#feel free to correct me on any mistakes about that

[satellite-evans]

Juntos.

Pairing: Franco Colapinto x reader

Summary: Franco struggles with disappointment after losing his racing seat, but your support helps him feel less alone in facing the tough situation.

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: angst, little fluff

main masterlist

A/N:

Hi everyone, this is my first Franco fic so I am very excited!!! I am very new to Formula 1 so I will try my best to make the stories as realistic as possible. I dramatized this fic a little bc I could not help myself lol but I love Carlos sm and wish him nothing but luck in Williams. Also, I would not mind if you guys help me understand Formula 1 more xxx

hope you guys will like it :)

Also, the Spanish words I used are directly from Google Translate, if I made mistakes please feel free to correct me <3

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The dim light of the apartment cast a glow over the cozy space, the kind that usually made the room feel warm and inviting. Tonight, however, it felt different—heavier, subdued, as if the walls themselves understood the weight of the emotions filling the air. The scent of a faintly burning candle lingered in the background, a forgotten remnant of an attempt to lighten the mood earlier in the evening. Outside, the muffled sounds of the city hummed faintly, a stark contrast to the suffocating silence inside.

Franco sat on the edge of the couch, his head bowed, fingers tangled in his dark hair. His shoulders hunched forward, as though bearing the weight of an invisible burden too great to carry. The usually vibrant spark in his eyes, the one that ignited whenever he talked about racing, was gone. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the floor, unseeing, his expression hollow. It was as if the moment he walked through the door, all the fight had drained out of him, leaving behind a man who didn’t know how to put the pieces of himself back together.

You stood by the kitchen counter, your heart breaking at the sight of him. He hadn’t said much since he got home, just a quiet “Estoy en casa” before sinking into the couch. He used easy Spanish words around you since he knew you wanted to learn the language. That's how kind he was. You’d known this day would be hard for him, but seeing him like this was almost unbearable. The news had come down like a guillotine: Carlos Sainz was taking the seat. Franco was out, with no prospects for next year. No contract, no guarantees. Nothing but the crushing void left behind by a dream slipping through his fingers.

It wasn’t fair. You knew how hard he’d worked, how much of himself he’d poured into his career. The endless hours in the gym, the relentless study of data, the sacrifices he made, all for the pursuit of speed, glory, and a chance to prove himself on the biggest stage. And yet, it hadn’t been enough.

He’d tried to hide it at first. When he’d called you after the meeting, his voice had been calm, even detached. But you’d heard the slight tremor, the hesitation that betrayed his carefully constructed mask. And now, here he was, the man you loved, unraveling before your eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you walked over to the couch, a cup of tea in your hands. The steam curled softly in the air, a fragile whisper of warmth against the cold tension that filled the room. You set it down gently on the coffee table before lowering yourself onto the cushion beside him.

“Franco,” you said softly, your voice a lifeline in the quiet. He didn’t look up, but the slight shift in his posture told you he’d heard you. Gently, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his hand. His skin was warm, but his fingers remained still, unresponsive.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “I know how much this meant to you.”

For a moment, there was no response. Then, slowly, he lifted his head. His eyes met yours, red-rimmed and brimming with unshed tears. The sight of him like this—so raw, so vulnerable—made your chest ache.

“I did everything,” he said, his voice cracking. “Everything. And it wasn’t enough. They just… threw me away. Like I don’t matter.”

Tears pricked your own eyes as you reached out to cup his face, your thumbs gently brushing against his stubbled cheeks. “You do matter, Franco. To me, to your family, to the fans who adore you. To everyone who’s ever seen you race and knows how talented you are.”

He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Talent doesn’t mean anything if you don’t have the politics, the money, the… connections. Carlos… he’s amazing, and he deserves it, I know that. But I can’t help feeling like I’ll never be enough, no matter what I do.”

“No soy suficiente,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm. "I'm not enough." His words hung in the air, filled with a quiet intensity.

“Don' say that, you're more than enough,” you echoed, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “And I know this feels impossible right now, like the world’s closing in on you, but this isn’t the end of your story. You’re Franco. My Frankie. You’re a fighter, a dreamer, and you’ve never let anything keep you down before. This won’t either.”

His shoulders sagged, and for the first time that evening, he leaned into you, his head resting against your shoulder. The weight of him felt heavier than usual, as though he’d poured all his sorrow and weariness into the simple act of leaning on you. You wrapped your arms around him tightly, cradling him as if you could shield him from the pain of the world.

“No sé qué haría sin vos,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your neck. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

“You’ll never have to find out,” you replied, pressing a kiss to his temple.

His arms came around you then, pulling you closer, as though he was afraid to let go. You felt his tears dampen your shirt, and the sound of his quiet sobs broke your heart all over again. But you didn’t let go. You held him tighter, letting him pour out everything he’d been holding inside.

“You’re my everything, Franco,” you whispered, your voice cracking with emotion. “And I’ll always be here. No matter what. Together, we’ll get through this.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes glassy but filled with something deeper now—gratitude, love, and maybe a flicker of hope. Slowly, he leaned in and kissed you, his lips trembling against yours but charged with a fierce intensity. The kiss was deep and searching, a collision of his anguish and gratitude, his need to find solace in the one constant in his life—you. His hands cupped your face, fingers threading gently through your hair as though anchoring himself to you, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the kiss. It wasn’t hurried but deliberate, each movement a testament to the depth of his emotions. You could feel the raw edges of his heartbreak and the unspoken promise of his love, so consuming and desperate it made your chest ache.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing uneven, the faintest quiver still lingering in his lips. The weight of his gaze bore into yours, as though he was silently pleading for reassurance that you’d stay by his side. And in that moment, you both knew you were his safe haven, his reason to keep fighting.

“We’re going to get through this,” you repeated softly, brushing a strand of his hair from his face. “Together.”

A soft murmur broke the silence. “Juntos,” Franco whispered, almost to himself.

You blinked, pulling back slightly to look at him. “Juntos? What’s that? An unreleased Sabrina Carpenter song or something?” you teased lightly, hoping to coax even a hint of a smile from him.

For a moment, he just stared at you, and then, to your relief, a small, genuine giggle escaped his lips. It was the first time you’d heard him laugh all night, and it warmed you to your core.

He shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips now. “No, it’s Spanish. It means ‘together.’”

“Together,” you repeated softly, the word settling in your heart like a comforting balm.

He nodded, his gaze searching yours. “You’ve been saying it all night without realizing it. ‘Together, we’ll figure it out.’ ‘Together, we’ll find a way.’ You keep reminding me I’m not alone. And… you’re right. Juntos. We’ll do this juntos, no matter what.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time they were from the overwhelming love and gratitude you felt. You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his. “Yes, juntos. Siempre. Always.”

A soft chuckle escaped him again, and he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly. In that moment, the weight of the world didn’t feel as heavy anymore. Together—juntos—you knew you’d face whatever came next.

[targayrenss]

Join Me In Death-Eddie Munson II

summary: Eddie manages to escape from the Upside Down and receives the terrible news that you, his girlfriend, had been murdered at the hands of Jason and his gang seeking to avenge Chrissy.

Guilty of your death, he decides to seek revenge at his own hands.

authors note:English is not my first language so please excuse any mistakes (feel free to correct me)

Just to remind you that my requests are open! Currently I'm only writing about Eddie and any House of the Dragon character.

warnings: allusions to r4p3 (not described in detail), angst

You knew Eddie was innocent.

At least two days had passed since Chrissy's murder and you couldn't find Eddie.

You didn't blame him for running away and hiding, but knowing he was out there hiding and scared broke your heart.

It was nighttime and a raging storm tormented Hawkins even more, your mother wasn't there since she was doing her shift at the hospital where she works as a nurse.

Unable to sleep, lying in your bed that felt huge without Eddie's body warming you even though it was summer, Eddie always had to feel your heat.

A loud knock on the door alerted you, there was a small silence before another knock came.

You stood up in a hurry and walked to the door hoping it was Eddie, but when you opened the door you only found the basketball team, the group being led by Jason Carver, Chrissy's boyfriend.

Without thinking he pushed you to the ground while the others entered your house.

“Check all the rooms, the bastard has to be here!”

While Jason pressed you to the ground you could only hear them walking throughout your house, making noise in every room they entered.

With tears in your eyes and a broken voice you said “Eddie is not here, I swear!”

The strong heat on your cheek was what made you realize the blow Jason had given you

“So where is he? You must know precious, aren't you fucking with him?”

“I-I don't know, I would also like to know”

Jason looked at you with pity for a moment before the pity changed to anger

“Then you are of no use to me”

You cried and screamed as he pulled you by the hair dragging you throughout the house until you reached your room and threw you on your bed.

For hours that felt like years Jason let the entire basketball team abuse you, they had ripped the Metallica shirt that had once belonged to Eddie but that you now used as pajamas

You didn't even notice when they finally left you, when they left your house but left you burning in hell.

Lying on your bed covered in blood, your clothes torn and your room a mess

That was how your mother had found you in the early morning when she came back from work.

While your mother cried in the ambulance next to your almost dead body, Dustin hugged Eddie's already lifeless body.

The doctors couldn't do anything for you, you had lost too much blood, maybe if they had found you soon you wouldn't have died in that hospital bed.

Wayne had found out about Eddie's death thanks to Dustin, but Dustin had found out about your death thanks to Wayne.

Dustin was very fond of you, sometimes he would joke around calling you mom and Eddie dad when you would scold him for snapping at his mother, or when you would tell him that Eddie had to be taken to me because his mother would be mad that he came home late again.

While to Wayne you were like another daughter, you used to spend a lot of time in the trailer, sometimes not coming home for four days, when Eddie went out to do his business you would stay with Wayne, making him dinner while you waited for Eddie to come back.

Now neither of you would come back.

Your mother and Wayne decided that it would be appropriate to bury you together, your mother wasn't a big fan of Eddie but she knew that the love you two had for each other was sincere.

The funeral was intimate, just your mother, Wayne, and all of Eddie's friends.

You didn't have many friends since your social life since first year was based on Eddie, and many people didn't like Eddie.

The only person who could be called your friend was Max Mayfield, which was a little absurd since he was a few years younger than you.

You met when she and her mother moved in with Eddie, when you realized her family situation you quickly invited her to dinner with you, in one of those times you found out that she knew Dustin and that you were close friends.

She didn't want to admit it but she had quickly become fond of you, even Eddie.

You both treated her like a daughter, you fed her, you both sometimes offered to take her to school, if she wanted to go somewhere she asked Eddie to take her and if he refused she immediately accused you, you were domestic, you felt like a real family.

Wayne thought it would be appropriate to wait for Max to wake up before burying you, fortunately it only took a month and a few days.

Neither of the kids could accept that you two were dead, both deaths had been so unfair that it made sadder.

[utilitycaster]

Following on the last answer you gave about Laura/Ashley.

What I'm stuck on is that this fear of making a mistake is not a new thing? They've been like this for all of this campaign, note Ashley not wanting to take the shard, Laura's constant fear of letting Imogen's mom stay on the moon, etc. And to a degree, I get it! Exandria is a pretty expensive and important source material - there's an Amazon series!!! - and it's scary to make any huge decisions in it. Additionally, I understand the feeling that there's something specific that the DM wants and you're just not getting it. But I keep wondering, how hard is it for Matt to sit them down and be like. Fuck around man, it's fine! (Or even the opposite! Give them some railroads, they're all over the place!) You know? It just feels to me that Matt can solve so many of these problems outside the stream with a quick convo and I'm so confused why that's not happening.

(I didn't watch this episode completely because the discussion at the end was giving me a very bad case of secondhand embarrassment due to how stupid it was. So if this happened and I missed it, feel free to ignore this.)

Yeah that is where I am at, and this is the MOST speculative I will get to the point that I'm making it nonrebloggable but my personal guess is that like. I watched a LOT of interviews at the start of C2, as a new viewer who was looking for more stuff (which...ultimately just resulted in a C1 binge) and the cast was at the time very cognizant of wanting to prove C1 wasn't a fluke and that they could tell another great story in the world with new characters. But they also prepped EXTENSIVELY for it; and also, in this case, I think a lot of the world was in a somewhat more nebulous state (ie, I think Matt probably had the concept of an ancient archmage plotting to release a god-eater possibly that far back...but I think Liam's concept for Caleb very much influenced the nature of the Assembly and gave Matt a place to put proto-Ludinus).

I think that with two campaigns under their belt, I don't want to say they rested on their laurels, because as I've said repeatedly the caliber of the vast majority of other things they've put out has remained high. But I think that because Campaigns 1 and 2 came together so well Matt might not have realized that Campaign 3, and his fairly specific intended plot, required more work and different work. Like, it required the level of planning and railroading you see for dimension 20 seasons. Campaign 2 could meander and focus on characters because the main goal it needed to achieve in a presumably 3 campaign story was worldbuilding, and I wonder if the fact that it diverged almost entirely from Matt's vision and still came out great obfuscated the fact that this wouldn't work for C3. Campaign 3 really needed to have realized and invested characters right out the gate with knowledge of the world. Like, I think it could have been solved with a conversation but I also think that there's been some sufficient "wtf" choices (bringing in Abu as the Arch Heart without any specific guidelines is one that comes to mind) that I wonder if the cast has entirely internalized how much this doesn't cohere narratively. And also, to be fair, I've played in D&D campaigns that didn't have a great plot or really any at all but I was having enough fun hanging out with my friends that I didn't really care, and since we weren't being filmed it didn't matter. It's a lot easier to see this stuff from the outside, is my thought. I don't think it's hard in terms of time and effort, but also, I know I kept thinking "oh HERE'S the course correction, finally!" pretty much up until the last ten or so episodes. I wouldn't be surprised if he kept thinking "surely this will pull together."

[altruismaboveall]

New series idea: Epic Misconceptions!!

Since my post on Penelope and Sparta I’ve decided to make a series dedicated to clearing up misinformation/ misconceptions.

TO CLARIFY: I’m a Classics student but I’m not all knowing! I may make mistakes and, if I do, please feel free to correct me (just cite a source its all I ask). If there’s a question I can’t answer well I’ll consult with my professors and fellow students - if none of us have answers good enough I will tell you guys that!

This is also not an attack in any way towards the fans who just want to have fun! Be free to have headcanons, just don’t state them as fact in a non-joking way (this fandom has a younger demographic that won’t know about citing sources!)

I’ll also try to include as many resources including more academic sources (maybe some papers if people want) for the people who are interested in educating themselves further.

If anyone else wants to help me run this series please message me! It’s always good to have different perspectives when it comes to a topic as nuanced as this!

And finally, any suggestions for my next topic?

[carlottastudios]

CarlottaStudios's Unhinged Kaeya Lore Thoughts Post

Link to read the Google Doc:

AT LAST!!! TUMBLR KAEYA NATION, BEHOLD, THE NONSENSE THAT HAS BEEN OCCUPYING MY KAEYA-DEDICATED BRAINPAN FOR MONTHS!

Quick disclaimer/warning: This document is LONG, it's almost 50 pages, so please don't feel pressured to read the whole thing, especially not in one shot. Also, I have included some disclaimers at both the beginning and end, including the fact that I am not an expert in any of the stuff I've written about in this document and if I have made any mistakes, I apologize, feel free to offer corrections, so long as we're all nice to each other. That said, I don't plan on adding substantially more to this document (ex: a new section) as this isn't and was never meant to be The Kaeya Lore Fodder Post of all time. This is just me taking my lore/theory-adjacent thoughts on Kaeya and yeeting them into the void to see if anyone else is interested.

Speaking of interested persons, a few people have expressed interest in this and even asked me to tag them, which is INCREDIBLY flattering and touching (seriously, thank you so much), so I'm tagging them here: @thenerdhoard @eternal-dokja @prophecyflame @mosamosa3pakosh

I plan on eventually making a mindmap to go along with this word document, but that will be for another day because this was already quite a big project to undertake and I need some rest. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy!

[carcasscounty]

Quick discussion post because there's stuff happening in the fc5 community and it has been high-key bugging me. Please actually read the post before adding on because I fear there's been a LOT of people hopping on this without having actually seen the work being called into question here

Feel free to add or correct me if I've missed something or made any mistakes, I am human and do make mistakes

Content warning for mentions of incest, this one's a doozy

You are not in the wrong for creating art that depicts or represents your trauma however you want or however helps you cope with it. It is your life experiences and it is entirely up to you how you go about expressing it, nor are you in the wrong for exploring more dark and uncomfortable topics in your art. That is not what is being criticized here, and anyone who has gone out of their way to harass you and anyone that associates with you for it is very much in the wrong and needs to knock it off

However, what you ARE being criticized for is how you've gone about posting it. There were no warnings or tags that this was, in fact, oc x canon incest art, nor is it clear in the specific pieces of art that this is what it is about. THAT is what the problem is. Your art contains seriously triggering content that could be a hazard for the people that have the context, and as the artist, it is your job to ensure that the posts are tagged properly to avoid having people who don't want to see that stuff come across it. I myself even saw the art on my dash at some point and thought, "Oh ew, that's just oc x canon nsfw," and thought nothing more of it until i actually looked at your account. And if i, someone who has all the appropriate tags ("tw incest," "tw rape," "tw sa," etc) blocked can stumble across your art without it being hidden, THAT'S KIND OF A PROBLEM.

And I'm not trying to accuse you of anything, but the fact that there's no proper warnings in the tags or anything mentioned in the actual posts has me a bit worried that you are trying to hide it and get people to engage with the art without fully even knowing what they're looking at, which isn't a good thing

Screenshots just to prove that the art pieces in question currently have no warnings tagged at the time of writing this

I'm pretty sure the only post that had the incest warning was one brief fic on the account, and then there was one mention on a sfw art piece that mentioned that she is supposed to be his daughter. But other than that, that's it

As someone who has gone through a similar brand of trauma that you have, you have my deepest sympathy and I am so sorry. However, you are in the wrong here, your posts should have been properly tagged.

It frustrates me deeply that the people who have spoken up about this in a civil manner (not referring to the anons who were harassing people) are being treated like the unreasonable ones here, and it frustrates me even more that people are hopping on a side without even actually understanding what the problem is. Almost everyone has fucked up here in some capacity

[sleepyc63]

fixating on my anthro au again, lets see how far this gets me >:D

i've decided to redesign all the characters, and give them more fleshed out stories! i’m starting with monk cause i feel like i neglect him sometimes

i didn't change much for him design wise, just updated him a bit to fit my current style! i think he looks much better, esp since i have more experience with anthro characters now

story details + other rambling under cut!

Monk is one of 3 triplets in his family, born to Caretaker and Gatherer. His siblings are Survivor and Wanderer. He's the 'runt' of his siblings, and was left out a lot as a pup, resulting in insecurities and other issues in his young adult life. He has bad separation anxiety as well, resulting from an incident with his sister Survivor going missing when they were pups. He adopted Celery, not just to give them a home, but also to soothe his anxiety and help him ease into living on his own in the future.

He's very charismatic, and has lot of friends, including his siblings Survivor and Wanderer, his cousin Gourmand, his childhood friends Hunter and Watcher, and his newer friends, Rivulet and Saint. He's not on bad terms with anyone, though! Everyone loves Monk :)

He's currently enrolled in college with Survivor, and he's studying health and nursing, hoping to someday work in healthcare or medicine! He studies his other interests as well, such as psychology and animal science.

He was raised in a semi-religious household, but in his teens he converted to religion fully. He isn't strict about his beliefs, but he follows them in his day to day life. For example: he's vegan to honor the 4th natural urge, gluttony. (also cause of the monk passage being slugcat veganism but thats less relevant lol)

that's all :D hoping that i consistently have motivation for stuff like this cause sharing my headcanons is so fun

[dont-hug-me-its-yuri]

Im running into the stage banging the floor demanding to know about the band au as you speak /hj

reveal yourself band au anon, I wish to know who you are cause you’ve allowed me to ramble

I haven’t figure it all out so this is kinda just spitballing ideas lol

Warning long ass post holy moly

So the band au is kinda written like Clone high, I treat it like one of those really serious romance dramas, except the band au is more just relationship focused instead of strictly romance, also there’s a lot of drama

I’ve come up with four main bands at the moment :3

The Grim Reapers - an underground goth band with Coffin as the bassist and Tissue box as the (main) vocalist, they’re most well known for their songs being about pretty grim subject matter, though they’re probably the least popular out the four main bands

Electric Current - A pop-punk family band with Electracey on the electric guitar, Elevator Speaker on the Bass guitar, Laptop on Drums, and Colin on vocals, they have a very futuristic theme and are by far the most popular band out of the four

Malcolm’s Angels - a band started by Shrignold the head of a love “organization” to help spread the gospel of Malcolm, their music is mostly folk type music, with Unicorn on the harp, Frog boy on the flute, Rabbit boy on the mandolin, and Shrignold on guitar and vocals, the other members of the “organization” are also there, to they just aren’t part of the band, but some of them are on the marketing team

Fly To The Stars - i also refer to them as “the rejects”, an obviously space themed rock band, with Gilbert on guitar, Solar system on the keyboard, Magnet on bass guitar, and Lamp as the lead guitarist

there’s also other characters that aren’t in bands but are still pretty important to the main story like

sketchbook - A young college student, currently studying art, she’s a big fan of Electric Current with her favorite member being Electracey, she’s also roomies with Tony

Tony “Anthony” Clock - An older college student studying history, roomies with Sketch and also a small solo music artist in his spare time (hehe)

saxophone - A music artists who’s songs are usually canoe related, has gained a small cult following due to this

Warren W. Eagle - Local homeless person, usually spotted around dumpsters, can play a pretty mean keyboard solo though

there’s more important characters but I these are the ones I’ve currently planned out (Saxophone isn’t really important though, I just found the concept I had for him funny)

and finally, some miscellaneous facts that I can’t fit anywhere else in this incoherent ramble

The two main locations are Clayhill and Mullhoven, though Mullhoven in this au has become a bigger city, well Clayhill has kept its gated community status

The main three do have a minor role in this au, with them being know as the “weird” residents in town, some situation always seems to be happening to them wether that be their house burning down or finding their pillowcases full of ham

Electracey and Sketchbook are both college age with them both being 17

Laptop on the other hand is a highschooler, being 15 years old

All the characters are humanoids, they basically have human proportion’s but still have some of their weird puppet feaures

Lesley is Electric Current’s manager, though it’s not her only job according to her, she won’t tell much about herself, she likes the game of mystery

Electracey’s name in this au is just Tracey, Laptop’s is Lapis, and Elevator Speakers is Alexa

Colin, Laptop, and Electracey are all siblings, Colin being oldest, Tracey being middle, and Laptop being youngest, well Elevator Speaker is their cousin

Tissue box is fine with her and Coffins band being pretty unknown, but Coffin wish’s they could be as popular as some of the others, and he will do anything to make that happen

Laptop is a big fan of Hatsune Miku and and makes references to her in some of Electric Currents songs when it’s her turn to write one

uh that’s it for now :3 *disappears in a cloud of misty smoke*

[eva-does-its-best]

Saw a post about trans bathroom bans and comparing it to when there were white only bathrooms, and there was a bunch of people saying that it was racist to make that comparison and one person even tried to say that it was racist because intersectionality? Idk what that reasoning was, but anyway, I checked their profiles and-

Would you look at that, none of them were black.

Can people. stop. talking over other minorities? You are allowed to support what the minorities say and promote it, you should in fact do that. What you should not do is act as if you could be their voice, as if your words were theirs or you knew better.

Stop with the savior complex, don't disrespect black voices.

[bretwalda-lamnguin]

Ptolemaic Gondor?

Tolkien named Ancient Egypt as one of the inspirations for Gondor-particularly aesthetically and in their capacity for grand architecture. The crown of Gondor also resembles the crown of Upper Egypt, tall and conical, with similar symbolism between the combining of the crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt and the combination of the Gondorian crown with the Arnorian diadem-the Elendilmir. I think there is also a deeper link between Gondor and Ancient Egypt, particularly Egypt under the Ptolemaic dynasty, the last to rule Egypt before the Romans annexed it.

Under the cut for a brief history of Ptolemaic Egypt and what that has to do with Gondor!

The Ptolemies were descended from one of Alexander the Great’s generals, called, unsurprisingly, Ptolemy. Alexander and his army were from Macedon, a northern Greek kingdom. In the chaos after Alexander’s death his generals carved up his empire, with Ptolemy rushing to Egypt and having himself proclaimed Pharaoh. The Ptolemaic dynasty ruled from Alexandria, a city founded by Alexander in the Nile delta, on the shores of the Mediterranean. Ptolemy was a Macedonian, and many other Macedonians, both soldiers of Alexander and others, followed them to Egypt. Alexandria became a great centre of Greek Hellenic culture dominated by Macedonians, who became basically a ruling class of this new Ptolemaic state. The highest offices of government were reserved for Macedonians, Macedonian Greek was the court language, the military was made up (at first at least) of Macedonians and mercenaries, with no recruitment from the Egyptian population. The traditional Egyptian religion and the role of the Pharaoh within it remained (with some Greek introductions), but in most other things Macedonians and their customs dominated. No Ptolemaic Pharaoh even knew how to speak Egyptian until Cleopatra VII (yes, that’s THE Cleopatra), the last ruler of the dynasty! Even she seems to have done little to better integrate Egyptians and Macedonians, with the Macedonians remaining firmly in charge until the Romans annexed Egypt.

Now the Ptolemies were not the only successors of Alexander, and one of their main rivals were the Seleucid empire, founded by fellow Macedonian general Seleucus. The Ptolemies often fought for control of the Levant in the Syrian wars. During the reign of Ptolemy IV the Ptolemies and Seleucids were embroiled in the fourth Syrian war. Faced with manpower shortages within the Macedonian ruling class, Ptolemy IV’s army included Egyptians trained to fight in the Macedonian style as part of the phalanx. At Raphia, Ptolemy IV won a decisive victory, with the Egyptian troops playing a key role in the battle. While this did improve the lot of Egyptians within Ptolemaic Egypt, Macedonians continued to dominate both the state and the military, and the failure to further integrate Egyptians into the army contributed to the weakening of the Ptolemaic state, which enjoyed arguably its finest hour at Raphia. A succession of poor rulers and civil war would see the state decline, eventually being annexed into the Roman empire after the death of Cleopatra VII.

Now, how does that fit with Gondor?

Gondor was founded by Númenorian exiles, with a Númenorian ruling class. Its main languages are Westron (descended from Númenorian Andunaic) and Sindarin, a common language among certain Númenorian communities. Comparisons may be made between Alexandria and cities like Pelargir and Osgiliath as centres of Númenorian dominance and culture (Pelargir especially, there is a reason Castamir liked it so much). And, like Ptolemaic Egypt, it seems like Númenorians dominated the military, with other peoples excluded. To quote Faramir:

“But the stewards were wiser and more fortunate. Wiser, for they recruited the strength of our people from the sturdy folk of the sea-coast, and from the hardy mountaineers of Ered Nimrais.”

This would seem to imply that prior to this, these peoples were excluded, and Númenorians dominated the military. But the Gondorians learned their lesson, at least to a greater degree than the Ptolemies did, and were able to slow their decline by better integrating non-Númenorians into the state. Númenorians still hold the highest positions of power (Denethor and Imrahil are the two most powerful men in the country in the late third age, both are Númenorians), but military discrimination is at least heavily reduced.

The appendices and unfinished tales do say that Northmen were recruited into the Gondorian military after the Kin-Strife, and mentions them in Eärnur’s army sent to fight Angmar. These may have been analogous to the mercenary forces used by the Ptolemies, rather than representing a widening of recruitment (though many Northmen did settle in Gondor after the Kin-Strife).

Obviously the comparisons are not 1:1, but I think early Gondor may well have resembled Ptolemaic Egypt in the structure and stratification of society. I suspect that this began heavily breaking down after the Kin-Strife. For a start, a lot of Númenorians are dead, or have been forced to renounce their ancestry by Eldacar. The Gondorians will need to look elsewhere for a supply of manpower. Númenorian supremacy may well start being seen as treasonous due to Castamir’s actions, and an active threat to the continued existence of the Gondorian state. By Denethor II’s time the Gondorian army seems far more diverse, and even many of the aristocrats may well be non-Númenorian (though again, Denethor and Imrahil occupy the most powerful positions).

[kimmkitsuragi]

me writing about howl movingcastle for my german class: ich finde ihn toll

[vamptastic]

If anyone wants more information, specifically, the portions of House Bill 1557 (the Don't Say Gay bill) barring puberty blockets and HRT for minors regardless of parental consent, HRT prescriptions written by nurse practitioners, and banning online treatment of trans people were overturned. To be clear, the portions of the bill forbidding discussion of gender and sexuality in public schools are still in effect.

HB1069, which primarily puts restrictions on sex education and I believe is the one that requires student's parents to provide written consent to have their child called by a different name in school is still in effect. HB1521, which states that transgender people must use the restrooms, changing facilities, domestic violence centers, and prisons of their sex at birth is still in effect. SB254, which allows the state to remove custody from the parents of medically transitioning children and to suspend the licenses of doctors who prescribe care to transgender children, is still in effect. Unsure if any of those are being challenged in court right now.

There's also the driver's license business, the new consent forms for HRT (the really long ones with 1000 places to initial), and a bill on higher education + another on military promotions that I'm not clear on the legal status of.

To be clear, this is still good news, and I expect most of these will also be struck down. Just wanted to be clear on what the state of the law is right now, to the best of my knowledge.

Florida bans on trans care have been overturned! 🏳️‍⚧️

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 3 | masterlist

-

It’s not unusual for someone to mistake you for the baby’s mama.

How could someone not, at least for a moment? When you take the baby to the grocery store, older people gush over him babbling in his stroller, eager to shower him with compliments in baby-talk or tell you how much you resemble the little tyke. After hearing the same comment for the umpteenth time, you tire of correcting people by saying you’re the babysitter only to watch their face fall, somewhat mortified and feeling as though their comment should’ve been directed to the baby’s actual mother. Which isn’t you. 

It’s less typical for someone to mistake you for John’s wife, though that does happen from time to time.

You’ve become a fixture around the neighbourhood since John hired you at the beginning of the summer, and over the weeks, the other nannies and the stay-at-home moms have started to gradually warm up to you. Before long, you’re being invited on coffee runs and playdates with some of the other women, always careful to ask for John’s permission before bringing his baby into a stranger’s house.

“Just text me the address and their names,” he requests while you stand awkwardly in front of him, John sitting on the bed to finish buttoning up his shirt and fixing his watch around his wrist. You would’ve been fine standing on the other side of the door while he finished changing, but he insisted on inviting you in.

“I will,” you promise, nodding along with his words.

“And call me if you don’t feel comfortable. I’ll come get the two of you right away if you need me.”

You swallow. Nod again.

The first time you take the baby for a playdate with a couple of the moms from the park, one catches you in the act of texting John the address of the house as he requested. “Hubby wants to know where you are, huh?”

“Oh,” you choke out, face heating up. “He’s not—”

“Not a control freak, I know. They’re all like that.” Her smile is ebullient, rolling her eyes like you’re in on a joke together when you most assuredly are not. “Why don’t you share your location with him? Mine’s the same way. Here—I’ll show you how.”

She takes your phone and tap-taps something and suddenly you see it in the notifications of your conversation with John. If you bite your lip instead of correcting her assumption about the nature of your and John’s relationship, that’s for you and you alone to know. Your rationale is that any explanation will just make things tense; it’s not like you haven’t seen it happen before. 

It’s far more concerning when John doesn’t correct those assumptions. Particularly when you’re standing right next to him. 

Like at the local water park on a particularly hot weekend, wading in the kiddy pool with the baby nestled tight against your chest in his little swim trunks and floppy hat only for an employee to ask John if his wife would like something to drink. 

“Iced coffee, love?” John asks, taking your stupefied silence as a yes. “Nothing for me, mate. Cheers.” 

Your head spins like a top on that thought until a good while later. The server hands you a glass of iced coffee with condensation already dripping down the sides and John thanks him for you, taking the baby from you and pulling you to his side. You drink your coffee quietly with your thigh flush with his under the water, gripping the glass harder when his free hand squeezes around your waist, laughing at something another parent said to him.

It’s so over for you. There’s no coming back from this. 

The sight of someone of John’s size, a bulky, military man with arms of pure steel dusted with dark hairs, cradling a tiny, chubby baby with a thatch of similar dark hair on his head and big cheeks and roly poly arms unlocks something primal in you. An old, buried need. 

In the family changing room, you stand under an ice cold shower until it breaks the fever slowly consuming you. All you can do is hope it takes. 

In the evening, you sit out on the porch with John at the back of the house until the crickets swell with song, the moon a half-crescent in the sky. A cool breeze makes your shoulders lift a little, huddling into your body to keep warm. 

It’s hard to keep your eyes on the view in front of you and off the man sitting beside you when they want so badly to be running over him. He’s changed out of his work clothes into a soft pair of sweatpants and an old threadbare shirt, the sage green fabric faded after years of being run through the washing machine. It clings to his biceps and the soft pudge of his stomach, a layer of fat over the hard muscle beneath. 

A cigarette dangles from his fingers, thick wrist perched on the arm of the adirondack chair. Every so often he lifts it to his lips for a puff, always breathing out in the opposite direction from you. Considerate of your health, at least, if not his own. 

“Cold, sweetheart?” he asks before ashing his cigarette, and your bottom lip purses when you turn your head to look at him because you thought you were doing a good job suppressing your shivers. 

You stare at him, confused. He cocks an eyebrow at your questioning stare and deliberately glances down, waiting until you notice the way your nipples are protruding through your white tank top. You forgot that you’d taken your bra off earlier for a bit of relief and hadn’t yet had a chance to put it back on. 

“Oh my god,” you squeak, crossing your arms to hide as much as possible, humiliation flooding through you. “I’m so sorry—that’s so—I-I’m so sorry.”

John makes a rough sound when he rises to his feet, knees cracking as he does. “S’alright, hun. Lemme get you something to put on.”

The screen door creaks when he goes back inside briefly to fetch something only to come back a few seconds later with a big, cotton sweater that reeks of him. It looks well loved, some remnant of his younger years, and even from a distance, you can smell the distinct smoky aroma clinging to the fabric. 

When he kneels in front of you, you nearly go cross-eyed at the realisation that even on his knees, he’s as tall as you. The bulk of his waist forces your legs to spread around him. 

“C’mon, arms up,” John commands, barely waiting until you’ve raised your arms above your head before helping guide your head and arms into the right holes. 

Dragging the sweater down the way he does forces it to rub over your nipples, sending a shock through you. If you had any less self-control, your teeth might actually chatter together. 

“There we go,” he says, fluffing out the sweater around your waist before resting his hands on the tops of your thighs, the gesture coming so naturally to him that you doubt he’s even noticed the placement of his hands. “Much better. That’ll warm you up.”

He isn't wrong. You’ve already worked up a sweat. 

Late night rain.

It comes down in buckets, a dark slate rapping hard against the window pane. A bolt of lightning flickers across the horizon off in the distance. White striations across an otherwise dark sky. About thirty seconds later, thunder rumbles. 

You peek from between the blinds, chewing your lip nervously. You’ve never driven in rain this bad, but with supper done and the dishes washed, there’s no excuse for you to stay any longer. Still, the rain comes down so heavily that despite your timidity, you briefly contemplate asking John if you can stay a little longer. At least until it lets up a bit; until your headlights won’t blind you reflecting off the puddles on the drive home. 

Someone else pulls the blinds further apart.

“There’s no way in hell you’re going out in that,” John says from behind you, practically growling his words. Daring you to contradict him. 

You glance over your shoulder to find him right there at your back, staring out the window. He’s so close that you can smell the red sauce on his flannel from dinner and make out the flecks of grey in his beard that are almost masked by the darker hairs. 

“It’s not…that bad…”

“Sweetheart, don’t piss me off,” he warns.

The blinds shuttle back together with a clatter when you finally let go of them. 

“I could—I could take the couch,” you offer. 

“Sweetheart,” John sighs, looking down at you meaningfully.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“I’m not gonna take the big, comfy bed and leave you with the couch.” When you open your mouth to protest, he cuts you off. “And don’t even try arguing. I won’t hear it.”

There’s not much you can say to dissuade him after that. The furrow of his brow lets you know he’s made up his mind; no ifs, ands, or buts. Besides, there’s a not-so-secret part of you that’s relieved that you don’t have to drive home in this weather. You’re an average driver on a good day. You don’t need your last moments before shuffling off this mortal coil to involve hydroplaning on the highway before ramming into the guardrail. 

John gives you a shirt of his to change into for after your shower, which you spend far too long in, scrubbing your body with his shower gel and quivering under the warm water. When you pull it on, you bring the collar up to your nose to smell. The same patent smoky scent, musky like ambergris and leather. Intoxicating. It makes the blood rush through your ear like a conch shell, the ocean swirling behind your eardrum. 

You hadn’t asked for underwear, content at first to keep on the same pair, but after your shower, you cringe at the thought of putting your day-old panties back on. Besides, his shirt is long enough to cover anything indecent. 

He sits on the edge of the bed when you come out, the concern on his brow melting away at the sight of you. 

“Practically a dress on you, isn’t it?” John says, voice a little wondrous. His eyes drag over you, tip to toe. 

You fiddle with the ends of it. “…Are you sure you want me to take the bed?” 

“Wouldn’t be fair. It’s yours for the night.” His lips quirk up at the corners when you frown. “Don’t worry about me—I’ve slept in worse places before.”

“Like where?” you ask dubiously.

“Tents. Abandoned buildings. Shacks. In the back of a moving van a few times. You wouldn’t believe half the places we used to make camp. Definitely no place for pretty girls like you.”

His condescending tone vaguely annoys you, but it’s hard to dig into your irritation when he thumbs the edge of the shirt you’re wearing and you realise that he’s just a few raised inches away from noticing that you don’t have any panties on. You should’ve just put your old ones back on, but it’s far too late now. 

You clear your throat instead. “We could…um…we could share.” 

You don’t know what possesses you to offer to share the bed, but the words are already gone, out of your mouth and in the air. John cocks an eyebrow.

“Unless you don’t want to,” you amend. 

“Don’t know about that, sweetheart,” he rasps. “…I snore like a bear.”

“That’s okay. I’m a pretty deep sleeper.”

John scrutinises you a bit longer, looking for any sign of hesitancy. You know he’d squash your offer in a second if he found any wariness in your gaze. 

“Alright,” he finally concedes, letting go of your shirt and slapping his thighs. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you wake up and can’t fall back asleep because of my snoring.”

After his shower, during which you lie on your side facing away from the bathroom door, stomach fraught with nerves as you consider the fact that he’s naked in the ensuite, you hear him come out and rummage around in the dresser for a change of clothes. You lie beside him with your stomach twisted in knots, your hands shoved under the pillow and staring resolutely at the wall. 

The appropriateness of sleeping in the same bed beside your boss isn't lost on you, but you're too far into this now.

The bed dips when he settles onto the other side, and the sudden absence of light when he switches the bedside lamp off nearly makes you cheep. 

He breathes heavily, you notice, particularly when he finally falls asleep. It’s a deep, rumbling sound—not entirely unlike a bear, though you can’t really confirm that for certain seeing as how you’ve never slept beside a bear before. 

Those are the thoughts that would signal the approach of sleep if you weren’t soon to be engulfed by it. 

Sometime in the middle of the night, you wake up to a rough hand stroking your back leisurely. There’s a hard chest under you, your cheek propped up on a pillowy pec that rises and falls with his breaths. Sleep bobs around in you like a toulouse decanter. You struggle to keep an eye open, certain that there’s something you need to tend to, but then his hand slides down your back again to curve over your rump and sleep drags you back down. 

You wake up again to your breath wafting back into your mouth, your face shoved into the crook of a man’s neck. Humid, hot. You’re lipping at the skin of his neck, little tongue darting out to lap up a bead of sweat, salty on your tongue. 

Your cunt pulses against his leg, toes curling when John drags his hand up your thigh and hitches it higher up around his waist. 

“Baby?” he groans, his voice still rusty from sleep. The sound is a rough burr up your spine. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Couldn’ get comfy.”

“You hot?” he asks.

The denial on the tip of your tongue slips back down your throat when he plants his foot on the bed and draws his leg up, pressing the meat of his thigh into your throbbing sex. 

“Here, lemme help you—” he groans, reaching down to ruck up your shirt, dragging it up over your breasts and helping manoeuvre your arms out of the holes. It gets tossed off the bed onto the floor. 

Now your breasts are flat on his chest, smushed against his ribcage. It registers somewhere in the back of your head as inappropriate, but sleep pushes that thought away, focusing instead on the discomfort of moving around when you just want to settle back down and go back to bed. 

It must be the heat making you act this way. 

“Shit—sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes, shifting under you. “M’hot too.”

He plants a hand on your ass and heaves you up his chest, giving him enough room to wiggle out of his boxers. It pushes your breasts right into his face, your nipples mere inches from his mouth. When his tongue pokes out to wet his upper lip, it nicks your pebbled nipple. 

A hard length presses against your butt when you’re slid back down, the tip wet when it catches against your skin. 

“Jus’ ignore it, sweetie,” John mumbles, petting a hand down your back. 

You lie like that for a while, splayed over his body. Want simmering just under your skin. Flustered and exhausted all at once, sleep-drained; not a drop of strength in your muscles. 

The heat is just—

Scorching. Dizzying. You feel featherbrained, slipping in and out of sleep, biting off the whimpers that threaten to crawl up your throat when John tucks his hands into the crevice of your thighs to wrench them apart, spreading them around his hips again. 

Distantly, you remember that the man under you is at least twenty years your senior. Your employer at that. A man now palming your butt, sinking his fingers into the flesh and rumbling low in his throat. 

It’s wrong—flagrantly wrong. You know that you should say something, that you should get up and tell him that you’re going to sleep on the couch instead. But your tongue is too thick for your mouth. And your thoughts are a sticky paste. The pulse between your thighs empties out all the common sense from your head. 

His palms are slick on your skin. 

Your breathing grows shallow when a hard length suddenly pushes between your thighs as well. 

When the mushroomed head nudges at your opening, you flinch, heart thumping ferociously against your chest. 

“John—John—” you breathe, panicked. As if to warn him. As if he weren’t planting both feet on the bed and lifting his hips. 

As if it wasn’t his hands, warm on your waist, dragging you down onto the shaft spearing into you. 

Your blood is molten hot in your veins. Sticky hands and sticky fingers curl into his chest hair. Your head thumps against his pecs, too weak to hold it up, lipping at the damp skin of his chest. 

“It hurts—” you bleat, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes. 

“I know, baby, I know,” John pants. He draws his hips back just to press forward again, deeper this time. Filling you up more than before. “I’m sorry, baby—I can’t, it’s just…too good. Shit.”

Resolve in tatters. Shattered like his willpower, like his determination not to fuck the girl twenty years his junior sleeping beside him in his bed. 

His hips pump up into yours, bouncing you in his lap. Each thrust plunging his cock deeper into your pussy. It’d be painful if you weren’t so wet, but you’re dripping, arousal making you leak around his shaft and slickening his way. 

Sleep still rattles around in your brain, but not even the fog of sleep can shake the ever intensifying realisation that you’re fucking your boss. No two ways around it—breasts naked against his hirsute chest; pussy wet and stuffed to the hilt with a big dick. Knocked senseless by it. 

The veins of his cock drag over the viscid walls of your cunt with every thrust. He must like the involuntary noises you make because he loses his rhythm when you cry out, growling out a string of unintelligible curses. His body feels bigger like this somehow, biceps and forearms bulging where they’re wrapped around your waist, hips forcing your legs to spread wide around him, the ache sinking deep into your muscle, into your bones.  

When you look up at him, his eyes are more hooded than usual, the blue of his irises so dark that they’re almost black. 

“Such a good girl,” he grunts, big arms like steel bands around your waist, holding you tight to his chest so you have nowhere to run. “Jus’ let…jus’ let daddy come and—oh Christ, fuck, fuck…—jus’ lemme come and we’ll go back to bed, okay, sweetie?”

“I’m gonna…” you pant, trailing off when he gets a little rough, pumping harder up into you. The sound of your pussy squelching around his length makes your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open. 

“Yeah, yeah, you—you come too, baby. Jus’ need to take the edge off, both of us.”

You squeal when he reaches a hand down to dig his fingers into your butt cheek and it makes you tense up, walls tightening around his dick. One well-placed swat hard enough to make the flesh of your ass jiggle and you come, clenching up so tight that his next few thrusts are slowed by your spasming walls, forcing him to really cram his cock into your hole. 

“Christ, that’s cute,” John growls, his pupils blown out. 

It hurts to come that hard; makes your belly cramp up and everything. Whatever gibberish spills from your mouth gets lost in the aftermath. 

That’s when the temperature goes from hot to blistering. The muscles of his thighs tense, straining with his impending release. Even his grip around your waist gets tighter, his self-control steamrolled under his approaching climax, oblivious to the way you squeal and squirm when it threads the delicate needle of being too much. 

“Sorry, baby,” he apologises, voice treading gravel. “M’gonna mess your pussy up a bit—”

“Wait—wait—” you gasp, trying fruitlessly to lift yourself up, his arms keeping you pinned tight to his chest. “You’re gonna—John, you’re gonna come inside me—”

His hips thrust up hard at your words, one last rough pump that has him digging his heels into the mattress and clenching his jaw, the veins in his neck protruding. You feel it flood inside you, hot spurts of cum right up against your womb. He curses when he comes, eyelids sliding shut, lost in the sensation of emptying himself into you. 

A few last, punishing thrusts that make your teeth clack together. More heat spurting into you. A murmured oh fuck before his legs slide back down the bed, spreading out over the mattress. 

The blanket is somewhere at the foot of the bed, all scrunched up and nearly dangling off the edge. You only start to shiver when the sweat on your back finally begins to cool. 

When he pulls you off his cock, you whimper, a hot flash snaking through you. Oh Christ did he plug you up good. Stringy, viscous cum leaks from your hole, leaving a little puddle on his thigh when you slide off his chest and to the side a bit. 

“Oh baby,” he tuts softly, reaching between your legs to feel where you’re wet and a little swollen. “Sorry, sweetheart…wanna get cleaned up?”

“No…” you rasp, so dazed that you can’t even lift your cheek off his chest. 

Exhaustion has never ridden you this hard before, but considering the circumstances…—perhaps you’re lucky to be conscious at all, is all you mean. There’s not a chance of you having enough energy to do anything as rigorous as showering though. 

“Okay, baby. Little kiss?” John asks in a murmur, lifting your head up by your chin and swooping down for a kiss. Not even giving you enough time to process his words before his mouth is on yours. 

His lips glide slick against yours, tongue slipping into your mouth like he needs a good, deep kiss to ground him. A wet twisting of tongues; a thick finger stroking up your neck. He can’t stop touching you. Running a hand up your spine and curving it back down over your ass. Featherlight touches meant to calm you down. His kisses grow sticky, lingering; each one almost the last until he pulls you in for another. 

“Go back to sleep, okay?” John says, still speaking low enough to push you back under. He smooths his hand down your back again. 

You fall back asleep with a load in your belly and your head in a tizzy. The you of tomorrow is going to have a lot to contend with from the you of tonight.

[kimmryokoo]

Small hands - logan howlet

author: kim ryoko

masterlist

summary: logan feels like he has to protect you when he saw how smaller you where compared to him. so he decides to mark you so every guy with bad thoughts can know you're taken.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: protective/possessive logan, slight size kink, teasing, oral (f!receiving), smut, figetting

author note: english isn't my first language so I'm sorry for any mistakes and feel free to correct me in the coments. It's my first time writing smut, so I'm sorry if it's bad (I'm sorry again for the short fic).

Just a normal Sunday morning where you and Logan were in bed, snuggled against each other when you woke up.

As your eyes started to open, they were hit by a ray of sunshine and when you tried to sit up to end the inconvenience, but you soon noticed that you couldn’t. There was a heavy arm on top of you and one laid below you, around the area of your head. You used one hand to support the weight of your body as the other rubbed your eyes.

You looked behind you just to see Logan still sleeping, and mind you, it’s rare for you to wake up before him. He must’ve been really tired from yesterday's late mission, where you all came at around 3 p.m. and his nightmares started to calm down a little after you two started to sleep in the same bed.

You decided to lay back down and enjoy this moment with the sleeping beauty behind you.

As you laid your head on top of his bicep, you couldn’t help but stare at his hand in front of you. It is so much bigger than yours.

You grabbed his hand and brought it to you in a motion that made his arm bend. You then started playing with his fingers; running the tip of your fingers against all of his hand and some of his arm; and when you put your open hand on top of his, also opened, hand, you saw his fingers moving to hold you hand, and you felt his head starting to bury itself in the crook of your neck.

You chuckled and softly said “Good morning, sleepy head.”

In response, Logan just hummed and moved his head so his lips were right behind your ear.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.” he said in a low, husky tone just before lightly kissing your ear and somehow pulling you closer and putting his knee above your leg, cuddling you deeper. You managed to move your body to face him under his grip and you rested your face on his chest. Logan also moved to lay on his back and for you to lay on top of him. Your hands were still locked together and Logan took the chance to look at them. He saw how small your hand was compared to his, and it sent him a feeling he didn't even know he had. He felt like he had to protect you even more than before. He knew you were a person that liked to talk to people when you were excited about something, even if you didn't know the person that well.

Then, Logan came up with an idea.

There is no way he can prevent a guy from talking to you or you talking to them, but if he marked you up, he could show everyone you where taken even if he wasn't there.

Fucking brilliant.

And, like if you weighed nothing, Logan flipped you both again so he was on top and started kissing you slowly.

“Where did all of this come from?” you asked in between kisses while chuckling and with a smile on your face.

“It's not my fault. You're just to fucking perfect.” he said with all the seriousness in the world, and that made you know we was telling the truth.

Logan continued kissing you and slowly started leaving a wet trail of kisses all throughout your cheek and jaw, finally getting to your neck. He slowed even more his open-mouth kisses and started to suck and nibble your neck.

“Ah… Logan…” you moaned.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Moan my name, scream it, so everyone in this fucking mansion knows who you belong to.” With that, Logan continued his journey down your body, slowly opening the buttons of his flannel you were wearing at the moment.

As Logan did it, he grunted and felt his boxers getting tighter with every inch of your body that he exposed.

He stopped and leaned back to take a good look at you and shit, you were drop dead gorgeous. He swears that if one of these days he doesn’t get himself killed, you will.

Logan then got back to work focusing on your chest and taking his time to play with each nipple and massage the one that wasn’t getting his mouth attention. When he got happy enough with watching your nipples harden with every touch and your boobs jiggle, he created a wet path all the way down to your lower belly where only your favorite pair of panties were blocking where you needed him the most. Logan licked a long, slow swipe on top of your clothed core and you squirmed with pure need for him.

“Getting impatient, are we darling?” he said with a teasing voice.

In response you only made a sound between a hum and a moan, but whatever it was, it motivated Logan to go further. He pulled your underwear down with a swift motion and took another second to admire your wet pussy. Hell, how much he wanted to lock you in your room all day and keep his head between your legs every second of it. That reminded Logan that he didn't have as long as he wanted, so it was best for him to roll up his sleeves and get to work.

Logan teased you again by placing soft kisses throughout your folds just to see that look on your face when you’re so desperate for him. He really loves that look. In fact, when you’re separated, he sometimes jerks himself by imagining that same face. Other times he imagines you on all fours, but that’s a story for another time.

Logan gets tired of teasing you and starts to kiss your clit more passionately until it becomes a full on make-out section. You don’t know how long you’re going to last when you already start to see stars and have to grab and pull on his hair to ground himself (not that he minds). Logan knows you’re close, so he decides to lend you a hand. Literally. His index finger enters your aching hole with ease from how wet you are from all his teasing and starts to pound into you. As you moans get louder, you grip on his hair tightens and the and the amount of times your core clenches around his finger, he knows you’re really close, so he gives you more fuel for you to reach your orgasm asap by inserting one more finger on you and folding them slightly to hit your sweet spot.

With that, your loud moans turn into pleasure screams and within seconds you’re releasing your juices on his face, on which he sucks and drinks like a champ.

Logan lays back on his knees to observe the master piece he’s - once more - created. You have hickeys from your neck all the way to your belly , bruises on your thighs from his hard grip and your core is completely destroyed. And Logan is proud to say he did it all.

Logan pulls you into a long, loving kiss and pulls away for air and to say “You did so well. You’re such a good girl” and then you smile and blush like a teenager with a crush. And that’s exactly how he makes you feel.

Logan then helps you clean up and organize your things for your day as a teacher, giving you the best aftercare you’ve ever had.

“What about you? You didn’t do anything. We still have time, do you want help?” You asked after you were ready to leave and remembered your boyfriend didn’t cum.

“Sweetheart, I would die happy in your arms, but I would die the happiest man on earth if I died between your legs.” Logan responded with a smirk.

You then laughed out loud by his weird love confection, a sound that made Logan’s smirk turn into a smile full of love for the woman in front of him.

“Okay, then. But I’m still gonna help you when I’m finished with all my work” You said with a wide smile and wrapped your arms around his neck as he wrapped his around your waist and pulled you close.

“Oh, I’ll hold onto that, believe me.” He said in a teasing tone.

“Hope you do.” you then pecked his lips “I gotta go, Lo’. See you later, love you!” you said as you unwrapped yourself from his warm arms and opened your bedroom door to leave.

“Love you more” Logan said with a smile as he watched you close the door and listened to you walk down the hall.

Logan couldn’t possibly be more in love with you than he already is.

Hope you liked it!

xoxo, kim ryoko

[cazerole]

ok so here is an incredibly messy and not very well researched guide i made for my friend about how i would personally recommend reading the Transformers IDW Comics (widely regarded as the best run of the comics, and beloved by pretty much every fan)

(best features include: gay robots, lesbian robots, trans robots, love, everlasting friendship, space hijinks, political intrigue undercut by thousands/millions of years of history and war and hatred, also more gayness.)

caz's quick start guide to the transformers comics (IDW):

Start with reading (The Death of Optimus Prime) its a great jumping off point for the most popular series (more than meets the eye and lost light) because it kicks off the start of this "phase" of the idw comics run. it starts with the end of the autobot/decepticon war (after they leave earth. see why i like the comics? [my personal belief is that transformers is more interesting sans humanity lol]

Then read Transformers: More than Meets the Eye : This is the first half of the story and it concludes with: Transformers: Lost Light And that makes up the full series that i've read.

I actually haven't gotten around to reading the companion/sister series to this run which is called Transformers: Robots in Disguise (which is part 1) and Transformers: Optimus Prime (the nomenclature of this franchise is hella confusing i know) (which is part 2)

note: the part 1 and part 2 of the sister series runs parallel to the mtmte (more than meets the eye, aka part 1) and ll (lost light, aka part 2) story, so they have semi-frequent crossovers, but its 100% possible to just read one and not the other

AND

there are other one off comics/ mini series in IDW that ae also awesome and 100% worth reading: Spotlight: Blurr (this is my fav, but all of the spotlights are awesome imo) (megatron origin story, which is a pretty great version of the whole megatron origins, and you can def see how it has continued to influence TF:1) Sins of the Wreckers (i see ppl talk about this one a lot, but i've actually never read it…)

AND LASTLY

the IDW run ended a few years ago now (jesus almost 6 years or something???) and the publisher's contract was up with hasbro, SO all the hasbro franchises then got picked up by Image Comics (including Transformers, GI Joe, Cobra Cai [i think, lol])

and its A LOT to catch up on, so understandably you might be more interested in starting anew with this new run by Image, which really requires no prior knowledge of ANYTHING.

This new era of Transformers comics is a part of a (thankfully very small) group of semi-interconnected stories called The Energon Universe (they haven't really gotten any better at naming things)

You can read this new run (brilliantly named "Transformers") HERE

(ok that was a lie it wasn't the last thing)

Also part of this new universe theyre making is a completely original series that features cameos of several transformers (but is still very much a standalone) called VOID RIVALS and its a wonderful read, Kirkman (who also wrote Invincible) has written what is basically a fanfiction within the Transformers Universe but features all original characters (barring some pretty big cameos)

and yes for shows, i LOVE LOVE LOVE transformers Prime, ive heard really great things about transformers: animated, and transformers: cyberverse wildly varies in quality but its a fun casual watch.

If I want to get into transformers where should I start? I’ve seen the bumblebee movie and few of early Michael bay movies, but that’s it.

with regret i'm not the best person to ask about this as i haven't actually consumed that much transformers media. i can tell you that Transformers One is what ultimately hooked me on the franchise.

you COULD also just start with G1 (thats what i'm currently doing) but that does require a degree of Commitment haha

will put this one out there in case any followers have animated show or comics recommendations!!

[satellite-evans]

sea view

Pairing: Harry Styles x wife!reader

Summary: Harry and his pregnant wife spending a day at the beach <3

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: fluff

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The golden sun hung lazily on the horizon, stretching its warm fingers across the beach. Each wave that lapped at the shore seemed to echo the steady rhythm of your heart, entwined with his. Harry’s hand slid down to yours, lacing your fingers together as you walked along the edge of the tide, the cool water occasionally licking at your toes. His thumb traced idle patterns against your skin, the gesture almost absentminded but deeply affectionate. The closeness of him made your chest feel full, as if the love you shared could hardly be contained in such a quiet moment.

Harry stopped suddenly, letting out a content sigh and stretching his arms out wide as if to embrace the entire ocean. “Do you ever stop to think about how mad all this is?” he asked, his voice tinged with wonder. He looked back at you, his eyes softening as they landed on your growing bump. “Me, you, this little bean in here.”

His free hand grazed your belly, his fingertips trailing delicately over the fabric of your sundress. The tenderness of the gesture sent a wave of warmth through you, a shiver of excitement and love.

“Mad is one way to describe it,” you replied, a smile curling on your lips. “Miraculous is another.”

“Miraculous,” Harry repeated, the word rolling off his tongue as if savoring it. He stopped walking entirely, tugging your hand gently to pull you closer. The sight of him then—bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun, his features soft with awe—took your breath away.

“I don’t think there’s a single word that could do justice to this,” he said, his voice quieter now. His hand splayed fully over your belly, his fingers flexing slightly as if memorizing the curve of your form. “Or to you.”

You felt your cheeks flush under his gaze, and you ducked your head instinctively, embarrassed by the intensity of his admiration. Harry wasn’t having it, though. His fingers tilted your chin up with a gentle insistence, and his smile—equal parts cheeky and adoring—melted your heart.

“Don’t you dare look away,” he teased, his voice low and playful. “I want to see that glow.”

“Harry, you’re ridiculous,” you mumbled, though you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling.

“Ridiculously in love with my wife,” he corrected, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against yours. “And ridiculously lucky that she agreed to carry my baby, even if I did forget to take the bins out last night.”

“Oh, don’t think I’ve forgotten that,” you quipped, poking him lightly in the chest. “But maybe I’ll forgive you… if you’re good.”

“Define ‘good,’” he murmured, his voice dropping into that lower, teasing tone that always turned your knees to jelly.

Before you could answer, he kissed you. It was slow and deep, like the tide itself had paused just to give you this moment. His lips moved against yours with a kind of reverence that made your heart race, and when he finally pulled back, you were breathless, leaning into him for support.

“Good enough?” he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You laughed, pushing lightly at his chest. “Barely. But you’re getting there.”

By the time you reached the blanket he’d set up on the sand, Harry had already shrugged off his shoes and set down the picnic basket he’d carried. The blanket was oversized and ridiculously plush, covered in cushions that looked far too fancy for a beach day. You arched a brow at him as you lowered yourself carefully onto it.

“This is very… elaborate,” you teased, smoothing a hand over the soft fabric.

“Only the best for my girl,” Harry said, dropping to his knees beside you and immediately pulling a container of strawberries from the basket.

“For the lady,” he said with a theatrical flourish, holding one up to your lips. The grin on his face was pure mischief, but it softened when you took the strawberry, your teeth sinking into the juicy fruit. He watched you like you were performing magic, his gaze warm and unblinking.

“You’re spoiling me,” you said, leaning back against the cushions with a smirk.

“You deserve to be spoiled,” he replied, his voice turning serious. He shifted to lie on his side next to you, propping himself up on one elbow. His free hand found its natural place on your bump, his fingers spreading wide as though he wanted to feel every inch of the connection between you and the baby. “Can I spoil you a little more?”

“What are you up to, Styles?” you asked suspiciously, narrowing your eyes.

“I was thinking,” he said, a mischievous glint sparking in his gaze, “that the sea looks awfully inviting. Fancy a swim?”

You hesitated, glancing out at the gentle waves. “I don’t know. I feel like a beached whale these days.”

Harry let out a laugh, his eyes crinkling in that way that made your heart flutter. “Don’t even joke about that. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And I mean it. Come on, love. Let me hold you in the water. It'll feel good.”

The water was cooler than you’d expected, but not unpleasant. True to his word, Harry’s arms were around you the moment you waded in, holding you close as if you might drift away.

“See? This isn’t so bad, is it?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. The closeness made your heart flutter, and you wrapped your arms around his neck for balance.

“No, not bad,” you admitted, leaning into him. The sensation of the water buoying your weight was freeing, and you found yourself relaxing completely against his chest.

Harry’s hands roamed gently—one resting against the curve of your lower back, the other slipping under the water to cradle your belly. His thumb rubbed soft circles, and his touch felt reverent, almost worshipful.

“You’re carrying a part of me,” he said, his voice quiet, almost as if he was talking to himself. “Our baby. How do you do it? How are you this strong?”

Your throat tightened at his words, but you managed a small laugh. “I think you’ve got a romanticized view of it. There’s a lot of complaining and ice cream involved.”

“And I’ll listen to every complaint and buy every pint of ice cream for the rest of our lives,” he vowed, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder. “You’re everything to me, you know that?”

You nodded, suddenly overcome with emotion. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

Harry kissed you then, his lips capturing yours with a tenderness that made you feel as though the entire world had disappeared.

When you returned to the blanket, the sun was dipping below the horizon, leaving the sky painted in hues of pink and orange. Harry handed you a towel and then promptly decided it was a better idea to dry your legs himself, taking far longer than necessary and sneaking cheeky kisses every time he bent closer.

“You know what I think?” he said, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Hmm?”

“I think our baby is going to be just like you—kind, strong, stubborn as hell,” he teased, earning a light elbow to the ribs. He winced dramatically. “Oi, I’m fragile, you know!”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” you replied, trying to sound annoyed, though your smile betrayed you.

“Insufferably handsome,” he corrected, puffing his chest out a little. “And insufferably mad about you.”

“Oh, here we go,” you groaned playfully, covering your face with your hands. “Should I prepare myself for another Shakespearean sonnet about my ‘radiant glow’?”

“Not just a glow—your divine luminescence,” he countered with a grin, rolling onto his back and pretending to gaze at the sky. “It rivals the sun, the moon, the stars—”

“Alright, enough!” you said, laughing as you reached for a pillow from the blanket and swung it at him. Harry caught it with a laugh, holding it above his head like a trophy.

“Violence against a man praising his wife!” he exclaimed, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “What will the baby think?”

“They’ll think you’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love,” he shot back, leaning over to kiss you despite the pillow still clutched in his hand. “But you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly as you pushed him back onto the blanket. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Harry grinned, tossing the pillow aside and pulling you closer until your head rested on his chest again. “I really am,” he said quietly, the humor giving way to genuine affection in his tone. After a beat, he added, “But if the baby gets my sense of humor, you’re in trouble.”

“Oh, God,” you groaned, shaking your head. “Then I really will be outnumbered.”

Harry let out a loud laugh, the sound blending with the waves as the sky deepened into twilight. The two of you stayed there, bickering playfully and exchanging kisses until the stars began to appear, painting the start of your next chapter in a perfect blend of love and laughter.