#i just question the idea that it was any better in the past

[crushmeeren]

༝ ᭝ ༝ ARRANGED MARRIAGE AU — PART TWO ༝ ᭝ ༝

⤷ ⋆ ft. itachi uchiha ⋆

⋆ note ; here is part two! this part is centered around the first time reader has sex with itachi (it’s mediocre, but 100% consensual) — which you can totally skip, a fluffy moment or two between pregnant reader and itachi, some reader and sasuke friendship, plus itachi’s perspective and an important convo with shisui!

⋆ note x 2 ; as always, credit for this idea goes to @majesticflyingwalrus !

‣ ‣ ‣ master list ‣ ‣ ‣ PART ONE

Is sex supposed to be this dull?

Surely not.

Within your clan’s compound you recall sex often being spoken highly of. Giggles and hushed whispers surrounding a forbidden pleasure chased after by so many of the young men and woman living there. Even the ones you’d considered close friends.

It seems your hopes had been aimed too high. Or perhaps that’s too pessimistic. Maybe sex will improve, this is, after all, only the first time you’ve given yourself to Itachi.

Little foreplay was involved as you stripped bare and laid down on the bed. A few brief kisses in the beginning, Itachi’s mouth tasting of the matcha tea he’d drank before. Lips pressed along the line of your throat once or twice, coaxing your lower belly to burn, but it hadn’t progressed much past that. Itachi stroked himself to full hardness before you could get your hand on his cock, assuring you he preferred to do it.

That stung.

In the present, cool cotton sheets bunch up in your curled fingers, thighs spread open wide by Itachi’s palms. The push and pull of his cock stretches your pussy better than your fingers ever could, prickles of pleasure gathering in your pelvis, tickling the base of your spine.

But the atmosphere holds an awkward edge to it. Besides the occasional flickers of heat, the tension is all consuming.

Itachi downright refuses to look you in the eyes. Each time you lift your chin to peak at his face his gaze darts to the side, biting the tip of his tongue in what appears to be concentration. Or discomfort.

It’s hard to read your husband.

There’s no sweet words directed your way. No real passion in the way Itachi moves, thrusts remaining at a steady pace the entire time, somewhat robotic.

You give up trying to catch his eye, redirecting your attention to his stomach. The lean muscles flex and roll under the strain of his hips. It’s surprising how erotic the view is, catching you off guard, and hot desire forces your pussy to clench tight around Itachi. His breath hitches and a low moan spills out. You look up in time to watch his mouth part and a pink tongue dart out to lick across his upper lip.

“Itachi,” you breathe, his pleasure spurring on your own. You lock eyes and his lids are halfway shut, brows pinching together.

His pace slows. “Is everything alright? Have I hurt you?” His voice is rougher than usual.

“No.” You shake your head. “I just..” you trail off, unsure whether to spill your guts about how hot he sounded a moment ago. You opt to keep silent, refusing to make him uncomfortable with your desire. With the tension he’s been carrying since the start, it’s obvious he wants this to be over with as quick as possible. “It’s nothing, keep going.”

He doesn’t thrust any faster, considering your words. “Are you being honest with me?”

The question surprises you. “I’m being honest. Please Itachi, I don’t want you to stop.”

Itachi continues to see straight through you, like you’re made of glass.

“Okay,” he relents, tone conveying how little he believes you. “I’ll be swift, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable any longer.” It feels like an apology as one of his hands comes up to cradle the side of your face. You push into the touch, eager for a shred of his affection.

His palm is warm, and the lump in your throat is difficult to swallow, eyes squeezed shut in the face of his words. You’re the furthest thing from uncomfortable. You’re happy to get the chance to connect with him so intimately. His dick is incredible, and you wish he’d explore more with you to find what made you both dizzy with lust.

But he doesn’t want that.

Itachi is a gentleman through and through. After it’s over, he stays behind to help you relax. He brings back a warm wash cloth and draws you a bath, aware that you’d be sore after having sex for the first time. He guides you by the hand, allowing you to use him as leverage to step into the bath and sink into the water.

“I put some of my salts in the bath. It helps with soreness,” he explains, fingers untangling from yours as you find a comfortable position and sigh in relief.

You stare up at him, a grateful smile on your face. “Thank you, Itachi.” You chew on your bottom lip, heart skipping a beat as you consider your next question. “Would you care to join me?”

Itachi’s answering smile is so sweet it’s unfair, eyes soft and longing. “Perhaps another time, I’ve got some business to attend to.”

You choose to focus on the water, fingertips breaking the surface and diving below. You don’t want him to see your disappointment. “I understand. Another time, then.”

Itachi lingers but you refuse to look at him. His apologetic demeanor will just make it worse. He leaves things unsaid between you, and the pit in your stomach threatens to weigh you down until you’re dragged below the surface.

Things…change after you find out you’re pregnant. Not for worse, for the better, and it surprises the hell out of you. Itachi, who you assumed would keep his lukewarm attitude, becomes more intertwined in your life. Carrying out small gestures to show he cares and pays attention to your needs.

During the second trimester is when the worst of your cravings hit.

The little Uchiha baby in your belly is now the size of an avocado, the obvious bump making it known you’re carrying Itachi’s heir. She’s growing bigger by the day and you’re sure it’s her fault your sweet tooth is aching, begging for sugary treats.

Well, to be fair, you’re unable to prove she’s a she at this point, as Itachi has pointed out several times, but intuition promises otherwise.

Either way, full fledged dreams of warm, chewy chocolate chip cookies have plagued you all week. It’s driving you up the wall, and today not a single thing will get in the way of baking the perfect batch.

You’d ruined them the previous couple times, flour scattered all over the counters as if a tornado swept through. First, it was the wrong type of butter, then you set the timer wrong and they were a bit overbaked. Simple mistakes, but they change the entire outcome of the cookie. Itachi found you after the second time standing at the island, tears falling all over the ruined sweets.

Third times the charm, though.

The sound of soft slippers meeting hard wood fills the otherwise empty hallway, your palm lifting to rest at the top of your belly. Your hand follows the curve of it, ending at the underside as you journey slowly towards the kitchen.

Rounding the last corner, stepping into the kitchen with intention, you halt mid step when you notice you’re not alone. The outline of Itachi’s back greets you, long hair tied into a braid, flowing like a waterfall down to his waist. He’s standing at the counter fiddling with something you’re unable to see.

“So, you’ve escaped clan business for the afternoon?”

“Oh!” Itachi startles, jumping about a foot in the air. He whips around to face you, a mixing bowl cradled tight to his chest with one arm. “Goodness, you scared me!” Itachi places his free hand over his chest, settling his racing heart. “Yes, I’ve managed to excuse myself for the rest of the day,” he answers, glaring half heartedly.

You take a few steps closer, lips lifting in amusement. “That’s great, but what brings you to the kitchen?” You nod towards the mixing bowl in question. “It’s not often I find you here.”

His eyes flicker between you and the bowl. “I thought I’d attempt to bake cookies,” he explains, somewhat sheepish. “For you.”

Your eyebrows raise, cheeks heating up. “For me?”

Itachi nods, shifting to set the mixing bowl on the counter. “For you. For our baby,” he confirms. His expression is warm and words stick to the inside of your throat. “After the last time I’m convinced you’re in desperate need of my help.”

You ignore the insult to your baking skills, becoming a whirlwind of emotions as your eyes sting with oncoming tears. “Itachi!” You cry, surging forward to wind your arms around his waist, baby bump keeping you from fully connecting. “That’s so sweet!”

Your husband chuckles and hugs you in return, rubbing your upper back as he does. “I’m happy to do this for you. You’re growing our baby, you deserve to be waited on hand and foot.”

Itachi’s words continue to be confusing. They’re so sincere, so meaningful, and sometimes you convince yourself they’re could be more than friendship in your marriage. The threat of rejection, however, of crumbling your new life, squeezes your heart, and you stay silent instead of asking for more.

A moment passes before Itachi unravels from the hug, holding your shoulders and pushing you backwards, promising this time the cookies will be perfect.

And they are.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

Fall has arrived in full force. With it comes gloomy skies, shorter days, and a sharp chill that bites at your cheeks and fingertips. Your hesitation to go on daily walks grows more powerful by the hour. Being six months pregnant takes it’s toll on your lower back and feet. The cold makes it a hundred times worse.

Sasuke’s been too busy to join you as of late. Itachi may be head of the clan but Sasuke is still saddled with his fair share of duties. So you’ve been going alone. The scenery is still beautiful, leaves coloring to burnt oranges and rustic reds — it’s just much more boring without your friend’s occasional commentary and snide remarks. Or the gossip he fills you in on.

Dusk is approaching within the next hour or so, and you’ve resigned yourself to the fact it’s better overall for your health and the baby’s if you don’t skip out on walking.

One more layer should suffice to fight off the chill, so you slip on an extra long sleeve underneath, finishing the outfit by zipping up a thick fluffy coat and adjusting a scarf around your neck.

The door slides shut behind you, feet guiding you in the direction of the well worn path you wander each day. Shivering, you stuff your hands in your pockets, taking only a handful of steps before a familiar voice calls out your name. Your head perks up, twisting left to see Itachi striding your way. His hair is windswept, a few strands whipping in front of his face, cheeks rosy from the cold.

He looks oh so handsome.

“Where are you off to?” Itachi asks when he gets close. The sweet smile he wears gives you the sensation that the clouds have parted and warm sun now shines on your face.

“I was just about to go for my walk.”

He hums, unable to hide the slight bitterness to his tone when he asks, “Without Sasuke?”

You laugh, amused, and nod. “Yes, he’s quite busy today.”

“I see.” He pauses. “Well, would you be opposed if I accompanied you and our baby girl instead? I am not fond of the idea of you two going alone,” he says, serious and steady.

“We’d love for you to join us.” It’s a conscious effort to speak through the butterflies in your belly. You turn and begin walking once more, Itachi falling in step beside you. “Besides, I believe Mio has missed you today, she settled down as soon as she heard your voice.”

“Just Mio? Nobody else?” Itachi teases, arm swaying with his footsteps, hand bumping against yours. Your heart thumps in your throat.

Glancing at him from the corner of your eye, you will your cheeks not to flush. “Maybe I have too,” you say softly, the koi pond you and Sasuke visit often coming into view.

“I’ve missed you both,” he admits. Itachi’s hand keeps touching yours, and the urge to lace your fingers together is so strong it aches.

So you change the subject. “Do you mind if we sit for a moment? My back is starting to hurt.” You gesture towards the bench near the pond, altering your pathway.

“Of course. Do we need to return home? Are you able to continue walking?” Itachi arrives at the bench first, rounding it and waiting to offer you an arm to sit you down with ease.

“No, no I’m alright, Itachi,” you reassure, leaning back with a sigh. “I appreciate your concern. She just seems to grow bigger by the day and continuously play kickball against my ribs.”

Itachi laughs, sitting down beside you. He leaves enough space between you to be courteous. You wish he’d get closer, help you fight off the chilly wind.

There’s idle chatter detailing your days, Itachi asking what he needs to do next to help get Mio’s room ready. You get caught up on boring clan business. Spending any sort of quality time with Itachi, listening to the smooth, low cadence of his voice, drains the tension from your shoulders and fills you with light.

Too soon you rise from the bench to finish your walk, the sunset bleeding into the sky.

The silence on the way home is comforting. You’re able to enjoy Itachi’s presence next to you with no interruptions. His hand, as if it never ceased, continues its pattern of knocking into yours. As you’re about to shove your hand in your pocket to stop the torture he breaks the quiet.

“I do not wish to make you uncomfortable, but I cannot stop myself from wanting to hold your hand. Is that alright?”

When you look at him he’s already staring, undivided attention settled entirely on you, and it sends a shock down your spine. “I — yes. You don’t have to ask, I’d never be uncomfortable with that.”

Itachi hits you with another warm grin and your insides melt under the pressure. Slender fingers lace through yours, gently squeezing, and you wonder if Itachi notices the heavy beat of your heart through your fingers.

Conversation flows between you once more on the way home, and it’s not until later that evening you realize holding Itachi’s hand had chased off the bitter chill of the wind. You hadn’t felt cold at all.

“Your brother drives me crazy.”

You sit down next to Sasuke with a huff, couch creaking as Mio squirms in your arms. She reaches her tiny, chubby arms out for her uncle the moment she sees him, cooing in delight.

Sasuke snorts, sparing you a glance as he accepts the seven month old baby with ease. “My brother drives me crazy.” The smile on his face is genuine, eyes soft and happy as he says something unintelligible to his niece. “What did the princess do this time?” He doesn’t look at you while he speaks, distracted by Mio smacking his cheek.

For a moment all you can do is rub your eyes with the heels of your palms and sigh. You lower them to your lap, scanning the living room and all the baby toys scattered about, just begging to be tripped on.

You shift your gaze back to the adorable sight of your daughter and Sasuke. “Does Itachi love me?”

“Yes,” Sauske answers, tone suggesting you’re an idiot for thinking otherwise.

You frown and shove his shoulder. “Don’t say it like I’m stupid. I know Itachi loves me, but I’m asking if he’s in love with me.”

Sasuke’s shoulders tense up, eyeing you from his peripheral. “Are you in love with him?” He fires back. Mio leans forward and rests her face in the crook of his neck, chunky little fingers fisting his shirt as her eyes start to slip shut. She missed her afternoon nap.

“Sasuke!” You throw your hands up in the air. “You already know I am! Why won’t you just tell me the truth?”

“How should I know? I’m not Itachi’s keeper.”

“You’re his little brother.”

“Way to point out the fuckin’ obvious.”

You let out a frustrated noise and relent trying to squeeze the answer from him. He does this every time. Instead, you rest your temple on his shoulder, head heavy with sudden fatigue. Mio sleeps soundly on Sasuke’s chest.

“Whatever, don’t tell me.”

Sasuke sighs as if this the most irritating conversation he’s ever had the misfortune of being apart of. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“I can’t just ask him,” you whine. “It’s so difficult to read him. His actions confuse me. Sometimes I swear he feels the same. Other times it’s as if we’ll never go further than friends, cursed to live as roommates.”

“Wow, you can’t read the queen of neutrality’s thoughts? I’m shocked. Truly.” Sasuke’s rolling his eyes, you’re sure of it.

“Remind me why we’re friends?”

A soft knock on the frame of the living room draws your attention, cutting off any snarky answer Sasuke could have replied with.

“Am I interrupting something?” Itachi asks, raising an eyebrow when you meet his sour gaze. He crosses his arms over his chest.

You lift your head off Sasuke’s shoulder with a yawn, shaking your head. “No,” you answer, pulling a leg up underneath you. “Sasuke’s being a dick, and Mio’s napping on said jerk’s chest because she missed her’s earlier.”

Itachi’s features smooth out, a hint of a teasing smile on his lips. “So everything is as usual then?”

“Hey!” Sasuke protests, loudly, and Mio stirs in his arms.

“Sasuke,” Itachi scolds, shooting him a stern look that he’s only putting on to get a rise out of his little brother. “Don’t wake my daughter, please.”

You join Itachi in picking on Sasuke. “Yeah Sasuke, quit being so loud. Haven’t you ever heard of an inside voice? You may be Mio’s favorite uncle now but you won’t be if you wake her up from her nap.”

Sasuke grinds his teeth together. He supports Mio’s bottom with one arm, hugs her tight to his chest with the other, and stands up. “Fuck off, I’m her only uncle. I’m taking your daughter and never coming back,” he threatens, striding forward and glaring at his brother as he passes him by.

You and Itachi share a grin. “Bring her back before her bedtime please!” Itachi calls out over his shoulder, the front door slamming shut after Sasuke. His pathetic threat is just an excuse to take Mio on a walk and show her the flowers once she wakes up, visit his Mother, and then return her before bedtime. It’s become a pattern.

Itachi steps closer and offers you a hand. You accept, letting him pull you to your feet. “Now that the little demon is occupied, interested in making dinner with me?” You start heading to the kitchen.

Itachi trails behind you. “Sasuke or Mio? They both share a demonic energy.”

You laugh, smiling at him over your shoulder. “I can’t argue with that. Although, I think Mio gets it from him.”

“I’m afraid you’re right.”

Itachi ends up cooking something while you watch. He told you he had a new recipe he wanted to try out and he looked so excited you couldn’t refuse.

Sasuke returns Mio, a little bundle of energy, back to you about an hour later.

Your husband joins you in giving her a bath and reading to her until she’s down for the night. Then the two of you linger in her doorway, your least favorite part of the evening upon you. The part that’s just past awkward as you trade goodnight’s with Itachi and retreat to separate bedrooms.

One day, you hope, Itachi will join you in your bed instead of leaving you to sleep alone.

It’s late in the afternoon on Mio’s first birthday when Shisui finds Itachi sulking.

The party is long over, sun shining bright in a blue, cloudless sky, and Itachi sits on the edge of his porch, feet tucked underneath himself. He watches his baby girl play with you and his little brother in the yard, careless and free. Mio squeals with laughter when a butterfly touches her hand, filling Itachi’s chest with affection.

Itachi notices Sasuke say something to you, making your head tilt back with a laugh. He’s out of earshot, unaware of what’s been said, but it brings a well known jealousy to the forefront. It’s become an old friend at this point.

Someone sits down beside Itachi with enough force that the wooden porch protests under them, a hand landing on his shoulder. Itachi holds in an exasperated sigh. He knows it’s Shisui without even looking.

“What’s with the kicked puppy expression? It’s unlike you to pout,” Shisui says, kicking his feet where they hang over the edge.

Itachi frowns and shakes Shisui’s hand from his shoulder. “That is not what I’m doing.”

“Okaayy,” he drags out the word. “So you’re jealous then, gotcha.” Shisui nods to himself.

Itachi’s eyebrow twitches. “Jealous of Sasuke? Why would I be jealous of my own little brother?”

Shisui snickers. “I didn’t even say his name, Itachi! And if you’re not, why are you staring at him with enough force to burn a hole into the side of his head?”

Itachi has no leg to stand on, caught red handed. “That’s, I’m not — I am not jealous of Sasuke, Shisui.”

“You’re lying Itachi. I know you too well, cousin,” Shisui teases, leaning in close to poke him in the cheek.

Itachi ignores the other man, staring without blinking as you stand up straight, Mio supported on your hip. You smile sweetly at him once he catches your gaze and his belly does flips. You whisper in your daughter’s ear and point at him. Mio grins, face lighting up, and reaches out for her daddy, oblivious to how far away he’s actually sitting.

Itachi’s breath catches, seeing the sun surround you with a warm glow, and he feels as though he’s never seen colors so vibrant and vivid before in his life. You hold the beauty of an Angel, and he’s so so lucky you’re his wife. The Mother of his child.

It doesn’t hit Itachi all at once. No, falling in love with you has crept up on Itachi over the past few years. Burrowing deep in his heart and growing like a well watered plant.

“Shisui,” he says softly, waiting for the other man to reply with a hum. “I’m in love with her.”

Shisui almost falls off the porch in shock. He knew Itachi was in love, he just never believed he’d confess to it out loud. “You haven’t been hiding that secret very well, cousin.” He bumps his shoulder playfully against Itachi’s. “What are you going to do about it?”

“What if it’s not reciprocated?”

Shisui’s laughter bursts from him. He holds his stomach and curls in half, creating such a spectacle that you and Sasuke look to them with concern. Itachi’s cheeks are surely flushed from embarrassment. He lifts one hand in a lame attempt to wave as Shisui sobers up.

You wave back, setting Mio in the ground. Sasuke holds one of her hands and you take the other, helping her walk across the grass to the porch. Itachi’s heart rate picks up, praying that Shisui doesn’t slip up and give him away.

As soon as you’re within reach Itachi slides off the porch and crouches down, arms open wide to accept Mio. She wiggles her hands free and reaches forward, closing the last tiny bit of distance with wobbly steps before falling into his chest. Itachi scoops her up with ease, rising to his full height.

“Hello my little cherry blossom,” he coos, resting his forehead on hers. She giggles and places her hands on his cheeks, squishy them together before she presses a kiss to his chin. Then Mio wraps her arms around his neck and pillows her cheek on his shoulder.

He loves her so much he could cry.

“She’s tired,” you comment, sending him warm smile. You place a hand on Itachi’s bicep and squeeze. “It’s been a long afternoon, I’m sure she’d benefit from a nap.”

“I could use a nap, I ate way too many sweets!” Shisui says, joining the small circle the four of you have formed.

“Like that’s a surprise,” Sasuke mumbles.

Shisui pouts. “Rude! Sasuke, you’re the one —,”

“Before this escalates further, I’m going to put Mio down for a nap,” Itachi cuts him off.

You crowd in close and kiss Mio on the forehead. “That’s a good idea, thank you. Sasuke is going to help me put away leftover food.” You grin at Itachi with mischief in your eye, grabbing Sasuke’s arm to tug him towards the sliding door, ignoring his complaints. Itachi laughs and watches with fondness as the two of you disappear inside.

“Don’t be so ignorant, Itachi.”

Itachi whips his head towards Shisui, eyebrows raised to his hairline. “Pardon me?”

Shisui rolls his eyes, tries to hold back a smile, but fails, and pats Itachi on the back. “I said, don’t be so ignorant. She loves you too, you’d be blind not to see it. You’ve been waiting all this time, struggling to come to terms with your feelings. Don’t you realize she’s been waiting just as long? Suffering just as long while you get your shit together?”

“I suppose the thought didn’t occur to me,” he answers lamely, shifting his weight and readjusting his grip on a sleeping one year old.

“Itachi I love you, but you’re so dense sometimes. Tell her the truth. You can spend the rest of your life making up for it.”

Itachi is unsure of what to say after that, leaving Shisui in the yard to retreat inside and put Mio down for her nap. Shisui’s right, and Itachi is overwhelmed with the urge to….to do something.

You‘ll be sharing a bed soon enough, he promises himself that.

what do we think?? part three will be the conclusion, so hope you all are excited as i am!

little taglist for all my peeps who commented on part one! if i did not tag you it’s because i could not verify that you were over 18 and this part has some 18+ stuff in it.

regardless, i want to thank everyone so much for your love and comments! (ˆ ̳ , ̫ , ̳ˆ)

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

| @biashellandflyashell | @misslovingpearl | @kurokawaia | @notgoodforlife | @lamplitesatnight | @mutsu422 | @melancholyshadow |

[dekariosclan]

I had a thought about Gales reaction to/feelings about stretch marks on his partner. Not ones from pregnancy (I personally feel those are kind of different. I have a lot of them just from fast weight gain, and even after losing that weight seeing them seems to only remind me of my shame that I ever let myself go that much).

I feel like I already know the answer - he is so loving, and so truly does not care about physical “imperfections” on his loved one or things that may be outside whatever beauty standards apply in his world. If he knew his partner was insecure about them, he’d likely go out of his way to make them feel better about them. But I’m still curious how you would describe his thoughts on them, if that makes sense. Would he even notice them? What would they represent to him, if he knew they were from a time his partner was neglecting their health (or even being very lazy)?

I hope this isn’t a nonsensical ramble. I think I’ve lately found myself trying to change my own negative perceptions of myself by thinking through the lens of what Gale would see, so asking an expert like yourself for your take might help me get there on this topic <3

Not nonsensical at all anon! 💜 And I love your idea of thinking through the lens of what Gale would see—the world would be a much kinder (and chattier!) place if everyone did so.

Your thoughts about Gale’s response to his partner’s insecurities are spot-on. But he’d also want to reassure them (and you!) that there is nothing shameful about the fact that their body changed shape or appearance. He would hush any disparaging comments about ‘letting oneself go’ or ‘being very lazy’. He’d be very, very proud that his love was no longer neglecting their health, but he would not apply any shame or negativity to their bodily appearance, either in the past or in their present condition.

I honestly think a lot of people struggle to understand Gale’s way of thinking because we have been-force fed toxic beauty bullsh*t for our entire lives. By our society’s beauty standards, Gale is hot. And Gale had a hot Goddess girlfriend; therefore how could Gale love a non-hot person? I’ve seen countless posts about Mystra being his ex and how ‘my Tav could never compare.’ But we’re the ones who have it all wrong; in Gale’s eyes, when he falls in love with Tav, it’s Mystra who can no longer compare.

So I’ve come to think of it like this: we all know Gale loves and treasures books, right? If you try and destroy the Necromancy book, he gets mad. He geeks out thinking about shopping at Sorcerous Sundries. He has a massive overflowing library in his home in Waterdeep. In short, he absolutely adores, respects and reveres stories. And I think, when Gale looks at others, and especially at his beloved Tav, what he sees and values first and foremost is their story—because that’s what defines who they are. Gale doesn’t judge a book by its cover, he judges it by the quality of the writing.

So, to answer your question about how he would react to Tav’s stretch marks, and whether he would notice them, and what they would represent, I believe he would simply see them for what they are: A physical representation of a chapter in Tav’s life. Not an imperfection, not something shameful, but an experience that, like all the other chapters in Tav’s life, helped shape them into the wonderful person that Gale loves today. An experience that helped to write Tav’s story.

And in his eyes, what could be more beautiful than that?

[dippindaz]

Aaah you did my request :D it was so good aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa so in character and wonderful and cute <333 i am mentally printing it out and hanging it on my fridge. Also Billy not knowing how to deal with people looking after him?? Please, my heart 😭😭😭

If you're still looking for requests, I'd love to see Billy, Eddie, and Steve (and maybe Robin if that's not too many 👉👈) teaching a reader one of their hobbies (d&d, basketball, etc.) Tbh i don't think Robin HAS any canonical hobbies so I'm excited to see what you hc she does in her free time

Oh my gosh the praise is too much!!! 🥹 Thank you so much and I’m so happy you liked it!! ^_^ I did all four characters :)

I love this idea as well!!!! I’m sorry this took so long to get out, I got stumped on some theseee

Eddie Munson — Teaching You D&D

• Eddie is beyond excited when you show interest in Dungeons & Dragons. He acts nonchalant at first, but the second you actually agree to play, he’s pulling out his DM’s guide and grinning like a madman.

• He insists on making your character with you, talking you through all the races and classes in the most dramatic fashion. “Do you want to be a noble warrior, sworn to protect the innocent? Or a cunning rogue who trusts no one but themselves?”

• When you get overwhelmed by all the stats and dice, he reassures you with a pat on the head. “Don’t worry, my little apprentice, you’ll get the hang of it soon.” (In the voice you’d imagine an old mentor having.)

• During your first session, he gives you just enough guidance to keep you engaged but lets you struggle a little for fun. “Roll for deception. No, you can’t just lie your way out without rolling—welcome to the cruel reality of dice, sweetheart.”

• If you roll a natural 20, he makes a HUGE deal out of it, narrating the most ridiculous and over-the-top outcome possible. “You don’t just convince the guard—you have them questioning their entire career choice.”

• If you roll a natural 1, expect him to cackle and make your failure as hilariously painful as possible. “Oh no, you trip on your own shoelace and insult the king’s mother. Good luck with that.”

• He definitely starts calling you his favorite party member, even if you’re terrible at the game.

Billy Hargrove — Teaching You Basketball

• At first, Billy thinks it’s hilarious that you even want to learn basketball. He teases you constantly. “Think you can keep up with me, sweetheart?”

• He’s surprisingly patient when teaching you the basics, though. He stands behind you, guiding your arms when you shoot, and smirks when you get flustered. “You’ll never get it if you’re too tense. Relax.”

• If you miss a shot, he doesn’t let you live it down. If you make one? He acts like it was pure luck. “Alright, rookie, don’t get cocky now.”

• The first time you manage to get past him and score during a one-on-one game, he pauses. Stares. Then smirks. “Okay, okay, I see you.”

• Absolutely shows off while playing against you—spinning the ball on his finger, dribbling between his legs, pulling no-look shots—just to be extra.

• If he ever catches you getting frustrated, he actually encourages you. “You think I got this good overnight? Hell no. Keep going.”

• When you’re sweaty and out of breath, he rests his hands on his hips and smirks. “Guess I gotta go easy on you next time, huh?”

• If you really impress him, he’ll jokingly challenge you to a real game. “Loser buys dinner. Better start saving up, babe.”

Robin Buckley — Teaching You French

• Robin insists that French is the coolest language and that knowing it makes you at least 20% more attractive. “Trust me, nothing sounds hotter than a perfectly pronounced ‘je ne sais quoi.’”

• The first thing she teaches you? Not useful phrases like greetings or directions. No, she starts with the good stuff—insults and sassy comebacks. “Okay, repeat after me: ‘Va te faire voir.’ It means ‘get lost,’ but it sounds way classier in French.”

• She definitely teaches you how to swear in French and then makes you promise not to use it in front of teachers or authority figures. (“Actually, never mind, totally use it in front of Keith at work.”)

• Whenever you butcher a word or mispronounce something, she laughs but immediately reassures you. “Hey, you’re doing better than me when I first started. I sounded like a drunk tourist for the first month.”

• She randomly quizzes you at the worst times—like mid-conversation or while you’re eating. “Quick! How do you say ‘the cat is on the table’?” If you get it right, she cheers dramatically.

• If you really struggle with pronunciation, she gets unreasonably close and exaggerates how to shape your lips, totally unaware of how flustered it makes you.

• She casually drops French phrases into everyday conversations and refuses to translate them. “If you were paying attention, you’d know what I just said, mon cher.”

• Eventually, she teaches you something actually romantic, like how to say “Tu es magnifique” (you are magnificent), but she says it so casually that you’re not sure if she’s flirting or just being Robin.

• If you start getting too good, she pouts. “Damn, you might actually be better than me soon. I take it back, I’m never teaching you again.” (She’s totally lying.)

Steve Harrington — Teaching You Baseball

• When you agree to let him teach you baseball, he acts like it’s some super serious training session. “Alright, rookie, let’s see what we’re working with.”

• If you miss your first swing, he shakes his head dramatically. “Yikes. We got a lot of work to do.”

• He absolutely uses it as an excuse to stand behind you, adjusting your grip on the bat. “Loosen up a little. Here, let me—” and suddenly, his arms are around yours, and yeah, he knows what he’s doing.

• He definitely teases you if you get flustered. “Oh? Distracted? Can’t imagine why.” (The smirk he gives you is criminal.)

• When you finally hit the ball, he cheers obnoxiously. “Look at that! My little slugger’s getting good!” He even does a little celebratory fist pump.

• If you hit a really bad shot, he laughs but tries to make you feel better. “Okay, okay, that one sucked, but hey—at least you didn’t hit yourself in the face.”

• Eventually, it turns into competition. He steps up to the plate and crushes a ball just to show off. Then he looks at you with the smuggest grin. “Think you can top that, babe?”

• When you do manage to hit a better shot, he stares for a second before pretending to be unimpressed. “Eh. Not bad. Lucky swing.”

• If you lose the competition, Steve is supportive and careful not to make you feel bad. He reassures you that you just need more practice and you’re doing better than he was when he started. If you win… well let’s say Steve is conflicted between his ego and celebrating you. At first he might pout and be in disbelief but then he’d also be saying: “My baby’s a natural! You did so good!”

[weird-an]

For the wonderful @ihni <3 Sorry I'm late.

Jim's a petty motherfucker and he knows it. He has been putting Callahan on the lamest jobs and made him all the reports ever since the guy accidentally dented his car.

Now, because Joyce somehow became his conscience and told him to be a better both, he finally caved and offered to take a shift himself.

He already regretted it when he drove to work. He's regretting it even more now.

"Can I help you, officer? Billy Hargrove asks, batting his eye lashes like Jim's a lonely housewife. His lip is split and his car smells like hairspray and booze.

"It's Chief," Jim grits out. That little shit. "You've been loitering here for the third time this month and you're too young to drink. "

Billy raises his hands, giving him a boyish smile and wink, which makes him seem even younger. "Just a bit of fun, what's wrong with that, Chief?"

Billy's idea of fun is getting in trouble, Hopper knows that. The kid has been in Hawkins for half a year, but already has a fucking file.

"Licence, please." Jim stretches out his hand.

"You know who I am," Billy states.

Jim rolls his eyes. Fuck being a good boss, next time it's the other's turn again. "I still need your licence."

"Callahan has seen it many times." Billy argues. The word's are slightly slurred. The kid is drunker than Jim thought. Great. More paperwork.

"I don't give a shit."

At least the boy seems to notice that Jim's patience is running out. He hands the licence over.

Oh.

Jim's stomach sinks a little. He thought finding Billy here was annoying. It's actually sad.

"Happy birthday, Billy," Jim hears himself say - and he can't think of anything else, because asking "why aren't you home with your family?" is a question Billy's split lip probably answers.

Billy blinks. "What?"

"Happy birthday," Jim repeats.

"Thanks," he mumbles, face a little flushed.

Jim's got an idea. "There's muffins at the station."

Blueberry muffins and chocolate chip, because El wanted to bake both.

"So, I'm arrested?" Billy's shoulders slump like he was sure he could've charmed his way out of it.

"Well I should." Jim shrugs. "But I'm getting you muffins instead."

Billy squints his eyes like he isn't sure it's a joke.

"I don't need pity," he scoffs.

"I'm not offering you any," Jim grumbles. "Get in the wagon." He points at the station wagon behind him.

Billy slightly sways on the way to the car. Jim puts him on the passenger seat and lights himself a cigarette.

"Can I get one?" Billy asks, fumbling with his seatbelt. Maybe Jim should give him some Advil for the hangover instead of fucking muffins.

"Not offering that, too."

"It's my birthday," Billy argues.

Kids these days. "You're not gettin' arrested, that's your present, don't get pushy."

"My lucky day." Billy purses his bottom lip, not unlike El when she doesn't get her way.

Later, when the kid's face lights up when he stuffs himself with way too many muffins, Jim catches himself thinking that he needs to drive past Cherry Lane more often to check on Billy.

[putschki1969]

The "rito" Situation

Following my post about Hitoshi Konno, I thought it would only be fitting, to round up some info on rito as well, especially after the most recent announcement. When the detailed lineup for YKL Vol#21 was released, many people were not only shocked by Keiko's absence, they were also wondering why rito was not included. I received as many questions about her as I did for Hitoshi Konno but I didn't really feel qualified to talk about her (I still don't really but now we have a bit more information to work with). There's not much to say here and also, her connection to Kalafina (and Keiko's situation) is peripheral at best so I will keep this short.

Today, on January 31 2025, rito announced her departue from Highway Star. Her contract will officially end on March 31 and it seems like no attempts have been made by either rito or the agency to extend said contract. It sounds like it was mostly rito's own decision to distance herself from her current situation so that would also explain why she's no longer participing in YK events as regular member. Judging from her personal comment and Yuki's tweets on the matter (she has nothing but kind things to say about her), this is most likely a standard case of moving on due to a lack of creative opportunities. Perhaps she didn't find what she was looking for or she simply exhausted all possible avenues at Highway Star or maybe she had hoped to gain more from her collaboration with Yuki, who knows. Obviously, these have been some valuable experiences for her but now she is seeking new paths.

Even to a casual onlooker like myself it does feel like she kinda fell along the wayside during these past few years and not much was invested in her. As far as I know, she did have a couple of solo releases and a dedicated song from Yuki on the PARADE album but other than that, nothing much to write home about. Her appearances at lives and events were a great bonus of course but despite frequently being referred to as "regular member", both her and Lino Leia didn't have a lot to do. Maybe that's changing now with all the restructering taking place but sadly, rito will mostly likely not benefit from that. Yuki did include her in one of her "top secret" recordings from last year so we'll see if that will lead to anything at least. It's a shame she wasn't used more, I like her voice a lot more than Lino's tbh and it fits better with Yuki's style of music if you ask me...but one has to admit that Lino is the more seasoned singer among them with what appears to be a lot more experience handling her own solo stuff so my best guess is that she's quite happy with the current arrangement since she can effectively juggle all of her activities. In contrast, rito seems to have been a newbie with no established solo career. Also not sure about their exact age but I'd assume that rito is probably a bit younger than a lot of Yuki's other vocalists (could be completely off on that though, I've honestly no idea how old any of them are but rito just comes across as quite young).

Circling back to Kalafina for a little bit here. Just the other day I was having some discussions in the reply section of one of my posts and among other things, I was talking about why Hikaru (and even Keiko) would have never considered signing up with Highway Star during all these years. After all, Keiko could have just as well joined Highway Star instead of Tristone back in 2020 when she made her solo debut. And Hikaru has been a struggling freelancer for quite some time now so a contract with a seemingly decent agency (with the added bonus of an official Yuki Kajiura affiliation) would have sounded like a good idea to me. We don't know of course if it was entirely their choice or if Highway Star (and Yuki) were not willing to negotiate something with them. Whatever the reason might have been, now I am thinking it was maybe for the best that they never joined. Their management of rito was certainly not great.

[scary-grace]

Expiation (Chapter 5) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Even after slaying the High Kingdom's greatest enemy and sparing its people from a terrible fate, Shigaraki Tomura's past crimes make him an outcast in the castle. Still, someone has to attend to him, and that someone is you -- and unlike the maids who came before you, you're not afraid to ask a question. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4

Chapter 5

You never knew, but should have guessed, that the High Kingdom’s march to war will not include everyone in it. Half the army will stay to guard the kingdom itself, as well as half the king’s council, while the king and the other half lead the army in pursuit of Warlord Kai. There appears to be no rhyme or reason to which of the councilors leave and which stay, except in one particular case: Sir Tomura’s. No one trusts Sir Tomura to guard the kingdom, and the White Death will be much needed on the battlefield – cursed wound, cursed weapons, and all.

Wound, weapons, and armor. You promised Mei you’d recommend her to Sir Tomura when it became time to repair his breastplate, but he’s so recalcitrant about having it repaired at all that you finally just threaten to take it to Mei yourself. Sir Tomura glares at you with his arms crossed over his chest, parked firmly between you and the armor stand. “If you think I’m going to let you steal my armor, you’ve lost your mind.”

“As you’ve lost yours, if you think I’ll send my Lord into battle unprotected,” you retort. You’ve grown more comfortable disagreeing with Sir Tomura when necessary, and while you refrain from commenting on his stubbornness most of the time, you won’t back down where his physical safety is concerned. “You are already vulnerable there. If you leave your breastplate unmended, it will tell your opponents exactly where to strike.”

“I doubt anyone will be able to break through my guard, and even if they could, my death would please the world more than my life,” Sir Tomura says. That crooked, mocking smile you’ve grown to hate crosses his face again. “My redemption, such as it is, can be found only in death. My life does not matter to them.”

“It matters to me,” you say, and Sir Tomura’s terrible smile fades. “And to others as well.”

The old king is particularly concerned with Sir Tomura, and Hakamada has taken some odd degree of interest. The herald, too, spends some portion of most days pestering Sir Tomura to tell the tale of how he defeated the Enemy – something he would not do if he was as terrified as the rest. King Izuku is uncomfortable with Sir Tomura’s presence, to be sure, but he cares that Sir Tomura is treated fairly. On the servants’ side, there’s you and Mei, and no one else. Mei’s concern is for his armor. Yours is for him.

Today, your concern and Mei’s overlap completely, and you suspected Sir Tomura would refuse outright – so you called for backup ahead of time. Before Sir Tomura can argue with you any further, Mei gives a perfunctory knock on the door and strides in as though she owns the place. Sir Tomura looks surprised. “Who are you?”

“Mei, the greatest blacksmith in the land.” No one has ever chastised Mei for her humility. “No damage is too great for me to repair. I’ll have that breastplate fixed better than new.”

“Is that so?” Sir Tomura gives you a look. You cringe. “Your services are not needed. It cannot be repaired, and even if it could –”

“That’s just foolish,” Mei says. She walks fearlessly up to Sir Tomura, who towers over her, and crowds him until he shifts aside, his incredulity growing with every passing second. “A cursed weapon caused this damage?”

“Aye.”

Mei inspects the armor for a moment. “Two days.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’ll be done in two days.” Mei is already lifting the breastplate from the armor stand. Sir Tomura looks as though he wants to prevent her, but has no idea how – it reminds you of watching Sir Ejirou try to rescue a hissing, spitting tomcat stuck in a tree. “The suit will be done in five. It needs fixing, too.”

“And what else do you suggest I fix,” Sir Tomura says, painfully sarcastic. “Do you intend to re-forge my horse?”

“It needs new shoes,” Mei says. Sarcasm doesn’t work on Mei. Few things do. “Anything else?”

“No.”

Mei crooks her thumb at you. “How about for her?”

You don’t need armor. You aren’t fighting. You aren’t even going – are you? You look at Sir Tomura, who’s gone from glaring at you to pointedly avoiding your gaze. “My Lord?”

“Chainmail,” Sir Tomura says to Mei, who nods. “The lightest you can manage, and whatever else that’s lightweight. How fast can that be done?”

“Five days,” Mei says again. “I’ll work on nothing else.”

You don’t think that’s a good idea – you know the smiths are assigned quotas of arrowheads and ax-blades – but it’s not your place to comment. What is your place to comment on is Sir Tomura, and the fact that he’s very obviously concealing something from you. Before you can say a word, Mei seizes your arm and hauls you into service. “Help me carry this,” she says, already lifting the armor stand. “Many thanks for your patronage. You won’t be disappointed.”

You get one last glimpse of Sir Tomura before Mei’s rapid pace forces you to speed up, lest you drop your side of the armor stand. His voice follows you out the door. “I regret this already.”

So do you, if you’re being honest. You’ve never made a situation less stressful by adding Mei to it, and the question of just why you need chainmail is occupying all your thoughts. In her corner of the smithy, Mei makes you help her pry the armor off the armor stand, and once it’s off, she throws all of it into a vat full of a filmy grey solution that looks like nothing so much as dishwater. “What is that?”

“It cleanses the armor, and neutralizes any residual magic,” Mei announces. You stare in horror. “What? I know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t think Sir Tomura wants his spells stripped from his armor.”

“His armor’s got no spells left. All of them went into blocking that strike,” Mei says. “I could tell when I touched it. Only shreds remain, and those must be removed before I can add new spells. Most magicians don’t know how to do it themselves. That’s probably why he thinks it can’t be repaired.”

You’re used to taking Sir Tomura’s word as truth on matters of magic, and it’s true that he’s often right – but Mei knows her craft, and you trust her with it. She sticks both hands in the vat, arranging the armor so all of it soaks evenly, then turns to you. “Are you going to give me your measurements, or do I have to take them myself?”

You give them, only for Mei to come and take them anyway. It exasperates you. “Why bother asking, then?”

“Some noble ladies lie about their measurements,” Mei says as she wraps a knotted string around your waist. “It’s not wise to lie about your chest when you’re being fitted for armor.”

Your face heats up. “I don’t care about that. And I’m not a noble lady.”

“You speak to the White Death like one.”

“So do you,” you protest.

“That’s how I speak to everyone,” Mei says. You suppose that’s true. When it comes to matters of arms and armor, Mei offers no varnishing of her opinions to anyone, noble or otherwise. “You would never speak to another knight or noble the way you speak to the White Death.”

“Because he ordered me to,” you say. Mei raises an eyebrow. “Sir Tomura ordered me to speak to him as I would speak to an equal.”

“Nobles order you to do things all the time.” Mei yanks the knotted string tight enough around your chest to make you gasp. “That doesn’t mean you do them all.”

Nobles and knights give nonsensical orders not infrequently – if they’re drunk, if they’re showing off, if they’re in an expansive frame of mind. They also give inappropriate orders, ones you feel no shame at all about refusing, and ones you warn the other servants about so they know what might be coming their way. Sir Tomura’s orders are neither nonsensical nor inappropriate, at least not to you. It hasn’t struck you as strange at all to follow them.

And following them isn’t incompatible with arguing with him, you don’t think. After all, he never told you not to.

Mei finishes measuring you, then evicts you from her corner of the smithy, and you try to remember the rest of your tasks for the day. The army will depart within the fortnight, and you’ve already confirmed that Sir Tomura will receive the same makeshift accommodations as any other knight on the campaign – a tent of his own, a cot, and a squire to serve him on the battlefield and off. But Sir Tomura’s chosen no squire, nor has anyone sought him out. You know he prefers to do things himself, that he did so before, that he and his comrades kept no servants. Still, the idea of sending him off with no assistance alarms you. Perhaps if you find someone for him –

“No,” Neito says, when you corner him in the stables as he’s grooming Aizawa’s horse. “Absolutely not.”

“No other Lord is expected to fight alone,” you say. “Sir Tomura –”

“Is the White Death, and he managed to humiliate Sir Katsuki without drawing his own sword. He does not need me.”

“He needs a squire,” you insist. “If you would but speak with him, you might find him more agreeable.”

“He does not need me,” Neito repeats. He gives you a sidelong, measured look. “He’ll have you.”

That’s the second time today someone’s alluded to your presence on the campaign. You’re beginning to think you’ve missed something. “You are mistaken. I’m not supposed to –”

“Be here? Yes.” Sir Tomura’s voice rings out from behind you, and you jump. Neito takes two steps back in shock and trips over a bucket. “There is an errand you must accompany me on, today. Your ambush with the blacksmith merely delayed it.”

“Yes, my Lord.” You help Neito to his feet, then hurry after Sir Tomura, rethinking your strategy. Perhaps Neito isn’t the right choice for Sir Tomura’s squire. You still have a fortnight to find someone.

To your surprise, Sir Tomura leads you out of Castle Ultra, down the hill toward the pastures where the knights’ and nobles’ horses spend their days. Perhaps he wants to visit his horse. You wait for him to explain the purpose of the errand, and why it requires your presence, but he remains silent long enough that you ask. “My Lord? Where are we going?”

“You must learn to ride.”

“I know how to ride,” you say.

“On what? A plough-horse still attached to the plough?” Sir Tomura says it without scorn, but you feel the sting regardless. “You must learn to ride properly if you hope to keep up.”

To keep up with what? You look up at Sir Tomura and find him once again ignoring your gaze. “My Lord – I’m not to accompany you on the campaign, am I?”

“If it were my choice, you would stay behind.” Sir Tomura picks up the pace, and you do the same, nearly stumbling on the uneven ground. “But the council is displeased with the quality of the evidence provided by their spies. Once again, they turn to those with firsthand knowledge of the borderlands, and in practice –”

“Me.” Your stomach drops fast enough to make you nauseous. “My Lord –”

“The order came from King Izuku,” Sir Tomura says. A sneer twists his mouth. “Such a good king, to endanger those who cannot fight in order to spare those who do.”

Of course you want the soldiers of the High Kingdom to be as prepared as possible for the battles they will face. Of course you owe everything to the High Kingdom for taking you in. The knowledge that this is the price you must pay for it sits firmly within you, and yet you still feel sick. “When did you plan to tell me, my Lord?”

“I assumed you knew.”

“Forgive my naïveté.” Your eyes are stinging.

“No,” Sir Tomura says sharply. “I misspoke. I hoped you knew, because I did not want to be the one to tell you. If I waited long enough, the King would have been forced to do it himself, and that damned look on your face would be his fault instead of mine.”

You must look terrible. “If my expression offends you –”

“Be silent,” Sir Tomura snaps, and you subside. “I will teach you what you need to know, beginning with this. If you wish to keep up with an army, you must learn to ride like a soldier.”

The keeper of the pastures must be expecting Sir Tomura; when the two of you arrive, he’s waiting for you with a pile of tack and a wooden practice horse. Koji speaks very little, and he stands by while Sir Tomura tersely instructs you on the proper way to saddle a horse. Once you’re able to repeat the instructions back to him, you move on to practicing on the wooden horse, and when you’ve saddled it five times without a mistake, Koji brings over a set of steps. You’ve seen knights and ladies climb them before to mount their horses.

“No,” Sir Tomura says. “Do you think we have such luxuries on a military campaign? You’ll learn from standing, as I did. Watch.”

You watch as Sir Tomura grasps the pommel of the saddle, plants one foot in the stirrup, and vaults himself into place astride the wooden horse. He makes it look easy, even if you see him grimace as the motion strains the fragile skin covering his cursed wound. He’s still grimacing as he leans down to adjust the stirrups to the proper lengths. “You secured the saddle and girth properly. If you fail to do so and attempt to mount, you’ll fall off the other side, and I cannot promise that I will not laugh at you.”

“It would be hard to resist, and I wouldn’t mind,” you say. Sir Tomura gives you an odd look. “Not when you laugh so rarely as it is.”

Sir Tomura dismounts from the other side of the wooden horse, then comes around to yours. “Show me what you observed.”

You’re so concerned about the prospect of failing to make it to the saddle that you overexert yourself, and nearly launch yourself all the way over. Sir Tomura steadies you. “Dismount from this side and try again,” he instructs. Dismounting is harder. You stumble, and he steadies you once again, interrupting you when you try to mumble an apology. “Apologizing will teach you nothing. Try again.”

You practice mounting and dismounting the wooden horse until your arms and legs are sore. Sir Tomura instructs you to remove the tack from the wooden horse and turns to Koji. “Take her to the paddock. I’ll return with Nomu.”

Nomu must be his horse. You’ve never heard him speak its name. Koji ushers you along the edge of the pastures towards a training paddock, one which contains seven or eight horses of various colors. You look to Koji, puzzled, and after a long moment, he speaks. “You will choose from these.”

“From whichever among them can stomach Nomu.” Sir Tomura’s horse moves with such silence that you didn’t notice his approach until his shadow fell across you. “Nomu’s presence, like mine, is difficult to bear.”

When you look up at Nomu, you understand. He’s pale as death, pale as Sir Tomura’s armor and his hair and the blade of his sword, and his body is laced with scars that show through his thin coat. His eyes have neither lashes nor irises nor lids; rather, they stare endlessly out, devoid of life or interest. Sir Tomura stares that way, sometimes. The only life you can see in Nomu is in the twitching of his ears, this way and that.

The rumors say that Sir Tomura feeds Nomu a diet of blood and flesh, but you smell no such thing on the horse’s breath. Seeing Nomu makes your skin crawl, and makes you sorry, all in the same moment. Sir Tomura looks down at you from his back. “Frightened?”

“No, my Lord.”

“You’ll need a horse to match your temperament, then.” Sir Tomura touches Nomu’s reins and steers him in a circle, addressing Koji as he does. “Instruct the horses within to hold. Then open the gate, and stand aside.”

Koji complies, looking as though there is nothing he’d rather do less. You step aside as well. The horses within the paddock continue to mill about, registering the open gate without running for it. At least not at first. When Sir Tomura and Nomu jump the fence into the paddock from the far side, the horses panic as one. Two jump the fence of their own accord, while the rest rattle about, colliding with the railings and each other in an effort to escape. Nomu has done nothing; Sir Tomura has him in hand. But the horses react as though each and every one of them is in mortal danger.

Koji puts his hand to his mouth and whistles sharply. Three of the remaining horses break immediately towards the sound and the open gate, and when the others realize that an escape is available, they pile through it in a single, seething mass. You can’t imagine how Koji plans to contain them, but at his word, they flee into an adjacent paddock. Within the original one, only two horses remain. There’s Nomu, standing still, staring at nothing. And on the far side of the paddock, a mud-grey horse crops lazily at the grass.

Sir Tomura taps his heels against Nomu’s sides and guides him closer. Still, the grey horse fails to stir. Koji comes back, red-faced and out of breath, and Sir Tomura addresses him without looking his way. “Is something wrong with this one?”

“She has always had an even temper.” Koji’s voice is barely a whisper. “It’s a good quality in a mare.”

“Then why hasn’t she been chosen as some lady’s mount?” Sir Tomura nudges Nomu closer still, and the grey horse looks up. It studies Nomu for a moment, then goes back to its meal. “It seems she would suit a magician who rides to war.”

“Most prefer a flashier mount,” Koji stammers. “She is plain.”

Sir Tomura swings down from Nomu’s back and leads Nomu closer by the reins, so close that Sir Tomura can lay a hand on the grey horse’s neck. She lifts her head at that, looks towards him. They make an odd trio there, the man and mount too monstrous to tolerate and the mare too plain to be chosen. After a long moment, Sir Tomura lifts his hand away. “She will serve,” he says, and beckons to you. “Bring the saddle.”

You’re anxious from the first, but the grey mare lives up to Koji’s description. She shows a little mischief when you attempt to tighten the girth, but you know what to look for, and you wait until she’s exhaled to tighten it. Then you haul yourself up into the saddle, on tired arms and with tired legs. Now you and Sir Tomura are seated side by side. Sir Tomura guides Nomu out of the corral with the lightest touch on the reins, and there’s nothing for you to do but mimic and follow him.

The two of you ride in silence for some time, Nomu placid under Sir Tomura’s control, the grey mare jittery under yours. “Loosen your hold on the reins,” Sir Tomura instructs. “She’s responding to your fear, not her own.”

You relax your fingers with an effort, and as Sir Tomura said, the grey mare settles down. “We’ll ride together each day until the campaign begins. You’ll be familiar with the concept, if nothing else.”

You’ve never heard of a knight training a servant to ride. There are other servants for that. “My Lord, I do not want to claim more than my share of your time. If someone else could –”

“Why?”

Your insides twist with discomfort. “It’s not right for a noble to teach a commoner.”

“Yes, because you are beneath me.” Sir Tomura’s voice drips with derision. “Many soldiers, noble and common, have died at my hands. Believe me when I tell you that they all bleed the same color. There is no difference between us but what you pretend there to be.”

You have no idea how to respond. “I will grant that the High Kingdom is less rigid in its hierarchy than others,” Sir Tomura continues. “In some kingdoms, one must be of noble birth to be knighted, or to serve on the King’s council. Here, it seems deeds matter as much as blood – but those who commit great deeds see themselves as worthier than those who do not. There is not a kingdom in this world where that is untrue.”

“I have heard that you visited many kingdoms,” you say. Sir Tomura nods without looking your way. “Why?”

“I was granted the power to destroy that which displeased me. I was displeased by a great many things.” Sir Tomura ducks his head to avoid a low-hanging branch, then straightens up. “Others shared my ideals but lacked my strength, yet made up for my weaknesses in strengths of their own.”

You’ve never heard him reference his old comrades before. You remain silent, hoping he’ll say more. “We visited many kingdoms in search of one where my comrades could live as they wished to. Where we met opposition, we destroyed it, and so was born the story of the White Death, bringer of ruin and symbol of fear.”

“Is that all?” The words fly from your mouth unbidden, and Sir Tomura looks at you at last. “You did not wish to conquer the world?”

“And do what? Shape it in my own image?” Sir Tomura shakes his head. “You cannot model a world on an empty vessel.”

You’ve heard Sir Tomura call himself many things before. His many enemy-given epithets, his own mocking titles; on rare occasions, even his own name has left his scarred lips. You’ve heard him call himself a monster, a villain, an abomination. But in all the months you’ve served him, he’s never described himself that way before.

And yet it suits. You thought on the day you met him that he looked lost, that whatever had driven him to carve a bloody path across the known world had left him for good. You remember noticing the emptiness of his gaze. An empty vessel. A vessel for what?

Sir Tomura looks away from you. He shifts in his saddle, grimacing, and grimacing worse as he ducks again to avoid another branch. You wonder if he regrets what he told you. Certainly he does not wish to say more on the subject. “When we ride to war, you will be in danger,” he says. “The same amount of danger as the rest of us will be as we travel through enemy territory. I can do nothing about that.”

“Of course, my Lord.” You see him grimace again, and you wonder if your words are so hateful to him – but then you see one hand leave the reins, twitch towards his chest. “I do not expect you to.”

“Good, because it is impossible.” Sir Tomura looks ahead. “I can, however, ensure that no additional danger comes to you.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. He gives you a frustrated look, as though you should know already. It’s not often that he’s angry with you for asking a question. “Forgive me.”

“It’s the warlord you fear. He will not lay a hand on you, and I will allow no plan to be made that places you within his reach.” Sir Tomura taps his heels against Nomu’s sides, and the horse shifts into a trot. You do the same, or try to, and all your effort shifts from trying to catch up to trying to avoid biting your tongue in half. “I protect my comrades when it’s in my power to do so. Killing an upstart alchemist is well within my abilities.”

You try to imagine that, imagine Sir Tomura drawing his sword to protect you. In the decade and more since you last saw Warlord Kai, he’s loomed large in your imagination, towering over Sir Tomura, who’s always looked more mortal than monster to you. Could Sir Tomura defeat him? You pull the grey mare to a stop. You can’t speak while trotting, and you must speak. “My Lord, I don’t want you to risk your life.”

“Because my life matters to you.” Sir Tomura guides Nomu into a half-turn to face you, and you nod. “As your life matters to me.”

You can only stare at him. You don’t know whether knights and nobles commonly express concern for the welfare of their servants, but whether they do or not, it’s the last thing you would ever expect Sir Tomura to say. You can’t imagine such words leaving the White Death’s mouth. But even when Sir Tomura was the White Death and nothing more, he had comrades, friends. Someone told you that they once heard him laugh. Sir Tomura’s comrades are gone, slain in the same battle he expected to die in. He is alone in Castle Ultra, alone in the High Kingdom — save you. You’re a poor replacement for his comrades. You can’t fight, you can barely ride, you’ve no powerful magic, and you cower in fear from the memory of a man upon whom the full force of the High Kingdom’s might is about to fall. You aren’t a person worthy of Sir Tomura’s care. You simply hold the distinction of being the only one he has.

You don’t realize you’re staring until Sir Tomura snaps at you. “If you have some ridiculous response to that statement, spit it out. We still have much to do.”

The response that leaves your mouth is perhaps the wrong one. “Thank you, my Lord.”

Sir Tomura stares at you for a moment. “Don’t thank me,” he says, and turns Nomu away, nudging him back into a trot. You can barely hear what he says next. “You started it.”

Did you? You couldn’t say for sure. You tap your heels against the grey mare’s sides and hang on for dear life as she lurches into a trot, leaving any further thought about the conversation you and Sir Tomura just had in the dust behind you.

[ranwan-love]

Your Feb 2025

Wassup people I am back after so long. I hope this reading will resonate with you all and will guide you to better version of yourself. Please let me know how much it resonated and also drop any ideas you have for future readings.

If you are really abundant buy me some coffee too loll.

Close your eyes,take a deep breath and pick a pile you feel most attracted too.

Pile one

Cards: 10 of swords, High priestess, 4 of pentacles, 2 of swords.

Hi pile one, I started this reading feeling extremely cold?? Are you in this energy or taking it to February 2025. I also feel you are procrastinating alot or there could be some addiction related issue. It can be on bigger scale as well as small like a mere sugar or caffeine addiction. So try working on it.

For week one, First word I channeled was "EVEN" and somehow my brain went "Things were maybe in odds with you but now they will fall in place and even out everything" We also got 10 of swords. It also depicts completion. This cycle which have been keeping you stuck, it can't be stretched anymore or whatever situation you are in right now they can't hurt you anymore. There will be an end to situation which took up too much of your mental space which could have been keeping you stuck! This week you could have strong emotional outburst but they will be due to long suppressed emotions. Due to release of this stuck energy chances are that you might have to sleep little extra to let your body recover.

For week two, we got High priestess and i heard curiosity?? You will probably start something new. First of all i felt deep silence. Here it feels like need to stop and observe. Maybe still carrying a bit of slow calming energy from past week. There are very high chances that something will make you feel curious. It can be right in front of everyone's eye but no one questioned it before. If they did they got there answer but never shared because it have to be that way. You know type of information only a seeker would find.This information might be important for you. It might open the fated events and random luck in your life. Since this information is bit mystic in nature you need to depend on your intuition. Trust that "i just know" and be vulnerable to your heart.

Extra: if you wanna start a small scale business or some social endeavour. Do it. It will be a good stable start almost like written in stars for you.

For week three there are very high chances you probably got your first order, some good money or abundance in any form. I hope you can use it to reaffirm a belief that I am Abundance. I get money out of thin air and so don't hold onto it tightly creating frequency of lack. Don't go in lack mindset. Just know there's enough for you. You have unlocked portal of financial abundance. I literally got a vision like someone was in class and got one of painting sold at high prize. You can use the earned money to buy good quality of investment instead of holding back lol.

Pile Two

Cards: Nine of swords, Ten of swords, Ace of wands, Seven of swords

Okay so I originally planned to do atleast two piles in one sitting but I suddenly had a strong urge that go light a lamp, you know what meditate too then i was like the sky seems good let me get some good fresh air. It eventually turned that let's just sit here because it started to feel really good. Like either you are doing it, so great job but if you are not then girl try it. You need it. I am sorry i specifically used girl because I keep getting that energy. Chances are pile two majorly consists of females or feminine energy. I also felt that Ma Kali connection for some of you.

For week one the energy is??? Girl what hurt you so bad? Or should I say who hurt you. Somehow what i keep feeling is this energy of blackmail, harrasment. Like in first case it is someone who has awfully toxic family member and you are stuck in limbo, spend the nights crying. Second is someone who had some kind of relationship where other party is harrassing you with some pictures or your personal data. It's like it feels so stuck in this situation that you can't even ask for help. You either sleep to escape reality or just cry yourself to sleep. I got a call too and for no reason other person felt awfully rude and I felt PISSED? Idk why I suddenly feel so pissed like for godsake who tf is this man(person). Just know girl you are highly protected. Nothing bad will happen to you. You are protected. Here's suggestion connect to female energy like if you pray so pray or tap in your feminine energy. I feel so much of female Rage here? Like no wonder i felt Ma Kali at beginning of this reading. Call her okay if you feel like! You can also ask from a female figure like strong female figure. Like for fucks sake ask for help!!!

In week two i feel like the situation might come to an end but it will leave you drained from such long time of period? It feels like a morning dawn? You might need to take deep rest , connect with yourself , heal your nervous system. There's definitely a ending here and a resting phase. Okay somehow nine of swords card was upside down so this situation could be removed even before it comes to such extreme like stand up for yourself. You are form of energy too. Don't underestimate yourself.

For week three there's new passionate begining here. It might be something that would heal you like it might not be some long term rather short? But deeply fulfilling something that you would need after the towers like situation above! There are very high chances if you get used to vibration of this small begining you might be looked up by lot of people in future. I don't know if You want to do it or not but there's alot of potential in there. This is more like spark leading to huge fire.

For week four it's just a caution that be ware of deceit and betrayal. I don't know i don't feel like giving anymore message here because you are not supposed to know much.

If this person or the thing that caused you so much pain tries to come back don't let it or it will bring pain again. Than it would be ironic to call out universe and go like why do i keep recieving pain! Like simple don't choose the pain.

Man you have to be kidding me i tried to pull two cards for overall energy and got three. So i reshuffled. I did it for three times and still got three cards.

Page of cups, knight of pentacles, eight of swords.

So pile three stand up for yourself, ask for help, make better choices, because at end of day you have everything. Emotional fulfillment, money, creativity everything you need.

Pile Three

Card: Ace of cups, Two of wands, Nine of pentacles, Five of wands

Okay pile three before shuffling I felt should I complete my work but I keep feeling let me finish it first and than do other work! Like finish what you feel called to. Don't leave it hanging because later on it might not reach the potential it can now! Like it can lead to procrastination and break in rhythm. Just don't leave a task in between probably because you have hard time restarting or even completing again?

Okay so anyways your card for week one was Ace of cups. See abundance is always meant for you. It's you who need to trust that and this will be a major focus during this cycle. There are chances you actually ended something heavy and started a new cycle or even set up an intention. It could be a begining you know is meant for you. I don't know this pile's energy is so silent that I keep getting so relaxed and quiet almost like meditate flow state. It's like you are coming in alignment with lot of your manifestations where you used to have limiting beliefs and chatter of mind. There are high chances if you overthink a lot, doubt a lot. There's a huge shift in that. You could expend a void to overall all pretty chill energy. Somewhat reminds me of "Everything is working out for me or universe is working for me"

For week two you could have multiple project ideas here where you might feel like you need to drop one or other to make one project work. I think not! You can and you probably should work on all your projects you plan too. Like just schedule them well. Ugh why this energy is so airy. Like don't stay in your head bring your ideas in 3D. OKAY. You have really cool ideas but they are useless if they are not in 3D. I don't know i randomly keep daydreaming about most unhinged stuff. Anyways if you are working on multiple project, schedule them well like don't try to do all them in one day rather try dividing them throughout week and scheduling in advance. This is so happy lucky vibe, like you know type whose confidence make them anxious. For example i know I will top the exam but I am anxious yeaah!!!

For week three we got nine of pentacles. Like you have to be kidding me. I swear you gonna manifest alot because of your flow state so ask carefully. Like the card has such deeply abundant vibe. It's like if I loose everything right now I will rebuild it even better without any problem. Like it's your mantra that I was born to be rich or I am rich. It's like you have such a great balance of give and take that your self love and self care can't be hindered by external source. Very good pile three. I am thankful for reading such energy too.

So for week four, I got vibe of celebration. A bit chaotic but definitely a fulfilling celebration. This might also act as catalyst for a growth. So try going out make circles and contacts, like have fun!!! I truly don't think so I need to say much for this pile just keep this flow state, take actions on projects you have in your head and there will be huge abundance for you.

For overall energy we got the hierophant and six of pentacles.

See pile three your energy is so in sync. It's very stable throughout the month and messages keep repeating. If i have to summarise it I will just say keep doing what you are doing. You are on right path. You definitely know how abundance work.

[unknownogre]

( I got a little inspired from Facebook...and was just able to sit down today to write it. I approached it not exactly from the prompt's direction too but that is the scene that popped in my head.)

“Well…I have to ask, am I dead?”

Moments ago I was just sitting at my desk sipping a cup of coffee playing a lovely game of slaughter the Nazi when I found myself suddenly not there. Still had my coffee in had though, Deadpool pajama pants for the whole damn world to see no shoes and, I’m sorry to those that had to see me, no shirt. Someone was standing in front of me too, lithe build with a very baggy hoodie and baggy pants on wearing some kind of sneaker and a face that was obscured by shadows that were impossibly dark for the time of day and location.

“No, finish your coffee and let’s go.”

Fuck…people were walking around us like they didn’t notice me or them. The voice of the person was androgynous and a touch echoey. I knew one thing in this moment, without introduction and without me even having to ask the question, in my bones I knew this was Death. THE Death the primordial force that will exist until the end of the universe.  So weird, I wonder if they developed that power just to make it easier.

“Alright, fuck it. Not like I have a choice do I…?”

I already hate this. I’ve got body issues, most fat guys do no matter the praise they get. Fuck, I hope I don’t have to fight anything. I have no idea how I’ll do. I don’t fight, no one wants to fight me so I’ve never had to.

“No you don’t have to fight. Maybe, I’m not sure. People handle the situation differently. I’m just Death, I don’t know the future or the past. Think there is a time you’re supposed to die? Absolutely not. Chaos my friend. Complete Chaos.”

That…honestly that made me feel a lot better about a lot of things. Though to delve into that right now would completely pull my focus away from whatever this is.

“Why me?”

I had to ask as we walked another block. If Death was powerful enough to just pull me out of my living room I figured we could at least get closer, though…my feet don’t hurt even though they are bare so that is good at least.

“In a two-thousand-mile radius of my current problem your soul was the only one that matched what I needed…what ever that is. I don’t know have exact details. I just know when I problem arises and I need help I concentrate and the one who is best able to help just appears to me like a blip on a radar.”

Well…it is nice to be needed right. I mean I doubt that is the case, I’m not that special. I’m just me. I took another sip of my coffee.

“What do I get out of this?”

I don’t work for free. I’m completely convinced when given any modicum of power I’d go full on super villain. I know at my core I’m evil, just the kind of evil that still wants to protect those that love and cherish. Touch my wife and I’ll burn the whole damn world down, same for my kid. So again, I wonder why I was the blip.

“A favor.”

That was all Death needed to say. I get a favor from Death, I mean I bet there are rules and what not attached to it, but who wouldn’t want a favor from Death. That was enough for me.

“And lunch. A favor and lunch and you have yourself a deal.”

Death stopped and turned around to look at me, I could feel the weight of their gaze too but I just stood there and stared at where I thought their eyes would be crossing my arms across my chest with a smirk…Never take fully what is offered. Ask for just a little more.

“You got it. Cause I know what you want��hell I want it too. A favor and lunch.”

That was good enough for me. Almost made me forget I was shirtless and barefoot in a large city. We approached a hospital and headed right in. We passed the nurses station, and I was able to grab a scrub top much to their confusion. I felt better with a shirt on at least. We went up to the morgue…and there…holy crap.

It was some kind of creature, twisted with pitch flesh and blood ooze from various places, like self-inflicted wounds. It was just roaring and trying to smash through things it couldn’t fully interact with. There were some forms in the corner cowering in fear…ghosts? I don’t have time to question everything.

“Calm them down.”

…wait…what?!..

It was just a roaring beast that was at least six feet tall. I think it was meant to be bi-pedal but it was only that way sometimes. Like how some movies show werewolves, like they can walk a few steps until they want to run and then it is down on all fours.

“Well…fuck. Okay. Hey.”

I started waving slightly. The creature made a swipe for me but It was slow I was able to step back to avoid it. The ‘mission’ was to calm them down. Calm, not hurt, not subdue but calm.

“HEY!”

I said again, but this time with the power of dad voice. I didn’t like using it much, unless we were outside and my kid was about to run into a parking lot or something just as dangerous. I have NO information to go off of. Death wasn’t a planner were they? The creature’s attention was fully on me now. Good, that is what I needed…not what I wanted though. I knew I wasn’t dead now because my heart was hammering in my chest.

“Knock it the fuck off okay. You are scaring the shit out of these other people. What the hell is going on anyway? I’m sure being dead sucks but this…this can’t be good for you, can it?”

The creature seemed to understand my words if only for a moment before it roared at me. Its mouth…chilling. Elongated like a wolf but the teeth…they were human. I could make money on this if I could get into practical effects and recreate the look.

What to do. I had to use a chair to keep it back and out of swiping range. I don’t think I can actually die here…but maybe no risk no reward.

“This can’t kill you, but if it manages to hurt you too bad I am SOL and will have to destroy it completely. I don’t want to do that so I brought you.”

So it was a soul, something twisted and probably not evil. Otherwise there would be no sympathy. I need more compassion. The  creatures attention was still on me and all those cowering in the corner were watching with rapt attention. There is a lot of rage here, so much anger, and where there is anger there is sadness. Okay…okay…got it.

“Hey, we are just gonna talk alright. I won’t yell anymore. Just calm, just calm and cool. Listen I can’t help you right now. Not with all this rage and aggression. Trust me. I want to help you. I get nothing out of the situation if you are harmed. What happened? Why are you so angry?”

It took another swipe at me. Fuck…this thing is strong, almost knocked the chair out of my hands. It was hurt, even it was just by itself. When I met its gaze I could see such sadness. Rage and sadness. I got you.

“Hey. Listen, I am here for you, okay? I am here for you. Not Death, not these people in the corner, you and just you. Fuck any reward…fuck anything else okay. Just me and you here. I am your friend. No one touches you unless they step over my literal dead body, which isn’t even HERE so they are screwed trying to find it. You don’t deserve this, what ever this is. So talk to me. Let me help you, that is all I want right now.”

That caused the creature to pause and look at me. Tears welling up in its eyes. I see why I was called. Most people wouldn’t look in its eyes, they couldn’t see the pain there. They’d see the twisted muscle, the claws…they’d be hostile. Monsters were fantasy for me until I was brought here.

“I…they…momma…MOMMA!”

It cried and looked around panicked. This is a child. THIS IS A CHILD! Thank gods I didn’t hit it, and now I know why the dad voice caused it to pause. I wonder if these souls were trying to help before or where they just trying to leave after they died? Hard to say.

“Hey kid…calm down. Shhhh I got you okay. You want to see your Mom once more. We got you okay. Did they take you and here away at the same time?”

The kid seemed calmer now, just tears streaming from its eyes. They nodded and seemed to wrap their twisted arms around themselves, rocking a little bit. Certainly a kid. I sighed for a moment.

“Would you like a hug? I can give you a hug if you’d allow. Sometimes its nice to just get grounded. I’m a dad, so I can only imagine how it is being separated from your mom. I give the best hugs too, I’m like a teddy bear.”

That is why my daughter said when she was younger anyway. Daddy bear hugs. The child looked to me hesitantly and then nodded slowly. I got up from the chair and I moved slowly. I had no weapons, I’m a big dude but people say they aren’t scared of me. I like to think I’m not scary normally anyway. When I got close enough I just wrapped my arms around them. Sure some of their spikes went into my skin, hurt like a bitch too, the blood smelled terrible as well…still though. Sometimes a hug is what the doctor called for. The kid just started to cry. Its massive head put on my shoulder and nestled into the crook of my neck like my daughter did plenty of times when she was little. I felt they shift, the sound of…gods I don’t know, snapping bone and such was heard all around. I just closed my eyes and held the kid for as long as they squeezed me back.

Soon, I was holding a five year old boy who was finally calming down from all the crying. The holes from the wounds and claws were still there on my body but he looked alright. Oddly I wasn’t bleeding…wonder if that was Death’s doing? Or do I not bleed if I’m not solid? Too many questions I’ll leave for another day.

“Can you take us to his mom?”

Death just nodded as I held the kid in my arms. We left the morgue and went to a hospital room where the kids mother was. She was alive, but badly hurt. Apparently there was a car accident, they got hit by a drunk driver. The kid was dead just after arriving. Freaked out when he couldn’t find his mom. I held him for a while.

“Momma will be okay?”

He asked me and I looked to Death who nodded with a touch of a shrug. I know, chaos on all that stuff, suddenly I was a little less reassured.

“She’ll be okay little one. Best thing you can do is let Death take you to the next world, be as happy as you can. Your mom will cross over eventually, and then you two can play. Just be happy and play as much as you can in the meantime okay?”

The little boy nodded and I set him down, he walked to his mom and gave her a kiss on the cheek before turning to go hold hands with Death. Sudden I was back in front of my desk…wearing the scrubs top my coffee cup filled to my liking.

“Get dressed. Lunch is gonna be in an hour.”

I heard Death’s voice in my mind. I could only grinned. I was about to get my favorite sandwich on the planet, that alone was worth it. Still, I would have done it for free if there was nothing Death could give me. That kid needed the guidance. I wonder how many have crossed over and looked to reunite with someone but couldn’t due to held back rage and depression. That…that breaks my heart.

“Also thank you. You were certainly the best pick.”

I smiled at that, again…feeling useful was nice. Well time to get dressed, I wonder how Death will get me half-way across the country to that sandwich place? I don’t care…number 15 here I come.

[fadedpath]

puts on my Friedrich apologist hat. so i have some things to say about how i'm going to write this character since he's a seemingly polarizing figure from what i can gather online ( and it isn't for his last scene lol which is another conversation entirely about gothic horror / romance tropes, being foreshadowing and a contrast to another end scene etc. etc. ). i don't think he's a bad person for a variety of different reasons, but that also doesn't mean i think he's a good person. there's ✨ nuance ✨

one thing before i explain, the audience has the power to judge him somewhat unfairly due to one key point: the POV of the movie is 99% Ellen's. we see what she sees, we know what she knows. we have that privilege to see for ourselves the horror inflicted upon her and most of all believe right at the very opening scene of the movie. ( tbh if Friedrich was more of an asshole that people say he is, he would have kicked Ellen out the moment the fits start happening and it probably would've saved his family, but i digress ghkjshgjks )

so imo Friedrich, for the time period he is in, is pretty morally average for his kind of character ( grew up in generational wealth, successful business man, etc. ). there's nothing surprising with how he acts. the first we meet him ( which is usually the thesis for characterization ), we get an idea of who he is: he loves his wife and is proud of his family, and he holds a sense of duty towards his friends. i want to point that out because some people claim he is only helping the Hutters due to some desire to self-aggrandize himself, but i don't think that's it. one of the first lines to Thomas is the man promising to pay back the loan Friedrich gave to him to help him along, to which Friedrich brushes it off, uncaring of being paid back. but the scene in which people think he's self-aggrandizing is when he points out it's at his expense that the Hutters are given a ride home after he kicked them out due to his wife now being afflicted, but i don't think he is still! i think he's bringing up all that he did for her in the sense of "i did my duty to your and yours but now it's affecting the one i love most, so you don't get to act this way towards me after all i did for you" type of mindset. was he wrong to brush off Ellen trying to warn him? yeah, but also you gotta think: it'd be really weird if he just immediately started believing her. Thomas only believed Ellen when he saw Orlok for himself. Anna, i don't think, believed her wholly but more so was simply trying to help out of love. Friedrich never sees Orlok, he only sees the very real plague that's happening to very real people that he can see for himself, who are dying ( and now his wife has it so!! ).

at the end of the day, he's the typical conventional dude of his era and is put into an incredibly unconventional situation, one that calls too much into question that he can handle at that point in the movie, and instead of opening himself up to it, he digs his heels in and stubbornly refuses to entertain it because he has bigger problems to deal with ( in his mind ). we, the audience, think he's a pig-headed fool who doesn't know any better because we see him through Ellen. but in his shoes, he sees this lady coming into his house, disrupting his family's peace, and wants her out.

long story short, Friedrich is ruled by the narrative, he cannot escape the bounds that holds him in place within it, and that's the tragedy of his character. that he realized too late, and once he did finally realize, he was past the point of no return. grieving as he was, there was no living after his entire family was annihilated. ( to which i think there is a lot of guilt in him for that, which spurs his grieving tenfold, since he didn't wake up when his family was getting snacked on, see "i will never sleep again" as he's crying on a coffin, but that's for another post hgkjdsg )

[butchscientist]

"media literacy is dead" was it ever alive though?? are people today actually worse at interpreting media than they were in the past, or is it perhaps a matter of people being exposed to far more media than ever before (thus having more opportunities to misinterpret media) as well as a variety of platforms to share their interpretations. were people in the 1970s better at media literacy or are you comparing preserved 1970s media interpretation (largely things written by professional critics, journalists and academics) to bad takes 17 year olds have on twitter

[uncanny-tranny]

Something I always wonder with the whole: "The lazy populous doesn't want to work!" is if it's only being said to keep minimum wage at the very, very lowest end of 'survivability.'

The "lazy worker" isn't truly a problem. The employers are.

[feisaru]

I have 2 questions: - What got you into Inazuma Eleven and into shipping SaruFei and -What is your MBTI?

I like those two asks a lot! I've been waiting for someone to ask me about it for ages. Thank you!

First, about my MBTI. I am one pretty solid INTJ, I have a tendency to lean towards ENTJ in certain aspects tho. (As a little trivia on the side: I'm interested in MBTI and so have been researching functions etc. for quite some time now)

What got me into IE?

Simple. My brother. Summer 2018, he was always watching that annoying soccer show on TV at our grandparents' house, always asking me to come join him. And you know what? One day, I did, and it was one of the best decisions throughout my entire life. The show (only the first season back then) grew onto me rapidly, especially its lovable characters. Heck, IE had me in such a chokehold that I even played soccer with my brother bc of it. At the very beginning, Afuro was living in my head rent-free. He specifically helped me through some very rough times and I will never forget that. He will always be dear to my heart. I did get "out of" IE at some point for reasons, but I always wound up coming back to it cause turns out, no other franchise has ever quite given me as much comfort as this one. Across the last few years, I've been always returning to it with my thoughts whenever it got especially bad. I'm glad I managed to properly come back to it and have it be a big part of my everyday life (hyperfixation be damned (very lovingly)).

Now, imo, Chrono Stone deserves a honorary mention. The CS game (and later the anime) made me feel approximately ten times better than the rest of IE, and that's something. Long story short, I picked up the game from the store the first time I was into IE right after I had done research and learned that this franchise is actually based on games. There was no other game there, so I thougt this would do, too. Then I didn't touch it until 2021. The reason I started playing it was that I desperately needed to escape reality and CS succeeded at distracting me excellently. Coming home in the evening to open my Nintendo was the single highlight of my day.

How did I become insane over Sarufei?

Good question, anon. I cannot really pinpoint the moment it happened, but I can tell you it was pretty quick. Their first bits together already caught my attention in the most brain-tickling way possible, like this one:

The CS manga panel where they let Saryuu cry after he lost and Fei reassures him played into that too (I bought the manga solely for that, but turns out it was overall good). I could go on and on about their psychological aspects that spoke to me right off the bat, but I'll spare you that. Before I knew it, I was trying to search out content of them at 3 am on a week day (good content of them is pretty hard to come by with, in my experience at least). My head was really really really full of them, as it is now as well. They're pretty much the reason I picked up drawing & content creating again after years. The first thing I did after I finished playing CS was draw them and create a social media account so I can post it, so I can find someone to talk about them to. I had to channel how unhinged I'm over them somehow. They're also the reason I still keep on drawing. They make so fucking ill and I'm rotating them in my head at all times.

In conclusion, thanks for letting me go wild through text although this is by far not the best thing I've ever written

(I have. So much to say its jarring but sharing my stuff makes me anxious sometimes nonetheless)

[syluss-littlecrow]

better than the devil

<sylus x fem!reader>

where you find out if Sylus really has horns, and why he avoids letting you touch them

genre/warnings: smut, pwp, unprotected sex, size kink (i mean bro is PACKING), breeding kink, sylus’s horns are ✨sensitive✨, dirty talk, sexual tension, missionary, a fuck ton of horn play, horny horns, cumming untouched, orgams galore!, so much cum♡

w/c: 2.9K

a/n: gotta thank the loml @bro-atz for helping me with this a little ehehehe >:) I hope this destroyed yall as much as this destroyed me to write it!!🥹

They say he takes the form of some dragon-like creature—with large black horns and wings. 

The first time you witnessed it with your own two eyes was when he choked out a serpent wanderer ten times his size before it got to you. You were semi-conscious at that point of time, the fatigue threatening to take over, but you had caught a glimpse of his silhouette—two thick appendages that curled proudly past his dirty silver hair, and large wings that hung off his back—before you blacked out. 

“Staring at me isn’t going to get any of your curiosities satisfied”, Sylus snaps you out of your thoughts. Your gaze flickers to his face, but Sylus has his eyes on his phone. 

Then his gaze shifts to you. 

“What are you thinking about, sweetie?”

Of course, you couldn’t just tell him outright that you wanted to see him magically grow his horns out of his head. You doubt even Luke and Kieran have seen it themselves. 

“Your horns.”

Sylus lowers his phone onto his lap, then he cocks an eyebrow, which turns to a furrow in seconds. 

“What gave you the idea that I grew horns?” He asks, his tone laced with mock and caution. His attention is fully on you now. 

Yeah, maybe that was not a good question to ask. Then again, being around someone as direct as Sylus had made you pick up his mannerisms quite a fair bit. 

“Nothing really”, you brush off, attempting to derail the conversation before something goes wrong. “I’m just curious.”

“Talk”, Sylus demands, albeit in a soft tone. “I’m listening.” 

His crimson eyes burn a hole into your head, and you now only realise the way he has you cornered on his couch, his large frame looming over yours. 

You sigh, realising he’s not about to let it go anytime soon. 

“A few weeks ago, during one of the battles we had, where I almost died-“

“Get to the point, sweetie”, Sylus cuts, seeing through your guise. 

You pout. “Right. Before I blacked out, I saw you appear right in front of me, with horns.”

Sylus raises his eyebrows, seemingly in amusement. “You sure you weren’t hallucinating?”

He earns a smack on his chest. You’re ready to let him disprove you further or whatever, but your body jolts when you feel Sylus snake his arms around your waist before he carries you effortlessly off the corner of the couch and onto his lap. 

You watch his eyes grow soft when he locks his gaze with yours. His expression is unreadable.

Your eyes widen in amazement when the thick pair of horns curl past his locks, the black a stark contrast with his white hair. He looks like he’s wearing bows in a funny, demonic type of way. Not that he has to know that. 

You continue to stare at his horns, visually taking in the rough yet smooth texture and patterns that run downwards as the horns grow thicker towards the base. 

“What are you really?” You wonder aloud, your fingers reaching out to feel the interesting texture of his horns, only for him to pull away quickly.

“It’s not the right time for you to know”, he replies curtly. You notice the glint of concern in his eyes, shrouded under the indifferent expression he wears. 

So you decide to leave it for now, at least. 

Nonetheless, it doesn’t stop you from annoying the ever-loving shit out of Sylus about his horns once you found out about it.

He would stare at you with his eyebrows furrowed, muttering that he should have never told you about his horns, only for you to bat your eyelashes at him, much to his annoyance. 

“At least let me touch them if you’re not gonna tell me more about them”, you would whine. With a frown, he would push your forehead with a finger, giving you his standard answer.

"No."

“Then could you at least tell me why you won’t let me touch your horns?”

He would rest his thumb and index finger on his chin, feigning a thinking stance before his expression drops deadpan and then the curt answer leaves his lips.

“No.”

You’re putting this right next to when you were fighting for your life to get that fucking brooch months ago. 

While the thought continues to eat into your curiosity, you mostly let Sylus off the hook after a while. For some reason, you’ve been noticing that Sylus has been walking around his mansion with his horns freely out. Maybe because he’s shown you his full horns once that’s why?

Or he’s just straight-up taunting you. 

You feign nonchalance, only stealing glances at the thick appendage that stood out against his pale locks from time to time, but never really bringing it up to him, for now at least.

You hear the raindrops patter against the large windows of Sylus's room one afternoon. At least the heavy clouds are hiding the sun on top of the dark curtains drawn, and it makes Sylus's rest a little more comfortable. 

He's sound asleep beside you on his bed, but you're seated up on your phone, the sound of the rain also slowly luring you to grow sleepy. You stretch a little, careful not to wake the male beside you. Sylus grunts softly, and you feel his hair tickle your thighs.

Through your peripherals, something catches your attention. The black on white is undoubtedly hard to miss.

Now that Sylus seems dead asleep, you're considering taking a chance to take a closer look at his horns, and maybe even touch them. 

Carefully, you shift your weight closer to Sylus, monitoring his expressions and movements. When the coast is clear, you lean closer, staring at his horns with much amazement. It's a lot different now that you're this up close to admire them. 

His horns aren't simply a simple shade of jet black–at different angles, you notice how the scales of his horns shimmer like an oil spill under the soft light. Close up, the base of his horns are thick, and as it extends, it curls, almost fully wrapping around his head. 

“So pretty”, you mutter to yourself. Your fingers are reached out as if by instinct, barely inches away from touching his pretty crown. 

You pause, weighing the risks of attempting to touch his horns. How fucked would you be if you actually did? 

Your eyes scan Sylus’s calm sleeping face. He doesn't seem to have even noticed his horns have grown out. 

“It’s just a little touch, he won't feel it anyways”, you convince yourself softly, your resolve firming as your curiosity begins to bubble over your rationale.

You let your fingers brush his horn, feeling the cold and scaly texture beneath your fingertips. Your eyes are sparkling in amazement even more, now that your curiosity has been satisfied. You press your fingertips onto the appendage, enjoying how nice and cool it feels to the touch.

Just then, you hear Sylus groan slightly. Your hand immediately retracts before you fully freeze, watching the way he presses his head against your leg, his eyebrows slightly scrunched before it returns back to relaxed. 

Close call. 

You obviously don’t learn your lesson, because your fingers are on his horns almost immediately once more. You grow more curious about the feeling of running your palm across his horns this round. 

So you do.

Your hand starts from the thick base, and you stroke it, following the horn's curl, enjoying the way the texture of the scales run smooth under your palm.

And then Sylus makes a sound beneath you. You squint in curiosity, wondering if you heard it right.

So you run your hand from his tip to the base this time. 

And this time, Sylus lets out another moan. You definitely did not hear wrong. 

Your cheeks are slowly flushing when you realise what you're doing to him. But for some reason, it makes you want to do it more.

So this is why he doesn't want you touching his horns? 

With a cheeky smile, you run your fingers along his horns in various ways and places, eliciting more pretty and erotic reactions from Sylus. 

You giggle to yourself, trying to ignore how he's making you aroused with all the noises he's making with every stroke you give his horns. 

You want to go for the next round, wondering how far you can take this.

Obviously not very far, because the next time you do, Sylus’s hand catches your wrist before you're about to touch his horns again.

He stares at you with half-lidded eyes, pink dusted on his cheeks and his breathing shallow.

“Are you having fun, kitten?” He asks with a frown.

Fuck.

You feign a smile, trying to wave your hand from his grip, of course, your attempts futile. 

Sylus’s other arm curls around your thighs, locking you from leaving the bed while Sylus lets his sleep leave his body from the rude interruption. 

“Denying me of satisfying my curiosity only makes it worse”, you shrug. Well, if only Sylus had just let you have a little touch…

The corner of Sylus’s lips pull up to a half smirk. 

“Right”, Sylus replies, a hint of annoyance and something else laced in his tone before he shifts above you in one swift motion, trapping you underneath him on his bed. 

“Then, I'm sure you don't have to be reminded that actions have consequences?”

You swallow hard. 

His hand that grabbed yours is placed on his chest, and he forces you to trail down his body, feeling his thick chest, then his abs under your touch, all the way down until he stops you right on his thick erection.

“You should take responsibility, don't you think?” Sylus asks with a raised eyebrow. 

You know it's pointless even attempt to escape when he’s devouring your lips like he hasn't eaten in days. It's so intoxicating. You would never admit your greed, but Sylus knows you well enough to feed you so good. You want to pull him so impossibly close.

In between breathless kisses, your warm hands trail from his biceps to his shoulders, to his neck, and right to his hair.

You test waters–letting your fingers rake through his hair, grazing the base of his horns. You get his green light when he doesn't swat you off, on the contrary, it makes Sylus grow more desperate in the kiss.

You confidently stroke his horn, from base to tip once more, and the moans that leave Sylus’s lips sound like fucking heaven. 

His crimson eyes finally meet yours, and he almost looks like he's in pain. 

“If you keep doing that–ngh–” Sylus trails off with another strained moan when the sensation of you stroking his horn buzzes right to his cock that he has shut his eyes to hold back. 

“This?” you tease, sliding your palm down to his base once more, rubbing the scaly appendage, watching him failing at trying to keep his composure. 

“Fuck”, he hisses, diving into your lips once more, eating you up. 

He pulls away briefly, pressing his lips just below your ear.

“You’re gonna be taking responsibility, kitten.”

He presses himself close onto you, so close that you feel his cock just pulsing against your pelvis, only separated by his black sweats. Sylus takes your chin in his fingers and steals your breath away once more, uncontrollably grunting with every stroke your hands play with his horns. You feel his cock twitch, then pulse before the feeling of warmth spreads across your skin, accompanied by a long, drawn out moan in your mouth.

It makes you dizzy with bliss, realising what you've done to him. 

Sylus pulls away once more, catching his breath, his eyes reflecting something more feral when you met his. 

But all you do is flash a cheeky smile at him, letting your fingers caress his cheek. 

His fingers tug at the waistband of your shorts and he yanks them off, almost growing feral for the second time when his eyes meet the sight of the way your pussy is glistening so much that a wet and thin string of arousal sticks itself in between your pussy and your soaked panties. 

Well, Sylus is holding the short end of the stick anyway, because when he tugs his sweats down, your heartbeat accelerates as your eyes land on his cock–thick, red and completely covered in white and thick cum, some staining his underwear, twitching slightly with dribbles of cum seeping past his cockhead when the fabric brushes past his balls. 

He looks so fucking delicious when he's messy like that. Shit.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself, staring at me like that”, he teases. He doesn't even look embarrassed.

“Maybe I should play with your horns more often”, you reply with a smile. Sylus narrows his eyes at you, his expression mixed with annoyance and affection. His fingers press against your soaking clit, enjoying the way the smile on your face gets wiped, replaced with a contorted expression of pleasure when he rubs it in slow circles. 

“I’m strongly against that idea, sweetie”, Sylus responds, leaning in to take in the expression of your mind slowly growing dumb and blank just from his slender fingers rubbing you out. “It’ll give you a little too much leverage over me.”

Through the hazy and building pleasure, you still manage to reply, “that's the whole point.”

Sylus only smiles at your reply, his fingers leaving your clit. You're about to protest, that is, until he grabs you by your hips, dragging you closer to him, then pressing your knees to your chest, before his wet cock slowly enters you from below. He watches your face contort in pleasure–your eyes rolling back and your eyebrows furrowed–while soaking in the fucking delicious feeling of your cunt warm and wrapped around his cock. 

“S-so good”, you whimper, his fullness knocking out any ounce of breath and sense out of you at a dangerous pace the his cock inches even deeper into you.

“Such a nice and warm pussy hole”, Sylus grits, pushing himself even deeper, his control slipping when he's buried himself all the way in. “Fuck, you're so good for me, kitten.”

You're clawing his pillows when Sylus starts fucking you, and you're looking at Sylus with such a glazed out expression–and you know it drives him fucking crazy. His palm rests on the bulge that his cock is pushing every time he enters you, and it makes your thighs shake. Your moans grow in pitch and tone on top of the sounds of lewd wet skin slapping. 

He lets you wrap your legs around his waist in return for letting him scatter love bites across your neck.

So you decide that it’s the perfect time to aim for his sensitive spots once more.

Your fingers tug against his scalp, then alternating to stroking his horns once more, throwing Sylus into another round of pleasured daze. 

You feel his cock fill you up even more, and it makes you greedy to how far you can push it.

“I really should make you regret this”, Sylus mutters, failing to suppress another groan when your fingers scratch against the base. 

His thrusts become more like ruts, his cockhead hitting your g-spot over and over as payback. Sylus sprouts a satisfied smirk as he watches you completely come undone on his cock. You throw your head back while stars flicker in and out of your vision. The pleasure is growing so fucking good that you're choking on your moans too. 

“Right there! Fuck, that feels so fucking good, Sylus”, you sob through wet lashes and heavy pants. 

Sylus is mesmerised by your pretty expressions and the pretty sounds you always make for him when he's breaking you apart. 

Maybe you finding out about his sensitive horns is his punishment for indulging in these sick pleasures. Nonetheless, he still wouldn't have any other way.

Your hands find his horns once more, and he falters for a split second. But he doesn't shake you off since he's much too focused on trying to force an orgasm out of you.

Your pussy squeezes him before it starts uncontrollably fluttering against his cock. Ah, his goal is slowly being fulfilled.

As your orgasm dangles above you, you react with periodical squeezes on his cock and his horns, which definitely draws a much larger reaction from Sylus. 

“So close”, you whine, your orgasm slowly filling the crevices of your brain, plunging you deep into pleasure. Your cunt clenches on his cock, and you unintentionally yank his horns.

Sylus fucking growls, pressing himself so fucking deep into you, his cum fucking spurting into you–so much that some is leaking out from your plugged pussy hole and onto the bed. 

He pulls his cock out momentarily, letting his cum ooze from his cockhead, his eyes darting to the loads seeping out of your hole, before he slides his cock into you once more. You gasp at the fullness, another squeeze to his horns, which only stimulates Sylus once more, and his cock fills you up with another warm and sticky load. 

He’s panting, but he musters his energy to meet your eyes. 

“Sweetie”, he calls out to you amidst his dick attempting to take over his brain. “If you don't get your hands off, your pussy won't be able to hold anymore, I guarantee.”

He's met with a fucked-out and sly grin from his partner. 

“And I thought you enjoyed challenges.”

Sylus scoffs at your comment, realising that he really has to teach his kitten a lesson to not touch things that aren't hers.

[sophiamcdougall]

You're a reasonably informed person on the internet. You've experienced things like no longer being able to get files off an old storage device, media you've downloaded suddenly going poof, sites and forums with troves full of people's thoughts and ideas vanishing forever. You've heard of cybercrime. You've read articles about lost media. You have at least a basic understanding that digital data is vulnerable, is what I'm saying. I'm guessing that you're also aware that history is, you know... important? And that it's an ongoing study, requiring ... data about how people live? And that it's not just about stanning celebrities that happen to be dead? Congratulations, you are significantly better-informed than the British government! So they're currently like "Oh hai can we destroy all these historical documents pls? To save money? Because we'll digitise them first so it's fine! That'll be easy, cheap and reliable -- right? These wills from the 1850s will totally be fine for another 170 years as a PNG or whatever, yeah? We didn't need to do an impact assesment about this because it's clearly win-win! We'd keep the physical wills of Famous People™ though because Famous People™ actually matter, unlike you plebs. We don't think there are any equalities implications about this, either! Also the only examples of Famous People™ we can think of are all white and rich, only one is a woman and she got famous because of the guy she married. Kisses!"

Yes, this is the same Government that's like "Oh no removing a statue of slave trader is erasing history :(" You have, however, until 23 February 2024 to politely inquire of them what the fuck they are smoking. And they will have to publish a summary of the responses they receive. And it will look kind of bad if the feedback is well-argued, informative and overwhelmingly negative and they go ahead and do it anyway. I currently edit documents including responses to consultations like (but significantly less insane) than this one. Responses do actually matter. I would particularly encourage British people/people based in the UK to do this, but as far as I can see it doesn't say you have to be either. If you are, say, a historian or an archivist, or someone who specialises in digital data do say so and draw on your expertise in your answers. This isn't a question of filling out a form. You have to manually compose an email answering the 12 questions in the consultation paper at the link above. I'll put my own answers under the fold. Note -- I never know if I'm being too rude in these sorts of things. You probably shouldn't be ruder than I have been.

Please do not copy and paste any of this: that would defeat the purpose. This isn't a petition, they need to see a range of individual responses. But it may give you a jumping-off point.

Question 1: Should the current law providing for the inspection of wills be preserved?

Yes. Our ability to understand our shared past is a fundamental aspect of our heritage. It is not possible for any authority to know in advance what future insights they are supporting or impeding by their treatment of material evidence. Safeguarding the historical record for future generations should be considered an extremely important duty.

Question 2: Are there any reforms you would suggest to the current law enabling wills to be inspected?

No.

Question 3: Are there any reasons why the High Court should store original paper will documents on a permanent basis, as opposed to just retaining a digitised copy of that material?

Yes. I am amazed that the recent cyber attack on the British Library, which has effectively paralysed it completely, not been sufficient to answer this question for you.  I also refer you to the fate of the Domesday Project. Digital storage is useful and can help more people access information; however, it is also inherently fragile. Malice, accident, or eventual inevitable obsolescence not merely might occur, but absolutely should be expected. It is ludicrously naive and reflects a truly unpardonable ignorance to assume that information preserved only in digital form is somehow inviolable and safe, or that a physical document once digitised, never need be digitised again..At absolute minimum, it should be understood as certain that at least some of any digital-only archive will eventually be permanently lost. It is not remotely implausible that all of it would be. Preserving the physical documents provides a crucial failsafe. It also allows any errors in reproduction -- also inevitable-- to be, eventually, seen and corrected. Note that maintaining, upgrading and replacing digital infrastructure is not free, easy or reliable. Over the long term, risks to the data concerned can only accumulate.

"Unlike the methods for preserving analog documents that have been honed over millennia, there is no deep precedence to look to regarding the management of digital records. As such, the processing, long-term storage, and distribution potential of archival digital data are highly unresolved issues. [..] the more digital data is migrated, translated, and re-compressed into new formats, the more room there is for information to be lost, be it at the microbit-level of preservation. Any failure to contend with the instability of digital storage mediums, hardware obsolescence, and software obsolescence thus meets a terminal end—the definitive loss of information. The common belief that digital data is safe so long as it is backed up according to the 3-2-1 rule (3 copies on 2 different formats with 1 copy saved off site) belies the fact that it is fundamentally unclear how long digital information can or will remain intact. What is certain is that its unique vulnerabilities do become more pertinent with age."  -- James Boyda, On Loss in the 21st Century: Digital Decay and the Archive, Introduction.

Question 4: Do you agree that after a certain time original paper documents (from 1858 onwards) may be destroyed (other than for famous individuals)? Are there any alternatives, involving the public or private sector, you can suggest to their being destroyed?

Absolutely not. And I would have hoped we were past the "great man" theory of history. Firstly, you do not know which figures will still be considered "famous" in the future and which currently obscure individuals may deserve and eventually receive greater attention. I note that of the three figures you mention here as notable enough to have their wills preserved, all are white, the majority are male (the one woman having achieved fame through marriage) and all were wealthy at the time of their death. Any such approach will certainly cull evidence of the lives of women, people of colour and the poor from the historical record, and send a clear message about whose lives you consider worth remembering.

Secondly, the famous and successsful are only a small part of our history. Understanding the realities that shaped our past and continue to mould our present requires evidence of the lives of so-called "ordinary people"!

Did you even speak to any historians before coming up with this idea?

Entrusting the documents to the private sector would be similarly disastrous. What happens when a private company goes bust or decides that preserving this material is no longer profitable? What reasonable person, confronted with our crumbling privatised water infrastructure, would willingly consign any part of our heritage to a similar fate?

Question 5: Do you agree that there is equivalence between paper and digital copies of wills so that the ECA 2000 can be used?

No. And it raises serious questions about the skill and knowledge base within HMCTS and the government that the very basic concepts of data loss and the digital dark age appear to be unknown to you. I also refer you to the Domesday Project.

Question 6: Are there any other matters directly related to the retention of digital or paper wills that are not covered by the proposed exercise of the powers in the ECA 2000 that you consider are necessary?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 7: If the Government pursues preserving permanently only a digital copy of a will document, should it seek to reform the primary legislation by introducing a Bill or do so under the ECA 2000?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 8: If the Government moves to digital only copies of original will documents, what do you think the retention period for the original paper wills should be? Please give reasons and state what you believe the minimum retention period should be and whether you consider the Government’s suggestion of 25 years to be reasonable.

There is no good version of this plan. The physical documents should be preserved.

Question 9: Do you agree with the principle that wills of famous people should be preserved in the original paper form for historic interest?

This question betrays deep ignorance of what "historic interest" actually is. The study of history is not simply glorified celebrity gossip. If anything, the physical wills of currently famous people could be considered more expendable as it is likely that their contents are so widely diffused as to be relatively "safe", whereas the wills of so-called "ordinary people" will, especially in aggregate, provide insights that have not yet been explored.

Question 10: Do you have any initial suggestions on the criteria which should be adopted for identifying famous/historic figures whose original paper will document should be preserved permanently?

Abandon this entire lamentable plan. As previously discussed, you do not and cannot know who will be considered "famous" in the future, and fame is a profoundly flawed criterion of historical significance.

Question 11: Do you agree that the Probate Registries should only permanently retain wills and codicils from the documents submitted in support of a probate application? Please explain, if setting out the case for retention of any other documents.

No, all the documents should be preserved indefinitely.

Question 12: Do you agree that we have correctly identified the range and extent of the equalities impacts under each of these proposals set out in this consultation? Please give reasons and supply evidence of further equalities impacts as appropriate.

No. You appear to have neglected equalities impacts entirely. As discussed, in your drive to prioritise "famous people", your plan will certainly prioritise the white, wealthy and mostly the male, as your "Charles Dickens, Charles Darwin and Princess Diana" examples amply indicate. This plan will create a two-tier system where evidence of the lives of the privileged is carefully preserved while information regarding people of colour, women, the working class and other disadvantaged groups is disproportionately abandoned to digital decay and eventual loss. Current and future historians from, or specialising in the history of minority groups will be especially impoverished by this.  

[nereidprinc3ss]

kiss it better

in which spencer notices your bruised knees and tries to make it up to you

18+ (fluff, allusions to past intimacy) warnings/tags: gn!reader i believe, reader has bruised knees lol, guess why, implied intimacy, hurt/comfort, sorta implied d/s dynamics maybe?? spencer is so smart and not very smart, but forever my no. 1 cutie pie a/n: why do i love writing about smut like before and after smut way more than i actually like writing smut LOL anyways here is this cause i haven't been posting very much!!! (also ik I said I don't like babe as a pet name but shhh) and GIF :D

“Hey,” you grunt as you flop on the bed in your pajamas, rumpling the neat covers. “Pay attention to me.”

Spencer holds his Sudoku off to the side and watches, eyebrows raised, as you scoot closer, tossing your leg over him. Soon he’s abandoning the book and pen on the bedside table in favor of hooking his fingers under your knee and stroking your leg, much to your delight. 

“Okay. What kind of attention would you like?”

You allow him to put his other arm around you and settle your cheek on his shoulder. 

“This is pretty good.”

“Oh, good,” he says with only a hint of teasing, leaning down slightly to kiss your lips and then the tip of your nose. 

When he pulls away you can’t help smiling up at him like a lovestruck idiot. Obviously he’s perfect all the time, but in his glasses, with his hair messy, wearing a navy crewneck instead of a button up and tie… he’s just… he’s just so…

He’s just so alarmed?

“Honey, your knee.”

“My knee?” Your own brows furrow and you track his eye line, craning your neck to look down to the blotchy sprawl of purple and red marring your skin. “Oh.”

The pillow is soft under your head where it falls, unconcerned even as Spencer gawps at you, baffled by your nonchalance. 

“What did you do?”

You snort. 

“What did you do, Spencer?”

It’s cute, the way his lips move as he silently repeats the sentence, trying to discern the meaning of your words. 

“What do you mean? I did something?”

“Babe.”

The knot between his brows has not loosened any—in fact you’re worried he’s going to give himself a headache. Or at least make himself dizzy, with the way his eyes cycle between your own. You try again, covering his anxious hand on the bend of your leg with your own. 

“When we got back from Penelope’s thing, the other night?”

Slowly the understanding seeps into his expression—soft guilt in his eyes, and a deep red stain in his cheeks. At least his face relaxes. 

“Oh.”

God, he’s so cute. He can’t hold eye contact, looking down once the shock of embarrassment has faded and swallowing, a little frown twisting his features once more. You reach up, brushing his cheek with a thumb and adjusting his glasses. 

“What’s wrong?”

The question comes out too smiley, but you can’t help it. 

“I hurt you,” he says, quietly, utterly ashamed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“I kinda think you did,” you tease, and Spencer says your name with a serious edge. You try to quit grinning so much. “Baby, it’s fine. You didn’t hurt me. Don’t you ever get mysterious bruises?”

His eyes are wide and honest on yours when he meets them again. 

“No. My iron levels are optimal.”

Naturally. 

“Okay, well, lots of people do. Sometimes I get a bruise and I have no idea what it’s from because it never hurt. These,” you look down, gesturing to your knee, “never hurt. It’s just what happens when your knees hit the floor.”

“Well you shouldn’t have been on the floor,” he scolds, countering with a sweet touch on your cheek. “I’m never letting you touch the floor ever again.”

Your shit-eating grin is back and better than ever. “Oh, so you’re going to carry me everywhere we go?”

“If that’s what it takes. I don’t like seeing you bruised up.”

“It’s okay. I bruised myself doing something I love.”

At this Spencer rolls his eyes and kisses you once more before gently pushing your leg away and getting out of bed. 

“Where are you going?” You ask, all smugness gone and more concerned than you ought to be as he flicks the bathroom light on. For a moment you receive no answer, but then he reappears bearing a white tube. 

“Give me your legs,” he says, sitting next to you on the bed. You swing your legs over his lap and watch on in mild interest as he dispenses lotion from the bottle and tosses it aside, carefully rubbing it into the bruised skin. Every few seconds he glances up to gauge your reaction, and though it’s definitely tender, you avoid wincing. “You don’t have to do that. I can tell it hurts.”

You laugh. 

“Yeah, well, it didn’t until you started trying to fix it.” The ointment is pungent and you make a face. “What are you rubbing all over me?”

“This is vitamin K and Arnica. It will make the bruises go away faster.”

“Aw. You don’t think they’re pretty on me?”

He sets the bottle on the nightstand and retrieves the pen he’d been doing Sudoku with earlier, uncapping it. Your heart swells as he draws tiny sad faces by the bruises on your knees, glasses slipping down his nose as he focuses intently. 

“I always think you’re pretty. I just never want you to be hurt, ever.”

“Are you done taking care of me now?” You ask, reaching out for him. The pen joins the bottle and suddenly he has no concern for your bodily health, practically crushing you with a hug. When he speaks it’s muffled by your shoulder. 

“Never.”

You hum, nose tickled in his hair and forming a dastardly plan. 

“You could kiss them better.”

Spencer laughs and presses his lips briefly to your neck. 

“I might just do that.”

[yueebby]

Dying thinking about gojo literally pinning and hardcore simping for reader, literally showering reader in praise, flattery and gifts because he no longer gives a damn about hiding his feelings, almost proposing to reader whenever he can and reader's just... completely clueless about it💀 and she thinks it's just gojo being friendly. Poor man would be absolutely devastated when he goes one day "[name] i'm in love with you" and she just goes "me too, i love all my friends!" 💀

she loves me, she loves me not! — gojo satoru x fem!reader

contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo (what’s new), highschool!gojo, he’s pathetic but in love your honor, oblivious!reader, ooc gojo i got carried away soz

notes. anon, when i first read your ask i literally started giggling and kicking my feet. that. is. so. gojo coded.

“please reject gojo and put him out of his misery,” utahime implored, taking hold of both of your hands. you think she’s asking, no, begging you to. beside her, shoko nods vigorously. 

“but why?” you furrow your eyebrows, perplexed by their sudden request. “i can’t reject someone who doesn’t like me.”

shoko giggles at your comment. her laughter only wanes when she notices the dead serious look on your face. “... you seriously have no idea what we’re talking about?”

“not really,” you shrug, criss-crossing your legs to find some comfort on the hard wooden floor in shoko’s small dorm. it was late, past midnight, and the three of you had a shared mission tomorrow, but for some reason your two friends managed to rope you into their drinking circle.

utahime and shoko exchanged a significant glance, their unspoken communication raising your curiosity. utahime takes a long sip of her beer. 

“hopeless. they’re both hopeless,” your short haired brunette friend lamented, pinching her nose bridge. it leaves a faint pink mark.

intrigued, you lean in closer towards the two, “care to elaborate?”

“you’ve never once questioned satoru’s borderline inappropriate behavior?” shoko asks you earnestly. you ponder for a moment, trying to recall any moments in the two years you’ve known the snow-haired boy.

“satoru is satoru…” you mumble, shaking your head in denial. 

utahime’s eyes bug comically. she slams her can of beer harshly on the ground. you wince at the loud noise of the metallic can hitting the floor.

“you’re kidding. even i can see through that jerk!” utahime’s black pigtails sway wildly. 

“[name], how about what happened in shinjuku last week on our day off?” shoko quietly reminds you of last weekend when the two of you along with satoru and suguru decided to empty your pockets in one of tokyo’s largest entertainment wards. 

utahime’s head whips back and forth from her best friend to you, “eh? what happened?!”

from behind the dressing room curtain, you voiced your concerns, “shoko, i don't think we can afford designer clothes on our student budget.” the cream-colored silk dress you wore clung to your body, its price tag undoubtedly surpassing a year's worth of your student earnings.

“don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” shoko’s voice carried a knowing smile. “just come out and show me the dress!” you think satoru’s carefree attitude is rubbing off on her.

with a nervous sigh, you emerged from the dressing room. the dress fit like a glove, accentuating your body in just the right places.

bright flashes from shoko's phone startled you, and she chuckled deviously while rapidly typing. she tossed her phone onto a luxurious cushion, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of exposure.

“you look so sexy. even better than the model.” she gives you two thumbs up, eyes roaming your figure. you feel flushed at her praise.

“as flattered as i am, there’s no way i can afford this,” you look down at the dress, lips downturned. “i’d be in debt for life.”

“no need to worry,” shoko winked, leaving you confused. given that her income was similar to yours, it didn't make sense for her to be able to even dream of shopping designer.

a soft thud interrupted your conversation. you turn around to see a blue lollipop rolling on the expensive carpeting of the store.

“suguru, are my eyes deceiving me or is that an angel?”  satoru's mouth is wide open as he shamelessly checks you out. he takes one of his hands and places it over his heart, gripping the fabric of his white shirt. the windbreaker he is wearing rustles at his dramatic movement.

“i think… i’m experiencing a heart attack! shoko help!” he kneels in the middle of the store dramatically. shoko shares an unamused look with suguru. the pair nod before simultaneously kicking satoru.

during all of the commotion, you stand awkwardly in the million yen dress. 

“satoru, are you okay?” you watch him take the two blows from your friends, concern evident in your voice. he grunts softly before gently taking ahold of your hand.

“no,” he croaks with a playful glint in his eye. “i’m wounded and there’s only one way to fix it.”

you look at him, your gaze heavy with concern.

“i’m afraid you’ll have to kiss me for the pain to go away.” he added, blinking at you expectantly with his blue eyes.

 you lightly shove him away from you. “you’re an idiot.” satoru laughs loudly.

“that’s what love does to a man.”

“yeah, yeah. i’m going to change out of this dress, don’t get into any more trouble while i’m gone.” 

 satoru’s grip on your hand strengthens, halting your actions.

“how much?”

“excuse me?”

“the dress. how much for it?” he stands up to his full height, reminding you of the obvious height difference between the two of you. 

you're at loss for words. gojo was crazy, but definitely not crazy enough to spend a million yen on a silly dress.

shoko happily chimes into the conversation. “one million yen. it’ll be two million yen with the rest of my purchases though!” 

suguru’s calm demeanor is replaced with shock. the black haired male’s jaw drops, “two million– satoru, you’re seriously not thinking about–”

“hah? who said i’m paying for your stuff?” gojo makes an ugly face at shoko.

she raises her hands innocently, “it’s not my fault the dresses come in a set. if you want to see your beloved [name] in that dress you’ll have to pay for mine as well.”

you watch shoko and satoru engage into a silent argument. the tension in the fitting room section is so thick, you think it’ll take a special grade weapon to slice through it.

trying to alleviate the mood you tell gojo, “satoru, you really don’t have to–”

“i’m buying you that dress.” 

“o-okay.” 

half an hour later, satoru happily strolls out of the store with an arm around your shoulder like he’d just won the lottery.

perhaps gojo is just naturally flirty, you had tried to reason to shoko and utahime.

it’s been a week since the eye-opening conversation with the two and you’ve found yourself on cleaning duty with said snow-haired boy. it was a miracle that satoru even showed up. he had a tendency to skip his turns, often resulting in a long lecture from yaga.

as the two of you worked silently in the empty classroom, you couldn't help but admire the setting sun. its golden rays painted the sky with hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over everything. unknowingly, while you gazed at the sky, gojo's gaze was firmly fixed on you.

breaking the silence, he asked, "have you ever thought about getting married?"

his question caught you off guard, causing you to momentarily pause from wiping the windows.

“not really,” you replied, biting your lip gently. “unless my family decides to arrange a marriage. you know how unforgiving the world of jujutsu sorcery is.”

gojo's grip on the broom tightened, his eyes locking onto yours with a newfound intensity.

"we should get married y'know," he blurted out.

the piece of cloth you were using slipped from your hand in shock. surely, he couldn't mean what he was saying. after all, the two of you were only second years.

“what?”

“i’m saying i think i’m in love with you.”

“oh.” 

silence engulfs the room once more before a soft giggle escapes your lips.

satoru can only watch, entranced.

“that’s good to hear! i love you too– and suguru and shoko! perhaps the four of us should all just get married.” you chuckle into your hand.

satoru can't help but stare at your hand in envy. perhaps if he were the palm of your hand, he’d be able to feel the touch of your lips.

but he couldn’t. he was cursed as a man with an overpowered innate technique, and despite it all he couldn’t even gain the one thing he desired. gojo satoru watched you, eyes filled with a mixture of longing and defeat.

his devastation does not go unnoticed by you.

you were under the impression that he was grumpy because yaga had forced him into cleaning with you.

"cheer up, satoru! if we finish early enough," you continue, your tone highspirited, "we can go to the new crepe shop that opened last week. my treat!" you winked, and that immediately caught his attention.

“like a date?” his eyes sparkled with hope.

you shrug, a smile on your face. “i suppose if you look at it from a certain perspective…”

“great, it’s a date!” 

good things come to those who wait, satoru thinks, humming happily as he starts to sweep the room at an inhumane pace.

maybe in ten years time the two of you will be happily married with eight kids, he smiles to himself.