#entertainment enquirer

[voxofthevoid]

Today, I saw someone call a thirty-something woman a "thirty-year-old girl." It was in the context of her dating a forty-something guy (which made the guy sideeye-worthy, apparently).

I swear to god online age gap wank has caused some people to become completely disconnected from reality. Next thing you know, an 80-year-old who's dating a 60-year-old is a predator.

[suchananewsblog]

The wild and crazy lengths National Enquirer went to for celeb scoops

Over the years, the National Enquirer has gone to just about any length to get a scoop. If, a source told The Post, that meant sifting through Henry Kissinger’s garbage or masquerading as a llama to graze near the herd that dressed up Michael J. Fox’s wedding to Tracy Pollan, so be it. “The establishment press could never keep up with us,” Tony Brenna, once the publication’s roving editor, told…

[wri0thesley]

work health assessment - dottore x reader (nsfw, 4.8k)

you really need this job, and you're willing to put up with more than you should in order to get it.

cw: dub-con, dark content, medical kink, needles, mentions of drugging. reader is explicitly chubby and a virgin, afab (words such as 'breast' and 'cunt' used, but no pronouns). fingering, glove kink, mentions of forced prostitution. it's dottore!!

You’re trembling. You can feel your leg awkwardly twitching, a trapped nerve in your calf that makes you unable to sit still - and it only gets worse as the last applicant before you comes out with a face like thunder. The other Fatui agent stops and looks at you - he’s obviously higher up in the hierarchy than you are, wearing the trademark hood and red-trimmed coat of a Pyro agent. Somebody looking for a change of pace from combat, then, you suppose. 

“You ought not to bother,” he spits out, vitriol in his tone - but you have been around other people enough to know that the vitriol is directed at the man sitting in the office and not at you. “He won’t care about how well-suited you are, any qualifications, any fucking scientific proficiency--”

The Pyro agent walks away still muttering under his breath; you think you hear something about how clearly graduating the Akademiya meant nothing in a place like this, and you feel an unfortunate pang of sympathy for him. He’s definitely far more qualified for this kind of work than you are. If Il Dottore is looking for an assistant, surely somebody who studied at the Akademiya is going to be a far better prospect than you--

You swallow. You need this role. 

Everybody has been kind to you since The Fair Lady passed on. They knew you were one of her favourites, and they found work for you to do - even if it has been rather menial and trivial, it’s meant that you’ve kept receiving Mora, and been able to keep yourself afloat. Head above water. They’ve looked at you sympathetically for the past year - but this is the Fatui, after all, and you cannot expect to live on pity for the rest of your life. You need to make yourself indispensable to somebody else. 

Heaven knows you’re not primed for combat, you think ruefully, as you look down at the soft curve of your hips and the plush of your thighs where they spread out against the chair you’re waiting on. You’re not clever enough to be an actual scientist underneath Dottore’s instruction, you don’t think; and you hadn’t liked the way that the Regrator had sized you up last time he’d seen you, enquiring after your salary and whether it was truly appropriate for the work you’d been doing around the Palace with that calm, sly smile on his face--

But administration? Handling The Doctor’s papers, filing things away, accounts and schedules and diaries? That is very much the kind of thing you can do, and the thing you did very well for Signora before she met with a shining blade. You grit your teeth and force yourself to think things through and get your words in proper order. The Doctor is not the kind of man who will be kind to you if you start stuttering or falling over yourself; he doesn’t suffer fools gladly, you’ve always been told--

Oh, it would be a step up though, wouldn’t it? To go from the employ of the eighth Harbinger to the second? You’d ordinarily never have dared entertain such a thing, but Pulcinella had sought you out amongst the Palace walls and patted your arm and given you a kind, fatherly smile as he’d told you that he thought you’d be a perfect fit for what Dottore needed. 

The door to the office opens and there he is; tall, imposing, his gaze imperceptible behind the crow-like mask he wears at almost all times. Your breath catches in your throat. You’ve seen him, of course . . . but this close, and with nobody else around, he has a strange aura that makes you feel dizzy and nervous. Like a laboratory mouse being observed through glass. Slowly, his chin tips down, as if he’s looking you up and down, and then he makes an impatient gesture with one gloved hand. 

“Come, then,” he says, in a low, cold voice. “The first thing to learn is not to keep me waiting.” 

You’re clumsy getting up off the chair, still a little rattled by the way he looks and just how much he towers over you. The accoutrements he wears on his lab coat do not soften the effect; they give him the look of a too-large raven who is ready to peck your eyes out, making him seem all the more intimidating and all the wider - and considering he is a Doctor, a scholar . . . he’s not exactly lacking in the breadth department even without them. 

His lip curls for a fraction of a second at the sight of you pulling at your clothes, rearranging yourself, even nervously reaching up to touch your hair to ensure that it’s in place - but then he motions you through the door and his face is blank once again. 

His office is in complete disarray. It’s no wonder he needs an assistant, really; there are files all over his desk, spilling onto the floor. A few tables and chairs in other corners are just as full of ephemera and notes and other things you don’t want to think too hard on. The only things in this office that are meticulously clear and clean are a doctor’s examination bed pressed up against the wall and a tray beside it with an array of silvery instruments that glint cruelly in the snow-bright reflection from the windows. The lock clicks. You swallow again as Dottore motions for you to take a seat in front of his desk and he walks around to recline into his own. 

His is old leather, wingback; more throne than chair, and he sits in it like a king observing one of his subjects in a way that makes you feel so small you can barely stand it. 

“Well?” He asks you, and you squeak in alarm before your words start to careen out of you like a runaway train. 

“I--  The Rooster told me you were looking for an administrative assistant, and you know that’s the same thing I did for the Fair Lady. I-I’m not scientifically-minded or anything, I’d be no help with your experiments - but maybe that’s a good thing, if I don’t know enough to properly even understand the documents I’m handling then I’m no risk with sensitive information--”

He raises one gloved hand to stop you in mid-flow. There’s that quirk of his lip again, as he steeples his fingers together and leans forward on his elbows to rest on the messy wood of his desk. 

“My dear,” he drawls at you, “are you truly trying to get me to employ you by making a show of your own incompetence?”

A cold shiver down your spine. You need this role. You need something to get you out of the drudgery of the boring tasks you’ve been given, to get you away from Pantalone’s prying eyes, to give you some kind of purpose--

“I’m good at admin!” You tell him, your voice pitching high in your nervousness. “I’ve a head for figures, I’m organised, I’m discreet--”

“How’s your health?” Dottore asks, that slight curve to his lip not dissipating even a bit. “I can’t employ somebody who is unreliable, you see. I’m rather more of a workaholic than some of my compatriots, and I do so hate to be interrupted when I’m on the brink of a breakthrough.”

“It’s good!” You blurt out without thinking. It’s true; you’ve never had any issues with it. You had mandated checks every year with a doctor that Signora employed - she always made a point to say she wouldn’t make the Doctor do it, with a pinch to your cheeks and a lazy, indulgent smile. She liked her underlings to think her magnanimous. 

“Mmm.” Dottore says. He regards you over his hands once more, before he says; “When I saw your application on the pile, I had already half a mind to take you on. The Fair Lady was always effusive in your praises, and I do indeed not want a little upstart who thinks they can replace me. You were right to think your lack of scientific knowledge would be a boon to me. My work is very delicate, you understand?”

“I understand entirely, Doctor,” you say, nodding enthusiastically. “I’m the soul of discretion, I promise.”

“Mmm,” he says, the noise not entirely convinced, but your toes have curled in your shoes and you can feel the fingers of hope crawling up your spine. “Despite that, you do not seem unintelligent. I don’t think I could bear having an idiot handle my files. You’re already well-versed in the politics of Zapolyarny and the way working for a Harbinger functions; I would not have to waste time doing too much training.”

“Not at all, My Lord,” you say, trying to smile despite the nerves that you can still feel tingling all over you. “I’d be extremely good at what you want me for, I promise.”

This wins a soft snort from him, as if you’ve said something very funny. You keep yourself as poised as you can, your spine straight, your face as sweet and open as you can manage. Signora always preferred you to be like this . . . in time, you suppose that you’ll learn what Dottore likes, but until then he doesn’t seem opposed to the same gentle demeanour that you’d perfected with the Eighth Harbinger. 

“Nevertheless,” he says, “your physical condition . . .” 

Your cheeks burn hot. You hope he is not referring to the curves of your body; you’ve never been particularly self-conscious about it - it’s rather the fashion in Snezhnaya to be soft, and you receive your fair share of admiring looks and propositions - but . . . you know that Dottore is not originally from your homeland, and there can be such strange stigmas in other lands--

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says to you, as if he’s read your mind. “In a purely biologically aesthetic sense, you’re very much a prime specimen. But looks can be deceiving, my dear, and before we finalise the employment I would like you to submit to a medical examination.” 

Your eyes widen. You hadn’t prepared for him to ask for this; you try and run through in your head what he might want to check in this examination, but even as you do that you realise he has you caught. You need him to employ you, and he has as good as said that as soon as he’s declared you medically fit and able he’ll be able to officially do so. How bad can it really be, then? Let him poke and prod and walk out of this office with a brand new purpose. You swallow. 

“Of course, My Lord,” you say, giving him a blank smile. “What would you like me to do?” 

Dottore gives a pleased hum at your acquiescence as he stands up and walks towards the medical table. 

“Obedient,” he says, approvingly. “That will serve you in good stead. Come here, if you please. For now, I’m simply going to listen to your heart and do a few quick reflex tests. The more . . . invasive tests will come afterwards. Please remove your topmost layer.” 

You do not like the sound of ‘invasive tests’, but you allow yourself the briefest moment of a flinch before you follow his orders. The fur-lined cloak you wear is shed, and the soft knit cardigan follows suit. Seeing you’re wearing a blouse beneath that, Dottore clicks his tongue briefly. 

“That too, I’m afraid,” he says. “I need to be able to place this device directly onto your bare skin.”

It takes another moment of steeling yourself, but the blouse follows your other garments until you stand shivering in your lace-trimmed camisole. You’re suddenly exceedingly aware of the generous curve of your breast within the silken cups of your brassiere, the bare skin of your collarbone, the plumpness of your shoulders - but Dottore, doctorly in the extreme, merely lets his gloved hands brush over them as he steers you to take a seat upon the examination table and presses the cool circle of his stethoscope against your chest. 

The next fifteen minutes are boring but predictable. Dottore takes your vitals; your blood pressure, your heart-rate. He checks your reaction times with a little glowing light - he takes your temperature. You wrinkle your nose when he produces a syringe, but you have had blood taken before and you manage nothing more than a little flinch when you feel the needle slide into the crook of your elbow. He writes all of his findings down in a little black-covered ring bound notebook. 

It is only when he closes the notebook that you finally let yourself relax; your shoulders to slump, the breath it feels as though you’ve been shudderingly holding on to finally dispelled. 

“Do I meet your expectations, My Lord?” You ask him, and Dottore gives a small, considering noise before he looks back up from the notebook. 

“I’m afraid I’m not quite finished yet,” he tells you, with a small smile. “If you’d please remove the rest of your clothing.”

Your eyes widen. 

“I--”

“There’s a hospital gown for you,” he says, interrupting, reaching towards a lower drawer in the silver cart by the side of the bed. He pulls from its depths a pale blue, paper-thin concoction that you do not feel as though deserves the title of ‘gown’ - but Dottore has you at his mercy. If you refuse now, he simply won’t employ you - and who knows what might happen to you after that? You bite your tongue and repeat the mantra in your mind: what’s the worst that could happen? “I’ll turn whilst you change. Your underwear too, if you please.” 

What’s the worst that could happen? You repeat it over and over as Dottore sighs when he turns around, as if he’s being very generous by making this small provision for your modesty and he doesn’t quite see the point. You put your clothes down onto the pile that’s been gradually growing and shrug yourself into the uncomfortable papery gown, perching primly on the very edge of the hospital bed when you’re done with your knees together. 

You are terribly aware of just how naked you are beneath the flimsy covering when Dottore turns back around and gives you a slow once-over. There’s a lot of your bare thigh on display; the thin ties at the back of your neck you have done your best to fasten, but you’re also aware of cool air on the bare skin of your spine and the precarious position you would be in if he bid you to stand up and turn around. You press your thighs more fiercely together as if sheer force of will can make you less tortuously conscious of your bare sex, your missing underwear, the way your nipples have peaked in the cool air. 

“Are you cold?” He asks, conversationally, as he comes closer to you - and your cheeks go hot all over as one gloved finger comes up and softly circles over the slight imprint of your nipple in the gown. You hiss through your teeth, but don’t say anything. “Your temperature was fine . . . so perhaps you’re just sensitive?” 

He tips his head to one side as he considers it. He still has not removed the bird-like mask, but you have the fleeting impression that you’re being ogled by him. His other hand reaches up, and before you can make even a token attempt to slap him away, he is cupping the heavy fat of your breasts through the material, testing their weight in his palms. 

“D-Doctor!”

“Yes?” He tilts his head again. “I simply have to get to grips with your body, my dear. This interest is strictly professional.”

“I-- this doesn’t seem necessary, My Lord Harbinger--”

“Believe me, it is. Unless . . . well, you do want me to employ you, don’t you?”

The last is said in a condescending tone that makes you very much sure that if you deny him, he will send you on his way and happily throw you to the mercy of whoever swoops down to feast upon his leftovers first. You remind yourself that it will be over soon; think of how this role will cement your place in the Palace as someone of use, and when Dottore’s thumbs swipe over your nipples you bite back the whimper that wants to tear from your throat. 

“Mmm,” he says. “Very sensitive, indeed. Tell me when this hurts.” Still through the gown, Dottore uses thumb and forefinger to gently pinch your nipples. Against your will, you squirm on the hospital bed slightly, heat rising to your face as a low ache between your thighs makes itself known. He starts off soft, but gradually increases the pressure, until you blurt out;

“Th-that hurts!”

“Hmm?” He pinches a little harder and watches you in great interest as you flinch, giving a mean little twist before he finally releases the aching nubs of your nipples. “Yes. As I thought. Now, let me try without the obstruction--”

He reaches behind you and undoes the ties of the gown with one quick, fluid motion - so swift you barely have time to bring your hands up to cover the spill of your breasts, as protests die on your tongue. 

“I don’t have time for prudery,” he tells you. “Show me.”

To your great horror, a shaking breath only a moment away from a sob comes trembling out of your throat - but you do as he asks, thinking once more of that job that is dangling over your head. Dottore seems to observe your naked chest for a moment, and then smiles sharp and cruel again. 

“Lovely,” he murmurs, as he returns to touching them - kneading handfuls in those awful gloves, tugging at your nipples, rubbing circles around the areola until your over-sensitive body squirms. “Ah, these are nicely sized, aren’t they? And these . . .” Another pinch to your nipple, and this time you feel a tear slip from the corner of your eye unbidden, your throat clogged. “Such pretty little things. So responsive! I daresay the rest of your body has reacted just as nicely?”

“I--I don’t know what you mean, My Lord,” you say to him, although you have the mounting fear that you understand exactly what he means. Dottore chuckles. 

“So far, you’re passing the physical examination with flying colours,” he says to you, voice low and cool and smooth. “Don’t disappoint me now, darling.” He pats the side of the examination bed. “Get yourself up here please. Feet flat, knees up.” He leers at you even through the mask as he finishes his order with two words that make your blood run cold. “Thighs apart.”

It almost pushes you over the edge. The thought of Dottore looking at you, so vulnerable, so close to naked (actually, you suppose when you move the gown will flutter to the ground and you will be utterly bare before him) - the idea of him having you entirely at his mercy . . . You’re suddenly all too aware that there is nobody waiting for you; no applicant after you, who might poke their head in rudely to see if Dottore is nearly ready for their interview. For all intens and purposes, Dottore could kill you and use you as spare parts and nobody would ever know--

“My patience is not neverending,” Dottore murmurs, drumming fingers on the leather of the bed. “You do want this, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” you swallow back the fear. You have nothing else that is viable to do, really - you would never beat him to his door if you ran, you would be naked and afraid, you are entirely at his mercy. . . “S-sorry.”

A pleased noise at the apology. You force yourself to keep breathing as you manoeuvre your traitorous body - to your immense horror, you realise that the kneading and the pinching and the petting that Dottore lavished upon your chest earlier has had an effect between your thighs, and there is a definite dampness wetting the curls of your pubic hair. You squeeze your eyes shut so that you don’t have to see that damned bird mask looming down at you. 

“There we are,” Dottore coos to you - fingers slide up your shins, rearranging them slightly until you’re put in exactly the position he wants. “Relax, now. Head on the pillow. This will perhaps be uncomfortable, but I shan’t hurt you on purpose. Ah, there we are. Very good.” You hesitantly settle flat against the leather, and for your obedience you are rewarded with a fleeting pat on your head, like a well-behaved little dog. “Oh, my.”

“I-- is the examination nearly over, Doctor?” You ask him, though you fear that you know the answer - and to answer your fears, Dottore lets out a chuckle that sounds like a creak. 

“Oh, not yet,” he says, airily. “Relax, my dear. If you don’t, perhaps I ought to inject some kind of tranquiliser?”

“N-no,” you shake your head. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to relax.”

“Very good. Ah.” He shifts again, and you hear the sound of the cart being moved. Your heart begins to rabbit at the thought of any of those silvery sharp instruments coming near the soft part of you nestled between your thighs, but Dottore simply pauses at the foot of the bed and once more observes you. 

It’s been a while since he wrote in the notebook, you can’t help but note. 

“You’re just as lovely here,” he says to you. “A perfect specimen, really. Very nice.” Very slowly, all the more terribly enhanced because you cannot see him, you feel Dottore bring his gloved finger to stroke down the plump slit of your labia. Your body tenses at the sensation. “You’re wet, too. Good. I’m going to help that along a little - this might be a bit cold, you can shiver if you need to--”

The clatter of the cart again - and then something thick and viscous and cool is being drizzled over your bare sex. You do indeed take in a deep breath, your nails digging into your palms at the unusual sensation. 

“Wh-what is it?” You whisper, a thousand horrible thoughts flitting across your head - numbing agents, or oils designed to make you all the more sensitive, or any other kind of horrible concoction that the Doctor might have at hand - but he just laughs at you, as if you’ve told a very funny joke. His tone is condescending;

“Merely a lubricant, my dear. We are simply testing your health; your sensitivity, your reactions, how much you can take--”

He gently continues to stroke up and down the slit of your sex, working the lubricant against your cunt - paying particular attention, to your mortification, to the swollen nub of your clit. Of course, you’ve touched yourself - but to have someone else doing it! To have the Doctor, doing it like this!”

“You’re a virgin?” He asks you, with a note of surprise, and you press your lips tightly together because you cannot bear to say it out loud. Dottore chuckles. “Oh, you don’t need to answer that. I can tell from the way your greedy little hole is trying to suck me in even though it barely seems as though it will stretch enough to fit a finger in.” He clicks his tongue and lets out another low little laugh. “I should have guessed when you started panting and whimpering when I played with your nipples. You’re just darling, you know.”

“I don’t . . . I don’t think this is part of an ordinary medical examination,” you whisper, as Dottore’s finger prods testingly against the flutter of your hole. You hate that he’s right - despite how your mind is whispering poison, your body is only aware of how good it feels to be touched like this, by slow and practised and meticulous hands. 

“And I am no ordinary Doctor, as I’m sure you’re well aware.”

“Please--”

Your next words are drowned out by the whine that falls from your lips as he slowly slides his finger into the hot tight tunnel of your sex. His gloves are still on; the texture makes you fight against the desire to wriggle as he crooks it inside of you, truly getting a feel for the pulsing walls around him. 

“I’m sure you’re aware the Regrator has inquired about your contract,” he says to you, as he slowly begins to slide his finger out and then in again, the movement aided by the lubrication and your own slick. Your back arches, but you do not receive a scolding for it - Dottore’s voice has shifted just a semi-tone, thickened just a touch. “He’s thinking you’d make him a pretty penny if he loaned you out to some of his more discerning investors.”

The thought of the way that the Regrator looks at you flashes through your mind again, and you find yourself tearfully shaking your head. 

“As well as being a prospect to indulge in himself,” Dottore continues, as if you have not responded. “Now. I’m sure you won’t want that, do you?”

“P-please,” you say, shaking your head. “No.” 

Dottore lets out a satisfied exhale. A second finger prods interestedly at your entrance, and you try to force yourself to relax as he slides two of them inside instead. The stretch now is noticeable, and the muscles in your thighs jump. Two fingers, and you almost tell him that it’s too much - before you remember what it is that Dottore is telling you. 

“Oh, very clever. I am not lying about needing an administrative assistant,” Dottore tells you, fingers pumping in and out of you now, curling against the pounding of your inner walls, the wet click of his fingers fucking into you echoing too loud in the room. You hate that you can feel yourself, wet and sticky and hot. You hate all the more that inside of you is growing a warmth you have never experienced, a tight ball of tension that makes you dizzy. “I am merely a man who believes in . . . multi-tasking. Dual purpose, if you will. I have found that sometimes I get . . . frustrated in my work, and one of the few ways I have found to expel some of that frustration lies in sexual gratification.”

Your face, hot. Your body, responding against your will. Your heart, pounding like a trapped animal. Dottore’s thumb swipes across your clit, circling the bundle of nerves with the practised assurance that only a doctor can truly embody. 

“Your virginity is a variable I hadn’t quite counted on,” he continues, still working you over like your cunt is a puzzle that he needs to solver. You can barely concentrate on what he’s saying now, that ball of heat within you is so overwhelming. “But it’s hardly unwelcome to know I’ll get to shape you to my own desires, if you will.”

You can feel that you’re close; you can feel that if he just carries on a bit longer, if he just lets you get a little further, that ball will explode like fireworks in your head and warmth will spread through your body like a heating lamp on a cold Snezhnayan night. But he stops. 

“So now you know the full terms,” he tells you, whilst you fight and lose against the instinct to try and hump your hips back to the gorgeous sensation of his hand on you. “Tell me, my dear. Do you still wish to be my assistant? Or do Pantalone’s plans sound more desirable? For a virgin, you’re being more than a little desperate - perhaps you like the idea of him sharing you out?”

“N-no,” you gasp out, shaking your head. Better the devil you know. Better the second Harbinger, and the same face, and the familiar walls of Zapolyarny Palace than beds of men you’ll never see again. “M-My Lord Harbinger, Dottore, Doctor, please--!”

He chuckles.

“Alright,” he murmurs, and he resumes fucking into you, the firm pressure on your clit, and before you know it you can feel yourself spasming around him with soft pleasured cries as your body is suffused in the warm glow of pleasure. Dottore fucks you on his fingers through the afterglow, the ebbing tide of your first orgasm at the hands of somebody else - before he abruptly stands and you hear the clack of his boots on the floor as he walks away, leaving you naked and shivering and gasping. 

“Very well,” he says to you, and though you’re still staring at the ceiling you hear the smile. “I shall see you bright and early tomorrow, my dear. We’ll make a start on my next tests. For now . . .”

It all feels like a muddle in your head. You can’t remember what you’ve agreed to; Dottore’s words are so mired in meaning, and you’re an admin and not any kind of genius--!

But it’s too late. Dottore’s voice is lazy and indolent in a way you’ve never heard it be as he says to you;

“You’re dismissed.”

[zeedist]

DOODLING .ᐟ — ALHAITHAM

little doodles﹕a little interaction in a boring class. sfw .ᐟ fem!reader x alhaitham, students / academic setting, short & sweet. word count: 1k proofread: yup.

“Can I ask what exactly are you doing?”

Low and whispered, dragging below the speech of your professor, Alhaitham questions you. Peaking up, you can catch a glimpse of his relaxed eyebrows, slanted pale teal eyes looking at yours —he keeps doing that often now, as if he always sought for your eyes anytime, anywhere, anyhow. There’s warmth in them, you caught on that a time ago,  in the way his loosened jaw and softened look even when coated with confusion. 

Before replying, you scoot closer, murmuring, “Drawing.” It sounds like a confessed secret in a way, a little intimate exchange in a classroom full of students and a disseminating professor. You focus more on his ragged breathing than on the lesson for today’s class. 

“I can witness that firsthand with my perfectly functional pair of ocular apparatus through their retinal mechanisms,” he deadpans, but in the low tone he uses, it sounds like he pouts through it. You can only stifle a little laugh, not wanting to be kicked out together like last time. 

“But in my hand?” He points out, lifting said member slightly as if the weight of the question rests within his palm, his fingers curling in subtle confusion. You place your fingers above his, pulling them back down to the table, fixing the hold on your pen before adding another line.

Not giving him a verbal answer, you hum instead, dragging the ballpoint over his knuckles, adding little leaves and flowers occasionally. It’s routeless, a simple doodle of a vine growing all over the extension of his hand and slowly inching closer to his palm. He doesn’t enquire again, instead taking some notes for the both of you with his free hand. All while you entertain yourself trying to draw every flower you know from memory to add it to the growing vine doodle in your boyfriend’s hand. So entertained with it at times that you don’t notice the fluttering fond smiles on the corner of his lips as he takes glances of you so focused, so utterly adorable. 

Finalizing the last touches right as the bell rings to announce the end of this period, you look proudly at your work as he extends his fingers, taking in with detail every curse and crevice of your carefully crafted creation. He can’t even muster words for some seconds, too distracted, too enamoured. His silence makes you speak up, asking instead: 

“Isn’t it cute?”

“It’s more than cute, it’s precious... Just like you are.”

You smile, so beautifully and endearingly, that his heart's skipping a dangerous beat or two. Oxygen catches in his throat, momentarily trapping his breath in this overwhelming rush of emotions. His chest tightens. For a fleeting moment, he’s convinced that the world stopped spinning, sounds around him fading to nonexistence. And all that existed was you —the warmth of your smile, the curve of your lips, the pure joy in your face. Every fiber of his being is captive of you this instant. 

Oh, how stunning you are.

Alahitham accompanies you to your dormitory, with an ongoing conversation carrying short debates about the topics you each learned today and gentler talks about both of your future plans regarding your individual educations. It’s one of those things that transcurs so naturally between you two, a well-spoken and clear exchange of ideas, the ability to stand on different ends and still be able to respect one another, and the wish to remain together. The chemistry simmering slowly into a deeper bond of affection with the help of time. 

Even as you made it home, the exchange continues on your doorframe about tomorrow’s plans, and it only ends because you insist for him to get home before it gets too dark. You hug him, the heat of your farewell gesture burning into his skin, pumping straight to his heart as his mucles relax and he holds you, tight and lingering, until you are the one to part reluctantly. 

“See you tomorrow, my dear,” his breath brushes your forehead, leaving a kiss there. 

Other more tender words lingers in the tip of his tongue, however, Alhaitham swallows them to join the bundle of butterflies squirming in his stomach. Wings fluttering violently as you press a goodbye kiss on his lips —blessed, he’s utterly blessed. He returns it, lingering a little longer, holding your waist for a second too long. And when he parts, heart drumming on his chest, he spends a while too long reminding you to eat dinner, to brush your teeth, to not stay up too late, and more little things he thinks about all the time regarding you —he worries for you, now, always. 

When the separation finally does occur, his walk towards his own living quarters fills with silence. Your perfume still lingers on his nose, lips still tingling and he’s unable to pull his eyes away from the drawn vines in his hand. He’s able to figure out some flowers, among them, your favorite ones —he reminds himself to get you a bouquet after class tomorrow. 

Later that night, he somehow manages to shower without soap and water dissipating the ink from his hand. Don’t question how he pulled that off, just know he struggled doing so with only a hand. 

He skips his usual reading before bed, taking time to admire every curve and leaf you doodled in his hand again. Your soft touch buzzing in his fingers, your warm breath brushing against them when you leaned closer to add extra details to a sunflower, and the sweet smile you gave him. And he dozes off while looking at his hand, your precious grin engraved in his memory. 

He wishes, as he drifts in a dream —hopefully about you—, that parts of you like this would forever remain with him. So that he could always carry you with him in a way. 

[just-a-ghost00]

Mini PAC - Connection energy check

This reading is meant for you, whether you are enquiring about a romantic or a platonic connection, no matter the type of spiritual bond you share.

Images made by amariniaa_draws <3

Group 1 - Just the two of us

8 of cups, 7 of cups, Temperance, High Priestess, Queen of pentacles, Hierophant

You and this person may be in a separation or you are not as much in contact as you used to. I feel like for many of you we are talking about a romantic interest. You are feeling dissatisfied with the way things are going and you may be weighing your options, pondering whether you should give them a chance or move on once and for all. On their end, this person is doing their very best to hide the fact that they are already engaged. Either they have a partner that they are hiding from you or they are supposed to be with a specific person, as their family wished. I'm also picking up on the energy of someone being very dedicated to their work, so much so that they cannot see anything or anyone else. Religion / cultural differences may also be a factor here as to why this connection isn't progressing for now. This person does not show any sign of interest for you, though they may be attracted to you. I asked for a clarification to get further information about the High Priestess. I asked spirit "what are they hiding?". And you got the Hermit. So, this person may not be hiding another relationship but rather an engagement to an establishment or an institution. Again, I get religious or spiritual references here. This person may have vowed to remain single and chaste in order to get what they want from life. So it's not that they are not interested in you or that they do not care about you but rather that they made a promise that forbids them from interacting with you any further. Another thing I am picking up on is that they may not be in a very stable place emotionally and mentally. So it is hard for them to give room to their desires or feelings, if they have any. As for you, being left in silence and not knowing what is going on, you feel like this person is toying with you or that they have many options that they entertain. There may be several people interested into them but this person doesn't pay them any attention, for the same reasons as they do not pay you much attention either. So right now, the connection is at a status quo.

I asked spirit to give us clarification as to how they feel about you. We got the following cards : 8 of pentacles, knight of pentacles, 4 of cups. We have someone here that is very reserved and shy. All these cards are earth related cards. Which means there isn't much room for feelings. This person does not allow themselves to feel for fear of being hurt or disappointed. If anything, they view you as someone they wish to protect at all costs and work with. This person wants to be a pillar for you to count on. They want to be able to pave the way for you and keep you from harm. For some reason I took the 4 of cups card for the 4 of pentacles. So maybe this is an indication that this person is confused by you and feels wary of you because they think you are trying to trick them. If this person feels even just a little love for you, they wish to show you through their actions rather than their words. Because words may disappear but the consequences of their actions will remain. They may not know what you represent for them but they surely know they want to work hard to earn your trust and respect, to show you that you can trust them. They want to take their time getting to know you before jumping to conclusions.

Group 2 - Thriller

Cards : ace of swords, 6 of wands, The World, Strength, knight of cups, High Priestess

This is a very good energy group 2. The person on your mind has had an epiphany lmao They are realizing how important and precious you are to them. Their feelings and intentions are getting clearer as days go by. However, they are trying their best to keep it a secret for now. They deeply wish to communicate with you about what they've decided and found out. But they feel like now might not be the best time. They miss you dearly and would like to close the gap between you. On your end, you are also feeling very positively about this person. However you may doubt that the feelings are reciprocated. You do your best to hold on and hope for the best in this connection. In the meantime, as you don't wish to wait on this person, you are taking care of yourself and filling your own cup. You may isolate yourself and keep your doings away from this person's gaze to protect yourself. You also are trying to hide your feelings and pretend like nothing is happening. You don't want to show your vulnerable side to them for fear that they will take advantage of it. But this person only has good intentions and would never do anything to hurt you. At least not consciously.

I asked spirit what is the connecting energy between you and what can you hope for. And you got the Queen of wands, the 6 of wands again and the Queen of cups. I'm so happy for you group 2. You and your person are on the same wavelength and wish for the same outcome. Both of you want to see this connection work out. Both of you feel very lucky to have met the other. What you can hope for is a joyful and passionate connection, filled with chemistry, laughter, sweet moments of bliss and innocence. I don't know what more to say except for congratulations! I feel like many of you have waited for such a connection for years. Your time is now baby. So enjoy the ride. <3

[theregencywriter]

Omg omg omg wait wait wait idk if anyone ever done this before but imagine meeting Colin on his travels and he thinks he'll never see you again so like yall might have shared a kiss 🤭 and then when Colin goes back him for the season and sees you his brain just short circuits and he's just shocked and his family have no idea why lol

Idk I would just love to see that lmao I love seeing Colin in distress when it comes to the women he loves

Over the sandy dunes - Colin Bridgerton X Reader

A/n : I love this request!!!! I saw it pop up in my inbox and I just HAD to write it ASAP, thank you so much for the request <3

When Colin Bridgerton left London to escape all of the recent turbulent events, he felt he could breathe again. With no Lady Whistledown looking over his shoulder or a hundred debutantes wishing for a dance, he could simply relax. It was in his sixth week abroad when he took rest along the shores of a beach in Greece. He had woken up early to catch the morning sun rise and be alone with his thoughts. He liked the guides he had, but to find true solitude with no one around was a rarity even in the smallest of towns. Laying on his back he stared up at the sky as the stars retreated upwards into the deep blue, and as the first rays of light pricked his noses and ran into his eyes he sat up to gaze upon the marvel.

His view, however, was obstructed. Up ahead was a woman on the beach, standing close to the thrashing sea and wearing a light dress with a lilac shawl that was tussling with the burgeoning winds. Normally he would have hated this interruption as he had woken up early specifically to be alone, but when looking at her form and how she seemed to sway ever so delicately he couldn't help but advance.

“Lovely day, isnt it?” As he uttered these words she quickly spun around in shock, making him realise he was probably far too close for comfort ad taking a step back. As she assessed the moment and relaxed  she spoke. “Yes, it is beautiful. I’m sorry, I thought I was alone here.” Colin chuckled. “Did you not see me laying down mere metres behind you?” She joined him in a laugh. “I have been walking along the shore for quite a while now. I fear my gaze was fixed on the horizon, nothing could break me from it.” 

A moment of silence fell between them. “Colin Bridgerton” he reached out his hand. “I am unsure if I can give you my familial name, but please, call me Y/n.” She gave him her hand and he planted a soft kiss onto it. “You speak with a similar accent, are you from London?” He enquired. “Not quite. I do have relatives in the city, but I live further North, close to Lincoln.”

Colin broke a smile. “Ah, well then, that explains it.” She looked at him, puzzled yet entertained. “Explains what?”

“Well I was unsure of how I could have never seen a face as beautiful as yours during a ball.” She looked down, and bit her lips. “If I may be honest, I was meant to debut this year, but I find the whole event to be pure drabble.” They shared a laugh. “In truth, I much prefer this to a ball. Endless exploration available at my very fingertips. It’s a wonder, is it not?” She looked at him, then towards the sunset, and she was returning his gaze once more he took her in, kissing her as she cupped his face.

This lasted for only a second before he pulled away. “I apologise, that was improper.” “Mr Bridgerton it was-” Another voice called down towards them from Colins residence. “Mr Bridgerton, there is a matter you must attend to!” Despite looking at his forlorn beau, he ran up the sandy dunes and over the hill, leaving Y/n alone.

Hours later, after sitting with the incident and realising he hadn’t allowed her to speak he ordered a carriage. According to his guided there was only one possible place anyone of her status could stay close by, but when he arrived he was informed that the family had left earlier on in the day, whilst refusing to give them their whereabouts. Upon his return to England he attempted to find her. Asking around if her name was known but without her last name, his efforts turned up nothing.

—

Colin fidgeted with his cuff, it had been slightly wrinkled earlier on yet he had no time to change it. He was never really a fan of these events, but knowing that Y/n detested them as well made it worse. The one event they conversed about, yet the subject was how she did not intend to be in attendance. His stomach churned thinking about it. How could he have left? No no, not just left, run up the dunes to get away from her. He had to take a breath and stop himself. It had been a year, he thought, he must move on. As he calmed and took a moment the doors swung open to announce another guest.

“Lady L/n and her daughter, Miss Y/n L/n”

His gaze was transfixed on her. As she came down the stairs her hand grasped by Colin, already a couple of steps up from his eagerness. “Miss Y/n, I believe I owe you a dance” He proclaimed, stroking her finger as he did and wondering about her ring size.

[babybatss-blog]

OH MY GOODNESS I LOVED UR SAM FICS, PLEASE WRITE ONE ABOUT LIKE HIM X READER IN THE FALL SHARING FLANNELS AND SWEATSHIRTS

BEGIN AGAIN

stardew!sam x reader, 1400 words

a/n: ahhhh omg you’re so sweet! Although it isn’t that important to the story, I based this fic on “begin again” by Taylor Swift. Hope you enjoy!

cw: predeveloped relationship between Sam and reader, confession of love. Mention of adult sexy time 😉 but nothing explicit. Slight angst into sickly sweet fluff. Reader is insecure, with mentions of past relationship and friendship struggles.

You tried to deny it, you really did. But walking hand in hand through town on a cold fall day the realisation hits you that you are inexplicably, irreversably in love with Sam. You’ve been together for a few months now, but honestly it was only really a casual relationship built on messy hookups and an innate need for physical affection. And even if Sam thought it was anything different you never intended to get very far with it after the last few years of your life. You escaped to Stardew valley to forget men, with their stupid player attitudes and outlook on relationships. Truthfully, you were perfectly happy with just becoming some single weirdo for the rest of your life. But this golden retreiver of a man just makes you so happy, blushing like a school girl and heart racing faster than ever before.

The mere thought of how down bad you are for him causes a shiver down your spine, and not just some small one but one that makes you physically shake. “Cold?” He asks, looking down to you with his bushy eyebrows furrowed. Without another word he takes his flannel off and wraps it around your shoulders, patting them with his big hands and grinning like a buffoon before holding your hand once more.

Honestly you didn’t even need it, but the way he thinks he’s some sort of knight in shining armor always stops you from protesting. You arrive at the town’s playground, a shabby swingset attached to a slide that’s cracked and rusted at the joints. It sure isn’t some masterpiece, but it does the job of entertaining the town’s children on the weekends. And Sam apparently, who lets go of your hand and leaps onto the swing. The scoots back in order to get enough momentum as possible and flies into the air, his blonde mop of hair flying off with him.

“Woo!! Join me?” You just chuckle, but join him nontheless, swinging much softer than he is but with the same pleased expression. The two of you swing in silence for a bit, with him enjoying the moment and you dreading it. How could you have let yourself go back to your old ways? It may seem great now, but in your head you already can see him confessing to cheating or breaking up with you because he’s bored. “So, you know the saying when pigs fly?” he asks. “Do you think we could actually make them fly? Like genetically modify wings on them and teach them like baby birds?” To the normal individual this seems like an idiotic question, but you’re used to his antics so you don’t even blink and respond casually with a “I hope not. Then I’d have to deal with trying to fish mine out of the sky every night when they need to go to the barn.” To this Sam laughs, throwing his head back as if you just said the funniest thing ever.

You don’t really think your very funny, and you never did. In school you were always the quiet kid, not because you are quiet but because you didn’t have many friends. Therefore, you just built yourself up to other things. You may not be funny, but your reasonably pretty. And smart, you did okay in school.

But Sam just makes you feel like the funniest person to ever exist, laughing at your words even when you don’t attempt to be funny. It makes you feel… nice.

Stuck in your thoughts though you unfortunately fail to conceal yourself once more, Sam realising the way you just completely ignore his following statements with a glossy look behind your eyes. “Babe, you alright?” He enquires, ceasing his swinging immediately to return to your level. You look up at him and smile softly, sighing. He had to realise sooner or later, and you couldn’t hide it from him anyways.

“Sam?” You ask, turning in the swing so the chains intertwine and you face him. He mirrors your movements, scooting so your knees are now touching. The warmth makes you uncomfortable in this moment, but you would never pull away from him. “If I say something weird… would you judge me?” Once again his eyebrows crease at your words, fearlessly shaking his head. “Of course not! Why?” That pit in your stomach grows until you feel sick, the words failing you as you look down at his jeans, which is all you can manage at this moment. “Your not breaking up with me are you?” The way his voice cracks almost brings a tear to your eye, internally cursing yourself for paining him so much. How could you do this to such a sweet, innocent man?

“No no no I just…”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No Sam but I need to-“

“If you have an issue just say it I can handle it”

“I know you can its just hard cause-“

“Is this because I ate your pasta  the other day? Cause I thought you wouldn’t mind and I’m happy to-“

“Sam I’m in love with you.” The words rush out of your mouth like daggers, despite the sweetness they’re usually associated with. Every fibre of your being is fighting with one another, some parts happy the secret is out and others despising the pit you’ve fallen into. Yet you continue. “I think I’ve felt this way for a little bit, but I tried to hide it. I hate it, but I can’t anymore. You just make me so happy Sam, and I don’t know whats wrong with me. You drive me mad. I wake up thinking about you, and I fall asleep with the same thoughts. I imagine you moving in with me, marrying me and raising my kids. I feel insane Sam, but I can’t help it anymore. You don’t have to feel the same way, and don’t feel obligated to say anything. But I love you. I really do.”

A silence lingers in the cold air, flowing around like the brown and yellow leaves that fall onto the floor limply. You now get the courage to study his face, and every freckle and imprefection seems like it always has. If this is how the two of you are going to end, you don’t mind. You’ll still have every detail of his body engrained in your mind, along with how his face looks in this very moment. It looks as if he’s brain is about to explode, simultaneously going through every option and pathway that lead to this moment.

His deep blue eyes look up and connect with yours, piercing into your soul as if he’s reading you like a book. Finally he breaks the silence, a sympathetic smile adorning his cheeks. “I love you too.”

It takes you a moment to process his words, and just as it fully sinks in he envelops you in a hug. You begin to beam, heart beating like never before. Did he really just say that? The two of you simultaneously laugh, your hands palming his back and melting into his warmth. “Really?” “Duh! How could you think I didn’t? I literally spent my whole pay check the other day buying you flowers! And you know I hate flowers! And what about the time I wrote a six page card for your birthday, detailing everything about your face? I hate writing!” Despite the tears that threatened to leak out of your eyes previously you now cannot stop laughing, in disbelief of his words.

Sam tucks his head down into the crook of your neck, kissing it over and over again through smooshed words of “I love you” that vibrate on your skin, any prior discomfort flooding away under his touch. You smell like him, feel like him and breath like him, hands digging into his jumper out of pure extacy. Sam lifts you up by the thighs to put you on his lap, arms safely keeping you still ontop of him, and still kissing your neck and collarbone.

“I love you Sam.” “I love you too.” Despite the cold, grey of the sky and the muddy puddles below you everything feels perfect, in a bountiful fall you could never forget.

[writing-for-life]

Dream's Therapist

I’m not sure if I should apologise for this brain fart in advance, but it just found its way to the page after this. Yes, this is how my brain works (or rather doesn’t)…

Intake Session

The client presented for his intake session on 22/04. When he made his appointment, he showed particular interest in the fact that this is an integrative therapy practice which uses cognitive, behavioural, somatic and Jungian approaches and is also versed in sex therapy. Naturally the ethical kind.

He was extremely on time (that is to say, close to three hours early), but he insisted on spending that time in the waiting area instead of coming back later. My receptionist assured me he did not move from the offered chair during that time and that he, in fact, did not move at all. She occasionally had to check (inconspicuously of course) if he was breathing.

Upon entering my office, he was polite if slightly aloof. He was dressed all black and refused to take off his coat. No problems with personal hygiene could be perceived from a distance. After getting seated, he enquired whether I could dim the lights ever so slightly because it was too bright, to which I agreed.

I noticed his staring at the crystal paperweight on my table for an extended period of time before he, seemingly out of nowhere, asked: “I trust your office is a mere illusion, a fleeting moment in existence?”

DT: Something like that I guess. What brings you here?

Dream: Well, I have these recurring nightmares. Not while I am sleeping, since I obviously don’t sleep.

DT: Obviously.

Dream: I create them.

DT: The nightmares?

Dream: Yes. And all of a sudden, they all suffer from… existential dread instead of helping to get rid of it. Also, my hair keeps getting tangled and knotted all the time, but I am not quite… certain if this relates in any way.

DT: Interesting. And how does that make you feel?

Dream (deadpan): Feel? I don't “feel”. I weave narratives, conjure nightmares, and occasionally attend celestial tea parties. Emotions are for mortals. The hair is inconvenient though.

DT: Right. Let's explore your childhood. Did you have any issues with your family?

Dream (I notice uneasy shifting in his seat): My family? My father, always running late. My mother… (I notice a slight tremble in his bottom lip)… well, she is… dark. My sister, Death, tells me I am a buzzkill, especially at family gatherings. Truthfully, I believe all my siblings are just trying to gaslight me into believing so because I can be… quite entertaining? (I notice uncertainty). Plus, one of them is… let's just say: they are the reason I have commitment issues.

DT: Commitment issues. Let’s expand on that a bit. Have you ever been in love?

Dream: (I notice extreme rigidity): Love is a quaint human invention, like gluten-free pizza or reality TV.

DT (I don’t know what that means and ignore it): I sense reluctance around the topic?

(He stares at the paperweight for a good 3 minutes)

Okay, let's try word association. I'll say a word, and you respond with the first thing that comes to mind. Ready?

Dream: Proceed, mortal.

DT: Sand.

Dream (I notice a raised eyebrow and a slightly tetchy sigh): Golden grain sifting through my fingers.

DT: Pillow.

Dream: A convenient weapon during astral battles.

DT (I momentarily feel confused and lose my footing, to which he reacts with)

Dream: I could show you? (I notice he makes a move to get up from his seat)

DT: That won’t be necessary right now… Word association: Unicorn.

Dream: (I notice grave seriousness) My ex-wife. I think.

DT: That should suffice for now. Let’s briefly discuss coping mechanisms. How do you handle stress?

Dream: Stress? When the universe unravels and the fabric of the Dreaming tears, I binge-watch reality shows. The Kardashians, mostly.

DT: Why the Kardashians?

Dream: Distraction. Inspiration. For all manner of things. Mostly nightmares.

DT (I notice the recurring theme of nightmares): Do you hold any hopes or dreams for the future?

Dream (I notice a nervous twitch around his mouth which he tries to hide unsuccessfully): I am the King of Dreams. Dreams shape reality itself. But if you must know, I dream of a world where everyone flosses regularly and understands general relativity.

DT: Why is flossing important?

Dream: I just like good teeth.

DT: Why general relativity?

Dream: Because it would help. With ships.

DT: What ships?

Dream (I notice eye-rolling and bridge-of-nose-pinching): Never mind.

DT: It’s okay, we can talk about anything that seems important to you.

Dream: It is of no import. Is time up yet?

DT: No.

Dream: Good, I shall leave then.

DT (I feel confused but try not to show it and respect the client’s wish to leave. I’m getting paid either way): Same time next week?

Dream (who is already standing): Time is a mere construct. But yes, let us pencil it in. And remember, reality is just a draft…

Further notes: The client suffers from insomnia and thinks he creates nightmares. He potentially has internalised he is one. He seems detached from his feelings to the point he believes he does not have any emotions and does not seem to relate to being human. He feels misunderstood by his whole family and suffers from the delusion that his sister is Death. He makes another of his siblings responsible for his failed relationships, which has led to the ingrained belief that love is not for him. He seems to compensate with believing he is above others and refers to himself as the “King of Dreams”. I notice a tendency to shirk potentially painful topics. He seems to communicate diminished interest or pleasure in all, or almost all, activities apart from binge-watching TV, but he seems quite enamoured with the concept of astral battles and general relativity, which requires further exploration…

Next Session >

[back2bluesidex]

Like Crazy - A lightning Sequel - PJM (18+)

Pairing: Heartthrob!Jimin X Fem!Reader

Word count: 1855

Summary: Jimin wants to make you his and he will get in done tonight.

Theme: PWIP (porn with a little plot), SMUT (MDNI!)

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, panty stuffing, panty sniffing, sex on a car bonnet, Jimin is horney, mentions of betting, unprotected sex (don't try this at home), creampie.

Part 1: Lightning

********************

It all started as a bet.

One lazy afternoon, when Jimin and his friends were casually hanging out in the cafeteria and whining about lack of entertainment in their lives, that's when Jungkook piped in with an idea.

"Let's bet." Jungkook had said.

"Bet on what?" Taehyung enquired.

"Jimin hyung's charms" Jungkook smirked.

"What do you want now?" Jimin whined.

"The first girl that walks in through the door within the next hour, you have to fuck her. Within a month." Jungkook said, "If you manage to do so, the next summer vacation will be on me."

Taehyung groans as if he is very much disappointed with the younger's advances, "Jungkook, are you a dick head? Is that even a reasonable bet? Jimin can fuck her tomorrow if he wants." Now it's the time when Jimin smirks.

"Don't be so impairment. There's a condition." Jungkook defended himself.

"What condition?" Jimin asked.

"You can't approach the girl. She has to approach you and ask you to fuck her." Jungkook placed the condition.

"As if that's any harder." Jimin smirked again.

"Let's see…" Taehyung trailed off, "your one hour starts now."

The next five minutes were quiet. Nobody came into the cafeteria given the fact that lunch time ended an hour ago and most of the students had classes now. But then they heard the glass door of the cafeteria being pushed. That's when you came to their view, to Jimin's view.

You were nothing extraordinary, a pair of baggy jeans with a hoodie, that's all. But Jimin swore under his breath that you're one of the prettiest girls he has ever laid his eyes on. How come he never saw you on campus before? If he really gets to win this bet, it will be a win-win situation for him.

"Jimin likes her." Taehyung commented observing that Jimin's eyes had been stuck on the mystery girl for more than usual.

"She's pretty but the question is… is she easy?" Jimin said scanning your appearance for once. You suddenly looked up from your laptop and your eyes met with him.

Jimin is usually very polite, maybe he is spoiled but he has basic decency. He would always smile or bow when his eyes met with his peers or classmates or anyone for that matter. But something happened when your eyes locked with his. He couldn't smile. He only steared. It's impossible to fathom down the depth of your eyes as you two were sitting quite far away from each other, but for some reason he knew, your eyes were captivating. And then you looked away. And the game began.

For the next twenty days Jimin kept on following you everywhere you went. He totally enjoyed the shocked expression your face would produce every single time you crossed paths with him. He kept on waiting for you to approach him, finally confront him but you did nothing. You seemed to shake it off every time. For the first couple of days, Jimin was scared of being embarrassed in front of his friends. What would they say if they knew a girl from nowhere had been shaking off Park Jimin's advances. But for the rest of the days, Jimin was intrigued.

You clearly know your place. You know you're no match for heartthrob Park Jimin. And Jimin hasn't met a single person who seemed to know how not to cross the line. That's what keeps pulling Jimin towards you again and again.

A month went away within a blink and you still didn't approach him but Jimin has fucked the bet for a long time now. Now he wants you. He wants to know you. He wants to know why you never gave up to him.

Tonight seems to be the perfect chance for the same. You look fucking sexy in your little black dress. And not to mention, you look quite annoyed with the guy that's been flirting with you. So Jimin doesn't miss the chance when you try to get away from the annoying guy. He somehow managed to pull you to the dance floor as well thoroughly enjoying the expression on your face.

As soon as your bodies touch, he got to inhale your scent and fuck you smell spicy. He is sick of floral and fruity scents that girls always wear. You're definitely different and he likes it.

But what he likes more is the taste of your juices. God! How come he couldn't get you under him all these times? Jimin swears, he will make you his tonight and won't stop until the sun comes up.

"I'll drop you home" Jimin pulls you towards the exit. Hands linked with each other, steps matching, heels clicking, everything feels agonizingly exciting to Jimin. He can't help but wonder if you feel the same too.

Fuck! He wants you like crazy!

****************

Jimin harshly pulls you towards the parking lot of the club. You stumble upon your heels two times already but you don't care. You have been waiting for this for a long time now and you didn't even know that you were actually waiting for it. It was a daydream but seeing it taking the shape of reality is completely different.

You keep on staring at his back and don't even realize when you reach Jimin's sleek black car. Jimin turns towards you and pulls you flash towards him, "fuck it! I can't wait anymore!"

That's all you hear before you feel Jimin's plump lips on yours. His kisses are nothing sort of soft, it's harsh, full of longing and hunger. You kiss him back without wasting any time. He keeps on backing you off until the back of your knees touch the cold metal body of Jimin's car.

Jimin pushes his body more onto yours. Once again you feel his bulge on your stomach.

He sucks your lower lip as his fingers push the hem of your dress higher. His cold fingers are still sticky with your arousal earlier. He runs the fingertip of his index finger through your fold once, you shudder with the touch as if he is touching you for the first time all over again.

Jimin parts your folds with his index finger and thumb. And then press on to your clit with the pad of his thumb.

You bite on his lower lip, as a result and he breaks the kiss, "you're so responsive, I love it." Jimin murmurs, connecting his forehead with yours. Two of his fingers effortlessly pump onto you while he turns your body towards the car.

Placing a palm on your back he pushes your upper body down on the bonnet of his car, "as much as I would love to fuck you on my bed, but I just can't wait anymore. I need you now. Will you let me fuck you here in the parking lot against my car, baby?"

You muffled a yes somehow against the car metal. Jimin pushes the hem of your dress higher and he gets the exclusive view of your plump ass. He curses under his breath because of the delicious view. He slides his fingers out of your leaking cunt. Placing both of his hands on the back of your thighs, Jimin parts your legs and gets a view of your cunt, leaking juices.

"You would taste delicious. But that's for the later part of the night." Jimin says. He pulls out your discarded panty from the back of his pants and smells it once. You see it all from the corner of your eyes and your core leaks more because of the obscene scene.

"Open your mouth baby" Jimin orders. You obey him without a word. He stuffs your panty in your mouth and grabs you by your neck.

"We don't want people to hear us, yeah?" He asks, you nod. And then you hear belts shuffling, zip opening. You try your best to tilt your head to get a view but he holds you tight in your place.

"Later, I promise. Right now I need to be inside you or I will burst." Jimin says in a low register. And then you feel the tip of his dick brushing through your fold. Your breath gets stuck in your throat. Your moans get muffled because of the material of your undergarment.

Jimin lines his cock on your entrance and pushes only the tip inside. He waits for a moment so that you can permit him to go. You take the cue and nod a little. Within a second he pushes his entire length inside. You let out another loud muffled moan.

"You okay?" Jimin asks, voice a little soft. You nod again and he takes it as the cue to move faster.

He starts thrusting slowly but then takes up a quicker pace.

"I have been waiting to ruin you from the first time my eyes landed on you." Jimin says between the thrusts.

"Tell me what do you have huh? Why do you keep pulling me towards you?" His thrusts find a rhythmic pace.

"Fucking hell! You're so goddamn tight! But you take me so fucking well! Your hungry cunt eats my cock so good, baby. As if this cunt was made for me." He hits your g-spot and you arch your back because of the pleasure Park Jimin is providing you with.

Jimin feels so good, his thick cock stretching you out, is a different level of pleasure. You would do anything to get this again and again.

Jimin's pelvis hits your ass and that lewd sound works as a catalyst to the entire scenario.

"This pussy! Oh god! This pussy is mine! All mine!" Jimin's voice is husky now and those words coming out of his mouth make you clench around his cock. Jimin feels it too.

"You gonna cum already?" He asks, you nod while letting another muffled moan out.

"Cum on me. Cream my cock Y/N" it sounds like an order and you can't help the coil from bursting anymore. You cum on his cock as his breath becomes uneven. His dick twitches inside you signaling that he is close too.

The thrusts lose their rhythm and become more and more rigid. You know he is gonna cum and he needs to cum because you're gonna faint with this much overstimulation.

Within a few moments Jimin cums too, shooting rope of cum inside you. With one last thrust he pushes his seed in your cunt and then pulls his softening dick out.

You breathe heavily. Your limbs are about to give up. You would have fallen down if it wasn't for the car. Your chest hurts for being pressed down for too long. You try to remove the panty from your mouth but before you can do so, Jimin does it. He takes your panty and uses that to clean his cum running down your thigh and his dick.

And then he pulls you up, directly to his chest. His softened dick touches your belly.

"Let's continue at my place. What do you say?"

Now who are you to deny Park Jimin?

*******************

A/N: Am I thinking of making a part 3? Maybe... Maybe not... Maybe if you guys want it...

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @soraviie @lovelysneer @screamertannie @alleycatmimi @minijagiya @dontcallmeelle @whatthefsposts @chimmy-licious @whipwhoop

[gmalaart]

The Spectacled Beholder

Name: Doctor Emon Cavendish

Gender: Left it on the surface (he/they))

Height: 6'2" (188cm)

Occupation: Enquirer, working under the Honey-Addled Detective’s wing.

Prominent skills: Watchful, Shadowy, Persuasive

Prominent quirks: Subtle, Heartless, Hedonist, Steadfast

Reputation:

Dr. Cavendish hasn’t been in London long but they’ve surely been busy. It isn’t uncommon to see them skittering through alleyways and avenues alike, keen eyes flitting this and that way in search of opportunity. Not much is known for sure about them, just that he came from the surface and took to the city like it was his to begin with. However, there are rumours about a brother they apparently have on the surface, about their previous life being an overly sheltered one, or even about their academic pursuits being a front for activities tied to The Great Game. For now, the doctor hasn’t sworn allegiance to any faction yet, and their intentions remain a bit of a mystery to any prying eyes.

Personality:

SUBTLE; despite their eccentric appearance, Cavendish is nothing if not discreet. They’ve apparently spent a lot of their life avoiding people’s scrutiny and they prefer to be a fly on the wall rather than the centre of attention.

HEARTLESS; simply put, Cavendish doesn’t much care for the wellbeing of others. They’ve seen what it does to people, caring too much, and they’d rather avoid the hassle. Close relationships are quite alien to them due to this fact, but he’s amused when people try to form one (and someday, someone might sneak through one of his cracks)

HEDONIST; on the surface, the good doctor was said to be a bit of a shut-in, rarely leaving his family’s abode unless strictly necessary. Those restrictions are far behind them now, as they set out to sample all that London has to offer (especially the honey that their Detective friend is so fond of).

STEADFAST; despite their many faults, Cavendish is known to be a person of their word. That word may be bought with coin, secrets or favours, but outside of exceptional circumstances it is a matter of first come, first served.

+bonus: ALLERGIC TO BOREDOM; Cavendish has curiosity in spades as well as an overactive mind that can’t go very long without entertainment. A discerning mind will realise that this is the prime reason why they struggled in high society and why they decided to delve into Fallen London instead. Their smile is brightest when discovering something new and slightly scandalous (perhaps a bit too bright). Due to this they are also quite attracted to all manner of non-human beings found in the Neath.

Example Dialogue:

"Miss Bean,

If we are to cooperate in our investigation I must INSIST on getting rid of those wounds all over your person. I am acquainted with matters of the flesh and its rending (as I am sure you garnered from the scar across my own face, hah!) and I know that leaving a wound untreated is sure to cause unnecessary bleeding at the most inopportune time. If you were to leave a dripping trail of blood behind us right as our investigation is coming to its climax, why I fear I would have to abandon you there and then! And I would so miss your charm. Meet me in my lodgings within the next three days, I have some medical supplies left over from my latest errand for the Department of Menace Eradication.

Ever your servant,

Dr. E. Cavendish”

[verifiefangirl]

Saints and Sins

Gwyn couldn't help the appreciative sigh that left her lips at the sight of the Shadowsinger sprawled across the settee in the House Of Winds. It was technically girls night and her, along with Nesta and Emerie, were all huddled in their own little corner with an array of candles surrounding them and filthy smut books that could make a grown warrior blush. 

The house made sure nothing was spared. They had spiced meats on a platter, cheese, olives and more chocolate cake than was humanly possible for one person to consume but her attention had kept drifting towards the dark haired Illyrian all night. 

Should she have had any self control, she would have looked away 30 seconds ago but her eyes kept drifting over his form. The way those delicate wings were tucked in tight, the stretch of his black tunic across his chest. The way he had loosened some of the buttons after a long day revealed a hint of his brown chest and those swirling tattoos. 

She gnawed at her bottom lip. Her mouth went dry as she watched those fingers leaf through stacks of paper, filling the air with a soft rustling. The same fingers that corrected her form every day and helped secure her grip on various weapons. Those hands which were large, sure, confident and calloused with years of missions. Those hands that saved her that day with Hybern’s soldiers. 

She knew that entertaining such thoughts about the spymaster would lead nowhere good, especially since she had caught on that he harboured feelings for another but the more time they spent together with their private lessons, the harder it was to deny just how breathtaking the male was. 

Seeing him made her curious about other things. Things she only thought about when she was alone in her dorm, away from the other acolytes. Like how far down those Illyrian markings went and how she yearned to trace them with her fingers. How solid his body might feel as she sat atop of him while she explored the expanse of his golden skin. How those hands might grip her hips to steady her and how soft and molten those eyes might turn as he gazed at her. 

Did his voice sound deep and gravelling after waking and was his panting the same as in training when he finished a set with Cassian as it was after he made love. 

She crossed her legs tighter as she felt a dull ache start to form at her centre and it was Emeries snickering that had her snapping to attention. 

“Your smut is that good, huh?” She enquired. Gywn loosed a breath, having evaded being caught oggling at Azriel. A blush rose to her cheeks as she realised her friend could not doubt scent her arousal. 

“O-Oh, yes it's very good.” Her voice sounded strained and breathy, even to her. It was Nesta who giggled and pulled her own book to her mouth as she fixed her attention on Gwyn. 

“I shall have to read that one next.” Nesta grinned fiendishly.

Gwyn tried to calm the storm brewing in her heart and cheeks.

“You can have it as soon as I’m done.” She vowed and that was that, it seemed, as her friends attention slowly turned back to their stories but her eyes passed over the Shadowsinger again. His inky hair was the most disheveled she’d seen it. The locks falling into his eyes and curling at his ears. It practically made him look boyish. It seemed he had a lot on his plate. 

As if he had finally sensed her attention, his eyes clashed with hers and she couldn’t help the guilty look that overcame her features as she quickly jerked her book back up and pretended to be scanning the text again. She could feel his stare burning holes. That and his brave, little shadow that was weaving through her fingers excitedly as she held the cover to her face.

She lowered the book again after what felt like an hour, only to find Azriel quirking his brow up in question at her and a faint smirk pulling at those inviting lips. 

Her heart pounded violently. It was a surprise that it didn’t just fly right out of her chest. She forced herself to glower at him which only made a full grin bloom across his face. Oh he was so infuriating. He probably had girls falling over their feet at that smile. She huffed and settled in further on the couch with annoyance. If her eyes could speak they would be telling the Spymaster to ‘eat dirt’ 

As if he could hear her thoughts, he lifted his tumbler full of whisky in response before bringing it up to his laughing mouth and taking a sip. His hazel eyes crinkled at the corner and shone with playfulness. As if to respond. You first. 

Her toes curled in her fluffy pink socks and she unconsciously slammed her book so loudly that both ladies yelped and started in their seats. Her face was no longer a soft pink but a raging red with embarrassment. They noted what had caught her attention and the conviving little, Illyrian was scanning his report like nothing had happened, making her look crazy. His posture relaxed as ever but it was only the slightlest hint of twitching at corner of that mouth that said ‘I win’ 

Nesta gave her a concerned look. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Azriel’s breathing is so loud and obnoxious, is it not? I can hardly concentrate.” She blurted the first thing she could think of. A heavy silence filled the room for a second before Emerie burst into laughter, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes. 

“What?!” She spluttered in between her fits. 

Azriel seemed to pursing his lips to hold back his own.

Nesta’s brows bunched together in thought as she surveyed Gywn as if she was seeing something she hadn’t before.

Her eyes were shooting daggers as Azriel sauntered over to their corner. 

“My apologies ladies. I didn’t realise my presence was so obnoxious.” His tone basically biting back a chuckle. Oh how she wanted to throttle him now. How had she let him get the upperhand in this game of theirs. He sketched a bow. 

“I’ll head to my quarters so you can enjoy your….” this time he did chuckle as he surveyed those half naked males on the covers of their novels. “Reading…” 

To her surprise before she could snark a retort Nesta beat her to it.

“Keep your opinions to yourself, Az.” 

“I didn’t say a word.” 

“You didn’t have to.” Emerie grinned, pointedly looking at his rustling wings behind him. 

Azriel clasped his hands behind his back and only smiled wider. Nesta stared at him like she’d never seen him before. 

He shrugged in farewell as he set off down the hallway but before he turned the corner he drawled over his shoulder without looking back. 

“The best book by Sellyn Drake is Smoky peaks and a warriors bed.”  

Gwyn blinked, her stunned face was echoed throughout the room and then they were in uproar at the seemingly polite and quiet spymaster reading filthy romances. The cackling was endless as Azriel got in the last word. 

tags: @allchaosallthetime @lplusl

[ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her]

Someone You Can Build a Nest In was, in fact, pretty good, but it went in a different direction than I was hoping for and I'm not sure how to feel about it.

The story follows Shesheshen, a solitary shapeshifting monster who hunts the travelers and merchants that pass through her territory, along with the occasional monster hunters who come to slay her. She is rather lonely, and reminisces fondly and lovingly about her mother, who was slain when she was young, and her father, whose body she grew inside and who she ate her way out of when she was ready to be born. On her hunts, she keeps an eye out for someone who might make for a similarly loving parent to plant her own eggs in. After a close encounter with some hunters while in a roughly human shape, Shesheshen is nurses back to health by a kind woman who has mistaken her for human, and promptly falls head over heels. Before she can get around to explaining her true nature and enquire about how her newly beloved would feel about being a parent, they are both drawn into a new and concerted effort to hunt down the local monster - Sheshen herself. Hijinks, of course, ensue.

The thing that immediately captured me when I started reading was how well the narration captured Shesheshen's fundamental inhumanity while still making her layered, complex, and intelligent. Her visceral emotional reactions are shaped by her biological nature as a predator, and these emotions lead to distinctly inhuman values and morals - Shesheshen places no intrinsic value on human lives and feels no compunctions whatsoever about eating sentient people. Her love and lust are consumptive in nature, and she romanticizes this. The fact that she cannot have her cake and eat it too is something she has difficulty dealing with. But she's also capable of a great deal of sympathy and empathy for specific humans, and the love she has for the father she ate causes her to care a great deal about consent - she doesn't want to consume out of love someone who doesn't want to be consumed.

In addition to her psychology, Shesheshen's physiology is also excellently inhuman and conveyed in great visceral detail, and the way her body functions is very interesting. My favorite parts of the book are the introduction and the denouement, because these are the areas where her psychology and physiology receive the most undivided attention. They aren't ignored throughout the rest of the book by any means, but they take a backseat to the plot, which is why I feel a bit conflicted about the book as a whole. I was really enjoying the in-depth character study of the introduction, and would've really liked to have the whole book be in that vein.

The plot, to be clear is not bad - it's honestly quite good, and it delves heavily into themes of generational and familial trauma, self-sacrifice, the normalization and romanticization of profound harm, and the difficulty of growth and self-actualization, all while being fairly entertaining and well-executed as a story. I think its themes were a bit heavy-handed in places, and I think some of its exploration was hobbled and flattened by the book's queernorm setting, but I won't relitigate that old argument here. It was suitably gripping and solidly entertaining.

I think the central relationship was solid and compelling, though again, I would've liked it more if the whole book had been focused on a deep exploration of their characters and dynamics. There's a lot of rich ground to the basic premise of "monster falls in love with human, wants to express that love in a way that is actively dangerous/horrifying to the human, doesn't know how to talk about it", and the story layers additional complexities onto that dynamic that are very compelling, but for as much of that interesting ground that the book explored, it left plenty more untouched. One detail that I did find both novel and enjoyable is that both the love interest Homily and Shesheshen herself are all but explicitly sex-averse asexuals by human standards, which is something I have not encountered in a lot of media. The exploration of that experience is not particularly deep because, again, queernorm, but it is present and it was compelling.

This was a really unique and compelling read, though, and I expect it to be one that stays with me. Given my own interest in body horror and inhumanity (shameless plug for Memoirs of a Flesh Eater in the notes), I wouldn't be surprised to see some influences from this book in my own writing going forward.

On the whole, I definitely enjoyed this book and would definitely recommend it, but not without a few warnings. Body horror is a constant element in this book; Shesheshen's shapeshifting is purposely off-putting, and she eats people. This is described in substantial detail. Also, there is a lot of parental and familial abuse depicted, much more than you would expect from the basic premise, so go in prepared. On the other hand, though, if you're looking for a true gothic horror tragic toxic doomed romance or a heavy character study that really plumbs the depths of an inhuman psyche, you will probably be frustrated by how close it comes to being that without actually being that.

[links-in-time]

Wild Visions - Chapter 7

Even with their bossing brother finally returned to them, the Chain struggle to decide what to do about Wild's condition. Dark on the other hand, has his own plans in store for the Champion.

🔗🔗🔗🔗🔗🔗🔗🔗⛓️‍💥🔗🔗🔗🔗🔗🔗🔗

“Did we have to tie him up?” Twilight asked. 

He sat on a blanket close to where they had tied Wild to a tree at the edge of their camp. They had chosen a spot to the side of the road at the top of a small hill surrounded by thin threes. There was a well at the bottom and Hyrule had been grateful to fill his waterskin and take a good long drink. 

Warriors looked up from where he sat near the fire, his gaze drifting between the Rancher and their captive Champion. 

“He's still a danger to us. I doubt he's going to be overly friendly when he wakes up Twi. I don't like it any more than you do, but I like a sword in my back or a knife in my throat even less.”

“Have his hands healed up yet?” Hyrule asked from the far side of the camp. “I know we already rubbed some potion into them, but we could…”

“We're not force feeding him Rulie,” Twilight almost growled. “He could easily choke on it.”

Wild's hands had been badly burned by the Master Sword while he swung her against her other bearers. Apparently in his addled state he hadn't felt it, but when Hyrule had inspected them afterwards, he found intense burns on Wild's fingers and palms. 

“Has anyone got any bright ideas on how to snap him out of it yet?” Wind asked with a mopey sounding tone. 

He poked at the fire with a stick, eyes fixed on the sputtering flames. Though occasionally he would glance over in Wild's direction. Sky gave him a comforting pat on the back and offered Wind a bowl of soup and some bread. The kid refused both and continued to stab at the wood slowly becoming consumed by the flames. 

“I'd suggest a counter spell, or simply waiting it out,” said Legend. But without knowing what we're dealing with, magic could make it worse. 

“I found something in his pack while he was asleep,” Hyrule said sheepishly. 

He had his back turned to Wild. Hyrule didn't want to have to look at his brother, tied up and bruised from his fall earlier. 

“Oh?” Wars enquired. 

“He's carrying a potion I've never seen before. It's yellowish and it smells vile!” Hyrule wrinkled his nose at the memory of the scent. “Don't know where he might have got it. But it's definitely magical. If he drank some then perhaps it might explain what's happened to him,” he suggested. 

“A potion huh?” Legend mused, rubbing his chin as his gaze wandered over to the unconscious hero. 

“I've never come across anything like that,” Time uttered, slowly getting to his feet. 

He wandered across the camp and knelt down beside Twilight, placing himself in front of Wild. He was about to reach out and open Wild's pouch, when the boy suddenly awoke. 

Dark meanwhile, had been hiding in the shadows of the trees at Wild's back. Though this little side trip had put a spanner in the workings of his plan, it was entertaining to watch the heroes fight each other. It was then that the shadow had a brilliant idea. He altered Wild's perception once again, changing the forms of the other heroes in his mind. Dark couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he took a peek through Wild's eyes and saw what the Champion could see. 

Time sat before him, appearing almost as he usually did, except there was something off about his eyes. No longer were they bright blue, instead they held a crimson malevolence, just like his Shadow.

“You!” Wild hissed, trying to back away from those glowing eyes and that wicked smile. “What have you done with Zelda?” 

“Done with her? We haven't done anything with her,” Time indicated the other heroes gathered around the fire. 

Link's heart sank as he looked around and saw that each of them looked the same. They all had brightly glowing red eyes, their lips curled into cruel and wicked smiles. 

“Then where is she?!” Link demanded. 

Staring around at his captors, Link couldn't see Zelda's face among them. What he could see were his brothers, twisted and altered. It made him sick to look at Wind and be faced with crimson eyes. 

Time tried not to take Wild's attack personally. He clearly recognised them at the moment, but something wasn't letting him trust his brothers the way Wild should. Time decided to focus on trying to get answers and took a more direct approach. 

“What's in the vial in your pouch Link?” He asked, frown deepening despite his best efforts to stay calm. 

“What vial?” Wild replied quickly.

Too quickly Time thought. He turned briefly to Twilight, who could offer nothing more than a brief shrug. But Wild had revealed something, even if he wasn't aware of it. That potion meant something to him. Time could tell Wild knew exactly what he was talking about and he wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible. 

Hidden in the shadows, Dark bristled. He could sense his designs were about to unravel. The eldest hero was getting too close to the mark with his inquiries. 

“Tell me about the potion Link?” Time asked again, more firmly. “What is it? Who's it for? Is it for Zelda?”

“Of course it's not for the Princess!” Link scoffed. What an absurd suggestion. 

“It's for me! The king gave it to me in case I failed. If I couldn't bring Zelda to the castle, or someone stopped me from taking her there. I was to take the poison.”

Everyone froze, no one hardly dared to breathe. Had Wild really just said what they thought he had. Time was the only one brave enough to ask the question on everyone's lips. 

“Link, did you say it was poison?” He asked slowly, carefully watching for Wild's reaction. The young hero nodded slowly. 

“It was given to me to make sure I kept my promise. If I failed, I was told to take it,” he replied, head hanging. Utterly miserable in his circumstances. 

“Who gave it to you?” Twilight demanded, though his voice was harsh, his anger was not directed at his cub. 

“It was the Kin…” Link paused. 

He remembered speaking with the King. He remembered being ordered to bring Zelda back to the castle. But, there was a gap in his memory before that. Link had just assumed that it had been the King who gave him the little vial of poison, but perhaps he had made that up. 

“Can you not remember?” Asked Four. 

To Wild it sounded like a taunt. As though Four was rubbing Wild's failure in his face. In reality of course, Four was merely trying to ascertain the truth of the matter. 

“Why should I tell you anything?” Link spat in response. “You'll only find a way to use it against me! Traitors all of you!”

He turned his head and pressed his lips into a thin line. He wasn't going to speak with these shadows of his brothers a moment longer. At the earliest opportunity, he was going to break free, grab Zelda and make a run for the castle. 

Warriors tried to pretend that being called a traitor didn't sting just a little bit. He sighed and got to his feet, with nothing to do he simply walked away from the campfire until he leant against a tree. 

Time also felt that they were getting nowhere fast with their current tactics. He followed Warriors and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“You alright?”

“I've been better, Sprite,” Wars uttered. 

His fingers curled into a fist against the bark of the tree in front of him, but Time's hand on his shoulder helped to quell his anger. 

“We'll fix this, I promise,” Time assured him. 

Time hated seeing his big brother like this, looking so helpless and frustrated. Usually when Wars was faced with a problem he wouldn't rest until he found a solution. This time however, he seemed to be falling apart at the seams. 

“I know, it's just,” Wars paused, glancing over his shoulder. “I can't take seeing him like this. Seeing the hate in his eyes. How can you bear it?”

“I can't,” Time replied simply. “He's my… You're all my boys, you know that. And I can't bear to see any of you in pain or distress. Which is why we're going to fix whatever is wrong with Wild. No matter what it takes.”

Unknown to the two older heroes, Hyrule had been sitting nearby, listening to their conversation. He'd been trying to figure out why Wild had thought he was Zelda. That seemed the most important factor. Beside the conspicuous bottle of poison of course. At the start of this madness Wild had attacked everyone except Hyrule. He claimed Hyrule was Zelda and wanted to take her/him to the castle. 

If Hyrule's hunch about who had given Wild the poison was correct then he had a theory in the works. At some point in the night, Dark Link had lured Wild into the woods. The Shadow had done something to Wild to alter his perception and his memory. Perhaps involving the muddle bud spores Time and Four had found. If Dark Link was to blame then a few more things would make sense. 

It wasn't too big of a stretch to assume that Dark knew about Hyrule's blood curse. None of his brothers knew, but of course a servant of Ganon would know. Hyrule Castle was the last place where Calamity Ganon was defeated in this era, therefore it still held a strong connection to his spirit. If Dark were to get Hyrule to the castle and use his blood to enact the resurrection ritual, Ganon could be reborn. So Wild was just a puppet, bewitched into doing Dark's dirty work of delivering Hyrule to the castle. To his death. 

Dark was growing bored of this pantomime. Even his patience had its limits. He wanted the Hero with the blood curse. He wanted to resurrect the Calamity. He wanted revenge. 

While the heroes were distracted with their own conversations, Dark slipped up behind Wild and conjured a dagger. Silently, he cut the ropes tying Wild to the tree and slashed through the bindings around his hands. 

“Shh,” Dark whispered into Wild's ear. “Don't make your move just yet. They know where the Princess is. They're keeping her prisoner, just like you. If you take a weaker one, the one with fairy blood, you can use him to find her. Take Hyrule as your captive. Do what you must to find your princess.”

Dark grinned as he felt Wild's energy focus towards Hyrule. He gently placed the dagger into Wild's hand, which gripped it in a vice-like fist. Stepping back into the shadows, Dark simply waited for the fireworks to begin. 

“Do you have any spells in mind, Lege?” Four asked. 

At that moment, Twilight briefly turned to look at the others, giving Wild his opportunity. He sprang forwards, pushing off the tree trunk with one foot. He lurched towards Twilight and pinned him to the ground. As he jumped forwards, his knee caught Twilight's nose which blossomed with a shower of blood. 

The others scrambled to react, but no one wanted to hurt Wild and restraining him again was nigh on impossible. 

Wild made a bee line for Hyrule, swinging punches at anyone who tried to stop him. Seeing the dagger in Wild's hands, Hyrule threw his arms up in front of his face. But no blow came. Instead Hyrule felt Wild's arms suddenly wrap around him, holding one arm behind his back. Wild's other hand held the knife point at Hyrule's throat. 

The rest of the Chain stopped in their tracks. Some dropped their weapons. 

“I'm taking this one to the castle. Anyone tries to follow us, and I cut his throat!” Wild growled, locking eyes with each of the boys to make sure they got the message. 

“Wild…” Wars tried to interseed, but stopped short when Hyrule suddenly gasped.

The tip of Wild's knife pressed painfully against his jugular. Hyrule's body went rigid, afraid to move lest Wild's knife find a vein. Panic flooded Wars’ veins as a thin line of blood began to trickle down Hyrule's throat. 

“Don't!” He shrieked, “Wars please don't. Let him take me, it's not worth more of us getting hurt.”

The fear in Hyrule's eyes seemed at war with the courage in his voice. For a moment Warriors couldn't decide what to do. Every instinct told him to charge forwards and do everything he could to save Hyrule. But the blade at his brother's neck stayed his hand. Wars looked up into Wild's eyes, finding them hard and his gaze set into a firm stare. He took two steps back and sheathed his sword. 

“We will fix this Hyrule,” Wars vowed, giving Hyrule a solemn nod. 

“I know, I don't doubt you Captain,” Hyrule replied, taking care to swallow as he spoke. But he managed a weak smile to help reassure his friend. 

Seeing that the Chain were not about to rush towards him and try to overpower him, Wild began his retreat. Keeping a firm grip on Hyrule's arm, Wild lowered his blade and dragged the other hero along with him into the trees. 

< Part 6 : Part 8 >

[peachjagiya]

These jkkrs coming to TKK blogs acting like petulant children all because they didn't get what they had been promised. Because that's what it boils down to isn't it? The promo promised an alpha, dom, pheromone reeking JK protecting his sweet, cutie JM. We all fretted about that W article being reductive and damaging to JK and JM but looks like the ppl it damaged most are jkkrs. They can't rage in their own community blogs because they are either ignoring Taes involvement entirely or hyping JM telling JK to drink all his coffee (JM just making sure the 6 bucks he spent isn't wasted, broke Bangtan narrative lives on!) They are "devastated" on X (the hyperbole!) cuz Tae stole the yellow scooter and tkkrs are getting hit tweets by making comparison posts of JK and Tae on their respective vehicles. They are just salty cuz they were robbed of their fave type of posts of masc jk and fem jm. All this vitriol directed to public enemy no. 1 whose only remit was to go to jeju and entertain, sorry he delivered? Not a peep about JK leaving JM in the sun to burn, not enquiring about JM health or making sure he ate some plain rice (uwu protective alpha) or not taking him out on the back of his bike? Geez, sorry JK would rather spend his afternoon blasting Taes nips, asking him repeatedly if he likes it, instead of caring for JM who was expiring 2 feet away.

Oh my god. I appreciate you. 😂😂😂😂

(Woah wait -- 🛵 the yellow scooter is an EMOJI on android! Even android stans.)

[drabblesandimagines]

HI WOW!! i stumbled on your blog and i’m so in love!! can i request sebastian with a flower farmer?? he has all flowers in his dislikes/hated so i thought it may make for some interesting situations!! thank you, feel free to ignore this!

Bouquets

Thanks, anon! Hope this is what you were after <3

Wordcount: 1,073

You’d always loved flowers as far back as you could remember. Many a dreary day in Zuzu City had been brightened up by the flowers in your window box in your small apartment, and the bouquets you treated yourself to when you could. When you’d finally moved to Pelican Town to take over your grandfather’s farm you’d wasted no time in covering your land with rows and rows of flowers – admiring the scents and the colours, the bees your fields attracted and the unique honey they produced from your stems. You’d never really been into vegetables and digging things out of the ground, so you hadn’t even bothered to Pierre’s dismay.

You were doing a good trade and life was good. There was just one issue - you’d been building up your relationships with everyone in the town with little gifts here and there and everyone seemed delighted to receive one of your flowers… Well, except the one you’d found yourself falling for – Sebastian. You’d tried literally every flower you’d grown but nothing had brought a smile to his face, more often a scowl than anything else. Thankfully, you’d stumbled across some minerals that he did seem to like. Your friendship had grown steadily since and you found yourself thinking of the dark-haired man more often than not.

Recently, the townsfolk had started to notice how much time the two of you were spending with each other and dropped comments here and there. “No Sebastian with you today?” “It’s so nice seeing Sebastian out and about more, especially with you.” Pierre had dropped numerous hints that maybe you’d be interested in purchasing a bouquet every time you’d popped in for literally anything. One, why would you buy a bouquet of flowers that was assembled of the flowers from your own farm? (He insisted it was tradition.) Two, how would a bouquet of things the man literally detested inspire him to be your boyfriend? Pierre waved off your concerns, saying that even Sebastian would forgo his dislike for such an important question but you weren’t convinced and, to be honest, a little worried about being rejected. Elliott had suggested you pen a poem conveying your feelings but you were useless with words and you weren’t so sure he’d be into that either. Maybe if you wrote it in computer code…?

Sebastian didn’t often come by the farm, but he did politely enquire as to how things were going. As more time passed, you’d started to think that maybe you were seeing signs that weren’t there in wishful thinking, but, two weeks ago, you’d stumbled upon Sebastian at the end of the dock on quite a rainy day. He’d commented on how he liked the rain as it kept most people inside, admitting that being around people made him feel anxious. Your stomach had dropped at the statement, was that supposed to be a subtle hint? You went to turn back, to leave him alone when he'd spoke again, “I don’t feel that way around you, though.”

You’d wracked your brain for days after, trying to think of what you could present to show your feelings if not a bouquet. You’d entertained the idea of making one solely out of minerals, however when you’d tried to make it a reality it had been a disaster. You’d even ended up at the clinic to get the burn you’d given yourself with the hot glue gun checked over by Harvey. “Crafting accident,” you’d explained to his raised eyebrow and he politely hadn’t questioned further.

That night, as you tossed and turned in your bed, another idea sprang to mind. Early the next morning you set your plan into action, clearing a plot of land nearest to your house and set about the next few days gathering the materials.

You sat on your porch, drumming your fingers anxiously on the steps. You’d asked Sebastian to swing by yours after he’d finished work for the day, saying you wanted to show him something - the plot of land you’d worked on now covered in a tarp. You’d also finally given in to Pierre’s delight – and his cash register – by purchasing the famed bouquet. You’d tucked it behind the chest besides your new project to have both close at hand. You were still trying to work out in what order to present it.

Footsteps scuffed along your gravel path as the raven-haired man appeared in the early evening light. His hands were stuffed in his pockets and he smiled as he caught sight of you waiting. “Farmer,” he greeted.

“Sebastian, hi!” You jumped up to your feet, perhaps a bit too giddy. You watched him give a cursory look over the fields of flowers. “Looking… bright.”

“Ha, yeah…” You rubbed the back of your head anxiously. “Thanks for coming by.”

“Sure.” He shrugged. There was an awkward silence as you debated what to show first. “So…”

“Oh, yes! Erm, I wanted to show you something I’ve been working on. It’s just over here,” you strode off towards the tarp, making sure he followed. “So, er… I’m no good at this but I hope this makes sense…” You blushed as he raised an eyebrow. You bent down and pulled the tarp clear, revealing your project.

At your feet lay a rock garden, you’d planted moss and nestled various numbers of Sebastian’s favourite minerals – frozen tears, obsidians, quartz and, the main centerpiece, a prismatic shard.

“Whoa,” Sebastian’s eyes widened, taking it all in. “That’s… Wow.”

You scrambled for the bouquet, thrusting it out in front of you half-heartedly. “And Pierre said I had to give you this too to make it ‘Pelican Town official’, but I wanted to get you something you’d actually like and I thought, well, you’re not a fan of flower gardens but maybe you’d like a mineral garden or something, cos you always liked the minerals I’ve found you in the mine and I…”

You were suddenly cut off in your ramble when Sebastian pressed his lips upon yours. It was short and sweet and, as he pulled back, he took the bouquet from your hands.

“I accept.” He smiled sweetly. “I didn’t know you felt the same. I can’t believe you put this all together for me.”

“I… Yeah,” you trailed off again, flustered by the kiss. Your face was probably as red as one of your poppies. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it, petal.”

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Okay the 'trashy' US tabloids were a bit late but Enquirer's front page is a direct message to the Markles - "You're killing the King" beautifully the whole article doesn't mention either of of them. The Globe lkcks in with a bang-on piece as well! bonus 2 year old Piers Morgan article by u/media_lush

Okay, the 'trashy' US tabloids were a bit late but Enquirer's front page is a direct message to the Markles - "You're killing the King", beautifully, the whole article doesn't mention either of of them. The Globe lkcks in with a bang-on piece as well! + bonus 2 year old Piers Morgan article https://ift.tt/r5JftjO post link: https://ift.tt/bAlJihj author: media_lush submitted: November 09, 2024 at 06:19AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.