#i tried to kill myself like a week ago

[himawanai]

bbuufuubufugugfjjfhjfj 🤤🤤🤤

[ell-if-i-know]

IM SO PISSED OFF I'M SO PISSED OFF ONE POINT AWAY FROM GOLD???? ONE???? WE HAD NO NEGATIVE FEEDBACK????? LIKE AT LEAST IF WE WEREN'T GOOD ENOUGH FOR GOLD LIKE LAST YHEAR GIVE US CONSTRUCTIVE CRITISISM AND HOW TO IMPROVE BUT THERE WAS NO REAL CRITISISMS YOU HAD TO OFFER????. NONE????? BITCH?????

[makkie-is-screaming]

.

[opeial]

sometimes i truly feel like this is the end

[clarasghosts]

thinking about the fact that i don't often watch/read things that are marketed as queer stories because, in my experience, they tend to reflect a queerness that i don't relate to - one with clear lines and definitions drawn around it. and while i love stories with women, stories about women, i tend to avoid stories about womanhood, #feminism girl power, or romances marketed toward women because they often depict a femininity that i don't recognize. they may, in fact, be the reason i never directly refer to myself as a woman, since that term is used to build a narrative i don't see myself in. and then i'm left with stories about men instead because masculinity is viewed as the default; men get to be people first and a gender second. i think of myself as a person, and queerness is certainly a part of that, but in the way that my personhood and queerness don't have clear lines drawn around them.

sometimes, this makes me feel complicit in something. but i like stories about monstrosity, about queer monstrosity, because monstrosity goes hand-in-hand with something that i do recognize. the monstrous by definition is undefinable. something larger than tolerable in scope, beyond the boundaries acceptable. hunger beyond the satiable. life beyond the definable.

[dhampir-dyke]

.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Curiously enough, it was quite easy to get into the villain's lair.

On their way in, the hero had made sure to dress as their civilian persona - simply, to avoid as much attention as possible. Additionally, (they weren't proud of this) they had asked some of their colleagues to stage a bank robbery, with their best friend even wearing their suit.

It was a necessary measure, even though the hero felt horrible. Everyone included was just acting; heroes and civilians alike knew that it wasn't real. So, they hoped no one was actually getting hurt by accident.

Once the hero was in the villain's lair, they followed the dark hallways and hoped they wouldn't end up being cut into pieces by hidden lasers. They looked behind themselves every now and then to make sure they were alone but their paranoia was unfounded.

It was just them.

Eventually, they came to a stop in front of a giant metallic door and prepared themselves to somehow break through it. However, it opened immediately, without them having to lift a finger. They hurried through the door and found themselves in a giant hall with several workingspaces - one looked like a lab filled with several ongoing experiments, one was clearly for machine construction and the last one, full with monitors and here, the hero found them.

They were watching the live footage of the "bank robbery," but they didn't seem to be invested.

"...hey," the hero said. They couldn't believe their voice was shaking.

The villain turned around in their chair and looked at them, brows furrowing.

"That's quite a bit of trouble you went through to see me," the villain said. They stood up but the hero's eyes were still on the screen, following their friend's moves. It wasn't until the villain came to a stop right in front of them that they looked up at them.

"Oh, yeah. I...I really needed to speak with you in private. Thanks for letting me in." It would have never been easy to get into this place if the villain hadn't observed them the entire time. The villain gave them a once-over and it was almost comical how the both of them looked like two normal people.

Both in jogpants.

As if there was anything normal about this relationship.

"My pleasure." The villain stared at them, their gaze boring into the hero with curiosity. "You look a little pale."

"Yeah, sorry. I..." God, the hero didn't know where to begin. It was so embarrassing, so stupid that they were here. They supposed it was a mistake to bother the villain with something this trivial, this unnecessary. "I...fuck."

The hero let their gaze wander to the ceiling, desperate for the uprising tears not to drop.

"Hey, easy," the villain said. Their voice was gentle and the hero felt - even though they shouldn't have - so incredibly safe in here. Wasn't that stupid, too? That the hero felt safe with the villain?

"This is so stupid," the hero whispered under their breath. They hadn't expected to get this emotional. They usually never did when they talked about it. They closed their eyes and pressed their palm into their eye socket, taking in a deep breath. "I kinda need your help with something."

They took out their phone and showed the villain the picture.

"This person is stalking me," they said. Their voice was thin. They swallowed. "It's creepy. It's weird. They somehow got a job within the agency last week and it's been getting worse. A month ago, I saved them from, I don't know, something and ever since they have tried to get closer to me. Now, they know my identity, where I live, my friends, my pet, they know stuff from my past and they follow me around, they take pictures of me, I can't-"

The villain's gaze on the picture hardened.

"I can't get rid of them. I can't really defend myself. If the public finds out that I was rude or even aggressive towards a fan..."

"Do you want me to kill them for you?" the villain asked and the hero blinked a few times.

It dawned on them that they didn't really know why they were here in the first place. Sure, they wanted this problem of theirs to be gone, but they didn't know if they wanted this person to be eliminated.

"I don't know, I...I just can't do this anymore. I have talked to the agency and they told me they can't do anything without evidence. And I can't kill them, I can't...I'm just so tired of it. I am scared they will leak my identity or my address. Or they will take pictures of me when I am not careful enough. I've never felt this powerless in my entire life."

"This charade-" the villain pointed at the footage of the hero's friend with their thumb "-is to distract them, I presume?"

"Yeah, I've asked my friends and they are willing to help me, but they can't do anything either. I don't want them to get into trouble."

The villain was quiet for a moment. They stared at the screen where the hero's friend announced heroically that the danger was over.

"I understand if you don't want to get involved. Or if this is too much trouble for you. I don't expect anything," the hero clarified. "But if you have an idea or a suggestion on how I could deal with this, I'd be more than grateful."

"They think the both of you are friends, right?"

"Something along those lines," the hero said. It was actually more than that but they didn't want the villain to know about the repulsive flirting. The hero took a step towards them and reached for the villain's forearm.

Something to hold onto. Something to stabilize them.

"I'm...I am sorry," they said. They looked at the ground, embarrassed, and turned towards the door. "I shouldn't have come here."

The villain grabbed their hip.

"If you truly think I will let you walk back out there after everything you've just told me..." Their eyes were boring through the hero, demanding attention. "...if you truly believe I will let you be exposed to such abhorrence, you're truly dumber than I ever anticipated."

The hero stared at them, eyes wide.

"I...I can't ask you to kill someone for me. It's not right, it's not, it's-" The hero swallowed. They truly didn't want to cry in front of the villain. "What kind of hero does that make me? Some fucked up hero who asks their nemesis to kill people they don't like?"

"Do I look like I need to kill someone to get my point across?" the villain asked. They smiled gently. "Let me take care of it. You can stay here if you want to. For as long as you want to. I'll pick up your cat. I can get some stuff from your place."

"Don't you think that's pathetic?" the hero asked. "That I can't deal with this? I mean, I'm supposed to be one of the most powerful people in the city and sometimes I feel like I can barely breathe when I see this person."

The villain made a grimace, almost as if the hero had just asked them a question that deserved a slap.

"You tend to forget that you're human. Power doesn't replace fear. Most people think it does. But power only fuels anger. Or in your case..." The villain had never looked softer. "...kindness."

Silence.

"I believe it takes great courage to ask for help. And you being here means it's really bad," the villain said. They touched the hero's cheek, careful not to make any quick moves. "I won't kill them because it's your wish. But I will take care of this."

It was decided, then.

[queenie-avenue]

A Rich Man's World.

💌 ⤻ THE CEO, ADRIAN HOUDE

—> let him spoil you.

⤻ reader is a female (wearing a dress), yandere behaviour, possessive behaviour, thoughts of killing, financial abuse, obsessive behaviour, suggestive themes, age gap, power imbalance (you're an intern, he's the CEO, of course there's bound to be power imbalances)

notes: thank you for being so patient with me while waiting for a new post! classes have been killing me, but I swear ill try and find a good schedule for myself to balance alongside projects and also writing my novel. speaking of which, please follow my tiktok account queenie_avenue

💌 ⤻ archives.

You had no idea why you were here.

Well, technically you did know, you just weren't sure why Adrian Houde — the CEO of your company — had brought you here. You were an intern, someone meant to go under the wing of some of the other designers under the company. But just a few weeks ago, Adrian had become oddly interested in you and your designs.

He found them innovative and it was like he had fallen for your creative soul, even offering to introduce you to a few investors who might like your designs and want to invest in your future fashion brand, should you want to open it.

Of course, Adrian would prefer it if after you graduated you continued to stay under him at his company as a designer. He'd promote you to head creative lead without shame if you wanted to, but he knew you'd prefer to earn that place out of your own merit.

Still, in a few weeks' time, he would keep his promise and show you off to a few investors.

He almost drooled at the idea but he had to keep his obsession under wraps. He was a gentleman, after all. It was unseemly for him to let a lady know of his true inner thoughts. He eyed you in the mirror with an intense gaze, fingers trailing over the documents he held in his hands, his attention on them abandoned long ago since you tried on the first dress.

He had personally driven you to a boutique belonging to the company just so you could get a dress that would look the best on you.

He had offered to ask some designers to make a custom dress but you had fervently opposed the idea, refusing to be in debt to him financially as well as socially now that he was helping you advance your career.

His eyes raked over this dress you had worn. What was this dress, the sixth one? Yet he never got tired of you standing in front of the mirror, your rear facing him. He recited all the words his grandmother told him in his head, to try and restrain himself from pouncing at you like some kind of wild animal.

"Would you mind giving me a twirl, Miss [y/n]?" He asked, his tone as saccharine as ever, hypnotising you to comply with his demands as you twirled. "Hm," He nodded once you did.

The dress was red, the colour of lust. A colour he didn't like on you. He already looked at you with such lust and he did not need a wicked colour like that to remind him of how he wanted you sprawled over his desk like a feast for him. You haunted his dreams and his nights alone with just his hand, he did not need a colour to remind him of what he wanted from you. Not only that, the way the slit slid up to your upper thigh and how exposed your cleavage was.

"I like the fabric... but the design..." He sighed as he rubbed his temples, placing the papers in his hands down with a satisfying slap. "Give me something not in red, it clashes with her skin tone." He told the worker, his eyes still fixed on your exposed skin as he gripped his thigh, trying to keep his eyes from wandering too far and his mind from going too deep down the dirty rabbit hole.

He could just imagine how everyone would look at you if you wore that dress out. He didn't like that thought, it made him want to wrap you in the finest fabrics and hide you away from everyone, suffocate you within it to ensure no one else could ever have you.

After a while of deliberating and you awkwardly standing there as your boss ogled you like you were a piece of meat, the employee finally returned with a blue dress, the exact colour of Adrian's eyes.

He smirked at that and nodded as she closed the curtains and began to dress you.

After a few excruciating minutes of him fantasising and being jealous of the woman who got to help you dress beneath the curtain, the curtain was pulled open to reveal you in that blue dress. Adrian shot up from his seat immediately. "Thank you for your help." He smiled at the employee as she took a step away, leaving you and Adrian alone as he took a few slow and deliberate steps up to meet you; like you were some sort of wounded animal he was trying not to scare off.

"You look beautiful, mon ange." He smiled as he slowly reached for your hand. "May I?" The older man asked as he leaned in close to you, looking at the reflection of yourself in the mirror.

You nodded your head hesitantly. Honestly, how could you ever say no to your boss after this, especially with how he helped you at every turn?

He held your hand delicately, with the softness of a child holding onto a pet. "You're so beautiful. I have just a matching suit like this. We should wear it together for the event." He smiled as he began to overstep his boundaries, hands slipping down to your waist as he watched you from the mirror.

His mantra to be a gentleman always seem threatened whenever you were close.

"I can't wait to see everyone." See everyone know that you're mine. The earlier dress was too revealing but this one was just nice; not too low-cut but still sensual. The earlier red dress had slits and cleavage for days, which he disliked. Though, he would still buy it. Perhaps you would wear it for him once you accepted his love.

For now, he would relish in the fact that everyone would know you were his the moment you stepped foot into the event in this blue dress he would buy for you.

He didn't care how much it cost him, the money would go back to him anyway. Plus, it was worth it to claim his mark on you.

Adrian's eyes lingered on your neck for a moment.

It was the only way he could lay a stake on you, for now, anyway.

[rizsu]

food for thought, except it’s unwanted jujutsu kaisen : fem-reader.

have you ever wondered about a scenario so much that you must ask? well that’s exactly the last thing they’d wish to answer.

+ love ‘su: gojo, geto, itadori + ‘live, laugh, love’ hater final boss ( sukuna )

gojo satoru ﾉ refuses to answer.

“do you ever think about how it’d be if we never met?”

“ha— no. don’t even go there.”

satoru stops you there. he doesn’t wish to hear another word from you— especially if it extends your former question. he thinks about it— daily, in fact. it's a scenario that crosses his mind whenever he finds himself drunk on the temporary love he receives from you.

you’ve sung the lyric ‘i’ll love you until there’s no more left’ almost every week for him, silently begging that he gets the concept of genuine love through his head.

“why not? imagine if my friends didn’t make that bet where i either hit on you or pay for the night.” you reminisced, remembering the very night you lost the last touch of shame.

he hums, drumming his fingers on your thigh.

“bet or not, we’d still be fated to meet. next question!”

“anddd what makes you so confident?” you threw another question at him. this time, it's lighthearted.

“mind you, i’m the second coming of an angel. i predetermined this since three years ago.”

glances were exchanged, an expression of a grinning fool met the expression of a glaring responsible person who’s the said fool’s other romantic half.

you should've been familiar with satoru’s ways. it’s your fault for expecting a deep-dive conversation with satoru. not quite his cup of tea!

geto suguru ﾉ expects it and tries to escape.

suguru's home was no new, unexplored area to you. you knew his home's blueprint like the back of your hand. if needed, you'd walk through his home blindfolded and still end up in the room you want to be in.

this isn't a good thing to suguru. there are days where the feeling of confusion as to who he is piles up on him, leading him to isolate himself.. until he forgets there's a spare key of his isolation cube in your hold so now the plan goes awry.

that is exactly what’s happening. after he sent the text ‘k bye’ and silenced his notifications, he felt an impending doom. the reason was unknown by then but he should've guessed it was you.

you marched into his home, readying yourself with suguru-loneliness-begone techniques and, of course, the question that's been wandering your mind since you woke up from a dream.

“babe, what if—”

“fuck,” he curses under his breath, too exhausted to put a hand over your mouth.

“what if we were the last persons on earth? would you recreate humanity with me or kill yourself?”

there it is: your special ‘what if’ questions that know no bounds when it comes to absurdity.

“when would that ever happen? please, stop this,” he groans, pleading with his eyes for you to stop.

“that's the thing— you never know! so, what option is it?”

“i'd kill myself a long time ago if possible.”

“so it's the second one?”

“i'm... not cut out to be a good father.”

“i hate an indecisive bitch, my goodness,” it's your turn to complain, a little let down at his grey answers.

suguru's equally offended. you're the one who jumped him with such a question— who even thinks about that?!

“(y/n), baby, has it ever crossed your mind that your thinking skills aren't quite normal?”

“are you calling me stupid?!”

itadori yuuji ﾉ just as stupid.

it's mango season— yuuji's most anticipated season of the year. mangoes are to yuuji what your lipbalm is to you. a necessity, a survival item, a lifesaver, an important part of his lore, something he worships.

peeling mangoes and slicing them to equal pieces has never brought him such satisfaction before. it immediately brightens his mood. this must be how his grandfather felt whenever he took a walk around the neighbourhood.

now you appear, yuuji's second most anticipated person. you to yuuji is what mangoes are to him. this causes yuuji's current happiness level to reach its peak today. such a great level of happiness can defeat any evil being with just being in its area.

“say, yuu,” you begin, stabbing one of the mangoe slices with a fork.

he nods, signalling that he's listening but still focused on his current activity. a true mulit-tasker.

“if one of your limbs happen to detach from your body, do you feel the pain or does the pain go with it?”

he stops, allowing the question to sink in. he's never been asked such a.. divine question before. what's the answer? does the pain go with the limb or does it stay?

“oh... i gotta ask nobara this, she'd know,” he suggests, placing the knife down. a question that'll haunt him if he doesn't act quick for the answer.

“yes, yes!!” you encourage his actions, mindlessly enjoying the mango slices. mangoes are truly a blessing.

sukuna ryomen ﾉ no. nice try, though! A+ for effort.

“ryo, have you ever wondered if—”

“no, i never.”

“you didn't even let—”

“i haven't learnt since two-thousand years ago.”

“you old fuck, let me finish—”

“it's truly been a while since i've wondered.”

“DAMN, BITCH!”

you threw the remote at him, ultimately fed up with him cutting you off before the peak of the sentence. it could've been the question of the year and he'd still dodge it.

sukuna invited himself over since he ran out of entertainment options and you're always there for him. unfortunately, you do not find him as entertainin. he's annoying, arrogant, and attractive so it cancels out the negatives about him.

of course, sukuna caught the remote. his athletic capabilities are its prime despite him being dormant for centuries. it'd be a white lie to say he's not interested in your question, however it is way more benefitting to push your buttons.

he throws the remote back onto your bed, drying his hands with your hand-towel before making his merry way to you.

“your bed's small.”

“well no shit. it's for ME.”

“you mad? you look mad.” his hand holds your chin, turning your head side-to-side to observe your expression.

you rolled your eyes, “i don't get mad that easily.”

“is this how people felt when i told them an obvious lie? i should repent.”

[daydreaming-nerd]

The Bonds That Break Us (Rhysand x Female! Reader) Part 1

Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Final Part

Request: "Would you do a Rhysand x fem!reader series? Maybe fem!reader is Rhysand's mate and Tamlin's sister? So secret love?"

AN: I just got this request and I absolutely LOVE it. I have no idea how many parts it will be because it's really parking my imagination. Please feel free to leave a comment! Hearing your guy's feedback is what motivates me to write!

Summary: It was almost as if the cauldron liked to play games, as if it had sensed years of boredom and predictability and begged to be entertained. Its method of absolving its melancholy? Mate the High Lord of the Night Court to the younger sister of the High Lord of Spring. 

Warnings (so far): SA

Word count: 2765

(all photos are from pinterest)

It was like being born, even though I was the ripe age of 435. Well, ripe in the years of fae. It felt like being born, in the sense that I can’t really remember what came before that passing shade of violet. The way his eyes bore into me, and in that moment I knew he felt the tug too. 

Mates. 

I reeled for days, the peonies of spring my only console, my brother had always been so absent minded and utterly consumed with being High Lord. How could the cauldron be so cruel? To mate me to the High Lord of the Night. I spent the next week thinking it had to be a mistake, that my bored mind was playing tricks on me. Yet when the council met the week following, his eyes found me immediately, and I think in that moment I saw him for the very first time. 

I didn’t dare approach him, far too shy and afraid to approach the Lord of Night. Not just  because of what he was, but because of what my brother would say. By basic necessity Tamilin was a good brother, he doted upon me, kept me safe, gave me free roam of the palace. But there was a darkness about him I couldn’t place. It started when he disappeared with our father one night only to come back with two sets of Illyrian wings. I knew whatever happened was wrong, but as a woman in the spring court, I knew better than to open my mouth. Needless to say, Tamlin became High Lord of Spring shortly after, and from the wings mounted on our family walls I knew we had but one enemy, the night court. 

It wasn’t until the third council meeting (the third I was allowed to attend, after I begged my brother to let me go) that the High Lord of Night finally sought me out. 

My brother was busying himself with the politics of Day and Summer, talking the heads off of Helion and Tarquin. I kept to the shadows naturally, avoiding any untoward advances from other High Lords. I tried to stay hidden in my pocket of introvertedness, but then I felt him, and my skin buzzed, like it needed to be touched, to be held.

“You felt it too right?” he purred into the shell of my ear causing the buzzing of my skin to become electric.  

“I did,” I admit pathetically. 

“And you feel it now too,” he whispers as I finally turn to face him. The violet of his eyes pierce my soul and I’m left speechless and unable to move from their gaze. He’s otherworldly, he’s everything, and he’s also completely forbidden. 

“Do you?” I ask, hoping that whatever answer he gives can validate the fire in my bones. 

“I do,” he muses like he loves the game. “Your brother killed my family. He is my sworn enemy and I should hate you.” he breathes. I can feel his resolve slipping along with mine, for every statement he makes I can make an opposing one, “but all I want to do is kiss you right now.” he finishes. 

Fire runs through my veins as a sharp breath passes my lips. I feel my brother's presence and I evade myself from the High Lord of Night’s cage. My brother whisks me off to the Spring Court once more, but not before I glance back one last time to see that shade of violet I had already learned to look for in a crowd. 

That was a week ago. 

I stand in the foyer of the castle with my brother and Lucien as we prepare to join the council once again this week. 

“You look ravishing as always,” Lucien muses, eyes wandering me like they’re hungry. 

“It’s not often my brother lets me out of the house, I have to make a good impression somehow,” I say backhandedly. All I get in return is a sideways glance from Tamiln as we are taken to court. Today the meeting  resides in Tarquins’s court. It changes once a week to allow all High Lord’s to have the upper hand. The sea salted mist hits my face and the warm rays of the sun tan my skin as we walk into the council. 

When we arrive he’s already there. He stands out amongst the rest, not just because he’s dressed in black, but because he’s the most beautiful male I’ve ever seen. The definition of a forbidden fruit. As if to tempt me, Tamilin unknowingly  sits directly across from the High Lord of Night making it so I can’t lift my head without meeting the violet of his eyes. If you had asked me to recall the events the council discussed, I couldn’t, the only word left on my tongue was Night. Talk of tithes and power checks drifted over my head. The only thing to rouse me from my trance was the scraping of wooden chairs across marble floors, signaling that the council meeting had adjourned and that the more foundational political talks of High Lords would begin. 

I took it as my queue to step out onto one of the many terraces of the Summer Court. The room where the council was held was stifling. I thought that the breeze of the ocean might cool my skin, but no matter where I went that deafening heat followed.  

“I was hoping I would see you again,” purred a voice from behind me. 

I turned to find that piercing violet once more. “Of course why wouldn’t I be at the council meetings?” I ask, trying to act like I won’t be replaying this conversation in my mind when I return to bed tonight. 

“You’ve only been to four council meetings now, and your brother has a habit of keeping you locked up in the Spring Court.” he trails, drawing closer to the railing of which I’m leaning upon. 

“Well I intend to be at all of them from here on out,” I state.

“Any particular reason why?” he asks with a playful tone in his voice and I know what he’s insinuating. 

“Because I wish to be a part of the governing of my court, even though I am just a woman,” I say, evading his innuendo. 

“That’s a shame if you were part of my court you wouldn’t have such phrases like ‘just a woman’” he states almost as if he’s upset with the phrase. 

“I highly doubt that, women aren’t equals in any court,” I scoff. 

“What about Kallias and Viviane?” he asks. 

“What about them?” 

“Kallias sees Viviane as his equal, she is his mate and his High Lady,” he explains, stepping even closer to me, close enough that my skin starts to buzz again. 

“Viviane is special, everyone knows that,” I justify. 

“And you’re not?” he muses and my skin goes from buzzing to electrifying in three words. I feel his fingertips grazing my hand as if asking for permission. 

“My Lord we can’t do this,” I breathe out. 

“Call me Rhysand,” he says, stepping even closer. 

I step to the side, avoiding his advances, “My Lord, I won’t do this, I can’t do this.” I affirm. 

I see him bristle from my reluctance to call him by his name, “You’ll give into the idea of us. When you’re lying in that cold bed high up in the spring court thinking of all the ways I could warm it for you. When you’ve spent the week with nothing but this conversation on your mind,” he leans down to whisper in my ear. “This time next week you will beg for me to touch you, and I’ll happily oblige, mate.”

I’m so taken aback by his words that I can’t even form a quick witted response, I simply slid away and tried my best not to look back at him as I felt his gaze pierce my back. I nearly slam into Viviane and Kallias. 

“Y/n are you alright?” Viviane asks. 

“Yes, just feeling the heat of the summer court,” I lie, fanning my face. 

“Then you should come home with us today, it’s been so long since we had a girls night. I wish for your company." She smiles while taking my hand. 

“Shall we go home sister?” Tamilin appears, Lucien in tow. 

“Actually I think I’ll spend the night in the winter court with Viviane, she’s right,” I look at her and smile. “We haven’t had a girls night in quite a long time.”  

“Very well, I won’t get in the way of your sinful gossiping,” Tamilin smiles and leads Lucien away with him. 

If the summer court is sea salt and sun, then the winter court is pine and fresh fallen snow. Though they are opposites in every way, they are stunning in their own right, like all courts are. I’ve been here many times before to sit and talk with Viviane, she’s one of the only other ladies of nobility my age and a fierce friend. It’s not uncommon for me to spend a couple days here in the winter court, with Viviane and Kallias. 

I sit among a bed of furs near a warm fire adjacent to Viviane as Kallias pours both me and his mate a glass of red wine. 

“Thank you dear,” she smiles, kissing him on the cheek before he leaves us to gossip. 

“You and Kallias really are a perfect match,” I beam and Vivianane knows me well enough to know that there's a sadness there. 

“You’ll find it too someday, your mate. I know you will,” she assures me. “Now tell me, what of Lucien?” 

I roll my eyes taking a sip of my wine, “He’s still insufferable. The other day he backed me into a wall and if one of my ladies maids hadn’t walked in I swore he would’ve had his way with me.” 

She lets out an airy laugh, “I still can’t believe Tamiln allows him to play with you like that. He’s so fiercely protective of you with everyone else.” she says, taking a sip of her own wine. 

“Lucien is his best friend, he wouldn’t deny him anything, even his little sister.” I point out. 

“I suppose you’re right,” she smirks. The night is filled with goblets of wine and laughter as we continue to talk about the high lords of Prythian. We even go as far as to talk about her and Kallais’ sex lives, to which Kallias promptly came in laughing taking his wife to bed. 

I trudge down the hall to the bedroom the High Lord and Lady had set aside just for me a few years ago. I fall into the plush mattress, the world slightly spinning around me. The second I am left alone with my thoughts I recall the feeling of Rhysand’s breath on my neck and I shiver. 

The room spins and I feel my skin grow hot with need, my heart beats faster and my  head is drunk with that shade of violet. My hand subconsciously drifts down my body. 

You’re drunk? A voice cuts through my head. 

I sit up right and look around the room. The only thing I find is the flickering of the fireplace against the walls. 

The same voice chuckles and speaks again, No I am not in the room with you my mate.

“How are you doing this?” I ask in my head.

The daemati gift, and of course, I am your mate. The High Lord croons. 

“Get out of my head” I grumble. 

But you called for me, I can feel your… excitement.

“Then you're mistaken,” I hiss.

We both know that’s not true darling. 

“Goodnight,” I groan, rolling over to go to bed.

Goodnight, darling

The following days are long. Despite my better wishes there is a part of me that yearns to see the High Lord of Night again. I waltz through the spring court, picking flowers for the dinner table and evading Lucien’s advances. At night I find myself obsessively reading the romance novels I keep beside my bed. On one night in particular a certain scene in my book makes my toes curl and my thighs clench. My fingers skim the pages and the roughness of them is almost heightened. 

My my my, what a dirty book. That voice croons into my mind.

“Get out of my head,” I gripe. 

I can’t help myself when I feel your body react as it does. He purrs. 

“How on earth can you ‘feel’ my body?” I roll my eyes.

Like this. 

A tug reverberates through my body. Like there’s a string in the pit of my stomach that he just pulled. The sensation causes me to lose a breath as further arousal goes to my legs. He lets out a dark chuckle. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” I order him

But you loved it so much, He purrs and I can practically feel him smirking in my head. 

“You’re an insufferable bastard High Lord,” I growl at his persistence. 

Call me Rhysand. 

“I see no reason to drop informalities, my lord.” I quip back. 

My name will fall from your lips one day, and when it does I’ll be sure to swallow it with my own. Until then, I’ll leave you with this. Goodnight darling. 

I feel another tug at the bond reverberating through me and I nearly let out a moan at the feeling. I snuggle into my sheets that suddenly feel as if they are constricting around my body. I toss and turn and try to push all thoughts from my mind, but I can’t stop the idea of the High Lord's lips on mine. His night black hair in my hands, the way his moans might fall from those lips.

The next morning I take my breakfast in one of the lounge areas, still reeling from last night. My thoughts still wander to the image of his face, and how his eyes light me on fire. The door opens and a head of auburn hair pokes in. 

“Forgive me, I didn’t know you were in here,” Lucien says like he has regret, yet he sits down across from me. 

“No worries, I'm almost finished eating,” I reply, placing my tea down and getting ready to get up.. 

“And I secretly hoped to spend some time with you,” he sighs, sinking into the couch. 

“Perhaps later, I wanted to read in the garden,” I stand and make my way towards the door. 

“Perhaps now,” he growls. I feel a cold hand grasp my arm hauling me into the wall. 

“Lucien,” I hiss as my back is pressed into the wall, his frame looming over mine. 

“You are such a tease,” he smirks before kissing my neck hungrilly. His hands roam my body pulling me impossibly close. 

“I’ve never once given you any inclination that I wanted you,” I gripe at him. 

“That’s what makes you so desirable my dear,” he practically moans into my neck. 

I gather my strength and push him off of me, “I’ll remind you that I am Tamlin’s little sister and while he favors you his favor only goes so far. One word from me and he’ll send you back to the Autumn Court.” I growl at him, and it seems to be enough as he backs away and leaves me to reel from what just happened in silence. 

I sit down on the couch and take deep breaths to ground myself. 

What’s going on? Are you alright? That voice like glorious night cuts through my mind and I almost feel thankful for how it brings me back to reality. 

“Yes I’m fine,” I say back. 

What happened? I felt your fear through the bond.

“It’s nothing, just Lucien.” I dismiss him. 

Did he touch you? 

I almost swore I heard anger laced in his voice. “Well I am his favorite plaything,” I roll my eyes.

And Tamlin allows him to touch you like this? 

“As long as my virtue isn’t completely compromised so that I am still of value when he inevitably marries me off, yes. He doesn’t care.” I divulge, and quite stupidly I realize. 

As if I needed another reason to hate him.

“He is still my brother, my Lord,” I remind him, though I secretly feel the same. 

Don’t you mean, Rhysand?

“No I don’t, my Lord,” I say, drawing out the last words. 

I’ll see you tomorrow my darling, I relish the idea of seeing you in the golden light of the day court. 

[no-144444]

the grid: late for a date!

Day 29 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

Featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Daniel Riccardo, Charles LeClerc, Max Verstappen

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Oscar Piastri: miscommunication

So, it wasn’t a date. As much as you thought it was, Lando showed up. That wasn’t uncommon for your ‘dates’ to turn into ‘Oscar and Lando time’, but it still pissed you off. You just wanted one night with your boyfriend. Not Lando’s.  

You huffed as you sat down at your vanity, carefully cleaning off your face with a wipe. 

“You’re annoyed,” Oscar stated, leaning against the door and watching you. 

“I’m not,” you sighed, truthfully just wanting to be left alone. 

“You clearly are,” he said matter-of-factly. “Talk to me.”

“I thought it was a date,” you explained sheepishly. “I was a little disappointed when Lando showed up. I thought it was just us two, y’know, since we haven’t gone out ‘just us’ in months.”

He sighed and looked down. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Osc, it's fine. I’m just much annoyed with myself that I didn’t properly read the text-”

“But we should go out, just the two of us. You’re right,” he realised how little he takes you out. “Why don’t you talk to me about this?” 

“You have a lot going on,” you shrugged. “I’m not going to add to it by being a bitch about shit like this.” 

“You’re never a bitch,” his heart ached a little, how could you ever think that he’d ever be annoyed by you? He wrapped his arms around you , pressing soft kisses to your neck and whispering apologies. “I love you so much, I want to be with you as much as possible. Lando was just lonely and called me, so I said yes. I’ll say no in future, yeah?”

You nodded, feeling a lot more loved than before. 

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Lando norris: he forgot. 

It had been weeks in the planning, you both were ecstatic to get to enjoy your favourite restaurant in Brazil. You sat there for 2 hours. In the end you ordered stuff to take out and left a hefty tip for the inconvenience of your boyfriend. You texted and called him at least 20 times. No fucking answer. 

When you got back to the hotel, he wasn’t there either and you started getting worried. Could he be hurt? Surely he wouldn’t forget the important date, he remembered about it last week. 

You called Oscar, scared that Lando was lying in a ditch somewhere or something. 

“Hey Y/n,” his voice came from the other side of the phone. Distantly you could hear the sound of house music playing loudly. 

“Is Lando with you?” You asked. 

“Well, he was a while ago, but now he’s going back to the hotel,” he explained. “Why?”

“Just wanted to check on you guys,” you sighed, unable to keep the disappointment out of your voice. “You all good?” 

“Yeah, I’m with Alex and Zhou, we’re just outside the club now, we’re safe, promise,” he smiled into the phone. 

“Alright, well, I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? Be careful,” you reminded him. 

“We will,” he nodded. “See you tomorrow.”

As you hung up the phone, the door swung open and Lando appeared. Dishevelled but there. 

“Baby I am so sorry I forgot about-“

“It’s fine,” you sighed, used to the excuses by now. “It’s whatever, Lando.”

“Baby, come on, let me make it up to you,” he tried again, but you stayed unchanged on the topic. 

“Something will always be more important to you,” you mumbled. “And every single time it kills me. And I just let it. Because sadly, I love you so much that I let you treat me like this.”

“Baby that’s not-“

“We planned this months ago, Lando. And I put so much fucking effort in to looking nice for you, and you don’t show. I was so excited to have one fucking night where I wasn’t dating Lando Norris, Championship Fighter, McLaren Number One, McLarens saviour. One fucking might where I could just be a girl who got to dress up night for her boyfriend, who showed up to the date. One night when we could be normal people, that’s what I wanted, Lando.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I have a lot on my mind…”

“Yeah, you do. Maybe we should break up.”

“W-what? You don’t mean that, right baby? Come on, I’m- we’re- you’re the best thing that’s ever fucking happened to me. I don’t wanna lose you-“

“Yeah and you don’t want to have me either! Lando, I do fucking everything for you, I’m so fucking understanding every single time you disappoint or fucking annoy me. I understand that you're going through shit, and I’m here to help you. But I cannot deal with this disrespect anymore, alright? I am worth something! Right? Like, I have to be worth more than what you’re giving me, right?” You said, breaking down. Your plan had been to just keep calm and talk tomorrow, but that clearly flew out the window. 

“I love you-“

“Do you?! Really?!”

You were both silent. 

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Lewis Hamilton: he forgot

The silence was deafening in your shared home. You sat at the table, all dressed up with nowhere to go. 

“Baby, I know I-“

“Just fuck off,” you sighed. “Go back to work, or whatever it was that held you up.”

“I wanna make it up to you, I’m sorry baby,” he sighed, wrapping his arms around you. 

You took a deep breath. “I just wanted one night,” you sighed and he nodded, feeling guiltier by the second. “Away from work and the kids, just one fucking night Lewis.”

“How about a weekend? We drop the kids off at Natalie’s and we can go away for the weekend?” He offered and pressed a kiss to your cheek.. 

“We’re busy this weekend.”

“Cancel it.”

“Cancel my promotion dinner?” You scoffed. “Cancel Ellie’s football match? Cancel half the grid coming over? Cancel Nick’s karting race?” You quested, listing off the things you had to supervise for the weekend. 

He sighed. “I’m sorry baby, I forgot-“

“Yeah. You forgot. You keep fucking forgetting,” you groaned. “I just… I want some time. I’m pissed off right now and I just want to go to bed.”

“I’ll put the kids to bed,” he nodded. “I’m sorry again.”

“You’re always sorry Lewis. Just be there, for once,” you took a deep breath. “If not for me, then for our children. Don’t ruin the relationship because of your busy schedule.” 

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George Russell: you forgot...

You walked into your shared apartment, exhausted after work. 

“Hey darling,” he smiled, taking your bags out of your hands. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thanks love,” you smiled. Then you noticed the suit he was wearing. “You look handsome, what’s the occasion?”

His face fell. “Did you forget?” 

Shit. You did. The fucking anniversary dinner. “No! Just joking!” You laughed. “Give me like 20 minutes to get ready, yeah?”

He smiled. “Alright, just remember our reservations are in a little while.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

You completely forgot about the plans. No gift. No dress. Nothing. 

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You sat at dinner, somehow throwing together something, only to find out it wasn’t a fucking date, but a surprise birthday party. 

Your anniversary is months away. 

“Sorry baby,” he smiled, not one bit sorry. 

“I was terrified! I thought I’d fully forgotten!” You whined, rolling your eyes. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, a promise for more later. 

“I'm sorry darling,” he added, a small wink in one eye as he pulled you into the dance floor. 

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Alex Albon: genuinely injured

You sat in his apartment, waiting for him to finally show his face. He was 40 minutes late, and while this wasn’t a huge deal, you had made dinner which had gone cold, plus you felt your time should be at least worth a text. 

The door finally opened and Alex walked through, well, uncoordinatedly crutched into the room, a huge boot covering his foot. 

“Holy shit, Alex,” you cursed, shocked at the sight in front of you. He blushed slightly. 

“Yeah… accident prone, or whatever my mum called me. I have a few weeks off,” he chuckled. 

“What happened?” you asked, just staring down at the boot. 

“Funny story, Lando-”

“Of fucking course it was you,” you scoffed, looking at the guilty Lando standing beside him. 

“Lando accidentally ran over my foot,” he finished. 

“With what?” you asked, wondering if it was a bike or something, surely Lando was an experienced enough driver to have not driven over Alex’s foot. 

“A car,” Oscar explained. “Twice.” 

You saw red, turning your attention to Lando. “You fucking idiot!” you seethed. You chuckled. “How fucking stupid are you?”

He just giggled and shrugged. “Very?” he offered as an answer. 

“Thank you for bringing him home, now please leave before you cause any more bodily harm,” you sighed, showing Lando the door. You weren’t really mad, just shocked. 

“I’m sorry I was late,” he sighed, sitting on the couch. 

You chuckled. “You don’t have to apologise for that,” joining beside him. “I’m sorry you broke your foot.”

“Lando broke my foot,” he corrected and you just laughed and pressed your lips against his. 

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Daniel Riccardo: he forgot 

You walked into your shared apartment with your head held low. He’d forgotten your anniversary. 

“Baby? Where have you been? Are you alri- you look beautiful,” he stood up, walking over to you. You looked up and he saw the tears streaming. That sinking feeling he’d had all day, the one that told him he forgot something, it finally clicked. He’d forgotten the date. 

“Do you know how humiliating it is when someone stands you up? Do you know how humiliating it is when that gets fucking paparazzied?”

He gasped, no way you’d been subjected to the paparazzi. “Baby I’m so-”

“Sorry? Sure, I  believe  you,” you scoffed. “Just leave me be.”

You walked off to your bedroom and he was left to think about how he could pick up the broken pieces. 

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Charles LeClerc: he’s just being a dick. 

At least he remembered the date, but the fact that he’s sitting on his phone the entire time is literally gaining you pity smiles from other girls in the restaurant. When you went to the bathroom, two girls literally called him a ‘fucking asshole’ for what he’s doing to you, and gave you their numbers so you could be friends and bitch about him. 

“Charles,” you sighed, looking down at your bowl of pasta. You weren’t exactly hungry anymore, and now you just wanted to go home instead of being publicly humiliated like this. 

He looked up from his phone for a split second. “Yeah?” straight back down. 

“Are you going to eat any time soon?” you sighed, looking at his full plate. 

He looked at his food, then picked up a fry and ate it. “Eating, see?”

You rolled your eyes. “I want to go home.” 

He finally put down his phone. “But we are having a nice date, no?” 

“A ‘nice date’ usually includes talking of some sort, and maybe just a little bit of attention from my boyfriend,” you gritted out. “This is what I was talking about, if you don’t have time for me, I’d understand Charles. Just don’t waste my time like this.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry-”

“Sorry isn’t cutting it anymore Charles, I’m not just going to wait here forever like some little fangirl who’s just ‘so blessed’ to be dating the Charles LeClerc. I love you, not you being a racing driver, not you being a model, not anything else. I love you, Charles. And I’m starting to feel like you don’t love me back.” 

“Mon ange, please listen-”

“I’m done listening, I’ll see you at home,” you said and got up, actually receiving a clap from the two girls you’d met in the bathroom. 

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Max Verstappen: circumstances end it. 

You called again. And again. And again. 

No answer. As always. 

Long distance was hard, it was always going to be. Max didn’t need to make it any harder by not showing up for your phone-dates. He hadn’t called in months. He hadn’t seen you in over a year. He hadn’t done anything. He was never the first to call or text. He was never the one making the effort. He made you feel like a burden. He made you feel like shit. 

Max: Busy sorry. Can’t make it tonight. 

You: Don’t bother calling again. We’re done. 

Max: What are you talking about???

You: There’s always something more important than us. There’s always something you’d rather do. I’m so done with this shit Max. I want a boyfriend, not a fucking pen pal. I want a boyfriend who texts and calls me back. I want a boyfriend who asks about my day. I want someone who actually cares about me. 

Max: I care about you! Alright, just let me call you later, I’m at HQ right now

You: Max. I. Am. Done. Don’t fucking call me, don’t text me, don’t visit me. Let me live my life in peace. 

Max: Is that really what you want?

A tear fell down your cheek as you read the message. You wanted Max, but you knew you could never truly have him, he’d always be married to his craft, always be more in love with winning than he’d ever been with you. 

You: Yes. 

You have now blocked this user. 

You had to think about yourself.

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[catsteeth]

The Caged Bird and The Leased Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 3 ✿:+ Tear Drop

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Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it. 

CW: SMUT, MINORS DNI, fem reader, oral sex (fem rec), mutual masturbation, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, alcohol consumption, mention of death, mention of arranged marriage.

Word Count: 4826

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The morning after your last encounter with the Hound in the stables you were woken up by two handmaidens. They dressed you in a gown Cersei had made for you, it was red and gold, embellished with intricate beaded flowers. No matter how many times you asked they wouldn’t tell you why you were being summoned by Cersei. 

Your paranoia grew as you walked down the halls. You were more paranoid than ever nowadays.

As you walked into Cersei's chambers, her handmaidens closed the doors behind you. 

“Hello, little dove.” She said standing on her balcony. You walked towards her, your hands fidgeting with the fabric of your dress. 

“Your grace, thank you for the gown, it is beautiful.” You tried your best to seem relaxed.

“Ah yes, red and gold. Those colors suit you well. That’s good, they will need to.” She said, stepping towards you, playing with a strand of your hair. 

“Your grace?” You asked, 

“Tell me, have you met my brother?” She asked softly and gently. 

“Which-” 

“Tyrion, Tyrion Lannister, have you met him?” She cut you off, dropping the piece of hair she played with and sounding suddenly sterner. 

“Only passing pleasantries and exchanges, your grace.” You felt your heart race, your palms sweat. 

“What do you think of him?” she narrowed her eyes “He has quite a reputation, and his physical appearance does not help it-”

“He’s been nothing but decent to my family and myself, your grace.” You interrupted hoping she would get to the point faster.

“Good, good. That’ll make things easier.” She forced a sympathetic smile. 

“Your grace,” Your eyes fluttered. your voice wavered, and your heart raced faster. 

“You have been matched. It is the King's will, and you two shall be wed.” She pet your hair softly. 

Your throat went dry and you could help but look taken aback. 

“I don’t understand,” Your voice cracked and you took a step back. 

“You’ll get used to it.” She nodded, “My brother and I don’t have the best relationship but he is gentle with women. He will serve as a good husband. He will give you a child, that’s the best thing a man can give you. Perhaps we can negotiate with Baelish to keep your titles now that he’s betrothed to your mother.” 

You didn’t care to correct her that she was your step mother. You stood there with your eyes wide, you didn’t know what to say. You’d found out two devastating truths in one moment. You’d possibly no longer inherit your fathers titles, and you’d be forced into the family that killed your own. 

“Don’t you think?” Cersei asserted trying to gain your attention again not so subtly. 

“Yes, yes Your Grace.” You faked a smile. 

These people killed your uncle no less than a week ago, you had no choice but to accept. It wasn’t even framed as an option. They only wanted to calm you and make you agreeable, so you gave it to them. You didn’t have options. 

You did what Sandor would have told you to do. You agreed, and smiled. You gave them what they wanted.

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Your chambers were small in comparison to Cersei’s. It was a constant reminder that you were not home. The sheets were red with golden lions and flowers embroidered into them. The walls are adorned with golden decorations. It was beautiful but nothing like your home, nothing like your room. You couldn’t imagine it, “(Y/N) Lannister '' it didn’t seem right. You are a girl of the vale in the lion's den. 

The prospect of marriage became very real, and very near. Tyrion was the best of them, there was no doubt in that fact. However you didn’t even accept Loras’s proposal so why would you accept Tyrion's. But it would seem, you'd have no choice now, neither did Tyrion. 

You thought of him every day, and every night. You would find yourself awake at such late hours they weren’t late anymore they were early. You’d dream of his hands, his broad shoulders, his sad eyes framed by a scowling face. You’d feel yourself pulse and you’d be forced to relieve yourself on your pillows or sometimes your hand to feel any kind of relief. You’d wonder if he had done the same,  never knowing but he had. As you found yourself beginning to feel that same pressure in between your legs there was a knock upon your door. 

“Who is it?” You beckoned, you were more paranoid than ever nowadays, Cersei’s speech just hours before your uncles execution didn't help.

“Your betrothed it would seem.” Tyrion beckoned back. You rolled your eyes and sighed, slightly hoping for Sandor, and not whatever awkward conversation was about to be held. 

As you opened the door you gave a half hearted smile, “My Lord.” You greeted me. 

He scrunched up his face and waved his hand in dismissal “No need for that, Tyrion is fine, my lady.” He smiled. 

���Then enough ‘my lady’, (Y/N) is fine.” You said smiling back, this time more genuine, “Is there something I can help you with, my-” You stopped yourself and corrected “Tyrion.” 

“I hoped we could discuss our arrangement.”  He said as if he felt guilty. His eyes were kind, soft and gentle. 

You nodded in agreement, however you didn’t know what much else was to be said. You began to step into the hall when he held his hand out to you. You were caught somewhat off guard by such a gentle act, you flinched, and it didn’t go unnoticed. You did however take his hand. 

He led you to a secluded chamber. There were books strone about, this is the same room where you had stolen the first book of his. As you sat as he poured himself a goblet of wine, he motioned if you’d want some and you shook your head. 

“This is awkward,” He said with a forced smile as he sat with his goblet. 

“For you, I’d imagine so.” You said with a huff as you crossed your legs and your arms, 

“It isn’t for you? Speaking to the man you are being forced to marry?” He said with a chuckle. 

“Awkward or not, given what I have endured here, speaking with you is the least painful thing that has afflicted me.” 

“I shall take that as a compliment.” He said with a furrowed brow. He made you crack a slight smile. 

“Is there something you wished to discuss?” You asked shifting in your seat uncomfortably waiting for him to get to the point. 

“Ah” He said as he placed his goblet down, his brain snapping back to the original intent of this meeting. “Well, my Lady-”

“(Y/N)” You corrected unapologetically, 

“(Y/N)” He smiled softly, “We are to be wed.” You nodded, in agreement, your face however was still stoic. “I want you to know, I did not want this.” “Well” You inhaled sharply “I did not either. Though I hope I did not disappoint you.” You said with that signature venom in your eyes. You knew in a way that he didn’t mean it in that way, but you never passed up an opportunity to show that you weren’t one to shy from confrontation. 

“I did not- You did not.” He stammered and stopped himself. He looked down collecting his thoughts, “I am not disappointed in you. But I believe someone you love should take your hand.” He said with a half hearted smile. 

“May I ask you something?” You asked shifting in your seat to lean closer to him. “My father, Lord Arryn. When he brought me here, he brought me here with the intention of marrying me off. My father was not one to go into anything blind. I know he had discussed it, I know he had certain men in mind. Tell me who those men were.” 

“You don’t believe he picked me?” He chuckled before seeing your still serious face and continuing, “Your father did consider Ser Loras Tyrell, Renly Baratheon, before his marriage of course. I am sure those would have good matches, though I do believe you might be missing some of those men's favorite parts.” You wanted to laugh but didn’t want to lighten the situation, so you settled for a smirk as you looked away hiding your amusement. “Your father did not want you to wed Joffrey.” His joking tone diminished “Baelish requested consideration, which was denied. Your father clearly cared for your honor.” Your eyes went back to him. You thought of it, Baelish requesting your hand? It seemed strange as you never met the man. “I am sure there were many others who requested your hand.”,  He smiled softly. 

“But not you?” You grinned

“I would not have embarrassed either of us like that,” He said, sipping from his goblet.

“Embarrassed?” “I would not embarrass you by being wed to a dwarf, and I’d not embarrass myself by being rejected by both you and your father.”

“Peytr Baelish didn’t seem to mind.” You jested, and he cracked a smile. “I don’t care about your height.” You scoffed, “You’ve been nothing but decent towards me and my family.” 

“But if I proposed you wouldn’t have accepted.” “No I wouldn’t have.” He nodded “But that’s not because of your height. Or even your reputation. It’s because I don’t know you. Other than the few books of yours I have stolen and the passing exchanges between you, my family, and myself I do not know you.”

“Well we’ve all the time we need to know each other now.” He smirked, “You’ve stolen my books?” 

“Four, maybe five.” You responded quickly “Things get awfully dull around here.” 

“I suppose they will be our books soon enough.” He tried to jest, “I think I know something about you now. You’re honest, opinionated-” You stopped him

“The king does not like those traits of mine, it would seem.” You said slightly smiling.

“No doubt why he created his engagement... What my nephew has done to your cousin,” He stopped himself and looked at your lip, still slightly bruised from Joffrey’s Name Day. “What he has done to you… it is-” He stammered, unable to find an appropriate word for it, “deplorable.” 

“I suppose he will be my nephew as well, soon enough.” You attempted to jest, 

“(Y/N),” he said leaning forward, grasping your hand lightly “I promise you- I swear to you, no harm shall come to you.” 

“You cannot promise that,”

“I suppose I can’t.” he said looking at your hand in his, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb, “I can promise that I will never harm you. I will do all I can to make you happy.” 

You felt your eyes beginning to dissect his words as your brows furrowed in concern. You forced a smile to ease his mind. You placed your hand atop of his that was holding yours. You were genuinely appreciative of his gentleness and his kind words. You should be happy, he was handsome enough. But it was times like this, when another man's hand was on yours when you felt disappointment burrowing in your chest, how you wished it was another man, how you wished it was your man. 

“I can assign a handmaiden to be with you at all times when I cannot, they’ll make sure you and Joffrey are far apart-”

“I don’t need a shadow, I can take care of myself” You removed your hand sitting back in your chair.

“I say you can,” He smiled, “I do have something for you, I thought, it might soften the blow.” He said as he sat up and retrieved a silver necklace from his coat pocket. It was a dainty chain that held a silver falconed winged woman who held a large natural pearl. What made it stand out to you even more was a blue sapphire teardrop that came from her eye.

“Valyrian steel.” He said, your eyes went wide as you looked at him, how generous, too generous. “Falcon wings, and blue sapphire for your house.” 

“I cannot take that,” You said,

“Hm,” He looked at the necklace in his hand, “Well I cannot wear it.” He grinned holding it out to you again. 

You sighed and took it, you smiled at him, “I look forward to getting to know you, Tyrion.” 

You actually did.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

After such a long talk with your future husband and the idea of becoming a Lannister made your body run a cold sweat. You ran a bath with lavender to calm yourself but it hardly worked. 

As you stood in your chambers, in your white nightgown and soaking wet hair, you looked around at the red and golden interior. The room is adorned with lions and flower embellishments. It was as if they were intentionally rubbing the fact you were misplaced in your face. 

You looked for something to ground yourself, you grabbed the necklace that Tyrion gave to you.

You felt the Valyrian steel necklace in your palm. The cold of the metal reminded you of the cold breeze that would rush through the halls of the Eyrie. But then, it reminded you of something else. The metal of chainmail, the metal of armor.

You longed for so much nowadays. 

You longed for your mother, father, your brother whom you’d only spent an hour of life with, your room, your birds. All were gone, but you remained.

You did long for one other thing though, one thing that was in reach but still so far. That made it worse, that it was so close and yet you were unable to take it. Your longing for your mothers comfort was easier to accept because it was so unattainable but this, this was so close it made you sick. 

Then that sound that becoming too familiar, 

Knock, knock, knock, ‘Gods” you thought, wishing everyone would finally leave you alone. You were certain it was some handmaiden that Tyrion promised you. A doting husband he was shaping up to be, how awful. 

“Go away.” You beckoned, as you dropped the necklace onto your nightstand. 

BAM BAM BAM BAM, the knocks were now banging at your door. You jumped, clutching the thin fabric of your nightgown.

You approached the door slowly, “Who is it,” you asked much gentler this time. 

“I could bust this door down if I wanted.” He grumbled through the door. You knew that tone all too well, you dreamt of it enough times. 

You relaxed and unlocked the door, opening it just a crack, but he busted his way inside. 

“What're you doing-” You began but were cut off by him slamming the door and making his way to a golden pitcher on a small table on the other side of your room. 

“Don’t ever open your door for anyone who knocks like that.” He grumbled under his breath as he took a long deep swig and promptly spitting it out. “Fuck water.” He hissed “You got no fucking wine in here?”

“Sandor-” You started before he cut you off

“Don't call me that!” He barked at you,

“What should I call you then, Dog?” You snapped back at him.

“And what shall I call you? Lady fucking Lannister?” He said with a fake mocking grin.

“You ignore me for days, and now- now you come into my chambers to let out whatever irrational rage is consuming you on to me?”  You walked up to him, your eyes filled with hurt, “Why? Hm? Why are you in my room?” He didn’t respond and you stepped even closer, “Why Sandor-''

You were cut off by his large arm wrapping around your waist pulling you into his body, hoisting you up just enough you were on your tiptoes. As his other hand cupped your jaw as his scarred lips pressed against yours. 

You ran your hands up his thick arms covered in hard cold metal. 

That burning pressure between your legs began to rise once again once his large hand traveled down your jaw to your chest. You mewled into his lips as his hand traveled towards your clothed breasts. 

He growled into your lips as he said through his teeth “Tell me to go, tell me to get the fuck away from you.” He said in a primal growl as he began to remove his armor.

You shook your head “No,” you painted, your eyes fluttering from the tingling between your legs only grew as his armor fell to the ground. You took in all the scars you could see peeking through his loose tunic.

“Run away from me,” He said in a low rumble as his hands returned to your waist and breast.

“No” You almost moaned as your hands explored his broad shoulders to his thick neck. You pulled yourself up to his neck, peppering it with kisses.

“Stubborn fucking woman” He grumbled as he grabbed you by your thighs, wrapping you around his waist. His mouth traveled from your plush lips to your jaw, then to your neck, your collar bones, and to your chest. Your breathy moans rushed straight to his cock. 

“Put me on the bed.” You commanded softly, he obeys immediately, his lips and tongue not stopping until you were sat on the bed. He laid you there surprisingly gently. 

You sat up onto your knees on the bed. You faced him as he stood at the edge of the end of the bed. Your eyes stayed locked on his as you pulled your nightgown over your head, the soft silk melted off of you as you tossed it onto the floor. His eyes wandered over you, his hand cupped your jaw as he looked down into your eyes 

“You’re beautiful. I’ve waited a very long time to tell you that.” His words were sweet but his tone was dark and deep. Like a dog growling over a bone.

You never liked being called beautiful, but this felt different. You didn’t respond, you took his hand and kissed the palm before you reached your hands up to the ties of his tunic. He pulled it off of him before you could finish. 

Your fingers traced the scars that littered his chest and stomach. You stopped at one on his lower stomach, you licked and kissed it softly. His hand came and brushed the hair on your head, pulling it back forcing you to look at him.

“You don’t want this,” He said, his voice was deep but gentle. 

“This is all I want.” You said as your hand traced down to the ties of his breeches. He grabbed your hand. 

“Have you ever seen a man unclothed before?” He rasped. 

You shook your head, “No. Not like this.” The Eyrie was a cage with a cloak on top of it. You’d seen so little of the world so high up, and the men who worked there never dared defy Lysa. But you’d see paintings and sculptures. 

He began to untie his breeches for you, he practically tore the laces as he pulled himself out. He let out a groan as he was released from his breeches. His cock wasn’t even fully erect yet, still twitching at the sight of your body beneath him. Your lips parted and you tried desperately to conceal your surprise, it was bigger than what you’d seen on a canvas or carved in marble.  

You reached out to take him in your hand but he grabbed your wrist, again, stopping you.

“You’ve never done this before?” He rasped again, 

“Only to myself.” You said softly. 

A deep and dry chuckle left his lips as he stared down at you, “Dirty little bird.” He growled under his breath. “Lay back on the bed.” He rasped “Now.” He commanded in a low growl. As you did he pulled you close by your ankles. 

He leaned down and kissed your lips roughly, groaned at the sensation of his cock touching the soft skin of your thighs. 

Your hand began to trail down his chest to his stomach to his cock, before his hand could stop you once more. You whined into his lips as he pulled away “If you touch me, I won’t be able to stop, I’ll fuck you bloody.” He grumbled into your lips. It didn’t sound bad at all to you. 

“What if I want that?” 

“You don’t. Not really.” 

“Or maybe you don’t want that.”

“I want to mark you up. I want to leave bites and bruises all over you, want everyone to know I did it. I want to fuck you bloody, stretch you over my cock. I want to make you all fucking mine. But, then your lord wouldn’t care that much would he?” He growled.

“Then what do you want with me?” You asked with venom in your eyes. You were annoyed with him and his teasing. You knew he was angry with the situation but you knew the reason he didn’t do it was because it would mean others would know of your infidelity. It would risk your safety. He refused you, because he cared, even if he didn’t want to admit that. 

“I’ve been waiting to do this for too long.” He said as he dropped to his knees. You squirmed a bit, but his large arm wrapped over your thighs and pinned you down. 

His beard tickled you, as he began to lap up your wetness. His tongue circled and tapped against your clit.

You let out a sweet, breathy moan, as you tossed your head back onto the bed you laid on. You grabbed a handful of the hair at the back of his head, It was then when he began to fuck you with his tongue, letting his nose rub against your sensitive needy clit. Once you felt his tongue penetrate you. The loud noises filled the room, mixing with your moans of pleasure.

He lifted his head from between her legs, “Keep your mouth shut,” He was panting and tightening his grip on your thigh. You pushed his head back, “Keep yours open.” you painted,

He went back to ravaging you with his tongue. You covered your mouth to keep yourself from moaning any louder, an effort almost in vain once he sucked on your clit. “Gods- Sandor” You whispered in a moan. You saying his name made him moan into your cunt, the vibration of it made that pressure in you build, about to snap. 

“Sandor” You repeated wanting that same vibration, and you got it, it drove you past the edge and you felt the heat rush out of you. He drank your cum like it was wine. You mewled, as he stood up you saw his cock as hard as stone. 

Your eyes fluttering and weakly trying to sit up you asked him softly “Let me help you.” As you reached out to his cock, but for the third time he grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t” he urged, “I told you, if you touch me, I won’t be able to control myself.” 

You sighed, “But I want you to feel what I did.”

“Lay back” This time his voice softer “Show me how you fuck yourself.” He whispered,

You reached down and played with your clit, a groan left his lips as he took himself in his hand watching you. You watched as his huge thick hand gripped himself and pushed back and forth. He grunted and moaned behind gritted teeth. And you let out sweet mewls watching him, hardly focused on your own pleasure. Picking up his pace he almost collapsed on top of you, his one arm able to hold him up as he leaned over you. 

His grunts were angry and deep. 

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he fucked himself in his hand, locking eyes with you, no longer looking at you fucking yourself or his hand. It was as if he was pretending his hand was your cunt, pretending he was fucking you the way he wanted to for so long. You moaned his name sweetly which only helped push him further off that cliff. Your eyes fluttering, you held his jaw in your free hand, you pulled him in and kissed his lips gently despite the savage pace he was thrusting into his hand. 

“Sandor” You moaned once more before he finally came undone. “Gods!” He gritted his teeth and groaned as he was harmed. You felt his heat pour onto your stomach.

The two of you planted together. Sandor cupped your face with his rough large hand, looking at you deeply before getting up and finding his tunic. He ripped the sleeve off of it and used it to clean you before he threw it into the fireplace in your chambers. 

You sat up and crawled over the edge of your bed, leaning over and grabbing your silk nightgown. You threw it on as you watched him dressing himself again. Once he finished he looked back to you, the two of you locked eyes for a moment, longer than either of you wanted. Neither of you knew what to say. You stood and approached him.

“I care for you.” You whispered, your eyes softened and you cupped his cheek with your hand. 

He took your hand by the wrist and kissed your palm, “You shouldn’t.” he rasped before leaving you. 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

After that night, you couldn’t get your mind off of it. It was nothing you’d ever experienced, it only made your emotions deeper for someone who couldn’t have. And now, you were engaged to someone else. You needed someone to talk to about it. Sansa wouldn’t understand, she was too young, and you clearly couldn’t talk to Tyrion. So against your better judgment you found yourself confiding in Loras.

“You're an imbecile.” He quipped as soon as you told him the event of the past two days. You could hardly blame him, you had wronged him. 

“I know you're upset with me, no doubt you don’t see things the way that I do.” You said stoically.

“No I don’t. No one does, (Y/N).” His voice raised slightly with annoyance. 

“I do, that seems to be what matters.” 

“You could be in High Garden right now, or you could be back in the Vale, in the Eyrie. I would have had men fight for your titles that Baelish stole from under you. I would have the finest things for you. Whatever you wished for I would have done it.” 

“I wished for my cousins to be safe.” You were annoyed by his lack of understanding, “Besides Tyrion seems content to do all those things you mentioned anyways.” That wasn’t the kindest thing for you to say, but you often lose your temper when pushed.

“Is he content to let you bed a king's guard?” Loras retorted quickly and at a higher volume than you’d prefer.

“Keep your voice down.” You commanded in a lower and stern tone.

“Will he be content to have a bastard? Content to raise it as his own? Content to defend you and that bastard, when people begin to notice how little they look alike?” He said with saddened eyes, “I would have been. You were my one friend, my one true friend.” His tone mellowed, defeatedly

“I still am, it needn’t be this way. I should have accepted your proposal, I know, but I-” 

“I know. Your cousin.” He cut you off. He picked a flower in the garden and handed it to you. “You are the most intelligent woman I know. But you are too stubborn and  selfless, if you weren’t you’d be the most powerful woman in the realm I’d wager.” He said with a hint of a grin

“I don’t need any of that. What good has it done anyone? You gain an ounce of power and you gain three enemies.” You said examining the flower he gave you.

“Just, just stay alive, look out for yourself.” He said, defeatedly. He placed a hand on your cheek and walked away.

You sighed, nothing comforting came from it. You didn’t know what to expect but you were disappointed nonetheless. 

You looked back at the flower in your hand, you huffed and tossed it back into the bushes and continued on.

You looked up and saw Joffrey with his guards walking past across the garden. You caught a glimpse of the Hound. His eyes caught yours. But soon you two were ripped from each other's gaze.

You didn’t know what to do now. All you did know is that you had three men who wanted you and three men who could despise you if you took the wrong step. And your mind lingered on one man in particular, one the other three weren’t even concerned with. 

Baelish, and what he wanted with the Vale. 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

Note: bark like you want it baby… I told y'all we’d be laying it down. And don’t worry we will be busting it down as well.  Also the actual jewler who created that gorgeous pendent in the banner is miya kumo

[jude-duarte-wannabe]

Good day! I’m looking for Carlos Sainz go take me order if that’s ok? Could I have a extra sweetness with the brownies and possibly please a side of angel food cake? And I’d love some tonic water on the side please 💗

Thank you!

order up!

hi lovely thanks for the request, so as soon as i saw this an idea immediately popped into my head and as requested i made your order extra sweet <3 your requested prompts will be bolded and i once again couldn't stop myself from adding the victoria sponge prompt, with stories like these the idea of the victoria sponge prompt makes me all giggly and warm <3

pairing; carlos sainz x younger girlfriend reader

blurb; you've had a lot of bad relationships in the past, ones you've never fully recovered from so when your older boyfriend wants to try something new in the sex department you can't help but feel nervous but don't worry darling, soft boyfriend carlos is here to help.

warnings; oral fem!receiving, thigh kisses, google translated spanish, fingering, a speck of spitting and soft!dom!carlos [let me know if i missed anything]

dulce chico; sweet boy angelito; little angel

tonic water; age gap [carlos is 30 and reader is 23] brownie; "no fucking touching" angel food cake; "did you just squirt, since when could you do that" victoria sponge; "you wanna hold my hand"

currently playing; water by tyla "make me sweat, make me hotter, make me lose my breath, make me water"

"i don't know carlos" you mumbled from your position on the sofa beside him, he had asked you if he could try something new and while it's not like you didn't trust him because you did, you trusted him with your life but what he was suggesting you'd tried before and gotten shamed for it by previous partners but they had all been boys, carlos however was a man and one who knew how to take care of you like the goddess you were.

he practically worshiped the very ground you walked on, people all asked why you were with someone older than you and your answer was simply "he treats me right" and when they asked how you met.. well you could remember that moment in your life pretty vividly.

you had ended up meeting in the most meet cute way you could ever imagine, you'd been on a vacation with your family in madrid, your parents had been wanting to go back ever since their honeymoon 24 years ago.

you'd stopped at a farmers market close to your hotel to pick up some flowers for your parents wedding anniversary when you'd run, literally into carlos who'd been wandering the markets with his mother while on a quick visit home, while you had kept apologizing profusely, carlos simply couldn't take his eyes off you in your little pink plaid skirt and lacy white tank, you looked so soft and sweet and innocent, fuck did he love it.

you'd offered to buy him a coffee or even a pastry of some kind to make up for running into him and he'd said yes mainly just to be near you, to get to know you and that's how you found yourself wandering around the market nibbling on pastries while you chatted away with carlos, it seemed innocent enough, at least that's what you thought.

he'd ask to see you again sometime and you'd agreed thinking that he would make a great friend for while you were in madrid.

but when carlos first started to show an interest in you that was more than platonic after only knowing you a few weeks, you ignored him like the plague, he was just another guy capable of destroying you more than you already had been by the multiple exes in your past.

what made it even more nerve wracking was the fact he was older than you and not by much, at least that's what you thought. carlos on the other hand couldn't stay away and didn't get why you were ignoring him.

meeting you changed his life for the better and having to go a day without hearing you giggle or call him merely just say good morning was killing him.

at least it was until your sister who had met him randomly when you were out together and had decided to meet up with carlos, had explained everything to him, the trauma you'd gone through at the hands of your ex boyfriends, he could understand why you were scared of his advances now.

after a little convincing by your sister and little begging from carlos, he finally got you to agree to a date, he had promised to go slow and treat like every women deserved to be treated, the man worshiped the very ground you walked on after all for christ sakes.

you had kept in touch after leaving spain and when you felt ready you traveled back to madrid to spend time with him and you just never left.

and so here you were a year later, happier than you've ever been in any of your previous relationships and sure you'd been intimate with carlos before but what he was asking now made you nervous, he asked to eat you out saying that you looked so sweet just sitting next him reading and that's what lead to the current situation that you were in "what do you mean you don't know" he asked.

his question had you fidgeting but as always carlos was there to comfort you, placing his hand on your thigh "no fucking touching" you snapped before feeling bad and so you mumbled "please" you pushed his hand off your leg "i need to think and i can't do that with hands on me, your very distracting" you explained with a soft laugh, it just made carlos smile but then said smile faded at another thought.

"why don't you want to.. do you not trust me" he seemed worried and your hand immediately went to his arm "no dulce chico, i trust you it's just the last person i let down there... they didn't ask, i asked them and i was told i was gross and that no man ever does it willingly"

oh now carlos was angry, he couldn't believe that one of your old boyfriends had said that to you "no baby, it's not gross.. i want to make you feel good" his hand went back to your thigh, rubbing small circles on the skin there, carlos noticed you wriggle around and squeeze your legs closer together, your slight very quiet whimper had him raising his eyebrows while he smiled "is the idea of this turning you on angelito"

"maybe" you murmured, your hand taking hold of his own, tangling your fingers together to ground yourself as you sat there thinking and after a few minutes, you'd finally decided "alright you know what.. lets... lets try it" you told him and the way carlos pounced on you then made you giggle.

he moved you onto your back while you kept laughing at his eagerness, he placed a sloppy kiss to your lips before laying himself down in between your legs, fingers moving your underwear to the side quickly before pushing your sweet little skirt over your hips and wrapping his arms over your waist, placing sweet little kisses to the skin of your thigh making you squirm even more.

"carlos.. don't tease me" you whimpered making him chuckle against your thigh "patient angelito" he gently kissed at your folds, groaning at the taste of you on his lips before diving straight in, licking at your juices like a man starved.

"gross my fucking ass.. you taste so perfect.. like honey" he mumbled as his tongue slipped inside you slurping up all the juices that slipped from your aching hole.

the new feelings you were experiencing were euphoric and you just couldn't seem to keep your head on straight no matter what you did, you gripped at the couch cushions and even carlos's hair.

so as a last resort you reached for his fingers that rested on your stomach, when he felt your hand brush his own carlos couldn't help smile against your folds as he pulled away for just a second "you wanna hold my hand" you merely nodded, your other hand gripping out the couch cushion above your head.

carlos couldn't get enough of the way you looked right now with flushed cheeks and your chest rising and falling as you panted in excitement.

he tangled his fingers with yours before going back to work, bringing his thumb to your clit to rub little circles as he licked and sucked at your sweet pussy.

carlos continued like this for a while, listening to you moan blissfully above him, if carlos could describe heaven it would be this, this moment right here with his face buried in your cunt licking at you while you made such beautiful noises, your hands holding onto eachothers, a symbol of your connection and love for each other, after a while he pulled away to kitten lick at your clit and he slipped his fingers inside your tight cunt, feeling you clench around his fingers "jesus angelito... so tight"

your hips started to rut against carlos's hand, causing them to push deeper and deeper in and then you squealed as a sparks zipped up your spine "what the fuck was that" you asked as your breathing calmed down"your g spot" carlos chuckled and hit it again as his fingers kept thrusting in and out at a fast pace and so you kept squealing.

it wasn't long before your gripped carlos's hand a little too tight as you tumbled over the edge, your orgasm hitting you like a truck.

as your breathing calmed down, you sat up slightly to look at carlos, hand still clutched in his, carlos just lay frozen between your legs face wet "you alright baby" you asked and he just chuckled "did you just squirt, since when could you do that"

you stared at him surprised, you had done what? "i did what now?"

to say that you were both surprised was an understatement but when carlos scampered up your body, you giggled at his excitement "i wanna make you do it again" he said, voice shaky and you smiled softly at him

"go on then baby.. make me water" you giggled, hands cupping his face, god he was adorable, this was perfect, this moment, this relationship.. you'd never been happier than this and you hoped that it would never ever end mostly because you had never felt safer than you did right now while wrapped up in carlos strong arms.

[red-riding-wood]

PSA - Community Predator

Over a series of months, myself and other Tumblr users -- fic writers, gif makers, fans of created content -- have been victimised by @mrkdvidal1989, who has extensively lied about who he is, preyed on multiple women and denied involvement -- therefore ruining friendships, reputations and feelings, and promised me life-saving medical treatment that he never followed through on.

More information including mine and their stories under the cut.

The reason I am going public with this is twofold:

A) To protect others from being hurt. He is known to reach out to many tumblr users, especially young women in the Cillian Murphy fandom -- but he may have a wider reach beyond this circle. B) Since his "disappearance" three weeks ago and the unravelling of his lies, this man has ruined my life and the only hope I had of obtaining treatment for a condition that has been plaguing me for four years.

Killian Vidal is the name he has chosen to give us, and has claimed to be both a officer commander and general in the mobility troop in the SAS (the general rank does not even exist), has beaten cancer a while ago (but said to another mutual that his "time was running out" and he is currently struggling with it), and a plethora of other life experiences and general knowledge about him that varies in consistency when talking to different people and is questionable in its validity. He has also shared pictures of "himself" that when reverse image searched, belong to different people.

I got to know Kill when he reblogged one of my fanfics (as the story seems to start with a lot of his victims) and he reached out via DMs. We quickly became close friends who called nearly every day on Discord and when I told him about my health issues, he immediately offered to pay for my medical treatment wherever I could find willing doctors.

I was hesitant to believe this at first since all of this seemed too good to be true (and was). He claimed to be very wealthy, enough to afford private jets like it was nothing and to rent me an apartment in the UK in the same building as him. Over time, I grew to trust him because he felt like such a genuine person and friend, which was made all the more believable by the fact that he has such a huge following on Tumblr and was, at the time, part of a vast social network of fans and friends (one of which he even claimed to know IRL -- who will remain anonymous unless they decide to speak out). I decided to ignore the little red flags because I was so desperate to receive this treatment that for me would be life-saving.

For four years, I have been plagued by an array of (mostly) undiagnosed digestive issues that have made my life almost unbearable and have on numerous occasions nearly killed me due to malnutrition. I've spent months in hospital, endured years of malpractice and misdiagnoses, undergone heart surgery, and have tried absolutely everything I can to get better. In the winter of 2023, I was told by my doctor that I was refused in the TPN program (a treatment that may have slowed or stopped my weight loss) and that with or without it, I was looking at mortality. Refusing to stop fighting but having exhausted the public health care system in Canada, I went into 2024 not really having much hope of anything anymore.

So, when Kill came along, that changed. He promised -- and I mean, from the bottom of his heart, promised -- that he would help me get treatment, that he would get me out of my abusive home and fly me to the UK, that he would be there for me as my friend, etc. I was beyond grateful, and as my trust with him built, so did my hope.

The travel plans kept getting put off; originally, he would fly me out as soon as the apartment became available, which was the 11th of Feb, 2024. He kept finding excuses to not book the jet. Finally, it seemed as if around the 15th/16th I would be flying. My health had been declining rapidly and the situation was becoming all the more urgent, and he said he was in contact with a pilot and would send the ticket soon and call me.

That was the last I heard from him. The 16th.

Initially thinking he had ended his life (he had discussed thoughts of suicide with me prior to this), I was beside myself with worry not only thinking one of my closest friends was gone but also that my chance at life was. I reached out to his other friends, and I made several calls to the UK authorities and emergency services and ended up requesting a welfare check be made to see if he was even alive.

They reported that no one under the name Killian Vidal was in the records of the building name he gave me -- the same building that I was meant to live in within that week.

After reaching out to my now beloved friend @kittenonpluto (A.K.A., Cas) on Tumblr, I learned that Kill was in fact alive, and had told her that he was in hospital for digestive issues in Indianopolis, United States (though again, no record of his name in their medical system). He still wouldn't talk to me, but told her to tell me that he would reach out when he was out of hospital.

Cas and I compared information he'd told us (her story will be attached to this post) and looked into the mystery more. He constantly dodged confrontation and questions about the fake photos and information he'd sent her, and seemed to use his completely fabricated hospitalisation as an excuse to not fulfil his promises to myself and her, as well as a means to garner sympathy.

It was quite obvious that he didn't know how the American medical system worked, and he even incorporated elements of my actual story and used them in his. When asked about his treatments, he responded with medically false information. He reported digestive issues, reflux, and having both an NG tube and TPN -- both of which I have experience with -- and let me say, I am beyond disgusted and infuriated that my real life trauma was used as a ploy in all this.

How do we know for a fact this is false? I checked the police case for his welfare check again, and they said that they confirmed him being in the UK at the same time he had told Cas he was in hospital in the States.

After a final confrontation from both Cas and myself (and a desperate final plea for the medical aid he promised me), he was never heard from again from either of us or our friend circles.

I'm now having to pick up the pieces he's left me in and to be honest, I have little to no idea of what the hell to do or how to save myself. The fact that he strung me along for a month and built up my hope that I was going to live only to abandon me without even a word is deplorable to me.

And mine isn't the only story. I've heard from four women on Tumblr (who, again, will remain anonymous unless they choose to speak out) who he has been romantic or sexually involved with (and lied about his involvement, made them out to seem insane or toxic, created rifts in our friendships, toyed with their emotions, and made false promises to of relationships, marriage, and finances).

And that's not including the ex-wife who came back to Tumblr to claim that her and Kill had never met nor married. She was promptly silenced by a "lawyer threat" that we have strong reason to believe was a bluff.

At the end of the day, there are so many lies, half-truths, inconsistencies, etc. this man has wrapped himself in and we don't know for the life of us what his motives are, but from the information that we do know is false, he isn't genuine. He toys with people. He hurts them. Myself and the others that have been affected by this want that to stop.

And at any point, he has the ability to make a new account, and take on a new persona, pretend to be someone else. Tumblr is a wonderful place and I have met so many cool people on here, but please be careful about who you interact with and what you share, because aside from making this post, it is beyond my power to stop him from doing what he does. But after what he did to me, I could not remain silent.

Other Stories

If you have an experience or story with Killian that you would like heard, please reblog it on this thread or make a post. With your consent, I can include a link to it below.

kittenonpluto's story

aurorag98's story

everyoneisawhore's story

your-nanas-house's story

hllywdwhre's story

Final Note

Lastly, if you have read this far, thank you.

If you want to reach out to me about this issue -- whether it's to anonymously share your experience, ask questions, ask for evidence (of which I can back up these statements with), or anything at all --, please do not hesitate to do so. <3

For those who may be worried about the potential legality of this post, everything that I have stated as fact is fact and it is not my intention to slander or spread false information.

[seattlesellie]

this is a request by: @sadeyedsugar !! i posted but deleted bc i wasn’t satisfied w it so i re-wrote it <333

warnings: smut, dom!abby, sub!reader, size kink, abbys kind of a perv, reader is described as small but it only means smaller than abby in height n weaker than her <3 not proofread!

authors note: why the fuck do i constantly find myself writing about the wlf gym. its like i live there.

you and abby started dating exactly 3 weeks ago. 3 weeks ago, abby decided to finally ask you out. she was practically pining over you since the moment she met you. your innocent smiles made her heart melt, and every time she saw you look at her it made her physically ache. she couldnt handle it anymore, which is how she found herself banging on your bedroom door at 11pm with a random bouquet of flowers to ask if maybe, possibly, youd agree to go out with her.

since that day, you practically followed abby around everywhere. this is exactly why you found yourself here, in the wlf gym, watching your now girlfriend, lifting an impossibly heavy amount of weights. for some reason, every harsh groan, every moan that escaped her throat, made your heart beat faster. abby and you kissed, sure.

shed kissed you on your second date, while you were cuddled up in her bed after watching a movie, facing her. you were having a conversation about her past. shed told you all about her father, about the void it left in her. your genuine intrigue killed her, made her heart so soft for you. she pushed a hair strand away from you face, and just asked; “can i… kiss you?” that question made you flush so hard you could feel the heat burning in your ears. all you could respond with was a small “mmhm”, and next thing, her sweet mouth was on yours. it was sweet, and warm, like a butterfly landing on your lips. so tender and so innocent, until it wasnt. without even being aware of it, you brought your hand to lightly tug at abbys shirt. just a small tug. that tug, resulted in abby letting out a shaky breath, deepening the kiss for just a moment and then abruptly stopping. you slowly opened your eyes, and noticed how her pupils were dilated, her strong chest rising up and down. “whyd you stop?” you asked in your sweet voice, the voice that made abby’s heart flutter and fist tighten.

“because…” she responded, followed by a deep sigh. “lets just sleep, ok?” she commanded, and you did.

from then on, that was your routine. slow, innocent sweet kiss on the bridge of turning into something more, and abby shutting it off. you didnt understand why. what was she so afraid of? it was just kissing, wasnt it? sure, sometimes youd push your chest into hers, making her breathing get heavier, but that was it, right? what would be so bad about a little kiss turning into a longer one? its not like youd hurt her, not like shed hurt you, right?

“good job, abs” you cheered at your girlfriend, watching her lift.

“mmph- thanks” she breathed deeply, flashing you a triumphant smile.

“how heavy is it?” you asked, curiously examining the weights.

“why? wanna try?” she responded, satisfied with herself, obviously giddy about impressing her girlfriend.

you hesitantly walked over to face the giant weight, examining it with a panicked look that made abby huff a giggle.

you slowly bent down, put your delicate hands on the weight, and tried lifting it up. the thing is, it didnt even move. not even a flinch. “mhhhhp” you groaned, with furrowed brows. how the fuck did she manage to do that? abby was eyeing you up and down, hands crossed over her chest with a cocky smile on her face, as she watched your failed attempts. “let me help you, okay?” she commanded, and you nodded while wiping a small drop of sweat from your forehead. abby stood behind you, her light breaths caressing your neck. “that is not how you dress for the gym, by the way” she snickered. “whats wrong with how im dressed?” you were wearing a jean skirt, and a bright pink sports bra. is that not gym attire? its a sports bra, you thought.

“c’mon” she sighed, “hands on the weight” she demanded. you quickly bent down again, and abby followed you, bending down with you, putting her hands above yours, wrapping them completely up. having your hands practically fully covered by hers, sent a shiver down her spine. fuck, would that be how youd look like with her above you, deep inside, big hands holding onto yours, forcing them onto the bed? would you squeeze your hand into hers while begging her for more? focus, abby, she thought to herself. shes not ready, not yet. youd ruin her.

with the strength of abbys arms, she lifted up the weight, your hands wrapped around it. you thought the weight lifting distribution was about 20%/80%. you were wrong. it was probably around 1%/99%.

“oh my god!” you giggled with excitement. “look at me!” abby laughed in your ear “thats my strong girl” she said proudly, grunting into you, making you squeal.

her strong girl. those words made you tingle and your stomach feel like its getting swarmed by actual butterflies.

“now, bend over again slowly for me okay?” she said in your ear. you slowly pulled the weights down, following her instructions. “thats it, good girl” she said gently, her voice so soft and assuring. what if she saw your breath hitch? what if she noticed how your pupils grow every time she mutters those words? what if she’d know, exactly what she was doing to you. “you good?” she asked, making you snap out of your trance.

“yeah!” you assured her. “totally fine”. “okay…” she snickered, and got back to lifting yet another weight. you shifted from one leg to the other while watching her, leaving her to lock her gaze onto you. “think im gonna do some yoga” you exclaimed.

“you do yoga?” she smirked slightly, sharp short breaths escaping her mouth as she lifts the weight up and down, up and down.

“nope” you responded, popping the p. “but i can try, right? i mean- maybe id get as strong as you?” those words made her smile, and respond “wouldnt want to hurt yourself though, yeah? go easy” in her commanding voice. if abby told you to jump off of a roof, you probably would. especially when she talked to you like that. like you were her delicate little thing.

you grabbed the beat down yoga mat from a pile of gym equipment, and laid it gently on the floor. the mat was hot pink, complimenting your bra, making it almost seem as if you matched with it on purpose. as abby lifted her weights, she couldnt stop examining you. looking at you. noticing how your short skirt hiked up slightly as you bent down, how your white underwear teased her just a little, “look at what you want abby- never gonna get it” she felt as if your body was talking to her, mocking her. every curve of your figure inviting her in, and her brain, pushing her away. she wanted to give in - wanted to give in so bad. but you were so sweet, so kind. she was terrified of what shed do to you if she snapped. terrified of the bruises shed leave, the marks shed burn into you. what if you couldn’t handle it? what if she was too rough? what if she just couldnt go slow with you? she wanted to break you, wanted to keep you whole, wanted to make you scream and cry and pant and beg, and then she wanted you to tell her you loved her, that shes your everything, that youre hers. what if once she touched you, corrupted you, youd hate her? she couldnt handle that.

her body was sweating, and it wasnt the weights that made her react way. it wasnt the rushes of endorphins running through her veins, it was you.

she was full on gawking now, like a fucking pervert. her weights were dropped a long ago, as soon as she noticed your body bending down in front of her, hitting the ground with a thud. “fuck” she mumbled to herself. her jaw was hanging open slightly, hands curled in fists, heart pumping in and out of her chest.

you spread your legs open, following the instructions of an sports old magazine you had found laying around outside the base one day. you were whimpering, desperately trying to put your legs in the right place, hands were they supposed to. were you meant to curl your head this way? shit- was your left leg supposed to be entangled with the right one or were you completely off - looking like a disheveled barbie doll.

“ughhh” you let out a sigh of frustration. “cant get it right!” you scoffed, and shoved the magazine away.

abby was gone. did you speak? she had no idea. all she could think of was the way your thigh jiggled and how your chest heaved up and down, nipples perked up through the beat down old sports bra.

“abby” you moaned, “abby help” you sighed and begged.

“abs!”

she snapped, quickly adverting her gaze away to look at the wall. if you werent so distracted, she thought maybe you would have called her a perv, you would have been disgusted by how her eyes didnt meet yours even once - gaze just glued on to your body.

“yeah?” she responded, wiping her sweat from her hand on her top.

“need help” you drawled.

she walked towards you hesitantly. do i get close? she though. what would happen then?

“look at this” you badgered, picking up the magazine, pointing at a picture of a lady with her head underneath her leg.

“how the hell am i supposed to do that?” you questioned, looking at abbys puzzled face.

you bent down to a form a triangle shape, abby by your side.

“can you stand behind me?” you begged.

her eyebrows raised slightly, questioning you.

she walked slowly, and stood directly behind you. it was killing her. she clenched her fist, short nails scratching her palms, leaving sharp marks.

“how am i supposed to put my arm over there?” you said, and accidentally backed up against abby, your ass slightly bumping her crotch. abbys breath hitched.

“j- just…”

her face was hot. she felt like she couldnt breathe, couldnt even swallow properly, all choked up.

she couldnt control herself anymore. it was like something overcame her, possessed her. she firmly put her hands on your waist, and jerked your body to slam her crotch, for just a second. she wanted to feel you, just like that, just for a monent. god, she needed that release so so bad. she was so good with you, so strict, stern. she managed herself. she was nice, respectful, she tried not to stare if your top was cut too low. always kept her composure, even when you whined her name in a way that made her see the devil, even when you were sleeping, and the urge to pull your pants down, for just a second, just a little bit, was so strong it made her hands grow clammy, she didnt. she was good. until she wasnt.

“abby? what are you doing?” you asked, feeling your own heartbeat speeding up.

“just… stay like that… yeah?” she panted, pulled and pushed your waist to make your ass meet her crotch deeper, harder this time.

“abs…” you gaped. you were in shock - what was she doing? why did your heart beat faster and why did your cunt start tickling? you let out a shaky breath, one that abby heard. one that signaled to her that this time - there was no controlling. not anymore.

“oh god…” she murmured, massaging your ass slowly while bumping her crotch into it.

“you know what you fucking do to me?” she grunted, her voice an octave higher than her usual, desparate. did you even know?

the scene was borderline obscene - you on your knees with your head hanging from your neck like a rag doll, abby behind you with her crotch buried in your cheeks, begging to be swallowed.

“abs- it feels- ah” you moaned. you couldnt control your body anymore, which is why you dropped quickly down to your knees, collapsing on the mat.

abby followed quickly, laying on top of you, crushing you with her weight, practically covering you whole.

she was panting over you, grinding down on your ass, begging herself for mercy.

“didnt fucking wanna do it like this” she whimpered between short breaths.

“fucking wanted to take it fucking slow with you” she grunts, when she feels you slightly arch your back for her. did you want this as much as her? is she fucking stupid?

“abby-“ you squealed, moans muffled by the mattress on the floor.

she grinded herself more harshly now, almost entirely losing herself on top of you.

“feels-“ you whimpered against the floor.

“tell me” she demanded.

“feels g- feels good, a a abby” the way her crotch was grinding into you made your clit bump into the mat, separated only by the thin material of your panties, skirt hitched up burning your stomach.

“fuuuck” she muttered, feeling herself clench at your words. she couldnt believe this was happening. the amount of times she pictured you like this, pictured you a panting mess, your pussy glistening- begging for her strap, her fingers, her tongue. she would lay awake at night with her fingers buried deep inside, fists clenched, just imagining you bouncing up and down screaming her name. after shed come, shed curse herself for it. punish herself for being so fucking unhinged.

“abby- need to see you” you cried out from beneath her. she softened for a second, breaking out of her grunts.

she lifted herself off, and carefully backed away, positioning herself to sit, hands supporting her from behind. as soon as she saw your face, your glistening eyes, the realization hit her. she was about to fuck you like an animal on the floor - you, her girlfriend, her sweet, innocent girlfriend. the same one she brought those flowers for, same one shed kill for, she was gonna ruin you.

“oh shit” she breathed, and her eyes became frantic, almost begging you for forgiveness with just her look. she couldnt hurt you.

you tried steadying your breaths, eyes glued on to the floor. you felt ashamed. ashamed of how much you liked it, ashamed of the wet spot that formed on your panties.

“im so fucking sorry” she pleaded, quickly placing her hand on your cheek, barely even grazing it, barely caressing, almost afraid to touch you again.

“for what?” you questioned, holding her palm. why was she the one apologizing to you?

“i couldnt control myself” she retreated, placing her forehead on yours.

“dont” you simply stated.

“dont control yourself”

as it it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“what?” she scoffed. she looked baffled. what were you saying? was she hallucinating?

“im saying you dont have to… im saying- i want to.” you couldnt quite put it in a sentence, a normal, coherent one. but you knew, you absolutely knew you needed to feel it again. needed her closer, needed her inside.

“c’mere” she almost moaned, and your body was hers.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

It’s been twenty years since my Microsoft DRM talk

On THURSDAY (June 20) I'm live onstage in LOS ANGELES for a recording of the GO FACT YOURSELF podcast. On FRIDAY (June 21) I'm doing an ONLINE READING for the LOCUS AWARDS at 16hPT. On SATURDAY (June 22) I'll be in OAKLAND, CA for a panel and a keynote at the LOCUS AWARDS.

This week on my podcast,This week on my podcast, I read my June 17, 2004 Microsoft Research speech about DRM, a talk that went viral two decades ago, and reassess its legacy:

https://craphound.com/msftdrm.txt

It's been 20 years (and one day) since I gave that talk. It wasn't my first talk like that, but at the time, it was the most successful talk I'd ever given. I was still learning how to deliver a talk at the time, tinkering with different prose and delivery styles (to my eye, there's a lot of Bruce Sterling in that one, something that's still true today).

I learned to give talks by attending sf conventions and watching keynotes and panel presentations and taking mental notes. I was especially impressed with the oratory style of Harlan Ellison, whom I heard speak on numerous occasions, and by Judith Merril, who was a wonderful mentor to me and many other writers:

https://locusmag.com/2021/09/cory-doctorow-breaking-in/

I was also influenced by the speakers I'd heard at the many political rallies I'd attended and helped organize; from the speakers at the annual Labour Day parade to the anti-nuclear proliferation and pro-abortion rights marches I was very involved with. I also have vivid memories of the speeches that Helen Caldicott gave in Toronto when I was growing up, where I volunteered as an usher:

https://www.helencaldicott.com/

When I helped found a dotcom startup in the late 1990s, my partners and I decided that I'd do the onstage talking; we paid for a couple hours of speaker training from an expensive consultant in San Francisco. The only thing I remember from that session was the advice to look into the audience as much as possible, rather than reading from notes with my head down. Good advice, but kinda obvious.

The impetus for that training was my onstage presentation at the first O'Reilly P2P conference in 2001. I don't quite remember what I said there, but I remember that it made an impression on Tim O'Reilly, which meant a lot to me then (and now):

https://www.oreilly.com/pub/pr/844

I don't remember who invited me to give the talk at Microsoft Research that day, but I think it was probably Marc Smith, who was researching social media at the time by data-mining Usenet archives to understand social graphs. I think I timed the gig so that I could kill three birds with one stone: in addition to that talk, I attended (and maybe spoke at?) that year's Computers, Freedom and Privacy conference, and attended an early preview of the soon-to-launch Sci Fi Museum (now the Museum of Pop Culture). I got to meet Nichelle Nichols (and promptly embarrassed myself by getting tongue-tied and telling her how much I loved the vocals she did on her recording of the Star Wars theme, something I'm still hot around the ears over, though she was a pro and gently corrected me, "I think you mean Star *Trek"):

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=4IiJUQSsxNw&list=OLAK5uy_lHUn58fbpceC3PrK2Xu9smBNBjR_-mAHQ

But the start of that trip was the talk at Microsoft Research; I'd been on the Microsoft campus before. That startup I did? Microsoft tried to buy us, which prompted our asshole VCs to cram the founders and steal our equity, which created so much acrimony that the Microsoft deal fell through. I was pretty bitter at the time, but in retrospect, I really dodged a bullet – for one thing, the deal involved my going to work for Microsoft as a DRM evangelist. I mean, talk about the road not taken!

This was my first time back at Microsoft as an EFF employee. There was some pre-show meet-and-greet-type stuff, and then I was shown into a packed conference room where I gave my talk and had a lively (and generally friendly) Q&A. MSR was – and is – the woolier side of Microsoft, where all kinds of interesting people did all kinds of great research.

Indeed, almost every Microsoft employee I've ever met was a good and talented person doing the best work they could. The fact that Microsoft produces such a consistent stream of garbage products and crooked business practices is an important testament to the way that a rotten organization can be so much less than the sum of its parts.

I'm a fully paid up subscriber to Ronald Coase's "Theory of the Firm" (not so much his other views):

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theory_of_the_firm

Coase says the reason institutions exist is to enable people to work together with lowered "coordination costs." In other words, if you and I are going to knit a sweater together, we're going to need to figure out how to make sure that we're not both making the left sleeve. Creating an institution – the Mafia, the Catholic Church, Microsoft, a company, a co-op, a committee that puts on a regional science fiction con – is all about minimizing those costs.

As Yochai Benkler pointed out in 2002, the coolest and most transformative thing about the internet is that it let us do more complex collective work with smaller and less structured institutions:

https://www.benkler.org/CoasesPenguin.PDF

That was the initial prompt for my novel Walkaway, which asked, "What if we could build luxury hotels and even space programs with the kind of (relatively) lightweight institutional overheads associated with Wikipedia and the Linux kernel?"

https://crookedtimber.org/2017/05/10/coases-spectre/

So the structure of institutions is really important. At the same time, I'm skeptical of the idea that there are "good companies" and "bad companies." Small businesses, family businesses, and other firms that aren't exposed to the finance sector can reflect their leaders' personalities, but it's a huge mistake to ascribe personalities to the companies themselves.

That's how you get foolish ideas like "Apple is a good company because they embrace paid service and Google is a bad company because they make money from surveillance." Apple will spy on you, too, if they can:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Disney and Fox weren't Romeo and Juliet, star-crossed lovers making goo-goo eyes at each other across the table at MPA meetings. They were two giant public companies, and any differences between them were irrelevancies and marketing myths:

https://locusmag.com/2021/07/cory-doctorow-tech-monopolies-and-the-insufficient-necessity-of-interoperability/

I think senior management's personalities do matter (see, for example, the destruction of Boeing after it was colonized by sociopaths from McDonnell Douglas), but the influence of those personalities is much less important than the constraints that competition and regulation impose on companies. In other words, an asshole can run a company that delivers good products at fair prices under ethical conditions – provided that failing to do so will cost more in lost business and fines than they stand to make by cheating:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/24/record-scratch/#autoenshittification

Microsoft is a company founded and run by colossal assholes. Bill Gates is a monster and he surrounded himself with monsters, and they hired monsters to fill out the courts of their corporate palaces:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/14/patch-tuesday/#fool-me-twice-we-dont-get-fooled-again

To the extent that good things come out of Microsoft – some of its games products, the odd piece of hardware, important papers from MSR – it's in spite of the leadership; it's the result of constraints imposed by competition and regulation – and that's why Microsoft pursued such an aggressive program of extinguishing its competitors and capturing its regulators.

In retrospect, I think one of my goals in that talk was to convince those people doing good work for a rotten institution to go elsewhere and do other things. Certainly, that's one of the goals I pursue in the talks I give today. At the time, some of Microsoft's highest-profile technologists were publicly resigning over the company's war on free/open source software, so it wasn't an unrealistic goal:

https://web.archive.org/web/20030214215639/http://synthesist.net/writing/onleavingms.html

What I did not expect what that publishing the talk on my site and blogging it on Boing Boing would spark a wave of public interest that would get its message in front of several orders of magnitude more people than I spoke to at Microsoft that day. Partly, that was because I released the talk into the public domain, using the brand-new Creative Commons Public Domain Declaration (which was later replaced with the CC0 mark, due to legal issues withBu its drafting):

https://web.archive.org/web/20100223035835/http://creativecommons.org/licenses/publicdomain/

Some mix of the content of the speech, the spirit of the moment, and the novelty of that wide open license sparked a ton of interest. Jason Kottke recorded an audio version that Andy Baio hosted:

https://kottke.org/04/06/cory-drm-talk

My brutalist ASCII transcript was quickly converted to beautiful HTML by Matt Haughey and Anil Dash:

https://web.archive.org/web/20040622235333/http://www.dashes.com/anil/stuff/doctorow-drm-ms.html

For people who needed a hardcopy, there was Patrick Berry's printer-friendly stylesheet:

https://patandkat.com/pat/weblog/mirror/cory-drm/doctorow-drm-ms.html

Multiple people recorded (and sold!) audio versions, and then there were all the fan translations, into Danish, French, Finnish, German, Hebrew, Hungarian, Italian, Japanese, Norwegian, Polish, Portuguese (both EU and Brazilian), Spanish and Swedish. I stayed in touch with some of those translators, and they helped me translate the position papers I wrote for UN WIPO meetings. Those papers were so effective that ratfuckers from the copyright lobby started to steal them and hide them in the UN toilets (!):

https://web.archive.org/web/20041119132831/https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/archives/002117.php

Re-reading the speech for my podcast on Sunday, I expected to be struck by the anachronisms in it, and there were a few of those to be sure. But far more clear was the common thread running from this talk to other talks I gave that took on a significant life of their own, like my 2011 "War On General Purpose Computing" talk for CCC:

https://memex.craphound.com/2012/01/10/lockdown-the-coming-war-on-general-purpose-computing/

And my work on Adversarial Interoperability:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

And my most recent work, on enshittification:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/27/an-audacious-plan-to-halt-the-internets-enshittification-and-throw-it-into-reverse/

In other words, I've been saying the same thing – in different ways – for more than 20 years. That could be depressing, but I actually found it uplifting. Two decades ago, I was radicalized by a fear that the internet would be seized by corporations and governments and transformed into a system of surveillance and control. I found my way into a job at EFF, where I worked with colleagues across multiple disciplines – coders, lawyers and activists – to fight this force.

At the time, this was a fringe cause. Most of the traditional activists I'd come up with in the feminist, antiwar, antiracist, environmental and labour movement viewed digital rights as a distraction and dismissed its partisans as sad, self-obsessed nerds who mistook fights over the management of Star Trek message boards for civil rights struggles:

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2010/10/04/small-change-malcolm-gladwell

I thought I was right then, and I think history has borne me out. The point of waging these fights – both in the wide public sphere and within political movements – is to get people activated before it's too late. Every day that goes by is a day when the internet becomes more inhospitable to political organizing for a better world – more surveillant, more controlling. I believed then – and believe today – that the internet isn't more important that the other fights I waged as a young activist, but I think that the internet is fundamental to those fights.

Saving the planet, smashing patriarchy, overthrowing tyranny and freeing labor are all fights that will be coordinated – Coase style – on the internet. Without a free, fair and open internet, those fights are infinitely harder to win.

The project of getting people to understand, care about, and fight for digital rights is a marathon, not a sprint. When I joined EFF, it was already 12 years old. There were six people in the org then (I was the seventh). Today, there's more than a hundred of us, and we're stretched so thin! The 30+ year old idea that internet policy will intersect with every part of every fight has been utterly vindicated.

Back in 2004, I asked Microsoft why they were willing to fight the US government to the death over antitrust enforcement, but were such wimps when confronted with the entertainment industry's demands for DRM. 20 years later, I think I know the answer: Microsoft understood that DRM would let them usurp the relationship between creative workers, entertainment industry companies, and audiences. Their perfect instincts for seeking out and capitalizing on opportunities to seize monopoly power drove them to make deliberately defective products, in the belief that their market power would let them cram those products down our throats:

https://memex.craphound.com/2004/01/27/protect-your-investment-buy-open/

Here's a link to the podcast episode:

https://craphound.com/news/2024/06/16/my-2004-microsoft-drm-talk/

And here's direct link to the MP3 (hosting courtesy of the Internet Archive; they'll host your stuff for free forever):

https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_470/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_470_-_My_2004_Microsoft_DRM_Talk.mp3

And here's the RSS feed for my podcast:

https://feeds.feedburner.com/doctorow_podcast

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/18/greetings-fellow-pirates/#arrrrrrrrrr