#help from someone who is qualified to do it. i asked him to choose his doctor so he can be most comfortable. i offered to pay for the doctor

[chlopieno]

This friday sucks super bad so far.

[mxstellatayte]

Hi! So I lobe what you have been posting and really want one with either max or mick?

One where they don't realises that they are covered in hickey or scratches?

And it gets called out by either the fans or the press/other drivers?

Please do nsfw either a flashback or one afterwards with a bit of revenge towards our dear reader

Thank yoz and keep up the amazing work 🫶🫶

hey there! i absolutely love all the detail you've given me to work with <3 also i straight up had a physical reaction to this because RAAAAAARGH this is. so hot. also this takes place before singapore 2024 :)

taglist: @vivi-81 @irishmanwhore @lucycowr @benstormy @anat33-blog1

@xoscar03 @tremendousstarlighttragedy @nenamalenaa @champagneproblems17 @marknolee

@toby33b @soloqualcosa @sassyinchident808 @slutmeoutsworld @itsgrlalmghty

join my taglist here!

it was the flash of papaya among a sea of navy blue that snapped max out of the zoned-out daze he'd been in for the past few minutes. lando.

thank christ.

he reaches out his hand, clasping the mclaren driver's own and bringing him in for a brief hug before stepping back. thankfully, there isn't any media around right now, or max might just flip a table. he's getting real sick of putting up a wall of friendliness when all he wanted to do was escape to his driver's room and mentally prepare for the upcoming qualifying session.

they make small talk for a few moments, talking about the track evolution throughout the day, the brutal heat and humidity, the added drs zone, lap times...

"you get up to anything last night, mate?" lando quirks an eyebrow and sips from his black drinks bottle as he asks the question, leaning his hip against a random storage container.

you'd been wandering around the paddock with lily zneimer while max finished up in the post-practice press conference, doing anything you could to escape the absolutely brutal singaporean heat. however, it seemed that the moment max left you alone, any man within a ten kilometer radius immediately decided to flirt with you.

as soon as the press conference was over and max was released from any further duties, he began searching for you throughout the paddock. after fifteen unsuccessful minutes, though, he thankfully ran into someone who might have a vague idea as to where you may be.

"daniel, have you seen-"

"mclaren hospitality with zneimer."

"thanks."

as max approached the painfully orange building, he heard your voice, mood immediately lifting. what he heard, however, pissed him off beyond measure.

"-told you, i have a boyfriend. i'm not interested. now, if you could kindly fuck off, i'm trying to enjoy my lunch."

what the fuck?

when he rounded the corner, he saw who you were talking to, and... really? this guy thought he had a chance with you? if there was anything more about the situation that could piss max off even more, it's the fact that he's leaning in way too close for his- and your- comfort.

"hey, schatje. everything all good over here?" max rests a hand on your shoulder, deliberately placing himself between you and this creep who won't leave you alone.

"yeah, everything's good. how did the press conference go?" you tilt your head back, and max immediately understands, ducking down to kiss you quickly.

it's that moment that the man bothering you chooses to speak up, and he somehow says the one thing that wouldn't help his situation right now, embarrassing as it is already. "could've just said you had a boyfriend. fuckin' bitch." max's hand twitches on your shoulder and you bring your own up to rest on it, holding him in place. instead of any other reaction, max offers him a fake smile before he storms off, leaving the two of you to burst into laughter.

max sits down next to you, steals a bite of your croissant, and leans back in his chair, a cocky smirk on his face as he chews the flaky pastry. "i was eating that, thank you very much."

"i'll buy you another one," max replies nonchalantly as if he didn't just stare daggers into the heart of the man that was flirting with you. "it seems like you need something that tells people you're taken, though."

later that night, max's lips and teeth ghosted across the skin of your neck, breasts, and thighs as you squirmed beneath him, promising that the blues, purples, and yellows that mottled your skin would ensure that no one would even think about flirting with you.

"nah, nothing much," max lies. "just the team debrief, some sim work, checking over numbers with gp, that kind of stuff. what about you?"

"nah, nothing much," lando responds with a shrug, teeth still clamped around the bendy straw. "played some padel games with max but we were roasted by the end of it. fell dead asleep by nine."

"yeah, the heat always beats it out of me here. i'm probably going to sleep for thirteen hours straight after the race on sunday."

"i probably will, too, honestly, but mostly because i can't beat the jet lag here." max nods in agreement, taking a sip out of his own drinks bottle. "a little birdy told me that you got up to more than just racing review, last night, though."

max's eyebrows furrow in confusion, and he swallows the gulp of water he'd taken. "what do you mean?"

"your neck, mate."

max whined as his hips canted up into yours, his hands desperately grabbing at your arms. your tongue laved over your teeth marks, matching blues and purples littering the lower part of max's neck but coming high enough so that they'd be just visible over the high collar of his fireproofs and race suit. "fuck, schatje, feels so good."

"yeah? you like everyone knowing that you're mine?" all max can do is nod pathetically, biting down on his lower lip in order to muffle the sounds he so desperately wants to make. "use your words, max."

"love it, want everyone to know i'm yours. everyone needs to know."

"there you go, baby." your hips resume their previous pattern, and you groan openly at the delicious slide of max's cock inside of you, filling you up so perfectly. he cries out when you shift your lips lower, taking his left nipple between your teeth gently, and you're able to pry one of his hands from your arm, bringing it to your own breast in hopes that he gets the memo.

he does.

max's hand immediately kneads at your breast, and you groan, your mouth shifting over to his other nipple and repeating the same ministrations, letting your teeth graze it ever so slightly between gentle licks and sucks. "mm, fuck, schatje, gonna cum, 'm gonna cum-"

"so cum for me, max." that's all max needs to hear before his head is thrown back and a beautiful moan rips itself from his throat, and you can't help but press your fingers into the bruises that litter his thick neck. the combination of the high-pitched wails that fill your ears and the feeling of max's cum filling you beyond full makes you fall over the edge, too, and you collapse onto his chest with a satisfied giggle.

max's hand immediately comes up to his neck and he tries not to wince at the flashes of pain that zip through his body, stemming from the lingering bite marks you'd left the night before, his eyes flashing wide. "that bad?"

"that bad," lando confirms with a nod and a smirk. "you might want to go find her and make her cover them up for you before qualifying."

[wri0thesley]

lion tamer - jing yuan x reader (12.4k)

it's taken for granted you'll take the job that nobody else wants, whilst the general is indisposed. you just didn't expect things to turn out like this.

cw: not sfw, minors dni. chubby reader. reader is afab but no gendered terms are used. descriptions of raw meat (animals eating), food, pining, fingering, cunnilingus, coming inside. pet names including little bird, darling, little thing. reader is implied to be shorter than jing yuan.

This was a commissioned work.

It’s a quiet whisper, at first - gossip among the lower-downs of the Luofu. You hear it on the fringes and the edges, but you dismiss it as really none of your business; you’re already working harder than most everyone else thanks to the small matter of your far shorter lifespan, and you don’t intend to set yourself back by listening to idle gossip. You have other things to concentrate on; the busywork that you’ve been assigned to as a junior (very junior) member of the Seat of Divine Foresight. 

Really, though they call you a ‘non-administrative support specialist’, you know what you really are; a general dogsbody, somebody to pick up all of the pieces that others sweep by. Still; just getting a position here means you’ve outdone most people, and you hold in your heart the idea that you could get even further up this ladder of success if you simply tried hard enough. You’ve heard tell that even some of the long-life species haven’t managed to make it as far as actually working within the Seat itself, so really . . . you can’t help but feel a little proud of yourself. 

Which is why you choose to ignore the swirling rumour about your esteemed Arbiter-General until you’re called into a meeting with Yong Hai himself. 

(The General is sick, the rumours say. The General may not last another day. The General’s laziness has caught up with him, the General may not make it, and what will we all do then--)

“So,” Yong Hai says, all business. “You’ve probably heard about it already.”

There’s a flare of disquiet in your gut; that the gossip and the rumours you’ve been so steadfastly avoiding are true. You don’t know what the Luofu would do with General Jing Yuan; you cannot imagine the ship and the world without him, when he has been such a stolid presence - and the way that the general public will react doesn’t bear thinking about--

“Stop that,” Yong Hai says, with an amused look in his eye even as he fights to keep his mouth in a firm, commanding line. “It’s not as bad as people are saying. The General has simply . . . contracted something that he isn’t bouncing back as quickly from as we’d hoped. We’ve had to send him off to the Alchemy Commission for a few days, just to see if we can work out how to help . . .” The secretary catches himself, clearly remembering he’s talking to someone who amounts to little more than custodial staff. He coughs. “Anyway. It’s left us in a bit of a conundrum, and after some discussion, we think you’re qualified to handle it.”

You tilt your head to the side as you try and think what you could possibly do to assist in this matter.

You’re no healer; you’re no nurse. You can’t help them figure out how to cure the General, you’re not equipped to sit at his bedside and mop his feverish brow (your cheeks go hot and your face burns at the very thought of it). You certainly can’t take over any of Jing Yuan’s actual duties. The idea of you as any kind of military strategist is laughable--

“How can I help, Sir?” You ask, partly because that is what’s expected of you and partly because you really have no idea what use you’ll be in the situation. 

“Ah,” he says, and then he coughs again - he looks into the corner of the room, as if he’s begging someone to help him, and you remember that he and his sister are most often found together. But here, it’s just the two of you, and he has nobody to help him to break whatever news he’s going to break to you. You hope it’s not going to involve cleaning up a sick-room; you’re really not good with that kind of thing--

“We need somebody to tend to his home affairs,” Yong Hai says, eventually. “He . . . Ah, look, I’m going to come out and say it. General Jing Yuan has a penchant for taking in stray animals and the like, and he only even agreed to let himself be looked at on the caveat we had to promise to find someone to look after them.”

You think of the statues of lions that decorate the place, and you feel a trickle of cold sweat down the back of your spine. You hope desperately that the secretary isn’t implying that you’re about to quite literally be fed to the lions--

“Stop looking like that!” He says, exasperated. “All of them are perfectly tame, and you’ll be in no danger. He has a . . . lion that he’s incredibly fond of. Several birds. And . . . ah,” he looks embarrassed again. “He’s informed us he usually leaves out a veritable feast for any other neighbourhood strays on his balcony, and he was very worried that they weren’t going to be properly nourished whilst he was away.”

Finches. You can do that. Neighbourhood strays - cats and dogs, you suppose - are all very well. But the lion . . .

That doesn’t matter. Yong Hai seems to have reached the end of his meeting with you, to his tangible relief. He’s already bustling about his desk and looking longingly towards the closed door. 

“A new schedule’s been drawn up for you and sent to you already,” he says. “All of the relevant information should be in the attachments! Have fun, won’t you? The General is so very fond of his pets, you see--”

Your phone beeps as if it is punctuating his point; the secretary beams at you, and you get the distinct impression you are being told to put your best foot forward and roll with the punches. ‘Get on with it’, as someone without any manners might say. 

“Understood,” you say, and you force yourself to smile and look on the bright side of things even if you’re sure you’re going to have nightmares about being eaten alive by a lion tonight. This is a post that the General wanted filled personally! This is almost as personal as someone can get to the General, actually; it appears you’ll be working in his actual home! It’s a . . . a step up! A stepping stone!

You force yourself to ignore that it is actually very much a case of sticking the lowest ranked person (and someone well-known for taking on as much as they can with cheerful aplomb, due to your fear of ever really saying ‘no’) onto the job that nobody else wants to do. 

“I’ll do my best,” you say, and Yong Hai beams at you even as he gestures for you to go and get to grips with your new role. 

Well. 

You have no other choice then, really, but to Get On With It. 

You are quite frankly terrified the next day, when you turn up to your newest duty. The documents sent to you had instructed you to pick up raw meat for the lion from the General’s most trusted supplier before you went up to his chambers; apparently, birdseed and cat-and-dog food was kept there, but the lion’s appetite could not so easily be sated. You have to give yourself a pep-talk before all of it; have to convince yourself that running away from this new responsibility would be both awful for your career prospects and terribly cruel.

“Ah,” says the supplier, when you turn up and tremulously hand over your phone so he can see the attachments displayed on the screen giving you this new Meat Power, “So you’re looking after the waifs and strays and Mimi, then?” 

“Mimi?” You ask, your voice tremulous, and he laughs as he hands over two incredibly full buckets of raw meat. It’s a good job you’re not squeamish. 

“That’s the lion,” he says. “The General tried to name her Snow Lion after he realised she wasn’t just going to be a pretty little white housecat, but . . . Mimi fits. You’ll see!”

The concept of Jing Yuan attempting to adopt a pretty little white house cat and being saddled instead with a huge lion, and having to continue to refer to the powerful beast as ‘Mimi’ despite his best efforts, keeps you entertained right up until you’re outside the door to the General’s chambers and you remember that a carnivorous predator awaits you on the other side of it.

“Well,” you say to yourself, hoisting the buckets up and taking a deep breath, “there’s no point delaying the inevitable. If I get eaten today . . .”

And you let the pass-key you’ve been given float against the sensor, until the ornate doors to Jing Yuan’s chambers slowly part and admit you into the Arbiter-General’s inner sanctum. 

The first thing that you’re struck by is how it seems that the General left in a rush. The entire place, whilst not dirty, has an air of untidiness. You hear the cheeping of finches from the first room; excitement that their Master may have finally returned to play with them. You can’t help but feel sorry for them - from what Yong Hai has said, it may be quite a while before Jing Yuan is well enough to return to his home. 

There are touches of the General everywhere, now that you’re looking. Delicate flowers (you’ve heard he likes small, delicate things, and you can’t help the nervous tug at your clothing as you consider just how indelicate you find yourself). Ceramics and porcelain that you fear are so fragile they may shatter even under your gaze. An unfinished game of star chess, a coffee cup left half-drunk . . . That last one could fetch a fine price in the black market. You’ve heard those traders hawking ‘tissues used by Helm Master Yukong’ or even ‘a book enjoyed by General Jing Yuan’s protege!’. 

Before your mind can lead you too far down that dangerous path, though, the lady of the hour appears. 

She’s beautiful. 

You have to stop yourself gasping aloud. Any fears you might have had seem to fall to the wayside, unimportant, compared to the majesty of the lion before you; the pure white fur, the wise face, the mane that fluffs out from her. She’s pure white; lean, but perhaps with a little pouch at the tummy. Not a single snarl or tangle mars her fur, not a single speck of dirt upon her, like the false moon looking down upon the Luofu--

She sees that you’re holding two big buckets and seems to recognise them, because it’s barely a breath before her ears twitch and she pounces like a kitten, seemingly not realising that you are smaller than her owner and she is far larger than the average kitten is. All of the wind is knocked out of you as you cry out her name and are tackled to the ground. 

You find yourself beneath the warmth of her body, a sweet scent emanating from her fur as if the esteemed General regularly bathes and shampoos her. Delighted, she sticks her snout right into one of the buckets. A low, pleased rumble emits from her throat as she works her teeth over the meat--

You reach up, hesitantly, with the one arm that isn’t pinned by the great weight of her. Your fingers hover for a moment, unsure of what to do - is she like a cat? Does she prefer chin scratches or ear scratches?

You settle for a very light pet at the side of her mane, just by her face. Her fur is just as soft as you had thought she would be - a lady who is clearly incredibly spoilt. Well-cared for. You have another flash of a vision of Jing Yuan - combing her mane, tying a shiny ribbon about her neck to match the ribbon he wears in his own hair. 

Mimi pauses in her enjoyment of the food. Your breath catches in your throat, all of your senses on a sudden high alert - what if she didn’t like being touched like that? What if she’s about to mistake your hand for a part of the buffet you’ve brought her?

A moment that seems like an hour passes.

And then she leans into your hand with a pleased rumble-squeak-growl, her eyes closing in pleasure, and despite how your heart is beating and your legs are aching from the way she’s twisted them and trapped them beneath her . . . you smile. 

For the first week, every time you let yourself into Jing Yuan’s space, you are alone aside from the animals he keeps there. Mimi launches herself at you, but you’ve learnt to sidestep and laugh and ruffle her mane, offering her choice little tidbits to curl up and gnaw on her food whilst you see to the strays that congregate on Jing Yuan’s balcony. They had taken a little longer to warm to you, but after the second day when it became clear if they wanted the same food Jing Yuan usually prepared they would have to come to you, they had thawed considerably. You leave them to their devices, and finish off with the finches. 

They hop from place to place in their cage, cheeping brightly. Sometimes they hop onto your finger or your shoulder, looking at you like you’re the most wonderful being in the universe. Once one had hopped onto your head and you’d stayed stock-still for five minutes, afraid of disturbing it. 

After all of the pets and animals are fed, you’ve gotten into the habit of sitting with them for a little while. Curling around Mimi and stroking her mane and her tail (you’ve braided it, actually, and told her how pretty she looks with little red ribbons in her fur as she blinked at you her slow, lazy blinks). Listening to birdsong. Letting the strays rub about your feet and imagining the Arbiter-General himself doing all of these mundane tasks. 

It’s strange, to think of him as so . . . so much a real person. General Jing Yuan has always seemed a man of mystery and just a touch of romance to you; a long life species who has outlived almost everyone he’s ever worked with, who has steered the Luofu into glories and battled bravely and heroically against Abundance abominations for longer than you’ve been alive. The first time you’d met him, when you’d gotten your place at the Seat of Divine Foresight (before you’d quite found out how meagre your duties really were), you’d been utterly tongue-tied. 

He’d been charming, naturally. Smiling and charismatic and low and pleasant-voiced, saying how glad he was to have you aboard and how he hoped you would enjoy your time here. There’d been, perhaps, a flash of sadness in his eye at the knowledge you were a short-life species-- but you’d quickly tried to dispel that notion, scolding yourself for your own romanticism. Jing Yuan is your colleague, your boss - better to not harbour such idealism, to make him into a storybook character instead of a man. 

Still. It’s rather hard to imagine him out of breath, puffing and wheezing, after pulling the bucket Mimi had gotten her paw stuck in off of the silly lion’s foreleg before she sent herself into a panic. 

You think that the menagerie that he keeps in his private quarters have grown fond of you in turn. The task that everyone had seemed to find so onerous quickly becomes one of your favourite parts of the day; there is something to be said about the healing properties to the soul of having a lion roll over to show you her tummy and wiggle enticingly until you give in to her and give her all of the rubs and tickles that she so clearly desires. 

So for about a week and a half, everything chugs along; you fall into routine, and the animals recognise you in turn. They sometimes still crane their necks and heads hopefully around you to see if Jing Yuan is around (Mimi especially occasionally looks dejected at his absence, though her ears perk up once again as soon as she remembers the buckets you come bearing are filled with delicious morsels for her), but when it is just you they still seem somewhat satisfied. 

Nobody gives you any warning that Jing Yuan has returned to his own rooms. 

Which is why you walk into the main room with your buckets swinging on your arms, singing a silly little song you’ve composed for Mimi about how the meat is soon to be ‘delicious and yummy’ in her ‘full-up-tummy’, you’re so surprised to hear a velvet soft chuckle floating from the big circular sofa in the centre of it that you almost drop all of those delicious-and-yummy steaks and thighs all over Jing Yuan’s ornately tiled floor. 

You stare at the sofa, your cheeks going all-over hot, as a mass of blankets moves and shifts and a slightly ruffled pale head emerges from them.

The General himself. 

It’s obvious, looking at him, that he hasn’t been feeling his best. His normally tied up hair falls over his face in unstyled sweeps, there are dark circles beneath his eyes and a sharpness to his cheekbones that you have never noticed before. Instead of the armour you have grown so used to seeing him clad in, he wears civilian clothes; a loose shirt that shows off the lines of his throat, his collarbone. 

Despite all of that, though, he is still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. Your heart still skips a beat. He takes you in for a moment, his face scrunched up as if he is not quite awake; and then, a small smile spreads over his handsome face. 

“Don’t stop on my account,” he says, in that low, musical voice. “I’d like to know where the song has to go, after her tummy has been filled.”

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt out, awkward, nervous, unsure of what to say. “I-- nobody told me you’d be back, I can leave, I didn’t mean to--”

He holds up a lazy hand, the smile still on his face. His eyes are half-lidded, his overall look almost indulgent.

“Please,” he says. “I’m . . . better, but not fully recovered. I’ve been given strict instructions that I'm not to lift heavy objects or do anything more than relax for at least another week. I’d be much obliged - if it’s not too much trouble on top of your own duties, of course - if you could carry on seeing to my . . . what did they call it?” Another small, secret smile. “Ah yes. My little zoo.” 

“I-if you’re sure . . .” You say, surprised to find when you say it aloud that you’re relieved. You truly have gotten attached to all of the animals, even in this short time. 

Mimi butts your leg, impatient for her food, her huge paw petulantly tapping upon the floor. Jing Yuan laughs again, and you feel your stomach clench at the warm sound as it fills the room. 

“Oh, she likes you,” he says, in delight. “I’ve never seen her be so patient with anyone but myself, you know.”

“She’s been friendly since I met her,” you reply, reaching down to scratch her behind her ears and to place the buckets somewhere she won’t make such a mess (though she’s actually a fairly fastidious eater, for someone with no thumbs; you suppose she’s so proud of her lovely white coat that she doesn’t want to risk staining it).

Jing Yuan hums in consideration, his smile not leaving his face, as he watches you pet Mimi and her affectionate head bump before she dives back into her food. As you move into the other sitting room - the one that the finches reside in - you hear more rustling, and as you gather the birdseed you’re surprised to see that Jing Yuan is following you, sloping afterwards determinedly. There’s a definite tilt to his walk - the walk of a man who’s been in bed for a week - and you can’t help but say something.

“Sh-should you be out of bed, General?” You wince at the slight admonishment in your tone, fearing he will think you’re scolding him - but Jing Yuan simply smiles. 

“I need to check on my sweet little charges,” he says. “Come now. I’ve been in bed for days. Let me wander about my own rooms without worrying your pretty head too much about it, alright?”

It takes all of your grace not to turn into a pathetic, embarrassed mess at the easy way he says ‘your pretty head’ - somehow, you manage to keep your composure, keep some measure of poise, even as inside you feel yourself turn to mush. 

He sits down upon a chaise by the birdcages as you reach in to fill the small bowls and scatter the feed, his eyes not leaving you for a second. He smiles when he sees a finch or two hop upon your hand to peck at the seeds and bits left in the crevices of your palm. 

“A true animal whisperer,” he says, watching one of the more inquisitive finches hop up to your wrist and your forearm to tug teasingly at your elbow-length sleeves. “They’re not too fond of strangers, either.”

“I have been feeding them for a week, Sir,” you say to him, with a smile at the finch as you urge it off of your arm and back to the rest of its friends. “They’ve gotten used to me.”

He shakes his head, his hair falling about his shoulders, and you’re struck with the thought that he and Mimi even look similar. You’ve heard the old adage about how pet owners and their pets grow to look the same, of course, but you’d never realised quite how true it was until that moment and the sight of Jing Yuan doing a motion you’ve grown used to Mimi doing. 

He follows, too, as you take food and water onto the balcony. As cats wind around first your ankles, and then his - as dogs wag their tails and lick at your hands. 

“If I were a jealous man . . .” He says, laughing. “They must see something truly special in you.”

“Me?” You ask, aiming for a tinkly laugh but landing on ‘incredulous’. “No, they’re just sweet creatures. All of them are.”

He’s unerringly patient with the animals; his big hands tender as they scratch ears and tickle chins. Seeing the great General being so delicate makes your heart turn over in your chest; his big, scarred hands in direct opposition to the delicate bones and the soft fluff of all of the creatures that mass here. 

“Don’t be so modest,” Jing Yuan says quietly in reply. “I’ve known some of these animals for years. If they didn’t think you were something special . . .” 

Your cheeks are hot again. Somehow, in the course of this conversation, Jing Yuan has gotten closer and closer to you. Out here on the balcony, under the warm false sun of the Luofu, there’s nowhere for Jing Yuan to sit and watch - so he’s stood close to you. Close enough that you can see the warm gold amber of his gaze, the fan of his lashes, the mole high up beneath his eye. You swallow, and the sound is almost indecently loud even with the background mewls and barks and purrs. 

“I’m glad that they found someone so able to do this for me,” he says, his voice still quiet. That single word, those single two syllables, somehow manage to be imbued with more meaning than you’d ever imagined they could be. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you.”

“Just until you’re feeling a bit better,” you reply, cheeks still hot, throat still sore, heart still beating far too fast in your chest. You wonder what Jing Yuan is thinking as he looks down at you - if he has noticed your anxiety, the way that he seems to set you all aflutter. You hope he thinks it is merely because he is your superior, and not because it’s so very hard not to dwell on his looks and his warm voice and the surprisingly different persona that he shows when he’s doing this--

Jing Yuan is still smiling at you, from back on the sofa covered in his blankets with Mimi spread out protectively over his feet, as you foolishly wave goodbye and leave his chambers. 

You get to witness Jing Yuan’s recovery firsthand. The first few days, he is still unsure of his own limbs; he still slowly lopes around the rooms. Once or twice, you come in to feed the animals and he stays wrapped within his blankets, Mimi only leaving his side to demand some cuddles and some meat from you. 

Despite his illness, though, he always has time to talk to you. He always asks you how you are feeling, what you have been doing; he teases you for how the animals seem to recognise you just as well as him now. When one of the finches pecks at your cheek, he chuckles and says;

“Ah, wouldn’t we all like to give our little bird a kiss like that?”

You don’t know how to respond to that, ducking your head, muttering something unintelligible that wins another of his laughs. His words err on the edge of being flirtatious. Once or twice he compliments your outfit, your hair - how lovely you look today. You never know how to react to such things; you force yourself not to dwell on them, reminding yourself of Jing Yuan’s own looks and his position and trying to tell yourself not to get attached and that the General is merely trying to be polite. 

One afternoon, he asks you to sit with him and have tea. 

It would be rude of you to say no; not when he has placed two teacups before him, anticipating your acceptance, a plate of sweet treats in an amount that would be gluttonous even for him arranged with the tea service. So you try and gracefully position yourself across from him. You try and remember your manners as you take the cup by the handle, as you choose the least ornamented and sugary of the delicacies on offer--

(It’s hard not to remember being told not to indulge at all. You feel conscious of eating in front of him--)

“Have this one,” Jing Yuan says, as if he can read your mind, and he pushes towards you an intricately decorated little cake resplendent with sugar roses and ruffles. “It’s one of my favourites.”

Your mouth waters. You give him an embarrassed smile as he encourages you further, reaching over to pick it up himself and place it upon your plate instead of merely pushing it.

“Really?” You ask, trying to pick it up neatly. “It’s a bit more delicate than I thought you’d like. I suppose I imagined you liking things a little rougher--”

Your face goes hot as you realise what you just said, but Jing Yuan ignores the innuendo and simply smiles at you. 

“Ah,” he says. “I like things that are . . . delicate. Smaller than me. So lovely to observe and enjoy, don’t you think?” His gaze doesn’t leave your face. You have never considered yourself delicate - the curves that you display have put an end to that - but under his eyes, you can’t help but think of the breadth of his shoulders and his height and think how a man like him could make even you feel small and breakable. “What do you think?”

The little cake is sweet on the tongue, flavoured with a hint of something you can’t quite name. Your eyes widen in surprise. 

“It’s wonderful,” you tell him, swallowing the bite and enjoying how the taste lingers. “Truly.”

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” he says - and then, he reaches over the table. “You have something--” 

You go stock-still, embarrassed and shocked at the intimacy of the gesture, as he uses his thumb to wipe a smudge of icing from the corner of your mouth. He keeps your gaze the whole time. It is something a lover does - it is not something you’d ever expected General Jing Yuan to do for you--

“There,” he says, returning to his cake as if nothing has happened. “It would be a terrible shame if I couldn’t see all of your lovely face, after all.” 

He is always saying things like this; off-the-cuff remarks that, if he were not the General of the Xianzhou Luofu, you would interpret as being flirty. He mentions them when you have tea together, when he ropes you into playing a game of star chess (“Don’t think I will go easy on you because you are nice to look at,” he says, as he places the counters into their starting positions), when he watches you and Mimi and you and the finches and tells you that he cannot decide which is cuter. 

You see him get gradually stronger and stronger. No more limping. He is almost always dressed, now. His hair no longer falls in shaggy waves about his face. His dark circles dissipate, his voice getting somehow even deeper and more velvety. 

The unspoken reality that soon, Jing Yuan will be well and you will no longer have to take on this extra duty hangs over your head.

You find that the idea makes you feel sick. You are not only enjoying caring for the animals, now, but you’ve also started to look forward to seeing the General. 

Well.

That’s not quite it.

You have to be honest with yourself, don’t you? 

You’ve developed a crush on him. 

You can’t imagine not seeing him. Not being greeted with Mimi’s butts and her batting paws; not hearing the pleased chirps of his finches whenever they see you. Not enjoying tea with him any more, simply existing in this lazy golden time when you do not have to think about work or his position above you or anything other than the four walls that surround you and the multiple hearts beating within it. 

Jing Yuan brings it up first.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, coughing one day after the two of you have played a game of star chess that you were thoroughly destroyed during. “Well. I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m getting better.”

“I’m glad to see it, Sir,” you say, forcing a smile to your face even as your heart falls into the region of your feet. “We were all very worried about you. Everyone is always asking me how you are and when you’ll be returning to work--”

His face clouds, a flinch so quick you almost miss it.

“Yes,” he says, a mournful tone to his voice. “I’ll soon be returning to work.”

You tell yourself sternly not to cry. This was never supposed to be permanent. 

“Then I suppose you won’t need me any longer,” you say, forcing a smile on your face. You are going to be gracious if it kills you.

“Ah,” Jing Yuan replies. “That’s what I’d like to talk to you about. I . . . we are all very fond of you, you see.” He motions to Mimi, who has come to curl beside you, her head laid against your knee. “I fear Mimi will riot if you were to stop bringing her all of those steaks, you understand. And who knows what she’d do, deprived of your song about her tummy?”

You squeak in embarrassment. Mimi lifts her head and gives you a slow, displeased look, much to Jing Yuan’s amusement. 

“Well. I’m very aware that it’s not part of your duties, and I’d be willing of course to pay you more for all of the trouble, but--” 

You see Jing Yuan falter for one of the first times; as if he is afraid that you are about to reject him outright. He coughs, trying to hide his anxiety, but it is an emotion you’re intimately familiar with and as such you recognise it for what it is. 

“We’re all so very fond of you,” he repeats. “Won’t you keep coming?”

You barely leave a breath before you’re happily agreeing. 

It’s not quite the same. 

You knew it wouldn’t be; you knew that you wouldn’t see Jing Yuan anywhere near as often, as he resumed all of the many duties that the Arbiter-General has to take on. Despite how unenthused he had seemed to be returning to his work, you knew that Jing Yuan took his responsibilities terribly seriously). 

Still.

You had thought you might see him more. Might still be able to drink a cup of tea with him, even if it could not be the same kind of slow, languid time the two of you had taken over it before. You’d thought that there’d still be time for a conversation or two. 

The reality is that you almost never see the General now. 

At work, your paths had crossed only rarely; now, hyper-aware of his presence, you realise that you see him almost never. Not at work, and not at his own home. 

You’re still excited to see the animals - for the finches to happily chirp at you as if they’re telling you about their day. One of them rides about on your shoulder, now, even when you go out to feed the strays. You’re still excited to tell Mimi what a good girl she is and rub her tummy and play with her (she’s inordinately fond of ribbons and the chasing thereof, like an overgrown housecat). 

But without Jing Yuan there . . .

There’s something missing. 

You still do your duties as well as you can - Jing Yuan has negotiated a hefty raise for you, all things considered - but you can’t help sometimes leaving his home feeling a little empty at the lack of seeing the General. You can’t help being disconsolate as you think about him - as you remember his flirty little asides, the way he’d looked at you across the room, the smile that played across his mouth whenever he did. You know he couldn’t really be interested in you, that he was probably like that with most people - but a secret little flame cannot help but burn in your heart even so. 

Days pass, quiet, lonely. You work, and feed the animals, and go home to your own empty quarters. You work, feed, go home, work, feed, go home--

Until one evening, when you’re just about to leave Jing Yuan’s chambers, when the door opens and the General appears. He looks a little red in the face; his breath comes in short little pants. You’ve never seen him so obviously flustered; usually, Jing Yuan fits perfectly up to his reputation as the Drowsy General. 

“Are you alright?” You ask him, rushing over. You’re touching him before you’ve thought through consequences; finger hovering over his pulse point, reaching up to feel his forehead to make sure he’s not running a temperature. Through the panting, he looks at you and smiles. 

“I’m afraid,” he says, still breathing heavily, his voice rasping. “I made up a little lie to be able to get back here on an errand that doesn’t really exist.”

“General,” you scold him. It’s not like him to shirk responsibilities. He laughs. 

“Yes, yes, I know, little thing-- but I had to see you. I wanted to see you again.”

You think he’s misspoken.

“I have to get back,” he says, and he reaches down - his hands upon your cheek again. You don’t know how to reply, what to say, what is going on. All you know is that you are there, and Jing Yuan is there, and something is happening. Fizzing on the air is a promise that something is going to change. “But . . . I couldn’t-- I needed to finally--”

Jing Yuan kisses you. 

It’s a kiss as messy and rushed as he is right now. A kiss that says that he has to hurry back, despite how much he doesn’t want to. You, unused to being kissed and even more unused to being kissed by handsome military leaders who feel a hundred times out of your league, do not kiss him back. He’s messy and wet, and his teeth clash against your lips as you stand there, feeling foolish and wrong-footed.

He realises you’re not kissing him back, and he stops - he draws back, his eyebrows furrowed. He opens his mouth to speak. 

He’s going to say it was a mistake, you realise. He’s going to say he thought you were someone else, that he was carried away in the heat of the moment. You and Jing Yuan? No. It couldn’t be. It’s absurd, it’s silly, nobody could ever believe it - and yet.

And yet.

Your heart couldn’t take his rejection.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out - and you push past him and out of the door and back towards the comforting ordinary normality of your own empty rooms. 

Despite your embarrassment, fear and all of those other emotions keeping you up all night, when you wake up the next morning you know that things will be worse the more you put them off. So you get dressed for work and you thank Lan that, when you walk into the Seat of Divine Foresight, Jing Yuan is nowhere to be seen. 

You hope he is hard at work, far away from you. You cannot quite face him yet. You haven’t properly said goodbye to your foolish dreams. 

You can’t shirk your other duties either, so at the ordinary time you stand up from your desk (you’ve somehow been saddled with the job of reviewing paperwork for grammar inconsistencies. You feel certain there ought to be software of some sort that does this job for you, but it had been laid here on your desk when you’d gotten to it and you were not in the habit of arguing about your duties), and you head to the designated supplier of raw meats for Mimi’s consumption.

“Oh,” says the supplier, the evening after Jing Yuan had finagled a way to see you. “He told me to let you know to go straight up today.” 

You frown, not quite sure why; you hope Mimi is alright. It feels strange to be going towards Jing Yuan’s home without your arms weighed down with buckets of meat, but you push forward even so. You hope last night - the awkward kiss, the way he had looked at you - does not sour things between the two of you. You hope that he isn’t about to tell you to never come back. Your heart makes a new home, somewhere in the vicinity of your throat, as you hesitantly knock upon his door.

A beat passes. Your mind helpfully provides you with all of the ways in which Jing Yuan could be about to fire you - or worse, let you down gently and admit that he had a moment of weakness. In that moment, you suddenly seem so much more aware than before of yourself - of the unfashionable curves, of the amount of space you take up, of how a man like Jing Yuan could surely not have really wanted to kiss someone like you - and then, he has opened the door and he is smiling at you and he doesn’t look angry.

Instead, upon seeing you there, a smile passes across his face; tugs at the corners of his lips, crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he says to you - and he reaches across the threshold and his hand brushes your cheek, as soft and tender with you as he is with his finches. “I’m sorry if I frightened you last night.”

“I’m sorry I ran,” tumbles out of your mouth. “I just . . . I didn’t think you-- and somebody like me-- and I was afraid--”

He lays a finger over your lips, still smiling. 

“It’s alright,” he says, in that low, smooth voice. “I’m sorry if I caused you undue trouble, little bird.” The pet name falls from his lips as easily as any other trifle, though it makes you feel hot and aware of yourself and flattered all at once. “Please come in.”

He takes your hand to gently urge you across the threshold, his touch still feather light. You think, as he does it, of all of the other things those hands have done; all of the battles they have waged, all of the strength that must be contained within them despite how gentle his touch is now. 

“I’ve asked someone else to take care of the animals,” he says to you, not letting go of your hand as he leads you through the front room. You realise with a start exactly where he is taking you as he approaches a door you have never had reason to open before. He looks at you, eyes keen and golden. “I wanted us to be alone. I would hope, little bird, if you do not want this . . .” 

“I do,” tumbles from your mouth. It is nothing but the honest truth. You let the crush that you’ve been trying to deny, the fear of Jing Yuan not liking you or finding you attractive, the anxieties of not being good enough, all wash over you, in favour of the beating of your heart and the feel of his hand on your face and the sight of his hand upon the doorknob of his bedroom. 

He turns fully so he stands before you. Hands come up, cradling your face; thumbs brushing the plump apples of your cheek, fingertips upon the soft flesh. He is smiling still, even as he dips his head lower, so low you can see the multitudes of swirling shades of gold in his eyes. 

“Promise me,” he murmurs, low and soft. “Tell me you want me the way I want you. No expectations, little one. Your career, your position, your everything - nothing will change if you do not want me as badly as I desire you. Honesty.” You realise a tear has escaped from the corner of your eye. You have never felt so . . . seen. So very much wanted. So sure of anything in your life. He wipes that tear with his thumb, tilting your face closer to him so that if you just angled your head differently you could kiss him. “Promise me.” 

“I promise,” you whisper, and Jing Yuan’s lips meet yours. 

This kiss is entirely unlike the one from yesterday; this kiss is slow, luxurious. Jing Yuan starts off gentle with you, his hand still cupping your jaw - his lips moving against yours in slow, indolent waves. He nips at your bottom lip with his teeth and wins a gasp from you, a hitch of your breath, as your own hands come up to rest lightly upon his chest. You feel his mouth curve into a smile against your own. 

“You’re adorable,” he rumbles, pulling back just enough that you can still feel his breath on your face. “Truly - you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this to you.”

“I--” You helplessly stare up at him. You can barely believe this is happening, as he pushes open the door to his most private of domains. “Really?”

He laughs again, gently taking your arm and urging you into the room. You are helpless to do anything but follow him - to let him slowly, slowly, slowly pull you beside him and onto his bed. 

“You really have no idea how . . . desirable you are?” He asks, voice low and husky, humming with want. His hand skims over your cheek, the nape of your neck, following the line of your jaw and your throat to linger over your collarbone. His eyes follow the path his fingers take, not moving from your form for an instant. “You really didn’t notice me staring at you, little bird?” He leans in, close enough for his breath to tickle your ear. His lips brush over the pulse point in your neck, making you squeak in surprise again even as it sends a bolt of heat to the space between your legs. “Imagining what you would feel like under my hands? Imagining what you would look like, divested of that maddeningly conservative uniform they make you wear?” Another kiss, this one with a hint of teeth. You realise with a hot flush of embarrassment mixed with want you have cried out at the sensation of the almost-bite. “Imagining how you would react to every touch I gave you?” 

“Sir,” you pant, dazed and amazed and hot and needy. “I-- I thought about you, too--”

“Oh,” he murmurs, as his big fingers slide over your body, feeling the ample shape of you through that same conservative uniform. His big palms brush the soft chub of your upper arms, the meat of your chest, the shape of your waist and over the curve of your hips, basely appreciating your body even beneath the fabric. “I’m sure they were no match for the utterly filthy things I imagined doing to you.” 

His thumb digs into the indent of your waist, tugging you closer to him so that you’re pressed tighter against his body. He smiles down at you, every inch the conquering general, and your heart beats in time with the pounding between your legs. He looks at you like he wants to devour you. Wanting and hungry and lustful, like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever seen. It’s not a look you’re overly familiar with receiving - but oh, does it feel amazing to be on the receiving end of it from Jing Yuan. 

“Such a fragile thing,” he murmurs down to you, and you almost laugh, for you do not feel fragile - but Jing Yuan continues speaking, and you get lost in the dulcet tone of his voice. “So very mortal. So very ephemeral . . .” He sighs, dips his head and kisses you again, a flurry of pecks upon your lips as his thumb draws circles where it rests. “Will you let me make the most of having you, little bird? Let me show you how beautiful you are?” He smiles. “I have always had a weakness for delicate things.” 

He means it. 

Any time you have ever felt too big; ungainly, or ill-shaped - all of it falls to the wayside under the warm haze of being looked at and admired and wanted by Jing Yuan. You find yourself smiling up at him, aware you probably look as though there is not a thought in your head, but the General doesn’t seem to mind as he looks at you with hunger colouring his gaze. 

“May I undress you?” He asks, voice low and cajoling. His fingers tease beneath the neckline of your uniform, and it feels as though they leave a trail of fire everywhere they linger. You do not trust yourself to speak; you nod at him, your breath coming out in short little pants. He makes a soft noise of approval, before his fingers are working at buttons and fabric. Cool air hits your bare skin; your uniform is gently cajoled off of your body, tossed aside to be worried about later as Jing Yuan’s hungry eyes drink in every new inch of your exposed skin. 

He does not stop praising you as he does it.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, as your top half is bared, as his eyes roam over your chest and his hands come up and squeeze the generous curve of them, palms rough against delicate skin. You shiver as his thumbs find your nipples, as they rub over them again and again until the buds stiffen beneath his touch and a soft whine escapes the back of your throat. “You’re beautiful.”

His tone is nothing if not worshipful. By slow, luxurious degrees, Jing Yuan helps divest you of your garments. As your underwear and bottoms are rolled down, as fabric bunches at thighs and knees, he does not stop murmuring sweet nothings about how soft you are, how beautiful, how lucky he is to be able to see you like this. 

About how he has been thinking about having you like this since the moment he saw you. 

“You looked so beautiful then too,” he murmurs, as your underwear is pulled from your ankles. He briefly gazes at it, the gusset saturated with your slick, and he smiles. “Ah . . . that little song, the nervous, shy reaction to realising I was there - the sight of you all soft-eyed and adoring with Mimi . . . I’ve never wanted to have my wicked way with somebody quite so much.” 

You’re bare beneath him, Jing Yuan slowly urging you to lay down upon the coverlets of his large bed. You suppose that it’s so large so that if Mimi desires to sleep with him, she can, but it alongside Jing Yuan’s own size simply helps you feel small and delicate and breakable in a way you never have before. 

“I wanted to know,” Jing Yuan murmurs, leaning down and brushing his lips over yours, teasing and feather-light. “If you would be quite so adorable, squirming and nervous and vulnerable, if I were to have you like this.”

Your cheeks are hot. Jing Yuan has not lost a single garment of his own, but you are entirely unguarded to whatever he wants to do to you now - bare of every scrap of fabric. His gaze lingering on your body almost makes you want to draw in; to curl around the exposed flesh of your stomach, to cover the pudge. 

Jing Yuan notices something in the way you hold yourself. He smiles down at you and cups your cheek.

“Don’t hide,” he breathes. “I want to see all of you, little thing. I want you to know how beautiful I find you.”

“I--”

He takes your hand in his, shifting so he is on his knees between your legs. Gently, he guides your unsure hand to the space over his own crotch. Even through the layers of fabric, you can sense the heat of him; the stiffness pushing against his trousers.

“If I did not want you,” he says, “why would you make me so needy, hmm? Feel what you do to me.” He presses your hand a little harder against it, a soft hiss of breath escaping him, encouraging you to not simply take his word for it. Your face hot as ever, you do so; give a gentle squeeze that makes him groan. “Ah-- be careful, sweet thing. I want to take my time over you.”

He lets go of your hand, gently urging you to place it back beside you. Your fingers find purchase in his sheets. You still cannot quite believe where you are; that it’s the great Arbiter-General leaning over you, looking down at you like you’re the most beautiful thing that he’s ever seen. 

“I-it’s not fair,” you say to him, your voice dry. “I’ve lost all of my clothes, and you’re still fully dressed--”

He chuckles. This time, when he bends down, there’s a slow, deliberate quality about him. He kisses your neck again; trails wet butterfly kisses over your collarbones, lower and lower to the swell of your chest. His hands come to cup the generous weight of them, even as his mouth floats closer and closer to your nipples, tightening and stiffening in anticipation. 

“I told you,” he says, murmuring in between flicks of his tongue against the buds. “I want to take my time over you.” He looks at you, eyes half-lidded. “Ah, you short-life species . . . You never learn patience. I have all of the time in the world to give you ecstasy over and over--”

People call Jing Yuan the Dozing General. As he applies his tongue to your nipples, though - as he suckles and nips and bites, as he kisses and squeezes until you feel dizzy with the attention he’s lavishing upon you, you realise that they are misinformed. Jing Yuan is not lazy or dozing - Jing Yuan merely likes to take his time over things. 

And oh, is he enjoying taking his time over you. 

You whine under his touch. You whimper and squirm, your cheeks flooding hot, your entire body prickling with tension and pleasure as his attentions upon your nipples send shockwaves of pleasure down to your sex. You feel wetness fair seeping out of you; slick rolling down your thighs, making a mess of Jing Yuan’s bed sheets. 

“Please,” you manage to get out, dry-voiced and wanting, after what seems like an eternity. “Please, Sir--”

“Jing Yuan,” He corrects you, a smile on his face as he continues to trail wet kisses over your bare skin. “What kind of man would I be if I allowed you to call me ‘Sir’ buried knuckle-deep in you, sweet thing? We are on even ground here.”

It’s hard not to think of him as the General. You are currently barely able to string a thought together, and he hasn’t even touched the place between your thighs yet. Still - you need him to touch you somewhere else. You need his attentions to give your chest a break (your nipples are sore, stiffened points - your skin slick with the wetness of his licks and kisses) and move to somewhere else. You force out, through your desire to genuflect to his status, his given name.

“Jing Yuan--”

“Hmm?” He asks, raising his head. His lips are swollen and pink, his eyes amused. “Do you need something, little bird?”

“Please . . .” A soft exhale, trying to work through the mass of sensations and needs that your body seems to have become. Jing Yuan does not stop touching even as you try and get out your words; still gently squeezing and toying with the weight of your chests. He’s smiling, enjoying watching you desperately work through the haze of your desire. 

“Your words,” he says, a maddening smile pulling at his lips. “Tell me what you want, and I promise I’ll do all in my power to give you it.”

“Please,” you say again, your brain fuzzy. His hands move from your chest now; big palms travelling over the curve of your stomach, your hips, resting there in a way that makes you almost lose all of your senses. “I want you to touch me . . . there--”

“Where, little thing?” He’s still smiling. “Here?” A gentle squeeze to your hips. “Here?” His palm roves over your stomach, the soft pouch just above your mound. You whimper again. “Ah. Come now--”

“Between my legs,” you whisper, voice tight and breaking with desire. “Jing Yuan, please--”

“Ah,” he laughs, dips down and kisses you once on the mouth. “You need only to ask. Spread your thighs for me, lovely thing.”

You do, utterly helplessly. Jing Yuan sighs reverently, moving further down so that he can bend his head to look at you. Your face burns under his scrutiny, fearful that he will find something lacking in your body even as his eyes greedily drink you in like you are the finest wine. He breathes deeply, and you hope that your scent is not off-putting - and then, his fingers are sliding slowly and surely up the soft plush of your legs and closer and closer to the space between your thighs and your heart is beating too fast and your breath is coming in short pants.

“Calm down,” he murmurs, and you keen as his hands reach your sex; as he uses his thumbs to spread the plump lips of your labia apart and the cool air hits your slick, heated core. “Ah, darling . . .”

There is so much in those two syllables. Hunger and desire and adoration, all mixed together as one. In another world, with another person, it might have made you feel self-conscious; but Jing Yuan looks down at you as if you are the most beautiful treasure he has ever had the good fortune to witness. 

He leans down, down - and you squeak as you realise what he’s about to do, surprised, but it does not deter him at all as he lets his tongue take a slow, luxurious lick down your sex. The base of his tongue presses against your clit, the pressure on the swollen hitherto ignored nub almost enough to make you come right there and then - but then he pulls back again, chuckling.

“Mm,” he says. “If I allow myself to sample too much of something so sweet, I’m afraid I’ll lose my composure.” He moves his hand instead; lets his fingers explore the length of you, fingertips brushing against your clenching entrance and dancing about your swollen clit. There is little pressure exerted on your sex; merely Jing Yuan’s slow, considering explorations. You clench your own fingers into the bedsheets in order to stop yourself writhing. 

“Lovely,” Jing Yuan says to himself. “Ah, you feel like velvet. Such a pretty thing; so perfectly made . . .” He sighs, even as the tip of his longest finger nudges against your entrance. Your hips move of their own accord, trying to suck him in and get him to put his finger inside of you, but he clicks his tongue with an amused chide; “Impatient,” he says. “Ah. You’re lucky you’re so irresistible--”

He slides his finger inside of you, slowly but certainly. You sigh, your lashes fluttering closed - his touch stokes all of those fires inside of you, of course, burning to fever pitch . . . but the sensation of finally having something inside of you has also made you realise how empty you felt before. It feels good, to have something to fill that pulsing space. Jing Yuan watches with rapt attention as he slides his finger half out, and then half inside of you again. 

You have had some experience, but you have never felt the way Jing Yuan makes you feel. 

“You take it so well,” he murmurs. “Look how pretty you look with something inside of you. Ah. I could spend hours doing this to you . . .”

You make a soft whine of discontent at the idea and he laughs, clicking his tongue even as he’s letting his second finger dance at your entrance ready to join the first. 

“No, even I do not have the patience for that right now,” he agrees. “Not when you feel so wonderful, little bird. Not when I cannot wait to see you come apart.”

The second finger; a slight scissoring motion as it enters you, getting you used to the size and stretch of two of his digits instead of one. The heel of his palm presses against your clit with every wet pump, sending frissons of pleasure to the tips of your toes; but he still does not rush himself. He still lets himself enjoy the feel of you clinging tightly to his fingers, the sight of them disappearing inside of your slick, drooling hole. 

“Does that feel good?” He asks you, deciding you haven’t spoken recently enough. “Tell me if you want me to go faster, sweet thing--”

“Please,” you say, ragged, breathing heavy. You can feel a tight hot ball of tension between your legs, rolling in your gut, threatening to overwhelm you. “Please, Jing Yuan, faster--”

“Very well,” he smiles, and he crooks his fingers inside of you to find your g-spot - causing your back to arch involuntarily, a whine of pure enjoyment to loose itself from your throat. At the same time, his thumb moves to play with your clit - to toy with the bud, to roll and to circle and to press against the swollen bundle of nerves. What already felt like electric shocks of pleasure move on; instead, they are lightning bolts, ricocheting up your spine and stopping just short of striking earth. 

“You’re close,” Jing Yuan says, and you are staring at his mouth. How a strand of your own gossamer-thin arousal is still glimmering at the corner. How his eyes are so focused on you that his gaze feels almost scorching. “That’s right. Let go for me, sweet thing--”

His soft entreaty pushes you over the edge, and the lightning strikes home as your peak hits you with all of the force of a storm.

His fingers work you over the crest of your orgasm, the two inside of you constantly rubbing against that spongy spot that makes you see stars, the big pad of his thumb roughly sliding over your twitching clit in circles and lines. As the waves come to a head and then slowly begin to dissipate, he slows his attentions too - until the slow strokes of his fingers fade out into nothing. He does not seem to care that you’ve soaked his fingers and his palm and the fabric he wears and his bed too - merely keeps looking at you, smiling, like you’re giving him the most precious gift imaginable. 

“Good,” he praises you. “But . . . I’m afraid that just that taste from earlier wasn’t quite enough, little bird. May I use my mouth on you?”

Who would ever believe this? Who would ever imagine little old you, on the Arbiter-General’s bed, as he looks at you and waits for your permission to fuck you with his tongue? You feel rather tongue-tied yourself - but you recall what Jing Yuan said earlier, about using your words.

“Please do,” you say, aloud, and Jing Yuan gives you that same smile that makes you feel like the only being in the whole universe.

“Thank you,” he says, sounding entirely like he means it - like it’s truly an honour for him to be able to serve you on his hands and knees. And then he has moved his body further down the bed, elegant and graceful and leonine, and his mouth is heading towards the slick-soaked place between your legs and his tongue is glinting wet in the bedroom and then he is on you, licking at you, hungrily devouring your sex like it is his last meal before an execution. 

You’re still oversensitive from his earlier attentions, and the sensation of the wet muscle of his tongue working over you almost pushed you into another early orgasm. Your fingers move from where they’re still clenched into the bedsheets to cling to his hair instead, pulling on the silvery pale strands as your back arches and you blindly cant your hips forward towards his mouth.

He groans aloud at having his hair pulled, and the groan sends vibrations all through your body that make you feel weak at the knees, your toes curling. His tongue continues its assault; back and forth, back and forth. Wetness drools from your sex and onto his face; you can feel the heat in his cheeks, the fan of his lashes against your bare skin. 

He twirls his tongue about your entrance, teasingly dips into it, as the channel of your sex constricts and pulses in an attempt to pull him even further in. He groans as your hands knit further into his hair, fucking you for a moment with his tongue before he seems to try and work his face further into your sex. 

It’s like he wants to engulf you; soft noises of pleasure keep falling from his mouth, interspersed with rumbling groans. He’s almost gyrating against the bed, you realise, your cheeks hot - grinding his crotch into the mattress as if he’s desperate to have some attention of his own. 

That sight makes your mouth go dry; all of the moisture in your body instead congregating between your legs to make a new home in Jing Yuan’s mouth and smeared across his cheeks. 

His tongue flicks across your clit and the noise that escapes you is almost animal; Jing Yuan says something, perhaps, or at least makes some kind of muffled noise from his position happily buried in your sex before he shifts his tongue just so and his mouth fastens around your clit fully. 

Sucking and licking, suckling upon the pearl like his life depends upon it; tongue occasionally just brushing under the hood, where you’re most engorged, and you can do nothing but cling onto his hair and pull at it as the most intense orgasm you’ve ever felt rips through your body.

You cannot put into words the way that you feel as Jing Yuan devours you. Your entire body feels, suddenly, as if it weighs nothing; as if sparkling lights suffuse your fingers and toes and you float into the stratosphere, white lights dancing behind your eyes in time with your whine (a whine so loud you’re sure everybody on the Luofu must have heard of it).

You come down, eventually, to the sound of Jing Yuan panting. The wet noise as his mouth separates from you, the pleased grin on his face as he uses his thumb to wipe his mouth of some of your slick. It’s a pointless endeavour, really; his face is so saturated with it you’re not sure if he’ll ever be dry again. 

“Darling,” Jing Yuan repeats, looking you in the eye, smiling like the cat who has gotten the cream. “You have no idea how much I enjoyed doing that.”

The words almost make you go over shy - but you push that to the side. There is no point, you decide, being nervous of a man who has now known you so intimately.

“In which case,” you say, breathlessly - your voice is still a little scratchy from the moaning and whimpering you’ve been doing - “Will you let me make you feel just as good?”

He looks at you for a moment, before he throws his head back and laughs.

“Why,” he says. “Of course I will.”

“Come,” Jing Yuan is murmuring, and he is finally removing his own clothes. Armour drops to the side of him, shirts unbuttoned and fastenings unhooked. His body is muscular and dotted with scars, befitting his status as a military hero; a light dusting of pale hair upon his proud chest, down into a trail to the vee of his hips. You swallow, your throat dry, trying to blink back the waves of pleasure that are still lapping gently at your shores in order to concentrate on what’s going on. His face is still wet with your slick, his hair damp with sweat and falling in messy strands over his flushed face. He looks well-fucked even without you touching him back, as if merely getting you to feel good was enough for him. 

His cock. It’s stiff against the hard planes of his abdomen, a thick, pretty specimen bubbling with precome at the flushed tip. He sighs, running his hand over it once, and your mouth practically waters at the way it twitches. It looks stiff and hard enough that you wonder if it hurts, to want so badly - but Jing Yuan looks at you and smiles, as he rearranges himself on the bed. Pillows are moved, and before you know it he has sat against them, propping himself up like an emperor upon his throne. His cock stands proud and wanting, and he gently pats his thigh as if he is calling an obedient animal to him.

“I don’t wish to hurt you, little bird,” he says - and again, you think of how it feels to be smaller than him. How he does not care about the flesh that spills from straps or curves over fabric. How he looks at you like the most beautiful thing in the world and calls you ‘delicate’ and ‘little’ and ‘precious’ and means them. “Come. Take a seat. As slowly as you need.” 

Despite how he has seen you so intimately, you cannot help but feel a little flare of fear as you approach him. He smiles, entirely at peace and at comfort with you going at your own pace, and you could kiss him for it.

“Touch,” he murmurs. “Don’t be afraid.”

With trembling fingers, you reach out; let your hand encircle his cock, get used to the width and the feel of him and imagine it inside of you. He pulses beneath your palm, a soft hum of pleasure falling from the back of his throat as you give it a cursory pump. He curses softly as your thumb rubs across the slit of his cockhead, the bubble of precome wetting the pad.

“Touch,” he says, with a smile. “But don’t get me too excited, little bird. I don’t want to come anywhere but inside of you.”

Your cheeks go hot at his easy profession; your tongue darts out to trace your lower lip. You’re used to the feel of him now; the heat that seems to stir beneath the surface of his cock, the veins that marble the side of his shaft, the ruddy pink of the head. Taking a deep breath, you spread your legs and let yourself readjust, straddling him. His own hands come up to cling to your thighs, sinking into the soft flesh there.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, as if in devotion, as if praying to an Aeon. “You’re beautiful.” 

His cockhead brushes your clit as you fit it snugly between the lips of your sex; you shift your hips, until it catches against your entrance and your eyes flutter closed. 

Your eyes are still closed as you begin to lower yourself down, so you feel every inch of him as he makes his home within your body. Your eyes being closed, of course, you miss the softness and the warmth that fills Jing Yuan’s gaze as he looks at you. The brief moment of sadness that passes behind his eyes as he remembers that you are a short-life species; that he cannot have all of the time in the world with you, to teach you pleasures the likes of which you do not yet know. The sadness he cannot spend his lifetime learning you by heart--

But you hear the soft murmur of your name, as he bottoms out inside of you and you take a moment to simply rest there with him buried as deep inside of you as he can go. You feel the way one of his hands slides up your spine to grip the back of your head and to pull you into a kiss as deep and adoring as anything else he’s done so far. 

Teeth and tongue and lips, whimpering and gasping into one another’s mouths until you do not know where he ends and where you begin, Jing Yuan somehow manages to murmur;

“Move whenever you want, sweet thing. Set the pace.” 

It does not, in the end, feel like either of those things happen. Instead, it feels as though the universe sets the pace for you; as if you simply know when to begin to move your hips, how to bend and angle yourself just so in order for Jing Yuan to hit all of the most sensitive spots inside of you.

One hand remains on your hip, helping you with the pace - the other remains on the back of your head, to allow him to kiss, as if he doesn’t want to let his mouth separate from yours for any longer than necessary. It’s a romance that you didn’t expect of the General, but it’s hardly one you’re going to complain about when his mouth feels so good and the constant nibbling of your lip and curl of his tongue against yours is distracting you from the mounting pleasure already starting to coalesce inside of you. 

There is nothing in the world for a while except Jing Yuan’s body underneath yours. His hands, his mouth, the feel of his shoulders beneath your own palms where you cling to him for leverage. You sweat and breathe and kiss and fuck as one, until the call inside of you becomes too much to ignore.

“I’m--” You pull back from the kiss to whisper, voice hoarse. “I’m going to--”

“Shh,” Jing Yuan says, kissing again. His own voice climbs in pitch, and you hear a shiver and a shudder in his syllables that makes you aware that he, too, is not far from his own release. His teeth nip at your lower lip as he half-begs into your mouth. “Please. Come again for me, sweet thing, little bird, pretty-- let me feel you--”

Your third orgasm crashes over you, your sex spasming around his cock, tight and hot and pulsing - and Jing Yuan groans into your mouth as you push him over the edge too, and you feel his cock spasm in turn. Ropes of hot release shoot inside of you; you had thought, earlier, that having his cock buried all the way inside of you was the extent of how full you could feel. 

You were wrong.

You bite at his lips, whining and half-sobbing, as the please encompasses you like a cloak of warmth. Jing Yuan groans in return, his hips making needy fast circles to chase the dregs of his own release. It feels right, for the two of you to peak together like this. For the two of you to chase every last drop of pleasure, entwined together and sweating and kissing and as close to one being as it’s possible to be.

Eventually, your breathing slows. Eventually, the kiss turns tender instead of frenzied. Eventually, you pull back from Jing Yuan with a foolish smile on your face and your cheeks hot and tears of pleasure (that you hadn’t even realised you had cried) rolling down your face like sparkling diamonds.

You stare at each other, the enormity of what has happened washing over you. Jing Yuan’s face is calm and serene, but his eyes are bright still, his cheeks still high in colour. 

You fear for a moment that he is about to dismiss you; that what the two of you just shared will mean nothing now that it is over. You fear that you’re about to go back to what you were before; a colleague and an employer, a General and a subordinate. But then, Jing Yuan lets out a deep rumbling sigh, pleased, as he collapses back upon the pillows. He opens his arms for you to dismount, his cock sliding slippery and wet outside of you, his come trickling down your thighs.

“Come here,” he murmurs, sounding tired but terribly pleased; the cat who has gotten the cream. He’s like a lion once more. You are helpless to resist his indication that he wants to cuddle, and so you let him pull you into his arms, let him manoeuvre you to lay against his chest until you can hear his heart beating. His fingers stroke your head, like you’re a sweet-tempered animal yourself. “Mmm. Rest with me, little bird.”

You let yourself. Your body is aching and sore from the orgasms and the sex, and you let your eyes drift closed, lulled by the comforting rhythm of his breathing. 

A sleepy kiss is dropped onto the crown of your head.

“Enjoy it whilst you can,” Jing Yuan hums. “Before we start having to make room for Mimi every night.”

[specialagentlokitty]

Hotch x reader - soulmates

Hi, Soulmate AU anon again. I was wondering if you could do the AU I mentioned with Hotch x FBI!Reader. Maybe she's been working with the FBI for a long time, but they haven't been able to talk until she has to join his team for a case. It's up to you 😊 - Anon💜

Soulmate AU: the first words your soulmate says are tattooed somewhere on your skin

You looked at the ink on your shoulder in the mirror with a small frown on your face.

‘We don’t need anymore help.’

What’s what it said, and you wondered what kind of person your soulmate was.

You always wondered that, were they rude? Nasty? Maybe they just didn’t like new people?

You had no idea, but so far you had never been able to find them, you knew the rules. It wouldn’t put names on your skin, or anything that could help you find our soulmate, it would add the next sentence that wasn’t a name or location.

It was strange, but everyone was used to it.

Even you, and thankfully yours was easily hidden by the fabric of your shirt, so no one aside from you and your parents knew what yours said.

You always made up some lie, because you didn’t want to admit that your soulmate seemed rude and horrible.

But you couldn’t think about that now, you had to rush to work because you were being placed with a new team since they needed a new agents for their team, and you were the most qualified.

You followed yours boss into the meeting, and you looked around, standing there with your arms crossed as you looked around, and you felt an intense gaze on you so you look at him.

You’d heard of him of course.

Agent Aaron Hotchner.

Everyone had heard of him and his team.

Most people would be overjoyed to be working with them, but for you it was just another team who needed your help for a while.

While your boss spoke with his, you walked over to him and stood in front of him.

“We don’t need anymore help.” He said.

You hummed a little, flicking your eyes from his to the two people behind him talking away then back to him.

“We don’t get much choice in this Hotchner, so we either work together or we don’t, I don’t care.”

His eyes widened a little and you cracked a small smirk, leaning against the table.

“I always wondered what my soulmate was like. I suppose you aren’t so bad at least you’re not a criminal.”

“How do you know we’re soulmates? You don’t know what mine says.”

You laughed a little, giving a small shrug.

“Maybe not, but the face you stared at me in shock for a split second kind of gives that away.”

You tugged your shirt to the side, pulling it down your shoulder to show him the words before you billed it back up.

He did the same, showing you his collarbone which held your exact words.

“So what does this mean exactly?” He asked.

You shrugged a little.

“No idea, I guess we can either choose to act on it, choose not to, whatever really. Right now though, you have a missing agent, and I’m the one who’s going to find her.”

“How long?”

You looked at your watch.

“A few hours of you give me access to everything I need.”

He nodded and held out his hand.

“Aaron Hotchner.”

You shook his hand.

“(Y/N) (L/N).”

And you worked quickly, it didn’t take long to find his agent safe and sound, and now all you had to do was find their unsub which was harder.

With Garica and you, it took another two days to find them, the small group of unsubs working together, and they were quickly brought down.

And now you were standing over them as they did paperwork.

“Will you be working with us on more cases?” Reid asked you.

You shrugged a little.

“Not my place to say.”

“Yes, she will. For now.”

You titled your head back to look at Hotch and he gestured for you to come up so you did.

“Ooo someone’s in trouble already.” Derek smirked.

You rolled your eyes and tossed your pen at him before you made your way up, following Hotch into his office.

He closed the door and looked at you.

“So, we’re going to be working together for a while, so… what do you want to do?”

You sighed a little, shrugging.

“I don’t know, I mean I’ve dated people and all yeah sure, but this whole soulmate thing? Everyone has one perfect match seems a bit far fetched.”

“You don’t believe in soulmates?”

You shook your head.

“No I do, obviously. But I’m saying I don’t believe that your soulmate is your supposed perfect match. I’ve seen unsubs who’s victims were their soulmates, victims who’s abusers where their soulmates, tell me how that’s a perfect match.”

He sighed.

“I suppose it isn’t. So I assume you don’t want to do this whole soulmate thing?”

“You do?”

“Well, I have a son, and I was married and we weren’t soulmates. But soulmates don’t have to be lovers do they?”

“What’re you saying?”

Hotch smiled a little and held his hand out to you.

“How about friends? Then we just see what happens?”

You smiled, clasping your hand around his.

“Friends. Then we just go with the flow really.”

He nodded his head in agreement.

Neither of you knew what was in store, but at least as friends you could decided if it’s what you wanted and not jump into anything like everyone else does

[cantcompetewhereudontcompare]

This got long so for the sake of the tags I'm adding, to not clog people's timelines in case they happen upon it, I'm adding a cut off. But this message is diabolically wrong, and I'm here to prove it word for word.

1- I haven't talked about morals in terms of Louis, and all I said about Zayn is that he's a domestic abuser. You sure are very sensitive about someone just repeating facts, huh?

2- Real people can't queerbait. Wearing quirky clothes wouldn't even qualify as queerbaiting anyway. This argument against him got stale in 2020. Keep up.

3- He hasn't said a single thing in support of Israel's government. All he said, 10+ years ago, mind you, was that he wanted to perform there. That's raging zionism to you? Are we not in the year 2024 seeing the damage and destruction of Israel in real time? And what actual raging zionists condone and how they behave?

And what if I told you that Harry was courted by Israel to perform there for Love On Tour, by literal Israeli politicians like Idan Roll, mind you, and Live Nation Israel was DESPERATE to get him to perform there, offering him millions and he flat out refused. Because he said in 2013 that he wanted to perform there but it is now 2024, he has toured the world as a solo act twice now, in very lengthy tours, and he has yet to perform there. And his last tour ended months before October 7th too. So the single thing he has said that could be interpreted as supporting Israel (Israel fans, mind you, not their government or their actions) 11 years ago didn't even end up happening when he was offered millions.

The tweet supporting Israel is debunked. This is the only screenshot of it that exists, and it was fabricated by the same person that fabricated this, the same exact day:

Unless you want to believe that both of them tweeted the same exact thing on the same day and somehow not one single screenshot exists? Not a single article by western media?

The picture of him holding the Israeli flag is him actually holding the Spanish flag:

"He did a power fist when a reporter at a press conference said she was from Israel" he did that with like, every reporter:

When he "signed an Israel flag" it was for a dying fan who got to the 1D concert through Make A Wish. "Zayn refused" no it was after March 2015, so he wasn't in the band anymore. I guess he shouldn't sign a flag if a fan who has cancer and is dying asks him to?

"He followed a zionist journalist" no, he didn't. He followed Lliana Bird, the co-founder of Choose Love, formerly known as "Help Refugees"

Which is an organization that has raised $2 million for Gaza

and has been calling for a ceasefire, consistently, since last year. Like, here:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Choose Love (@chooselove)

"Oh but she wrote a zionist article" except she didn't, she bothsided things like hell, for sure, but she was incredibly kumbaya about the whole thing (like I presume Harry and his friends are, because they're libs at the end of the day). This is the article, from 2014, btw. Here's an excerpt:

Do I personally agree with it? No fucking chance, but this is what most pro-Palestinian people will agree with lmfao. Like, it's an incredibly radical position that you can only find being massively supported online to be fully pro Palestinian and understand that while you can't condone extreme acts done on civilians by Hamas, at some point radicalization is impossible to avoid and a logical conclusion of the heartbreak and pain Palestinian people have been subjected to for decades. Like, it's NOT a popular opinion. Lliana IS the mainstream opinion for pro Palestinian people. And this was her opinion 10 years ago, considering her organization is fully supportive of Palestine (and Lebanon) now, I presume she has inched more towards the "other side" than in the past.

And Harry supports her organization!!

He has for several years now:

Like, this was for his first solo tour:

"But he raised a hammer" he grabbed a toy from the audience and waved it around, like he does with multiple things at almost every single show. Maybe he saw the Israel flag, maybe he didn't, going from that to "oh he supports the slaughtering of children" is fucking ridiculous and no one outside of stan twitter would even entertain shit like that. Once again, that was 10 years ago.

He was 20, and he probably had as much information on the war between Israel and Palestine as the average person: ie, almost nothing. It wasn't until recently that we started getting more information from social media that people learned of what truly was happening and had been happening for 75 years. Mainstream media is STILL lying about it, hiding facts, to our faces, even though it slips through the cracks thanks to social media.

People didn't massively support Palestine or even know about what was happening until AFTER October 7. A lot of people still don't know!!

"He could've educated himself" sure. And we all should educate ourselves on this sort of thing. I still have a lot of blind spots about a lot of terrible situations happening all around the world, and I'd like to believe I'm fairly radicalized and informed. That does not make someone a genocide supporter. Ger your head out of your ass.

"But he dropped a Palestinian flag" no, first of all it was a scarf with a tiny Palestinian flag on it. The idea that he managed to see it in a split second with literally no lights whatsoever is laughable. You think this man is superhuman. The amount of times he has grabbed and dropped things quickly is astronomical. You know why? For this very reason. To avoid controversy if he happens to be thrown something unsavory. He doesn't grab things he can't recognize, as much as he checks things before waving them (ever since he was tricked into waving a flag with a Larry message on it, back in 2015). There's so many videos of him doing the exact same thing with multiple stuff, just watch him interact at any given show.

The only other argument for his supposed "zionism" is that zionists have spread rumors of him supporting them, like a fan claiming that he saw her from across an arena holding an Israel flag and idk waved at her? Or a comedian claiming he said he wanted to go to Israel in like, 2017 (why hasn't he gone then? lol he's saying he wants to go to random people but he doesn't just go? when begged by their own politicians to go? How does it work?) It's just zionists doing typical hasbara, where they act like everyone supports them. The ridiculousness of him specifically seeing this fan (who had to use someone else's video in which it just looks like he just waves in the general direction she was in) and waving at her because of her Israel flag, which was covered by the people in front of her, mind you, shouldn't even have to be explained, but alas.

They do this with lots of celebs. It's typical for them. And most of the time it isn't real. Israeli fans were celebrating that Harry was finally going to Israel last year because Live Nation Israel was desperate to secure the deal and spreading it all over the internet in Hebrew, only for him to decline (and he flat out declined and said he was never gonna perform there, btw, I know this for a fact, but can't exactly divulge how I know, the fact that he... well, didn't, should be enough, I suppose).

Do I wish he would speak up? Absolutely. Do I think he's a terrible person for not speaking up? No. He's just a white lib.

4- His friends are not him. He's friends with people who are morally questionable, like literally most people on planet earth who have friends. I would personally disavow people who are pro Israel, no matter how little or big their support is, because I'm informed on the subject and care a lot about it. I don't actually talk to my irl friends about this, tho. It's not exactly a subject that comes up unless you're prone to discussing politics, and a lot of people aren't, and I respect that. So I could very well be friends with people who ignorantly (or assholently) support Israel, without me knowing. I don't expect that Harry is as informed on the subject as me, and least of all, that he's sitting down with Ben Winston and having heated debates about the Israel Palestine situation.

Ben Winston took Harry in when he was 18, alone in London and away from his family. He was a friend when he wasn't even famous. He and his wife supported him and gave him the consistency he yearned for in crucial years of his life. I despise the man, but Harry is never gonna drop him.

It's an immensely privileged situation, for sure, but that is reality for most celebrities, especially white male celebrities. And truth of the matter is that 99.99% of celebrities have zionists in their circles, because it's incredibly prevalent in positions of power in America (it's by design, and no it's not because they're Jewish, most zionists in America are actually evangelical. It's for the same reason scientology is so prevalent in Hollywood. It's a very large discussion that we can have some other day). I don't personally condone it but to act like it somehow translates into their own personal beliefs is absurd.

If Harry had expressed an ounce of sympathy for the government of Israel, or chosen to perform there despite everything, or signed a pro Israel petition, or literally any other form of support for Israel, then MAYBE I could entertain this criticism. But what he's guilty of:

Playing with a toy with the Israel flag in 2014, like he played with a bunch of other toys with flags of a lot of other countries, including American flags (and boy, we need to have that argument at some point)

Saying he'd love to perform in Israel in 2013, and then never performing there even though he was offered millions and begged to do so

???? existing in Hollywood?

Stan twitter has been trying to twist itself into knots into him being a zionist ever since he became massively successful as a solo act. Literally grabbing randomly photoshopped tweets and pictures, twisting him following Lliana, photoshopping an Israel flag onto a picture of him, twisting him signing a flag for a fucking DYING FAN. Like, man, if you have to do allat then maybe he just ain't a zionist?

And lastly about the subject, his family (mon and sister) and plenty of his very close friends (like Molly and Tomo) have been calling for a ceasefire and being openly pro Palestine on socials ever since last year. But of course, Ben Winston being a dick overwrites all of them, right?

5- There's no indication that Harry has ever cheated on anyone. It's possible he did, but not a single one of his exes has claimed so. Taylor openly admitted that while he was hooking up with other people so was she, and she repeatedly said that they were friends, even right after they broke up. Going to LENGTHS about it too, btw

Camille has been supportive os him even years after breaking up. Like, this is her interaction on a photo of him performing a song he wrote about her at the Grammys, after he won a fucking Grammy for it. She seems really cut up about it...

Do I need to mention Kendall?

Or Olivia?

His exes have literally NOTHING but good things to say about him. All of them!!! No exceptions. Even Caroline Flack, who he briefly dated (ew) when he was 17 had nothing but positivity to say about him. Even girls like Georgia Fowler, who he was seen with once, were positive about him years later.

I fear you're alone on this "cheating" thing. If he did, we don't know, and his exes don't seem to gaf, so why do you?

6- Homewrecker is such a ridiculous thing to say. You can't wreck a home as an outsider. He's never been married and he doesn't have children, so he couldn't have wrecked any homes. If you mean Olivia Wilde, chances are she did cheat on her ex with him, but where exactly do you get that Harry knew?

Mind you, Olivia's nanny came out with a tell all about the cheating, with text messages to boot, and she herself said Harry had no idea. This is from the "tell all" article:

It's likely Harry ended things with Olivia because of this article, finding out that she had lied to him lmfao. So how exactly was he a homewrecker? If he didn't know and was actively lied to by his girlfriend for two years, and ended things after he found out? (Mind you, look up the dates for this article, for the canceled Chicago show, for Olivia showing up in Chicago out of nowhere, then leaving, for his mom and sister showing up in Chicago out of nowhere, how many times they were seen together and what their faces looked like after the article, etc).

Unless you mean when he was groomed by 32 year old Lucy Horobin when he was 17, who also lied to a 20 year old member of another boyband, back in 2011, who explicitly said he didn't know Lucy was married lol

So, are you calling a 17 year old being groomed by a 32 year old married woman, who likely lied to him, "a home wrecker"?

Don't bother replying because you're blocked. But thank you for the list of things to debunk. And have a taste of Zayn being a cheater and a home wrecker (his own home! btw!)

Like this, when he was engaged to Perrie Edwards and was completely unapologetic about it, until he was caught. Then went on to twitter to say it wasn't what it looked like, but the girl has explicitly said that it definitely was lol (she went to a reality show later that year)

Or what about this?

When the whole Cristabel Riley thing happened, remember? Harry was involved too. But he was an 18 year old single boy, seeking consensual sex with girls who were of age and weren't even fans, but groupies. Zayn? Zayn was with Perrie (they'd been dating since early 2012, this happened over the summer of that year while they were touring America)

Remember when he was caught over Skype with the Riach brothers, talking to girls? They were in a hotel in New York after 1D's MSG show. The MSG show Perrie attended.

The article and the video about it have suspiciously been deleted off the internet, but here are the old links to the article and the video

But here's a post about it on a pop culture forum (it does not pre-date Perrie, as I said, this was late 2012 in New York while 1D was performing at MSG. Perrie literally attended the show).

Here's a Ziam blog (lmfao) talking about the timing going by the hotel in the background, just in case. It's pretty irefutable.

There's that infamous video that I can't find now, taken from a peephole, where Zayn sneaks a girl into a hotel room, and you can see it clearly. Also dating Perrie. The other phone call that was recorded, also dating Perrie. The groupies who have posted pictures from his house on their public social media as he was dating both Gigi and Perrie, which I won't link out of an abundance of caution (does the name Christina ring a bell?)

There's this with TOWIE's Abigail Clarke while he was with Gigi

There's Gigi filing a harassment report and Perrie being very open about her issues with him.

I don't give a fuck if he fucks every single woman in Pennsylvania. More power to him. There's nothing wrong with sex, but to have his fans (because you are his fan) come here and call someone else a cheater and a homewrecker is certainly ironic.

Zayn has cheated on every partner he's ever had multiple times. It is heavily documented and one of his exes has made it extremely clear. So I would look inwards if I were you.

Celebrities are problematic just like the rest of us. Nobody is perfect or has perfect friends. I strongly disagree with pointing out moral issues with celebrities to justify not liking them. I actively encourage people to embrace their inner hater without feeling the need to find morality issues for it. Just hate for the sake of hating otherwise you'll be a hypocrite.

But there are lines that you shouldn't cross. Violence, particularly violence against women and children. Sexual misconduct. Those things I don't play about (and nobody should) and I WILL call them out. So Zayn and Liam are fair game for me to bring up their moral issues. I don't dislike them because of them. Trust me I disliked them way before, and I don't need a reason for it, but I sure as hell will call them out on that as well.

I dislike Louis as well, but I'm not gonna make his dubious morality a focal point of this blog because he's a flawed human being like the rest of us. He has not had any accusations of violence or assault or sexual misconduct, so I don't feel the need to question his morality.

I'll talk about his homophobia not because I want to "cancel him" but because he has built his fanbase around a conspiracy theory that hinges on him being gay and oppressed because of it. Don't get it twisted. I'm here to expose his fanbase first and foremost, and that sadly for him, will decant on exposing him. Because that's the only way there is.

What he does with his life is none of my business otherwise, as long as it doesn't cross that very obvious line (and so far it hasn't)|

[dorokora]

Chapter 15 Episode 3 Part 1

We start with narration about the three siblings, Tsukiyomi, Amaterasu, and Susanoo. When they were young they used to lived in harmony. But there’s always a pecking order. Amaterasu is regarded as the highest, watching over her world from the place one closest to god. If someone ask her why she exiled Susanno, she would respond “I did it because I knew I should”. We cut to the present, when we see Uzume run into Amaterasu. She’s says she hasn’t seen her in a while. Uzume remembers how they used to go out and do stuff together. Amaterasu acts coldly towards her and says she’s in a rush. Uzume ask her if this is about her brother. Uzume tells to stop worrying about Susanoo and do whatever she wants to do and have fun and to stop fighting with her siblings. Amaterasu says she has a responsibility to Susanoo to be the World Rep.

Back to Future City with MC, Masashi and Nobumichi appeared to greet MC (while Bael is still in background being pissed at Masashi). Maria ask what did they do to Jacob and the others, is it brainwashing. Masashi says that if it was brainwashing it would make the other person look like a fool. The locals are doing this based on their own judgment (sounds like bs but whatever). Masashi goes on and on about the perspective of a superior being. For example, the view from the top of a castle is different from the view from standing on the ground. If you could see disaster coming from far away from the top, you would have to ignore the words of those on the ground and respond, right? There are decisions that can only be made by those who stand above everyone else. No matter how cruel and cold the treatment may have seemed to those of lower rank. If it's necessary, do it. It's the duty of a higher-ranking being. The reason they don't explain anything is because you can't understand what they say.

We cut to some of the World Reps elsewhere. Amaterasu says it’s time for the game to come an end. There were no more words to be exchanged as the World Reps from the three guilds battle.

We cut to Daikoku and Takeminakata. Daikoku goes on about the perspective of higher and lower beings. Takeminakata ask why are they in the fire department headquarters. Daikoku is here to talk to Raven. Daikoku ask Raven what do the Game Masters think of this situation. Raven knows that Daikoku has a grudge against Amaterasu and is probably trying to get info out of him to use against her.

We cut back to MC and others. As MC and the alliance try to fight against the Rule Makers forces, Tsukiyomi and the rest of the Outlaws show up to help. He tells MC they must leave this Future City. They already have informed the other guild alliances of the same thing. Even if everyone stays here, they will have no choice but to retreat eventually. However, if they all scatter and run away, they will be defeated individually, so they have to hold them back. Back to Baphomet and Onyankopon. Baphomet ask what went wrong during the surgery. Sanzo’s sacred artifact has rejected the implanted memory of the future. it’s possible that it’s a sacred artifact that made what was written prohibited. Onyankopon believes that Sanzo’s role and "prohibitions" rejected the future memory implant. Baphomet ask if it’s alright if they chase after Sanzo after all they are now personally interested in them.

Back to MC and Tsukiyomi. MC ask why should they leave. Tsukiyomi says unless you’re local, you probably won't be able to get to the bottom of this matter. You have lived as a human in this Tokyo. That's why he think you're more qualified than him in this situation. Another reason is he wants you to choose your future. He talks about his siblings, about how they always fight and he couldn’t do anything about it. He always thought about what other future there would be. Even if that was an inevitable future, He wanted to give those two the time to make a choice. It's not something given to someone else. You have the opportunity to choose your own future. While the Outlaws was holding the enemy back. Nyarl space leap MC somewhere safe.

[just-dino-maggie]

Hear me out, Boldy falling for a girl who constantly has her guard up is quiet and reserved. However, he tries and tries to get her to let her guard down which she eventually does and she's able to be herself with him and it's all very sweet

I love this request so much!! Thank you for requesting, I hope I can do it justice!

I’ve kept to myself for most of my life. I’m not shy, in fact I quite enjoy being around people. People watching is one of my favorite activities, I think I got that from my Dad. He always told me that it was better to know more about others then they know about you. Asking other people about themselves is attractive, or so I was told.

It turns out I took the advice all too literally. I have my family and my best friend I’ve known since birth and that’s it. I keep everyone else at an arms length. Even my best friend says that my stoicism would he intimidating if she didn’t know me so well. Luckily she knows me more then anyone else in this world.

My childhood was hard dealing with mental and physical ailments due to abuse. So I decided to understand it better. I went to school starting at 16 and double Majored in Kinesiology and Psychology. I wanted to truly understand the body and mind after what mine had been through.

I became a trainer for my colleges hockey team while I was getting my Master of Science in Kinesiology with a concentration in exercise psychology. After 6 years of working my ass off at the age of 22 I became the youngest ever NHL athletic trainer for the Minnesota Wild. Of course have some connections that helped me get this job but not without being qualified.

Quickly I became acquainted with the team. I listened to them so that I could know their bodies and I got damn good at my job. There was always one guy who wasn’t content with the arms length approach I kept. Matt Boldy. This guy is always asking me questions about myself while I’m trying to help him. Deliberately ignoring my question because he’s trying to get to know me.

I should find it sweet, but it’s beginning to frustrate me. I’m not trying to make friends here I’m trying to do my job. I can’t tell him that. He’s so nice to me and his smile is breathtaking. I couldn’t be the one to take the smile off his face.

Today is like any usual morning. I’m the rookie amongst the trainers so I have to make sure to restock everyday before everyone gets here. “Morning Y/n.” A familiar voice calls out. I recognize it right away to be the blonde boy.

“Good morning Matt.” I say curtly watching as he pulls himself on to my table.

He smiles at me, “You look lovely today.”

I shake the compliment away and furrow my eyebrows. I’m sure a blush is evident on my face but ignoring it seems like the best option.“Your sholder is still bothering you, would you like me to wrap it again?”

He looks taken aback and that makes me smirk. I like that I shocked him. “My shoulder is fine, stop deflecting.” He responds with mock anger.

“It’s not fine, you favored your right arm while jumping up on my table. You never do that.” I know I that I’ve caught him when he smiles widely.

He leans in a little, “I like how much you pay attention to me.”

“It’s my job but I’m glad you get some enjoyment out of it.” I reply easily.

He begins to take of his shirt. I’ve seen plenty of the guys shirtless, including Matt a handful of times but it feels different this time. We’re alone in this room and he’s half clothed. “I’ll let you wrap my shoulder if you stop deflecting when I ask you things.”

My eyebrows raise and I smirk knowingly. I’ve mastered deflecting, but he needs his arm wrapped so I’ll try my best. “Sure.”

“Why did you choose this field of work? You’re crazy smart, you could have done anything.” I smile at the compliment.

Carefully massaging his arm I say, “It made the most sense with my degrees, and I know someone in the organization.” The response is easy and not deflecting.

“What do you have degrees in?” He asks looking genuinely curious. I feel weird with his gaze on me like this.

I sigh, I hate talking about it because people think I’m lacking humility. “I have two Bachelor’s in Kinesiology and Psychology and a Master of Science in Kinesiology.” I’m blunt hoping he won’t dwell on it.

“You’re only 22 right? He asks and I nod, “Good, just double checking.” He smiles and we sit in silence for a moment before he speaks up again. “Why did you choose those degrees.”

I simply respond, “I find them interesting.”

I finish wrapping his sholder but he stays on my table and keeps talking. “Can you elaborate.”

“The body and mind are intricate and intriguing.” I can sense the familiar feeling coming into my chest. The anxiety that prohibits me from being vulnerable.

He nods and says, “Yeah I get that but you could have done anything.” He sighs rubbing his face in frustration but his smile still remains. “What I mean is, what is the personal connection you have with those majors. Why are you passionate about it. I want to understand.”

“This conversation is sneaking it’s way out of the strictly professional territory it’s supposed to stay in.” I try to remind him of our work relationship but he doesn’t seem to care.

He shakes his head at my unwillingness to comply. “I’ve seen most of my co-workers naked, I don’t think this particular question is crossing any lines that shouldn’t be crossed.”

“I - um well I guess I didn’t feel like I had that much control over my mind and body growing up. So I wanted to understand it for myself and help other people use theirs to achieve their goals.” I turn away from him and put my things away slowly and carefully.

I can hear him shift but he stays in the table, “Why didn’t you feel like you had control over your body?”

“Again not a topic I would like to get into at work.” I know I’m deflecting by this point but I’m not sure how he even got this far.

I jumps of the table and I turn to face him. “Let me take you out to dinner then?” It’s a statement but he says it like a request. Like it’s such an easy thing to ask of me.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I mutter quietly.

He runs his hand through his hair, clearly thinking about what he’s going to say. “I think it’s a good idea. I like you a lot but I don’t really know you as well as I want you. Sometimes I get to see you, like when you hide your laughs at Kirills stupid jokes or when you John are talking medicine and you light up. But I want to know more. Is that okay?”

I’m shocked by his sincerity and I’m not sure what to say but the words come out anyway. “No one has really noticed me before.”

He takes a step toward me, looking deep into my eyes. “It’s impossible not to notice you Y/n, everyone else is just too stupid to realize how amazing you are.”

I smile despite myself, “You have my number from the groupchat right?” I ask referring to the big groupchat with the practice schedule in it.

“Yeah of course,” He replies. “I’ll text you.”

I push step away from him, “Okay, now get out of here I have work to do.” He smirks at me and grabs his shirt leaving the room. A few moments later my phone lights up.

I’ll pick you up Friday at 7:00?

I can’t help but smile.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Pre HOO Jason just casually usurping his father for the Olympian throne.

And everyone's like oh how typical of a son of Zeus... Jupiter(?) always searching for power.

Jason's just like "you think I wanted this? We've been lodging complaints for years because you guys never visit us.

If I didn't do this the 1st cohort were gonna sacrifice Steve, and no one wants that especially not Steve.

So we held a vote, and well..." He sighs like someone who's just done with everything. "Everyone voted for me, even Octavian so you know shit is fucked.

Anyway, I'm in charge because you sir are bad at it like... terrible at it. Don't worry I'll give it back, once you sort out your... Everything."

Zeus/Jupiter is pissed as all heck but Poseidon calls a vote and shockingly everyone votes in favour of Jason.

Jason is just yay my plan is working but also... Why me?!

"Why did they vote you?" Asks Annabeth.

Jason shrugs "apparently other than Reyna who said no way, I'm the only other one who has 'common sense' and won't 'fuck things up anymore than usual.'

Apparently keeping a bunch of Romans from burning down camp every other week, makes me qualified to lead. The whole lead them into battle against Krios only made it worse."

Annabeth blinks, before nodding "no yeah, makes sense. I'm Annabeth Chase."

"Jason, Jason Grace.... Erm is she okay?" He points to Thalia who is just trying to process everything.

"Oh she's fine, just a lot to take in. She's my sister, well our sister Thalia Grace." Says Annabeth, having figured it out already.

Jason grins "no way?! Really?" He frowns "hey wait Nico told me she was a tree?" Annabeth snorts "it's a long story."

That he can agree with.

"Soo... What should we do with him?" Asks Percy pointing to the very pissed off Zeus/Jupiter who's laying in a heap on the floor.

"He's going to lose his powers. He's going to become someone that even a newly turned demigod can defeat.

He will know what it means to helpless and have no one to turn to. He will have the same immortality of that of a huntress, all the while everyone he's ever messed with hunts him for sport.

His only allies will be those who choose to aid him. He will be shunned, he will be isolated and learn what it means to be mortal."

Evetuone looks at Jason in shock, probably because it was the first time they'd seen him so serious.

Suddenly an entire legion voting this guy to be Zeus/Jupiter's replacement made a lot more sense.

"And what" spits Zeus/Jupiter, getting up to glare at his spawn. "Makes you think you can do that to me?"

Jason smiles, but it isn't kind "wouldn't you like to know, weather boy?" Before throwing something that engulfs his father in blue smoke.

When the smoke clears, the great king of Olympus now appears as a young man. He tries to pick up his masterbolt, enraged and it shocks him.

Hera is escatic, pulling Jason into a hug "you did it, I knew you had it in you." She says ruffling his hair "Lady Hera!" He pouts, trying to fix his hair.

She frowns "none of that, I have told you time and time again to call me mum." Jason mouths the words as she speaks, very clear they've had this conversation a lot.

"Sorry your majesty, Lady Hera, Queen of Olympus." Hera sighs but her gaze is fond.

"Mum?" Asks Annabeth. "I'm her champion but she'd watch over me as a baby and as a kid so she basically helped raise me." Explains Jason.

He totally knew about the bet Hera and Lupa had to see which he'd call mum first, and he totally wasn't messing with them both.

Nope, absolutely not.

"And er yeah, you guys can take him back to your camp when you want." Says Jason.

Hera lights up, a devious smile on her face. "I'll take care of that" Apollo raises a hand, a similar look on his face "I'll help."

The two vanish with the now fallen king.

Well that should be fine.

Probably.

Jason shrugged, ah well he tried.

"Soo... Who are you anyway?" Asks Percy, curious. Jason sighed, he was gonna have to put that nap on hold.

"Well it all started when my mum left me to the wolves, pun not intended."

(@star-archivist I'm not sure it this what you meant by "needing more of this", but.. Here it is 😅)

[yeetus-feetus]

Because the foster system is absolute shit, and I'd imagine Gotham's foster system is probs 10x worse, I've had an idea.

We know Stephanie's baby is not Tim's. But we also know Tim was willing to step up and help with the baby regardless, we know he was there for the baby's delivery too.

We also know Stephanie is not ready for a child, and that's okay. She was still basically a child herself at the time and she also feared for her babies safety if she ever was to keep it. It's okay for her to choose to give it up.

But I propose maybe Tim is the one who gets too attached here. And he's confused with himself because this child isn't even his. But he loved Stephanie, he still does though it's platonic now, and I just think he'd see that baby and immediately love it just as much.

And Tim knows he could never take this baby on just by himself, and Stephanie would never let him because again, their jobs are too dangerous.

Tim is also aware of how trash the foster system is, especially in Gotham.

So I'm imagining Tim somehow convinces Ma and Pa Kent to raise this little girl, because he can't imagine anyone else more trustworthy and qualified.

They're always down for a new kid. Ma had wanted a large family all her life, but unfortunately she was never able to have kids of her own. Clark was a miracle sent to her from above and Kon was a blessing in disguise, Ma thanks the powers that be for the chance to raise both boys.

But the Kent's have never had a daughter, and I feel like they would welcome this baby in with open arms. A little girl for them raise and dress up, and Ma's already started crocheting her a cute little cardigan.

And I think Stephanie was more worried than her child's safety than anything else too, so I think she would feel a lot less anxious handing the baby over to the Kents.

Like think of the story potential of the Kent's raising this little girl. She's safe away from all the vigilantism, and she has a normal childhood with two stable parents, just like her mother wanted for her. And then the heartbreak of that vigilante lifestyle still finding this girl despite all this anyways.

Just imagine how devestating a storyline that could be. You sacrifice a relationship with this child so she can have a better life, and it's all for nothing, because there's your little girl in a Kevlar suit swinging from the rooftops.

It was inevitable really, vigilantism is in her blood. Gotham is in her blood.

It doesn't matter that all she's known are the rolling fields of farmland, the soft embrace of a small country town, Gotham is still something living and breathing inside of her, and no one from Gotham can ever truly leave.

And you can't even be mad at the people who raised her, you can't fault them for this because they have done everything within their power, they've been good parents.

All Stephanie can do is despair. Because Tim promised her, he promised this child would never have to know the struggles of their own lives.

Her daughter will never be safe on the crumbling rooftops of this cursed city.

But here she is anyways, despite all efforts and sacrifice.

Also I feel like, if this girl is raised by the Kent's, when she does eventually come back it will be much easier for her to build up a real relationship with her mother when they reconnect. Because as someone with complicated family, I feel like it's very common for a child to want to seek out their bio-parents even if the parents who raised them were super loving and caring.

Sometimes you find your bio-parent/s and you regret ever looking for them, regret ever asking the people who raised you to help you find them. But other times you get welcomed back with open arms, wet apologies, and a good reason for why they gave you away.

I just think it'd be something nice to explore. More representation ig. Like all of Bruce's kids have known their parents before being adopted. But we've never gotten to explore what it's like for a lot of people who never even knew their bio-parents.

I mean sure, we got a glimpse of that desperation to fill the feeling of a missing piece with Jason, but we all know how that ended for him. His mother was a really bad person, and she's the reason he ends up 6feet under.

But I really want representation that shows not all parents who give up their kids are bad people. Some of them are actually doing what's best for that child because they have the maturity to understand that they wouldn't be able to provide a safe and stable environment for a kid. They're puting the child's needs first.

And I'd really like to see the struggle of a child who's only known the people raising her as her parents and despite how good they are, still feel like something is missing.

[demonsandmischief]

-Chapter 4: The Avengers' Therapist-

Bisexual Female Reader x The Avengers

Rated M for eventual sexual themes

625 Words

My Masterlist for Previous Chapters. Please note disclaimers in Ch. 1.

"Why didn't you tell her she had to complete our final evaluations for our government pardons, Stark?" Steve asked.

"It must have slipped my mind," Tony said absentmindedly, focusing on the wrench he was using.

"You know that's not true," Wanda said. "You would've never hired someone so inexperienced, unless-"

"Fine," Tony said, dropping the tool and straightening his back. "I knew you all would be the difficult, stubborn selves that you always are, and having forced you into some kind of sterile office with a fifty year old experienced therapist, each one of you would resist. You would never pass, and we would have a big mess on our hands."

"You lied to her." Wanda's voice dropped to a whisper.

"I did what I thought was best. There's no harm coming to her. She's starstruck. She'll sign off on your evaluations no problem, not to mention getting a fat paycheck, and the fact that she will never have to worry about getting another job again because she worked for Tony Stark."

"How arrogant can you be," Steve scoffed.

You hadn't meant to eavesdrop, honestly. After Wanda told you that they had to be evaluated for their government pardon, you were going to confront Mr. Stark yourself. Except, Wanda had told Steve, and they both confronted him without you.

You struggled to suck in a breath, hurt beyond belief. You were naive to believe that you got this high end of a job on good performance. There had to be millions of other therapists to choose from, and Tony chose you, to use you.

You hadn't been starstruck. You were trying to give everyone a fair chance. You didn't realize there was an end goal. You just assumed that you were there to be a therapist, a listening ear, to help, not to issue pardons for war crimes. You were no where near qualified for that.

And to think you had been making progress.

Tony could find someone else to do his dirty work.

You blindly stuffed your belongings back into your suitcase as quickly as you could. You couldn't believe you didn't see this coming.

Nat saw it. She accused you of it, and she was right. You were there for resume building.

Beyond the hurt, you were also deeply embarrassed. You were a fool to try to prove yourself to people who could see right through you.

"Woah, where's the fire?" Bucky asked as you nearly ran straight into him.

You wanted to say something to him, but you couldn't.

----

Bucky went straight to Steve, who was looking for you.

"What's going on?" Bucky asked him.

Steve furrowed his brows, "What do you mean?"

"I mean YN just rushed out of here," Bucky frowned. "Did you or someone else say something to her?"

"She left?" Wanda asked, sounding hurt. She wrapped her cardigan protectively over her front. "Without saying goodbye?"

"You're right," Tony said, entering the room. "And I don't say that very often, so make note of that. It was wrong of me to use YN, especially when she had been so kind to all of us. I will take the blame, and tell her myself."

"It's too late for that," Steve said. "She's gone."

"Who's gone?" Nat asked, entering the common space, followed closely by Clint. "Is something wrong?"

"YN. I'm assuming she overheard our conversation with Stark."

Tony sighed. "I know it was really shitty. I was just trying to help all of us."

"You were helping yourself," Wanda retorted.

"I can fix this," Tony said. "Someone just needs to go and talk to her."

"Not somebody," Nat said back, dropping onto the couch. "It needs to be you."

----- AUTHOR'S NOTE----

"Nat's right," Steve said. "She needs to hear it from you."

Here's Chapter 5

I like this chapter. A different perspective.

Updates are MWF

If you want to be tagged, you MUST comment on CHAPTER 1 ONLY.

COMMENT HERE

if you comment on any other parts you won't be tagged. I put a lot of work into layout and editing, tagging is a huge pain and I need to make it easy on myself as the story expands.

If there are 20 chapters, it would take me a million years to review 19 chapters for tags.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk :)

Also, I appreciate all of the love you all have been giving me. I've been writing a lot on Wattpad, and my time here has dwindled. It feels good to be back.

I love requests and I love to chat! It's been pretty lonely over here

Tips, reblogs, likes and comments always make me so happy. ❤️ Thanks for making my blog come alive again.

Tags @inluvwithfictionalwomen @pancakefan7529 @sugarrush-blush @royalmuffinsworld @ichala @cricket-reader @almosttoopizza @wtsseb @ananyar1bughead

[ladytanithia]

Writing WIP Wednesday (10/18)

I shared a different snippet of this chapter a while back, and I'm about to post it sometime today, so it almost doesn't qualify as a WIP anymore (unless you're counting the whole unfinished story). This is from Chapter 27 of Out of the Ashes.

Tagging my talented writer friends: @dirty-bosmer @gwilin-stay-winnin @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @thana-topsy @thechaosdragoness @thequeenofthewinter

Teldryn insisted on keeping his helmet on until Geldis had delivered their snack and Miranja had closed the door and locked it. She felt rather honored being given the key, even if only for a few moments. She sat down and laid the key on the table between them as he removed the helmet and fluffed out his sweaty hair with his fingers.

“Is it just me, or does Raven Rock feel weird now?” Miranja asked, taking a sip from the bottle Geldis had already uncorked for her.

“Raven Rock’s always been rather uncomfortable for me,” Teldryn admitted. “I’ve always felt something like an outlander myself here, despite being a Dunmer. In all the time I’ve been here, you’re the only one who’s seen my face. People don’t come right out and voice their suspicion, but they don’t go out of their way to talk to me, either.”

“Isn’t that lonely, Tel?”

“Yes, but I’ve felt it necessary. Especially knowing there are still MT assassins on Solstheim looking for you.”

“Which is about the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of,” Miranja growled, shaking her head. “I visited the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary ONE TIME, helped myself to one of their sexy leather uniforms and one of their not-so-sexy mage uniforms, never took a single contract from them, and never went back. Yet the MT thinks I’m a member, and how they even got that information is beyond me.”

“Well, whether they’re misinformed or not, they still come here. As long as you’re living here, it’s not safe for me to reveal my identity.”

“I’m sorry, Tel. Perhaps I’ve overstayed my welcome here. I have plenty of properties in Skyrim I could move to.”

“Or, as I think you mentioned once, I could move to one of them. Or ask your steward if he’d be willing to sell his old cottage in Riverwood. Maybe we could both move to Skyrim.”

They looked at one another for a long moment, just considering their possibilities.

“I’ve made arrangements here, set up trade between Raven Rock and Skaal Village, rented some untainted land for a small crop to share, things like that. I’d have to either end that arrangement or find someone who can maintain it if I leave. I know that Argis has started a relationship with Bralsa and she nearly lives at Severin Manor now, but I don’t know if Argis would want to stay here if I left. He does have the advantage with the Skaal of being a full-blooded Nord, so they trust him.”

“If I left, you wouldn’t have to.” Tel stuffed a large chunk of cheese into his mouth.

“We don’t have to make this decision today,” Miranja said, taking a swig from her mead bottle. “But I will talk to Argis, probably tomorrow, and see how attached he is to Solstheim – and to Bralsa. I’d be happy to leave him in charge of the manor, maybe even sign it over to him eventually if I don’t see myself doing anything more than visiting here. Right now, though, my brain hurts. I might even forego dinner tonight and just go to bed early. Tomorrow is the first of the month, and I’ll need to accompany Argis to Skaal Village for our monthly trade.”

“Well, if nothing else, I can say that my curiosity has been well and fully satisfied.”

“And?”

“And I understand for myself why you’re so well-loved here – and in Skyrim. I can��t say you don’t have a dishonest bone in your body, but I can say that you do have a conscience about it when you do have to be dishonest. You care about people probably more than is good for you, you’re talented, and you’re unapologetic about sharing pleasure with whoever you choose. I’m very glad to have gotten to know you, Miranja.”

Miranja had looked down at the table modestly as Tel had listed off the things he appreciated about her. Now she looked up at him and smiled sincerely. “I’m glad to have gotten to know you better, too, Tel. Even if that isn’t really your name, I still feel like I’ve gotten to know the real you. I’d like to keep you in my life, one way or another.”

“Count on it, my dear.”

Once they’d eaten and drunk their fill, Tel stood with Miranja to hug and kiss her tenderly before escorting her to the door.

“I’ll see you soon, probably tomorrow afternoon,” Miranja promised.

“You know where to find me,” Tel replied with a wink and a crooked, saucy smile.

[ultfreakme]

I saw a video these days about jujutsu and I saw something that I never realized that Megumi is not a good person because he is willing to do anything for his sister, which makes him selfish and that he only saves those who he "deems" to be a good person and who qualify as a good person for him. his morality is very black and white just like geto. There's a line from him that is very realistic, especially today in the manga, that sorcerers are not heroes, an example saturo gojo.

Hi Anon! Thanks for the ask. Here's the thing, I don't get Megumi. I think I've mentioned this before somewhere. I've rewatched S1 twice, only recently watched S2 and I've gotten up until ch237 in the manga, but I do not understand Megumi all that well (this isn't his fault as a character, I personally ended up being invested in the older generation of characters more + Maki).

With that said, I don't think Megumi's not a good person because he chooses to save certain people. It's less that he's choosing, and more like he's being practical about his abilities and the situation. Yuuji charges in to save people without consideration for if he even has the ability to save someone.

Morally speaking, that's good, but as we see in the detention center incident, Megumi was right in realizing that they can't help the people in there. It's why Megumi and Nobara make it out alive, but Yuuji doesn't. Yuuji's recklessness leads to Sukuna being let out and Megumi also being almost killed.

If you put Megumi in a situation where he has the confidence to save everyone around him, but those people aren't particularly good, he's not going to walk away because he has judged them as bad people. This is entirely about ability. It's why he says he's no hero. A hero would stand to save people even if he thinks he's going to lose.

I think Megumi wants to do good, but due to the realities of the jujutsu society, he has to be practical. In the detention center arc, he ran back to get that one guy's name badge because he saw the mom crying for her son.

I honestly think Megumi's actually pretty grey. He's fine with killing a human, he's okay with doing things that are typically considered immoral if it means helping people. In that way I think he's like Gojo; pragmatic.

Megumi doesn't have the luxury of caring about everyone, I think Gojo's influence and just being in jujutsu society has shown him that caring that much would destroy your heart(Geto) or get you killed(Haibara, Geto again, Yuuji for a while).

So, I think Megumi's a good person but just someone who's been forced into a society where he has had to harden himself to be careful about what he chooses to prioritize, for his own safety and for those around hi.

[caffedrine]

Keith Howell - Chapter 11 - Summary

I pretty much have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t trust me, and you shouldn’t either. This summary is not guaranteed to be accurate, it’s mostly written for myself to follow along with the route.

After having admitted to doing something horrible to her, Keith smiles weakly at Emma. Emma doesn’t understand, she has no memory of Keith doing anything wrong, but her heart is pounding as if it knows what happened.

Keith asks how much of that night Emma remembers. Emma recalls dancing, stargazing, then drinking the alcohol Keith gave her. She asks if he heard from Rio that she doesn’t remember anything else. Keith shakes his head, it’s not something he heard, but something he caused. He drugged her drink, in order to find out who she was.

Emma feels a bolt of pain followed by dizziness through her brain as if she had just been hit on the head. With his calm and gentle voice, Keith continued talking.

The drug way the drug works may sound difficult, but it’s surprisingly easy if you think of it like strong liquor. It makes the body and brain feel fatigued and lowers the functional ability of the brain as well. After taking it, it becomes difficult for the subject to make decisions, like lying or staying silent. And they lose all memories of that time as if they were blackout drunk.

That night, Keith heard secrets that Emma never wanted to tell him.

Keith’s eyes flicker hesitantly before he focuses back on Emma and continues. Back when they met at the Goodwill Ball, he had been looking into her. He didn’t understand why she was pretending to be a noble lady, but now he understands. She’s Belle, the person who chooses the next King of Rhodolite when the previous King dies.

Emma wants to tell Keith that he is wrong and that nothing he said just now is the truth. But her brain doesn’t seem to be able to bridge the gap between wanting to speak and actually speaking. She needs to go; she needs to do something. Keith, a foreign prince, now knows the biggest state secret in Rhodolite.

Emma wishes she could go to someone for help, but right now there is only Keith and her.

Emma says that she heard that Belle was to be chosen as the person with the most beautiful heart. Unfortunately, she doesn’t qualify as her heart is not that beautiful.

Did Keith really drug her drink? Unfortunately, Emma has no idea what was said or not said that night. Maybe she spoke some nonsense to him while drunk, but she’s not popular or important enough for anyone to believe what she says, much less a second-hand account of what she says while drunk.

Emma recalls a conversation she had with Sariel a long time ago, just before she attended that first tea party with Keith. He had warned her that Keith shouldn’t have come to the goodwill meeting in the first place, and his reason for lingering was unknown. Sariel had warned her that Keith must have a hidden reason for inviting her to that tea party in the first place.

Keith had been so kind that she had forgotten to be wary of him.

Self-consciously, Emma steps away from Keith, his cloak falling from her shoulders. She knows that the air should be very cold, but the horror of what has happened supersedes her physical discomfort.

Keith looks apologetic, and maybe a little lonely. He tells her that he understands why she’s saying this, after all, she lost all memory of telling him she is Belle. However, he knows that she wasn’t lying back then, just as he’s not lying when he says that he did something terrible to her.

If Emma was really Belle, what does Keith intend to do now?

Keith tells her that he has no intention of using the information or telling anyone else. This wasn’t the information he was looking for.

Maybe Keith didn’t intend to find this out, but Emma knows that her position as Belle and the death of the King is a national state secret. A secret that someone could use against Rhodolite.

Keith tells Emma to not worry about him anymore. He’s the kind of person who can’t do anything but is all right with doing terrible things to others. Now that she understands who he really is, she has no reason to be nice to him anymore. 

Keith unhooks his cloak and drapes it around Emma’s shoulders. He apologizes; for taking advantage of her kindness, for receiving it, and for drawing strength from her. He’s truly sorry for everything.

Keith leaves.

Emma closes her eyes to prevent herself from crying frustrated tears. She can feel Keith’s body warmth still clinging to his cloak despite the pain from Keith’s betrayal. She doesn’t know if he really drugged her or not, but he is certainly convinced that she is Belle. She needs to find Sariel and come up with a countermeasure to this.

Emma makes it inside and into the hallway. Her mind whirls with frustration as she considers everything. Given everything, why would Keith tell her about finding out about her status as Belle? Why would he admit to drugging her? Why did he apologize so much, as if he really didn’t want it to turn out this way? Why was he acting like he was reacting to something someone else had put into motion?

Emma reconsiders all her experiences with Keith so far. She thinks about all the times he had acted like someone else, after he took down that gang of thieves, during the dance, and that weird conversation on the balcony.

Maybe she just doesn’t want to believe that Keith would willingly do this to her. But she needs to figure out and face what really happened that night, and who Keith really is. She needs to confront Keith without worrying about hurting him. The only way forward is to have another talk with Keith.

On her way to Keith’s rooms, she finds his butler, Liam, in the corridor. She greets him and tries to hurry past, but Liam grabs her arm, forcing her to halt. He warns her that Keith will do something else cruel to her, and she realizes that he was waiting for her, anticipating her visit. He must also know what Keith knows.

Emma tells Liam that she refuses to accept a story about her saying things that she can’t remember. She wants to get to the truth of the matter, no matter how much it hurts. She can’t pretend not to notice something is wrong.

Liam lets go of Emma, muttering that it might be better if it’s the aggressive one. Emma asks him to explain, but Liam tells her that it’s nothing. He apologizes for suddenly touching her without permission and bows his head. Prince Keith is in his rooms, so Emma may visit him now. He hopes she won’t regret anything she finds out.

With that ominous warning, Emma takes a breath, braces herself, and goes to Keith’s rooms. She knocks on his door, and it is opened by Keith himself.

The atmosphere around Keith has completely changed from earlier on the balcony. His eyes are sharp and seem to revel in her discomfort before they change back to his normal soft gaze. Keith admits that he didn’t expect to see her after their last discussion. Was there something wrong with the way he explained it? Or maybe he wasn’t convincing enough.

Emma tells him it’s both things. She wanted him to explain everything better.

Keith agrees and invites her into his room. After all, the public corridor is very chilly this time at night. He opens the door wider, giving her room.

Emma feels like this is some sort of test, even though it should be nothing. She steps into the room, thanking him for his invitation. She places his cloak on the nearby table, and Keith sits down on his bed. Keith pats the space next to him as if he’s prompting her to sit next to him. Emma joins him on the bed but leaves enough space for another person to sit between them.

Keith asks Emma what she wants to know about. Or even better, what does she think about the purpose of their discussion earlier?

Emma suddenly feels like she’s being quizzed. She tells Keith that she thinks he wants to destroy any trust she has in him. Keith shakes his head, she’s wrong, and she knows that she has no evidence for it. But it is an interesting idea. If he really wants to make sure that she doesn’t trust him, he probably should make it more memorable.

Keith reaches out and runs his finger over the shell of Emma’s ear, and then along her jawline. Emma shivers and her shoulders jump at the stimulus while Keith’s eyes narrow like a child who has found a new toy. He asks how she likes it, and Emma tells him that she doesn’t care one way or another about it. Keith asks what her reaction was about then, and Emma says that she was just surprised.

Keith smiles and suppressed a chuckle. He will leave it at that.

Emma thinks that Keith’s expression, mannerisms, and everything, shows that he is enjoying this.

How strange. The Keith who is here with her right now has very little in common with the Keith she was talking to earlier today. If she didn’t know any better, she would think that there was a second person wearing Keith’s skin.

Keith asks if they should continue their quiz. Emma holds up a hand to stop him, she didn’t come here to play games with him. Keith reaches out and holds on to her hand, entwining their fingers together. Then he twists their joined hands, and Emma finds herself suddenly lying on the bed with Keith leaning over her.

Keith tells her that everything he did was designed to get them alone like this. He knows that she finds him unreliable, so of course she wouldn’t believe the words he said earlier. If she could find one of his contradictions, something questionable, he knew she would seek him out. This is how he really took advantage of her beautiful heart.

Emma wonders if Keith is lying right now, or if the lie was the Keith on the balcony. She anxiously looks into Keith’s eyes, which are filled with perverse joy. Keith asks if she’ll believe him now. He would be thrilled if she would believe him when he says he is a horrible person.

With her free hand, Emma pushes against Keith’s chest as if she was rejecting him. For a while, she feels like Keith is going back and forth on how much she should believe him. She thinks back to the way Keith was on the balcony, and decides that wasn’t a lie, which would make this Keith the lie.

Who is the person in front of her?

(I kid you not, the battle music started at this point)

For a moment, Keith expressionlessly looks down at her, and then his lips curve into a smile. Using casual language that Keith has never used before, he tells her that the Keith she’s familiar with isn’t here right now. Though, if she were to say something like that, she would be the strange one.

Keith’s entire visage changes as if a mask has slipped off.

Alter!Keith warns Emma that it’s not possible for two different people to share the same body. At least, that’s the truth this world knows.

(I figure at this point, Emma knows, so I'll start using Alter!Keith)

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hi! Can I ask you that question that I’m never sure I have the right answer to? Can you let me know what you think? Do you think that Armand pursued Lestat is because he believes Lestat is able to give him unconditional love? Because he believes Lestat is like minded to him? And Lestat wants this affair too at time because he thought on Armand would be the only one to understand him? But they couldn’t give each other unconditional love because they have never received it themselves, and because they need it so badly they couldn’t help but be selfish? Their lover affair is doomed from start because they wish for this unconditional love that they couldn’t possibly give to each other. Eventually, Armand found it in Daniel’s eagerness to love him despite the circumstances. Lestat found it in Louis’ patience. And when Armand and Lestat finally find peace in the unconditional love given to them, they finally see they could be to each other which is the sibling/family that they wished for. Who is the one who genuinely want the best outcome for them because understand their past and struggle the most and have been through similar traumas that they would be willing to protect them the most? Or they are just act like two bickering brothers who sometime kiss each other and sometime don’t 😂 Please tell me what you think. I go back and forth from taking Anne Rice’s writing words as it is written and doing this crazy idea. Please make me stop thinking like this 😆

Hey dear!!

Ohhhh, that is a very good question. (And, coincidentally, @cosmicjoke just wrote something about the similarities between Lestat and Armand, not sure if you saw?)

Lestat and Armand… are extremely close in a way.

I think they see a lot of themselves in the other… but that mirror image also repulses. Or can.

I think the big problem for Armand is that… Lestat didn’t immediately fall for him. Not in the sense he needed.

Oh, fascination, yes, but due to circumstance they never met on equal footing, and the proverbial walls were up. A love, a helpless love without reciprocation, or at least without the reciprocation to truly free Armand, at least then.

I’m not sure I would qualify Armand as either lover or brother to Lestat. I think they are more than brothers in the books, though they do bicker as if they were. Circumstance has prevented them from being true lovers I think, though with the events in TVA it could be argued that he and Lestat have reached that level (as the blood sharing is akin to lovemaking in book canon, and Lestat does allow it for Armand there (I’m not counting the forced feeding there - that was, while pleasurable, similar to a rape in their world)).

I always… see them as lovers by proxy. (I also think that is where Armand’s interest in David comes from. David, Lestat’s blood. As Louis. It must be terribly tempting for him to compare^^)

They are not quite “the exes“ to each other, they are more, and less. They value each other in a way that they do not do the others, Lestat turns to call Armand and David when he is scared.

Someone called Armand’s behavior “imprinting“ on Lestat, and I think that fits - they will forever be drawn to each other, imho.

For me, their relationship is actually something like a coven - by choice.

(You know, the saying “family are the enemies you cannot choose?“)

Well their coven, their family, are a few vampires they -did- choose.

It’s Armand, and Louis, and Lestat. And David sometimes. Gabrielle, at times. An inner circle, and an outer circle. Daniel, in that one (if focused on the Armand-Louis-Lestat one). Various fledglings and Marius. Viktor and Rose. And then… the rest of the court.

But I think they, Lestat and Armand, need each other, they ground each other. They show each other what could have been, and they both draw strength from that, imho.

I can easily imagine the show bringing the subtext plainly into text here as well btw.

Of Lestat and Armand meeting, and Armand seducing Lestat. And Lestat still rejecting him. I’ve said it before, I hope they don’t go for simple jealousy. Because… especially this dynamic is much more complicated than that.

And I love it :)

[gummybugg]

Grammar Lesson

In this Totally Normal Grammar Lesson, we will be learning about misplaced modifiers! What are those, you might ask?

A misplaced modifier lacks a subject! This can cause confusion in a sentence! It makes us wonder "who" is doing "what."

Any modifying phrase that does not attach itself clearly to the word it's supposed to modify qualifies as a misplaced modifier!

Read on for 2 examples and 3 practice problems!

Example 1

Dangling modifier:

Burned to a crisp, I could not eat the toast.

Better:

Burned to a crisp, the toast could not be eaten.

Why? Because the toast is burned to a crisp, not "I". That would hurt, and that was not the intention of this sentence!

Example 2

Dangling modifier:

Before making another decision, the evidence should be destroyed.

Better:

Before you make a decision, you should destroy the evidence.

Why? Because the evidence isn't making a decision—"you" are!

Ready for some Normal practice problems?

Choose either A or B to indicate the logical placement of the modifier shown in parenthesis!

(in the trunk of his car) A Blair always carries duct tape, zip ties, and a burlap sack in the event someone disagrees with him B.

(from the top of the stairs to the bottom) A Blair watched in anticipation as his neighbor tumbled B.

(from inside the house) Blair watched A as the two dogs dug up the neighbor's remains from under the flower bed B.

Ready to know the answers?

.

.

.

A

B

A

Did you get them all right?

Anyway, that is all for now! I would like to thank Donald Emery's English Fundamentals, 16th edition for the help!

[joons]

Do you have any favorite Elvis book recs?

I am very choosy about Elvis books and tend to do a lot of pre-reading on them before I choose to delve into them. I've read excerpts from many of them and have a general sense of what books I'm interested in and which ones I want to skip, but books just aren't my go-to source for information, so I don't feel qualified to give you any firm recommendations. Probably the best source I can suggest is elvis.com.au, which has a ton of interviews and snapshots of various times in his life that will help you get a sense of a huge cast of characters and what stood out to them about Elvis! If you like what anyone has to say there, you can look up more interviews they've done or books they have written.

Here is the main thing I would impart: The closer someone was to Elvis, the less I trust them. That seems crazy! But the reason is because that was the same philosophy that drove how Elvis engaged with his friends. Elvis withdrew inwardly during his lifetime because the people he trusted most tended to sell him out, time and time again--by getting their feelings hurt when he did not give them the exact amount of gifts they thought they deserved, by selling off warped stories about him that filled tabloids with falsehoods, and by sharing his entrusted secrets because they thought it would hurt him. That dynamic has not changed much since his death. It's very difficult to sort out the people who want to make a quick buck off selling a caricature of him to the public vs. the people who genuinely want to preserve his memory and the complicated, incredible person he was (and even the best-intentioned writers think they know more than they do and believe they can speak for Elvis). He is not here to tell his own story, which saddens me, and what fills the void is a lot of inner politicking between the different factions of his friend group that makes me so tired. It is hard to find any book of Elvis memories that doesn't turn inevitably to why the author was his only true friend and never did anything wrong.

I'm not even saying that books written by his associates are all full of lies or anything (well, not all of them, lol); I am saying that they all have a way of spinning things to their own benefit and are often laboring under the mistaken assumption that they know more about the man than anyone else. (The film's way of foregrounding this by allowing the Colonel, the most universally despised of the bunch, to tell his story is a stroke of genius.) Even if the authors believe they have special knowledge, we know Elvis was very hesitant of confiding in anyone, and sometimes he would confide things that weren't true for the sole purpose of seeing what leaked (several people claimed he had bone cancer before he died; several other people said they know for a fact he didn't and that he just wanted to see if the secret "got out"). Can you imagine living that way? To be so trusting of other people and still have to watch your back around everyone? To have to forgive them, not just because you think it's the right thing to do, but because if you don't, you don't think you can ever find someone who just selflessly likes you for who you are? To let yourself get hurt over and over again because you think it's better than being alone?

According to one story, when someone stole a huge amount of money from him, Elvis punched him and then wept, asking why he hadn't just told him what he wanted so that Elvis could have helped him. There is something about being that tenderhearted but not being able to fully give yourself to anyone because it's too dangerous. Man, I-- :(

I think this is why the relationship between Elvis and his fans was (and still is) so reciprocal and so pure. It had the elements of what Elvis wanted after losing his mother: a pure outlet for his love that would not hurt him to give. It's an easy-to-understand, almost transactional relationship, and it was all-consuming in a safe way, which is exactly how he felt about his mother and how she felt about him. I think he enjoyed being able to pour that love out without worrying that there was some hidden part of the deal he wasn't living up to, and he wasn't giving them any piece of himself that would let them take away his dignity if they chose. If you asked for something, he would give it to you--and more. And too many people around him just forgot to ask. Instead, they took it from him. And even the kindest of them are still trying to figure out what he owed them. That's their business, but I don't have to buy their book to help them figure that out. So just be mindful that any memory book you read is going to be half of a slice of the truth and that, sometimes, the people who loved and knew Elvis best are the ones whose names you don't know. Finding those stories is what I love.

So! I most like reading stories from people who worked with him professionally or people who knew him for a slice of time that they can speak very specifically about without diving into grievances or greed or guesswork. People like Steve Binder, who put together the Comeback Special, or some of his co-stars (Ann-Margret has never divulged details about their romance, which makes me respect her SO MUCH), or the Sweet Inspirations. They have less reason to exaggerate or edit, and you can just see his soul shine through in how much energy he put into his work and in how much he cared about each of them as people. It's a great starting point to start with people who did not try to live off him or bring hurt feelings into it. And then you can explore from there. :)