yearning for greater heights, preventing him from fully appreciating his accomplishments. There was a constant fear of complacency lurking within him, driving him to seek the next big challenge. With his thirst for material wealth and status, Justin struggled to find true contentment. Once he amassed his fortune trading on Wall Street, he now purchased the tallest and most luxurious penthouse condo in the heart of Los Angeles.

It was an architectural marvel that offered breathtaking views of the sprawling city below, with its shimmering lights and pulsating energy. Perched high above the bustling streets of L.A., Justin’s luxurious penthouse exuded an air of refined elegance. From the moment one stepped into the grand foyer, they were enveloped in an atmosphere of unparalleled luxury and sophistication.

The entrance hall, lined with gleaming marble floors, bathed in the soft glow of crystal chandeliers that cascaded from the lofty ceiling. Intricately designed wall sconces dotted the walls, casting gentle light upon the exquisite artwork. Moving deeper into the penthouse, an expansive living area awaited, showcasing a harmonious blend of contemporary timeless aesthetics.

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the panoramic views of the City of Angels, where the shimmering lights of the sprawling metropolis stretched as far as the eye could see. A state-of-the-art home theater system seamlessly merged into the walls, providing a sanctuary for cinematic indulgence. Adjacent to the living area, a gourmet chef’s kitchen beckoned, replete with sleek granite countertops, top-of-the-line appliances, and custom-designed cabinetry that housed an impressive collection of culinary treasures. A sprawling center island, illuminated by delicate pendant lights, served as the heart of this culinary haven, inviting guests to gather and witness the masterful culinary creations that would emanate from its depths, although Justin dined alone most evenings.

The master suite, a sanctuary of tranquility and indulgence, awaited at the end of a private corridor. Upon entering, one was greeted by an expanse of space adorned with plush, handcrafted furnishings. A king-sized bed, adorned with sumptuous linens and an array of meticulously arranged accent pillows, stood as the centerpiece, commanding attention. A private parlor behind a small inconspicuous door off the bedroom, adorned with rich mahogany bookcases and a custom-designed desk, offered a retreat for Justin’s intellectual pursuits. The ensuite bathroom, a masterpiece in its own right, boasted floor-to-ceiling Italian marble, cascading rain showers, and a decadent soaking tub that overlooked the breathtaking Los Angeles skyline. Ornate gold fixtures sparkled under the gentle glow of intricately designed chandeliers, adding a touch of regality to the space. Throughout the penthouse, an intelligent home automation system seamlessly integrated technology with the utmost sophistication. From the touch of a button, the ambient lighting would adjust, music would softly waft through hidden speakers, and motorized curtains would glide open, revealing the majestic vista outside.

The piece de resistance of Justin’s castle, a sprawling outdoor terrace awaited, beckoning Justin and his guests to bask in the glory of the city night sky. A sparkling infinity pool stretched towards the horizon, seemingly merging with the sky, while plush loungers and sumptuous seating arrangements provided the perfect setting for sun-soaked relaxation or elegant soirées under the stars.

Amidst the resplendent backdrop of his penthouse, Justin decided to host an extravagant gathering to commemorate the closure of a momentous business deal. The space was transformed into a scene of revelry and excess, as the crème de la crème of the business world mingled with glasses of champagne in hand. Guests, adorned in designer attire, oozed an air of self-importance as they engaged in spirited conversations, their voices laced with arrogance and thinly veiled competition.

Alexander proclaimed, “Did you hear about my latest acquisition? It’s a game-changer, I tell you.”

Penelope scoffed in response, “Oh, that’s cute. But let me tell you about my recent expansion into international markets. It’s only a matter of time before I dominate them all.”

“Please, both of you, step aside. My latest venture capital investment is the talk of the town. The future of Los Angeles belongs to me!” Maxwell said while popping his collar.

Amidst the cacophony of boastful declarations and competitive chatter, Justin’s weariness from the festivities and celebratory libations began to take its toll. As the night wore on, he found himself growing increasingly aware of subtle, yet peculiar happenings within his opulent abode. Whispers seemed to linger in the air as if carried by unseen forces, and shadows danced with mischievous energy. Drunk and disoriented, Justin’s senses played tricks on him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the elegant paintings lining the walls observed the soirée with a mischievous glint in their eyes. The flickering candlelight cast elongated shadows that seemed to move of their own accord, adding an eerie touch to the luxurious ambiance.

Justin was the only one who seemed to notice.

As he stumbled through the lavish space, his steps grew unsteady as he encountered his reflection in a grand mirror. For a fleeting moment, he swore that his own reflection had smirked back at him, the contours of his face twisted in a sinister grin before returning to its familiar visage. Echoing whispers again floated through the air, carrying snippets of conversations long past or that may have never existed at all. A soft touch of a breeze suddenly tickled the nape of his neck, though no windows were open to invite such a draft.

Disoriented and increasingly unnerved while struggling to maintain his composure, Justin decided to retreat to the solace of his private parlor. The sanctuary offered a much-needed reprieve from the overwhelming presence of his self-absorbed guests and increasingly strange occurrences.

The room, shrouded in shadows, seemed to pulsate with otherworldly energy. The elegant furniture that once exuded comfort now loomed with an unsettling presence. The once-vibrant colors appeared distorted as if painted with shades unseen by mortal eyes.

Justin quickly burst through the small door leading to his bedroom and collapsed onto his bed, the weight of the evening and the inexplicable events pressing upon his weary mind. As he drifted between sleep and consciousness, his thoughts swirled with questions and trepidation. Was it the alcohol playing tricks on his senses, or had his penthouse become a stage for something far beyond his comprehension?

As the night wore on, and the final echoes of the gathering faded into silence, Justin’s exhaustion consumed him. Eyes heavy with weariness, he succumbed to a weighted slumber.

As the morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Justin groaned and reluctantly stirred from his alcohol-induced slumber. His head throbbed mercilessly, and a parched tongue clung to the roof of his mouth. Disoriented, he initially believed that the previous night’s unsettling occurrences were merely the byproduct of an overindulgent celebration.

Shaking off the remnants of his hangover, Justin rose from his bed and began to wander aimlessly through the expansive penthouse. The space, adorned with its lavish decor, appeared as it always had. Yet, a nagging sense of unease tugged at the edges of his consciousness, his only relief was seeing that his guests had all left and seemingly cleaned up after themselves.

As he moved from room to room, Justin’s footsteps echoed through the expanse, seeming oddly hushed against the plush carpets beneath his feet. He cast his gaze upward, expecting to see familiar ceilings, but something caught his attention. The height of the penthouse seemed subtly different—almost imperceptibly taller than he remembered.

Puzzled, Justin’s eyes traced the walls, searching for clues. The crown molding that had once elegantly framed the rooms now stood slightly higher, accentuating the lofty ceilings. The custom-made furniture, which had once fit perfectly within the space, now appeared ever so slightly dwarfed against the expanded dimensions of the penthouse.

With a furrowed brow, Justin continued his exploration. The windows, once offering a mesmerizing view of the Los Angeles skyline, now seemed to be positioned higher, as if the penthouse itself had been lifted closer to the heavens. The breathtaking panorama appeared distorted, the familiar landmarks below appearing minuscule against the backdrop of the city.

Every corner he turned, every detail he observed, heightened Justin’s unease. The grand chandeliers that had once graced the ceilings now dangled at an uncomfortably greater distance from the floor. The art pieces that had once adorned the walls seemed to shrink in proportion, lost within the expanse of the newly elongated space.

His heart quickened, and a sense of apprehension settled within him. It was as if the penthouse itself had undergone an inexplicable transformation, stretching upward in defiance of the laws of physics. The very architecture of his sanctuary seemed to mock his attempts to find normalcy, whispering an unsettling truth—that the events of the previous night were not merely the delusions of an intoxicated mind. Justin reached for his phone only to find that he was not receiving any service at these new heights. He rushed towards the elevator, and it was as if the elevator car was thirty floors below and completely unreachable. The door that lead to the emergency stair exit was now covered and was like it never existed at all.

Bewildered, Justin couldn’t shake the lingering feeling that he had stumbled into an altered reality, where the dimensions of his penthouse exceeded the boundaries of normalcy and he had lost all contact with the outside world. The once-familiar dwelling now loomed with an eerie grandeur, leaving him to question if he had unwittingly stepped into a twisted realm where the laws of space and perception were forever changed. With each passing day, the frequency and intensity of these disturbances escalated, unsettling the very core of his being. Shadows danced on the periphery of his vision, objects shifted position when his back was turned, and eerie sounds reverberated through the halls, chilling his soul.

One fateful night, Justin awoke to a chilling realization that his once-familiar sanctuary had been irrevocably altered. His disheveled state of mind was met with a surreal scene, as his bedroom had undergone a profound transformation. The meticulously arranged furniture now adorned unfamiliar corners, and his bed had inexplicably migrated to the opposing wall. Paralyzed by fear, he grasped at straws, attributing this bizarre occurrence to the mischievous antics of his affluent companions—a high-stakes prank orchestrated by those who reveled in his fortune. But this was no prank, and his friends seemed light-years away.

Nevertheless, the passage of time shattered Justin’s fragile illusions. The ethereal metamorphosis within his home grew increasingly extreme, plunging him into a maelstrom of disorientation and despair. The very architecture of the walls seemed to shift and contort, defying the laws of physics and reaching unimaginable heights nearing the edge of the Earth’s atmosphere. Mysterious symbols and cryptic markings etched themselves onto surfaces, their enigmatic origins eluding comprehension. The once-secure walls now seemed to harbor an otherworldly force, tightening its grip on Justin’s sanity.

The anxiety and fear made him pass out on the floor and when he awoke, he was no longer confined to the familiarity of his fancy penthouse. Instead, he found himself confined within a sterile, antiseptic chamber devoid of windows or discernible exits. The stark white walls offered no solace, their pristine surfaces mocking his predicament. Trapped and alone, Justin’s heart pounded with trepidation, his breath hitching as he realized that he was now at the mercy of an otherworldly presence.

These extraterrestrial beings, tall and slender with elongated limbs and piercing black eyes, conducted their clandestine observations upon Justin. Their elongated fingers probed and prodded as if dissecting the secrets of his very existence. Terror coursed through his veins, pleading eyes beseeching for mercy, yet the enthralling gaze of the aliens remained impassive, oblivious to his desperate cries which seemed to have no actual sound.

Justin found himself subjected to a series of bewildering and unsettling experiments. Initially, the alien beings conducted physical examinations, meticulously analyzing his body from head to toe. Their touch was precise and clinical as if they were studying an intriguing specimen. They scanned him with advanced devices, emitting faint hums and glows as they delved into the intricacies of his physiology.

As the days turned into weeks, the experiments took on a more invasive nature. Justin was subjected to strange devices that emitted eerie lights and emitted low-frequency vibrations. The aliens seemed to be testing the limits of his endurance and resilience, pushing him to the edge of his physical and mental capabilities.

They probed his mind, delving deep into his memories and thoughts, seeking to unravel the intricacies of human consciousness. Justin’s thoughts and emotions were laid bare, his innermost secrets exposed to these otherworldly beings. It was an invasion of privacy that left him feeling vulnerable and violated.

The aliens, driven by an insatiable curiosity, continued their relentless exploration. They exposed Justin to bizarre environments, altering gravity and atmospheric conditions to observe his reactions. They manipulated time itself, subjecting him to accelerated or decelerated experiences that distorted his sense of reality.

Through it all, Justin’s pleas and protests fell on deaf ears. The aliens seemed incapable of understanding his distress, their motives and intentions were shrouded in enigmatic silence. He became a mere pawn in their pursuit of knowledge, a specimen trapped in their inscrutable experiment.

The sense of dread that had initially consumed Justin grew with each passing day. He realized that escape was futile, and a profound sense of hopelessness settled over him. Days turned into weeks, and any glimmer of hope flickered like a dying ember. The confines of the alien vessel became his prison, the relentless experimentation an inescapable torment. He witnessed the boundaries of his endurance crumble, consumed by the unshakable certainty that he would never again witness the embrace of the outside world. Dread constricted his every thought, the lingering fear of forever languishing within the clutches of these inscrutable beings—an existence devoid of all hope and devoid of the life he once knew.

TM & Copyright © 2023 Twisted Mind Tales. All Rights Reserved.

[reisimscorner]

By morning, every detail was planned out for their ‘grand scheme’, so when Trader Jacques arrived to collect this week’s taxes, Alaric was already waiting for him by the door. They had to maintain a good relationship with him, even though not everyone liked him. It was understandable since it was not easy for every villager to gather the taxes week by week.

Alaric welcomed him with a wide smile which made cold running down Trader Jacques’ back for some reason. He felt like he just got tangled up in an issue he had no prior knowledge about. Nonetheless, he behaved like nothing was wrong. He couldn’t show anxiety towards a peasant.

“Good morning. Here are the taxes for this week,” Alaric said cheerfully while he handed over everything that was asked of them this time. Jacques thanked it, then without hesitation went to check if anything was missing. While he was busy with calculating and inspecting the goods, Alaric took a moment to think through everything he had to say. Then slowly, he opened his mouth.

“I was actually thinking if I could ask you to deliver message on my behalf to the Lord Marquis.” Alaric decided to took a cautious approach. He didn’t want to get declined straight away.

“Yeah? What kind of message do you have for the Lord?” Trader Jacques asked back in a lightheaded manner. Obviously, he wasn’t taking Alaric seriously, but decided to play along for now. His interest was piqued slightly, at least.  

“You’re familiar with Giselle? That Giselle.” He had to correct himself even though it hurt a lot to use this kind of tone and implication when it came to her. But at the moment it was important to make clear who he was talking about.

“Oh, that servant girl who lives in the castle? Yes, I’ve seen her a couple of times. Why?”

“I’d like to marry her,” Alaric declared. Trader Jacques couldn’t help but laugh hearing this. He wanted to do what now?

“This was a great joke, thank you, boy,” he said while finishing up the inspection of the goods that was handed in as tax this week. Alaric didn’t say anything, just looked solemnly at Trader Jacques. His mouth almost dropped open noticing this, realizing that Alaric wasn’t joking. In fact, he meant every word he said. “Why don’t you just look for some other farmer girl? It would do you no good to get mixed up in her affairs,” he offered, but Alaric just shook his head. Well, it was none of his business anyway, and he tried to change Alaric’s mind out of respect for his family. It was not his place to dissuade him more than this. “Fine, I can deliver your message to the Lord. What do you want me to tell him?”

Alaric then explained him what his plan was to get the Marquis’ permission for the marriage. Trader Jacques was rather surprised when he heard the well-laid out plan and had to agree it would be foolish of the Marquis to let such a great opportunity slip his fingers just for that girl. In fact, from the Marquis’ viewpoint, it was probably a win-loss situation to his advantage as he couldn’t care less about Giselle’s well-being or what she was doing.

In the end, Trader Jacques promised to deliver Alaric’s message as fast as possible and if they were lucky, they would have an answer by the end of the day.

Beginning // Previous // Next

[carabelajaronline]

Traders Family Komunitas Trading Terbaik di Tangerang

[lily-ohfally]

About Lily Oh'fally

Hi and welcome! This blog is meant to be a self-indulgent brain rot blog so feel free to ask anything about my OC's ₍ᐢ⑅•ᴗ•⑅ᐢ₎♡

Warnings: 🔞 Not a safe space for minors as occasionally NSFW topics WILL be brought up!

Now, let me introduce you to my WoL:

Meet: Lily Oh'fally. Lily is a kind-hearted and gentle Viera at 25. He has 4 younger siblings who is his surrogate family, since he was the oldest he has been the one to provide for them since he was 15. His body is muscular and well build, yet his face is round cute. He has a fluffy tail and his ears tend to droop forwards rather than backwards. (reference updates "regularly")

More information underneath.

Before Lily and the others came to Ul'dah, they lived in a small village at the outer layer of Golmore Jungle, and despite their best efforts, that part of the forest was eventually overrun by the Garlean Empire by them burning down their part of the forest, in favor of crop and farmland. Leaving only 11 unpresented Viera children behind. They ended up splitting into two groups, one of 5 and one of 6, when they left Lily's group headed towards the Ocean in search of a new life. There, they met a particularly kind set of traders who were willing to take them across the ocean and brought them to Thanalan. On their way, Lily presented at the late age of 15 and made it his goal to keep the younger ones safe from harm. 10 years has passed since then.

Within his family, he is known for being a little clumsy and scatterbrained, yet also reliable and dependable. His younger siblings knows that even though he is very good at what he does, he is still young and like them, needs proper support. Lily is uneducated and can barely read and write, only being taught by his younger sister Layla so he could continue to work alongside the Ul'dahn merchants. However he's very good at numbers and calculating when it comes to spending money.

His family is made up of Lily, Layla, Kanna, Rose and Violet. Lily: Male, 25, 186cm, Rava. Layla: Female, 20, 190cm, Rava. Kanna: Female, 17, 173cm, Rava. Rose: Female, 15, 169cm, Rava. Violet: Male, 14, 167cm, Rava.

Additional information:

I ship Lily with Haurchefant!! Tag is HaurcheLily and I am very delusional about them ♥️

Lily's forest name was Raeja. He changed it to Lily because of Lily of the Valley's and his fondness of them.

His hair style changes during StB patch quests. During the Shinryu fight his hair gets damaged and he cuts it. Before his hair reached to around his waist. Then sometime during Endwalker patch quests he cuts it again.

He prefers wearing light clothes that doesn't get in the way or get dirty when working. He used to work odd jobs for various Ul'dah merchants and then later performed at a stage with dance, totally not just because I like putting him in pretty whore outfits.

His main colors are Royal Purple and Metallic Red. Lily's favorite colors are purples with gold.

I draw him with much more muscle than his in-game model shows. He needs to have wide shoulders and a small waist!! Round butt and thicc thighs!!!!

I am still working on his "canon" outfits and has one so far. I will update with them when it's done!

[starseedfxofficial]

Hull Moving Average + HFT: Unlock Hidden Forex Strategies Hull Moving Average Meets High-Frequency Trading: The Hidden Edge in Forex Picture this: You’re navigating the chaotic Forex market, trying to make sense of sudden spikes and dips. It feels like being on a roller coaster with no seatbelt. But what if I told you there’s a way to smooth out the chaos, uncover patterns others miss, and outsmart the pros? Enter the Hull Moving Average (HMA) and High-Frequency Trading (HFT) — two powerhouse tools that, when combined, can elevate your trading game to ninja status. Why Most Traders Overlook the Hull Moving Average Let’s face it: Moving averages are the bread and butter of technical analysis. But not all moving averages are created equal. While the simple moving average (SMA) and exponential moving average (EMA) are popular choices, they’re like buying generic coffee when a gourmet espresso is within reach. The Hull Moving Average, created by Alan Hull, offers a smoother, faster alternative. It minimizes lag and gives you a more accurate read on market trends. How the Hull Moving Average Works (Without the Jargon) The HMA uses weighted calculations to reduce lag, making it ideal for spotting trend changes earlier than other moving averages. Think of it as upgrading from a blurry pair of glasses to crystal-clear vision. The formula might look intimidating, but here’s the gist: - Smooth Data: It averages weighted moving averages (WMAs) over different periods. - Accelerate: Applies additional smoothing to emphasize recent data. - Adapt: Dynamically adjusts to price movements for real-time trend detection. In practical terms, this means fewer false signals and better timing for your entries and exits. HFT: The Turbocharger of Forex Trading High-frequency trading, or HFT, is like strapping a rocket to your Forex strategies. It leverages algorithms to execute trades at lightning speed, taking advantage of micro-opportunities in price fluctuations. If traditional trading feels like driving a family sedan, HFT is your sleek sports car. The Hidden Power of HFT HFT’s biggest advantage is its speed. Algorithms analyze vast amounts of data and execute trades within milliseconds. This allows traders to: - Exploit Arbitrage: Capitalize on tiny price differences across markets. - React to News: Outpace human traders in responding to economic events. - Enhance Precision: Avoid emotional decision-making by relying on data-driven strategies. However, HFT isn’t for the faint-hearted. It requires robust infrastructure, deep pockets, and, most importantly, a solid strategy. That’s where the Hull Moving Average comes in. Combining HMA and HFT: The Ultimate Ninja Tactic Now, here’s where the magic happens. The Hull Moving Average provides the precision signals you need, while HFT executes those signals with unmatched speed. It’s like having a master strategist and an elite commando team working together. Step-by-Step Guide to Implementing HMA with HFT - Set Up Your Tools: Integrate the HMA into your trading software. Platforms like MetaTrader and TradingView support custom indicators. - Optimize Parameters: Adjust the HMA period to suit your trading style. Shorter periods work for scalping, while longer periods are better for swing trading. - Automate: Use an HFT-friendly platform to program your strategy. Ensure the algorithm is designed to act on HMA signals. - Backtest: Test your strategy on historical data to fine-tune parameters and ensure profitability. - Monitor: Even with automation, keep an eye on performance to adapt to changing market conditions. Elite Insights: Advanced Techniques for Mastery 1. Dual HMA Strategy Use two HMAs with different periods (e.g., 20 and 50). When the shorter HMA crosses above the longer one, it signals a buy; when it crosses below, it signals a sell. This reduces noise and enhances accuracy. 2. Combine HMA with Volume Indicators Volume spikes often precede major price moves. Pairing the HMA with a volume indicator can help confirm trends and avoid false signals. 3. Timeframe Synchronization Align HMA signals across multiple timeframes for higher confidence. For instance, ensure the HMA on the 1-hour chart aligns with the trend on the 4-hour chart. Case Study: HMA and HFT in Action In 2023, a proprietary trading firm implemented an HMA-based strategy in their HFT system. By optimizing HMA parameters and focusing on EUR/USD, they achieved a 15% increase in monthly returns. Key takeaways from their approach: - Adaptability: They adjusted HMA settings based on market volatility. - Risk Management: Tight stop-losses ensured minimal drawdowns. - Continuous Learning: Regular reviews and tweaks kept the strategy ahead of market trends. Avoiding Common Pitfalls - Over-Optimization: Tweaking parameters too much can lead to curve fitting. Stick to realistic settings. - Ignoring Slippage: HFT thrives on precision, but slippage can erode profits. Choose a broker with minimal latency. - Over-Leveraging: The speed of HFT can amplify risks. Always trade within your risk tolerance. The Hull Moving Average and High-Frequency Trading are a match made in Forex heaven. Together, they provide the precision and speed you need to thrive in today’s markets. Whether you’re a seasoned trader or a curious newbie, these tools can help you unlock hidden opportunities and stay ahead of the competition. Ready to take your trading to the next level? Explore exclusive resources, join our expert community, and access game-changing tools at StarseedFX. Don’t just trade smarter—trade like a ninja. —————– Image Credits: Cover image at the top is AI-generated Read the full article

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Bacon’s theory of monstrosity and terror was carried into the middle of the seventeenth century by Thomas Edwards, who studied the heresies of revolutionary England. ... In his dedication he described his combat against the ‘‘three bodied Monster Geryon, and the three headed Cerberus,’’ and ‘‘that Hydra also, ready to rise up in their place.’’ At the beginning of volume 2 he noted that ‘‘whilest I was writng this Reply, had even finished it, striking off this three headed Cerberus, new heads of that monstrous Hydra of Sectarism sprung up.’’ The heads of Bacon’s hydra lunge out of Edwards’s work, in the shape of religious radicals, indigenous Americans, Africans, commoners, sailors, and women.

The ‘‘Anabaptists’’ denounced by Bacon had multiplied during the subsequent generation, posing a revolutionary challenge during the 1640s and 1650s and setting men such as Edwards to work. Some of these heretics, Edwards explained, favored communism, claiming ‘‘that all men are Commoners by right’’ and that ‘‘all the earth is the Saints, and there ought to be a community of goods, and the Saints should share in the Lands and Estates of Gentlemen, and rich men.’’ An associated belief was the millenarian notion that Christ would visibly reign for a thousand years, putting down all oppressors, while Christians lived in worldly delight (though no one seemed to know when to begin the calculation of the millennium!). Many of the Anabaptists were also antinomians, believing that the ‘‘moral law [was] of no use at all to believers,’’ that the Old Testament was not binding on God’s chosen, and that faith and conscience took priority over good works and lawfully constituted authority. Indeed, some held that it was ‘‘unlawful for a Christian to be a magistrate,’’ while others felt that secular government itself was an oppression. Skepticism toward rules, ordinances, and rituals abounded, as did revelations and visions. Some religious radicals asserted that the ‘‘body of the common people is the Earthly Sovereign.’’

Like Bacon, Edwards adopted an international perspective on his subject, remarking that many of the heresies had been promoted by persons ‘‘cast out of other Countries.’’ He condemned the numerous spiritual extremists of New England [and compared them to Hannibal's army - many nations under arms.] The core of Hannibal’s army was African, and indeed the continent to which English slave traders were flocking in the 1640s was never far from Edwards’s mind. Many of the heresies of seventeenth-century England seemed to Edwards to be variations of the North African heresies of early Christianity, such as those of the Donatists. He wrote, ‘‘Error, if way be given to it, knowes no bounds, it is bottomlesse, no man could say how farre England would goe, but like Africa it would be bringing forth Monsters every day.’

When Edwards singled out for particular scorn those monsters he described as ‘‘hairy, rough, wilde red men,’’ Caliban reappeared in revolutionary England, as did native America more generally. In much the same vein, the editor of an English newsbook reported in April 1649 the sayings of two ‘‘savage Indians’’ at the French court:

[One Indian] observed two things which he stood amazed at. First, that so many gallant men which seemed to have stout and generous Spirits, should all stand bare, and be subject to the will and pleasure of a Child [Louis XIV]. Secondly, that some in the City were clad in very rich and costly Apparel, and others so extream poor, that they were ready to famish for hunger; that he conceived them to be all equaliz’d in the ballance of Nature, and not one to be exalted above another.

The editor denounced the natives as ‘‘two Heathen Levellers.’’ In the Americas, fear of Indian attacks and slave revolt went hand in hand with fear of ‘‘familisme [the doctrine of the sixteenth-century sect called the Family of Love], Anabaptisme, or Antinomianisme,’’ and the many-headed hydra summarized the threat in a powerful rhetorical figure. Edwards wrote that John Calvin, who attacked popish heresy as well as the heresies of libertines and Anabaptists, was a ‘‘Christian Hercules, overcoming so many monsters.’’

- Peter Linebaugh and Marcus Rediker, The Many-Headed Hydra: Sailors, Slaves, Commoners, and the Hidden History of the Revolutionary Atlantic. Boston: Beacon Press, 2000. p. 66-69

[dream-dove]

Name: Perdita Fortuna

Age: 23

Background:

Early Life:

• Family and Birth:

• Born to esteemed parents in a small village outside of Rome. Her father was a skilled blacksmith known for crafting the finest weapons, and her mother was a respected healer renowned for her knowledge and compassion.

• The Fortuna family was well-regarded in their village, known for their exceptional skills and kindness.

Tragedy Strikes:

• When Perdita was eight years old, a plague swept through their village, claiming the lives of her parents and leaving her an orphan.

• Alone and vulnerable, she was captured by slave traders who sold her into slavery, stripping her of her family’s legacy and status.

Years of Struggle:

• Life as a Slave:

• Perdita was sold to a brutal master who subjected her to harsh labor and cruelty. Despite the suffering, she maintained a fierce spirit and a will to survive.

• She spent her formative years in servitude, learning to endure pain and hardship. Her resilience and strength grew with each passing year.

Escape and Survival:

• At the age of fifteen, Perdita seized an opportunity to escape her captors. She fled into the wilderness, surviving on her wits and the skills she had learned.

• She made her way to the streets of Rome, where she lived as a street urchin, doing whatever it took to survive, from stealing to fighting.

Saving the King:

• One fateful day, Perdita witnessed an assassination attempt on the king while he was traveling incognito through the poorer districts of Rome.

• Using her agility and newfound skills, she intervened, saving the king’s life with a well-aimed arrow.

• Impressed by her bravery and skill, the king offered her a position in his palace as a servant.

Rise to Power:

• Joining the Army:

• Perdita requested to join the king’s army as her repayment, an unusual and controversial choice for a woman.

• The king, recognizing her potential and determination, granted her wish. She faced immense skepticism and prejudice from her male counterparts but never wavered.

Proving Herself:

• Through rigorous training and several battles, Perdita demonstrated her exceptional skills as an archer and a fierce warrior.

• Her strategic mind and combat prowess earned her the respect of her commanders and comrades, eventually leading to her rise through the ranks.

Personality:

• Perdita is fiercely determined, ruthless, and strategic. Her early experiences have hardened her, making her a formidable and feared presence on the battlefield.

• Known for her cold and calculating demeanor, she shows little mercy to her enemies, earning the nickname “Jackal” for her ruthlessness.

• She takes delight in inflicting retribution on her enemies, seeing it as a means to reclaim the control she was denied in her youth.

• Despite her dark past, she retains a strong sense of loyalty to her comrades and the king, whom she respects deeply.

Skills and Achievements:

• Combat Skills:

• An exceptional archer, with a keen eye and steady hand, capable of hitting targets with pinpoint accuracy.

• A formidable hand-to-hand combatant, known for her quick reflexes, strength, and strategic thinking.

• Developed a reputation as a ruthless and unyielding warrior, earning her place among the ranks of the king’s elite soldiers.

Motivations:

• Driving Force:

• Perdita is driven by a desire to reclaim control over her life and to inflict retribution on those who wronged her.

• She seeks to protect the innocent and fight for justice, but also takes a grim satisfaction in defeating her enemies and asserting her power.

Challenges:

• Conflict:

• Faces ongoing prejudice and skepticism from those who believe a woman has no place on the battlefield.

• Must continually prove her worth and earn the trust of her comrades through her actions and achievements.

• Struggles with balancing her desire for control and retribution with her duties and loyalty to her comrades.

Nickname:

• The Jackal:

• On the battlefield and to her enemies, Perdita is known as “The Jackal” due to her ruthless tactics and merciless approach to combat.

• Her enemies fear her for her relentless pursuit and deadly precision, while her comrades respect her for her unwavering strength and strategic mind.