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daybreakrising · 2 months

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AN EYE FOR AN EYE - A VAUTRIN DRABBLE

i hope you guys are ready for 4,000 words of pure suffering-

CONTENT WARNING: as this focuses solely upon the crime he committed, there will be depictions of death and violence, mentions of blood and other grisly details (but nothing overly graphic!), and there will be references to carole's 'self-sacrifice' (again, in no great detail). if any of these things make you uncomfortable, either proceed with caution or give this one a skip entirely. your choice. (as anything potentially triggering is going to be under the cut and therefore requires your decision to view it, i won't automatically be tagging this post with content warnings - particularly as i've already given a warning above. but, if you need me to tag something, please just say the word and it'll be done!)

He has always been a man of resolve.

Once he sets his mind to something, he cannot be persuaded otherwise. There is no chance, however slim, to sway him from that which he has committed himself to. In the past this has been both a blessing and a curse – it has earned him praise and acknowledgment, situated him in a position of great privilege and respect, but it has also stripped him of his family, soured what were once fond memories and joyful hobbies. Tonight, he cannot tell which way the scales tip. Perhaps, he muses, it is an even balance of both.

It has been a long time coming, he thinks. Perhaps he has simply been doing this job for too long, but he has become increasingly disillusioned with the system he has stood for his entire adult life. He has grown weary of the injustice running rampant in the courts; embittered by the prejudices of the people around him. They will never learn, he tells himself, until they are given a lesson they cannot forget.

He had hoped – oh, he had hoped – that he would be proven wrong. That his endless pessimism, as Carole had called it, would be thwarted. That he had dared to dream at all is telling enough of her influence upon him. She gave him that hope, and it nearly died with her. But he is nothing if not resolute, and there is but one small spark of hope left within him. A singular light in the dark.

If there is anyone who could threaten his unshakeable resolve, it is the Iudex of Fontaine.

Already he can visualise the man's face as he looks down on him from his seat of power – a seat that represents justice – and the expression that will likely sit upon that striking visage. Stoic, unreadable, to the common eye, but he will know better. He will see so much more in those otherworldly eyes, in the slightest furrow of his brow. Will it be anger? Grief? Betrayal?

Disappointing Neuvillette is the price he must pay, and it is a heavy price indeed. His chest aches with the thought of losing his last remaining connection on this earth. He is not simply cutting the ties that bind them – he is burning them. There is no going back after this. They can never go back. It is a loss that sears him from the inside, a loss that melds with the grief still raw and agonising in his heart. He would go mad with it, were it not for the purpose he has still to serve. The purpose that puts one foot in front of the other, that carries him along his path even when the weight of everything he must do threatens to bury him.

The list of names sits within the inner pocket of his jacket, but it is merely for evidence – those names are burned upon his memory like a brand. Many of them are already familiar to him, subjects of interest in the increasing protests against Melusine cohabitation. He has personally arrested some of them before for disturbance of the peace, for vandalism, for threats of violence. Yet here they are, free to continue their crusade of hatred.

It has to end.

He finds the first exactly where he expects to: a quiet side street commonly used as a cut-through by drunkards staggering home after last orders. The man leans against the stonework, fumbling with the buttons of his breeches, predictably about to commit a minor offence that would likely earn him nothing more than a fine and a slap on the wrist. His muttered curses drift through the still and silent night as Vautrin approaches like a ghost. If the man hears the soft whisper as a blade is drawn from its sheath, he is too late to react – Vautrin's hand clamps over his vile mouth to quell the choked gasp of breath as steel punctures through cloth and flesh alike.

The man is tossed to the ground like the trash he belongs amongst. Dark eyes watch as a single hand gropes across the now slick pavement, reaching for – what? Help? Pitiful. There is no one to help him here. It only takes a firm nudge with the toe of his boot to roll the man onto his back, to force him to look at his assailant. Vautrin wants him to know who did this to him. He wants him to know why. But there is no recognition in eyes now wide with fear, and there is no time to enlighten this worthless bag of bones.

The tainted steel of his blade catches the glow of the streetlamp at the end of the street as he raises it a second time. There's no need to muffle his dying gasps this time. He no longer has the vocal cords to utter them. The captain crouches to watch the light leave those frantic eyes, to be certain of the end. He reaches into his pocket, withdraws the list so neatly folded within. A single swipe upon the page and a name is crossed out.

Then he stands, sheathes his blade. He still has work to do.

His second name is an equally easy target. Sprawled upon a bench, halfway to unconsciousness, it is almost an insult that he leaves himself so vulnerable. It disgusts him. These people – these people – are seen as fit to dictate who should be allowed to live peacefully in Fontaine's walls? Men who reek of sour alcohol, who foul in the streets, who stain humanity with their existence? Brutes and thugs who are free to live their lives when someone so pure and gentle had theirs cut so cruelly short? Where is the justice in that?

Something bursts deep within his chest, erupting with a fire that embraces him like an old friend. He remembers this feeling. He remembers the haze of red that clouded his vision, the primal instinct to rip and tear, to savage. At his sides, one hand balls into a fist; the other reaches for the faithful weapon at his hip. This one gets no opportunity to know who steers him to his end. The blade slices him from throat to groin before he can even open his eyes.

It isn't fair. The words ricochet around his head, stoke the flames in his heart. He conjures a vision of Carole's face, vibrant and full of life, laughing at something – him, no doubt, for she was forever teasing him. He hears her cheerful voice, chiding him for being so stubborn. But there is a second voice, underneath Carole's. A soft, musical voice. The voice of a child, because she would never be anything else.

'Don't be so stubborn, Vautrin!'

His chest tightens, squeezes the air from his lungs. His teeth grit together first in pain, and then in fury. No, it isn't fair. Nothing is fair. Not yet – but he will set things right. He knows this will work. This has to work. If there is to be any hope for Fontaine, it has to work. But in order for it to work, he must first finish what he has started. And so he soothes the flames down to a simmer and crosses another name from his list.

To find the next names, he must descend into the bowels of the Court. Not all who reside in the Fleuve Cendre are of the unsavoury kind, but they are outnumbered by those whose morals are somewhat to be desired. Life down here is never black and white, rather more of a murky grey. Under normal circumstances, the presence of a garde amidst the grime would be widespread news in mere moments. But these are not normal circumstances, and Vautrin knows how not to be seen. He did not rise to captain so young for nothing.

The irony of his situation does not escape him: that to right this wrong, he must become the very thing he has fought against all these years. That, too, is a price he must pay – but this one he pays willingly. He will tarnish his name, his reputation, everything he has stood for. He will strip away every scrap of the identity he has forged for himself. He will become the monster of this story. He will do it all, for her. For him.

Names three and four huddle together beneath the rusting struts of the ramshackle building Vautrin knows this group has been using for their meetings. Tendrils of smoke rise between the grates that make up the walkway that surrounds it, harsh laughter echoing as it bounces around the metal walls of this seedy underbelly. These two, he knows, are the watch. His eyes and ears within the undercity keep him well informed of the comings and goings from this particular den. He knows he only has to wait but a few minutes before opportunity walks his way.

Or shuffles, in this case.

The men part ways with a clap on the shoulder, each stalking in an opposite direction, casting their gazes subtly about them. There will be a signal, a code, that will alert each other to any threat and summon the other to their side. Vautrin knows these, too. He waits amongst the shadows as the shuffling steps inch closer, counts down slowly to ensure his timing is precise.

He cannot tell in the gloom if this is Three or Four, but it matters not. His blade will sink just as easily into either one of them.

And it does: he buries his sword to the hilt into the man's stomach in less time than it takes for the fool to acknowledge he is not alone in this dark corner. The man's mouth falls open, a groaning gurgle bubbling in this throat, threatening to escalate into something that could draw attention. Well, that won't do. He's not finished yet. There is an elegance to the way Vautrin shifts his weight to his back foot, whips his blade free and executes a perfect pirouette. There is nothing elegant about the way the man crumples to the floor, hands pawing at the new red smile of his throat.

As the man twitches at his feet, Vautrin lifts his fingers to his lips and gives a soft yet piercing whistle – two short breaths followed by one longer. Danger. The answering sound of rapidly approaching steps is music to his ears. He steps back amongst the shadows, blade angled behind him. There is little light down here to begin with, but the glint of steel is unmistakable, and he doesn't want to give away his position.

"What the-,"

The hulking shape looms over the corpse on the ground, posture tense, braced to fight. Vautrin sees him cast his gaze about frantically, seeking the source of such violence. Faced with this brutal assault, the man has a choice to make: sound the alarm, summon aid from those within the den, or tackle the problem alone. His broad and muscular figure is suggestive of a brawler, his attitude one of anger rather than fear. Vautrin knows that both Three and Four are former residents of the Meropide with colourful histories of bar fights and violent assaults.

He knows his targets. This man won't call for help. He believes he is untouchable. No doubt his friend thought that, too. There will be another lesson taught here in the Fleuve Cendre: no one is untouchable.

This one he carves into three. The first strike disables his right arm – both Three and Four, according to records, favour the right – and cuts deep into his side. The second opens up his guts. There is a pause before he delivers the third, a pause in which the man's eyes flicker with recognition and his expression twists into something caught between disbelief and horror.

"You… you're the one who worked with that Melusine-"

How dare you speak of her?!

The third strike slashes across the man's face, cleaves open his jaw and severs the tongue from his mouth. Fingers grasp the man's throat as he gasps and gurgles, drowning on his own blood. Fury burns in cold, dark eyes and venom drips from every word as he snarls into the man's face. "Her name was Carole."

He releases his grip, watches the brute sprawl uselessly atop his companion. He pauses in the silence that follows, listening for any sign that more might follow in his steps, but there is nothing. Scuffles are a frequent occurrence down here – the sounds of violence are as commonplace as the steady drip of water and the creaking and groaning of metal.

He crosses two more names from his list.

The air outside feels fresher when he emerges again from the undercity, though anything would seem a vast improvement after the damp, dank squalor that lurks beneath the beauty and splendour of the Court. It is, he muses, an apt reflection of Fontaine's people – beneath the pleasantries, beneath the finery, there is nothing but stink and grime. It is but a façade meant to disguise the filth inside. And he has found, over time, that those with the finest exteriors often harbour the vilest hearts.

His last two names are a prime example.

His path takes him now into old ground. Here, Fontaine's upper class can separate themselves from far more common folk. The houses here are grand, beautiful, reeking of wealth and privilege. The people behind these doors do not have to fight for scraps of food like they do in Fleuve Cendre. They don't have to work themselves to the bone to support their families. They do not have to worry about crime on these streets. They are safe, protected by the gardes that patrol their haven.

No one is safe. A lesson he himself learned long ago, back when he was counted amongst them. No one can escape the cruelty of people. He is living proof of that: his sister is not.

He knows these streets, remembers every shortcut and secret. He slips past the garden he once played in as a child and spares a fleeting thought for the older couple tucked up in their bed inside. Look, Mama. Look what your boy has become. Aren't you proud? He thinks of the shame that will consume them when the news hits the papers. Neither of them will take to the stage again, he is certain. Their names, alongside his, will be tainted forever. Good, a bitter voice hisses in the night, but he knows they do not deserve the storm that awaits them, for all their faults. They were not bad parents – not good ones either, but grieving ones. Perhaps, one day, he can find it in him to forgive them.

But now his target is ahead, and all thoughts of forgiveness are pushed from his mind. There is no forgiveness to be found here – only vengeance. Names One and Two, the instigators of injustice, the key figures responsible for Carole's self-sacrifice. The only names on his list who don't have criminal records, who are, to the untrained eye, model citizens of Fontaine. Mora can buy a great many things to those with a surplus of it – silence included.

He has thought a lot about how he would approach this last act. He debated putting on a performance, using his uniform and his name to get in the door - terribly sorry to disturb you, but there's been an incident in the area – but ultimately decided against it. If they recognised him too soon, it would complicate things. Risk upsetting everything. He couldn't chance it.

So, instead, he does what any monster would do: he breaks in.

During his experience as a garde, he has seen all sorts of things. He has apprehended pickpockets, thieves, scammers and murderers alike. In working those cases he has learned many things, too. And he has come prepared. It is surprisingly easy to muffle the noise of a window breaking if you know how, and easier still to reach through and unlatch the lock. But it is his experience upon the stage that aids him once he is inside – he has always been light of step, quick on his feet. His colleagues have always assumed it was learned on the job, but it was merely honed. Years of practice, day after day, under the critical gaze of his parents, have trained him to move like air.

It would be chilling to realise how easily one can infiltrate a seemingly safe and secure home, how easy it is to stand over sleeping bodies blissfully unaware of your presence, if he were observing this moment from the outside. Horrifying, in fact, to acknowledge how truly vulnerable a person is while they sleep, how much trust they put in the locks on their doors.

Were they anyone else, he might feel uncomfortable butchering them in their beds, but they do not deserve a fair chance. They gave up that right when they framed an innocent soul for murder simply because she was different. There is no hesitation in his heart as he quietly slides the sword from its sheath, now tacky with the congealing blood of the four others who came before. There is no hesitation in his hand as he stabs downward, again, and again, and again, until the white silks turn black with blood and Suavegothe jolts awake with a scream that pierces the silence like a klaxon.

Later, some unfortunate garde will be forced to count the wounds inflicted upon this noble lady of Fontaine. He will get to thirty before he cannot go on. His colleague will marvel at the strength and stamina required to stab someone thirty times and still go on to commit further atrocities. The newspapers will refer to it as a 'frenzy'. Others will claim that madness fuelled this savage attack.

Not madness, but rage. Rage, white hot and ferocious, that tore through him like wildfire at the sight of her sleeping face, peaceful and content, no trace of guilt for what she'd done. Rage that consumed his mind, conjured a red haze that descended over his vision. Rage that whispered in the back of his mind to make her pay, give her what she deserves, deliver her the rightful sentence for her crime.

An eye for an eye.

Thibert, far more sensible than the Fleuve Cendre thug, chose to flee rather than fight upon waking to find his partner being savaged by a demon in the night. Unfortunately for him, this would no sooner save him than fighting saved the thug. Vautrin followed his frantic, panicked scrambling with careful, measured steps, accompanied by the steady drip, drip of blood from the tip of his sword, leaving a gruesome breadcrumb trail that the gardes would soon follow to the horror left in his wake.

To his credit, despite his panic, the man managed to make it to the front door. Vautrin heard him scrabbling at the latch, felt the sudden draught of cold air rush in as the door swung open. But Thibert made the fatal mistake of hesitating, of looking behind him. He opened his mouth, sucked in breath to scream for help-

A wrong for a wrong.

-and was seized by a hand with an iron grip and dragged – sobbing and pleading – back into the gloom of the house.

He gazes down at the ruin he had created, chest heaving with every breath dragged through his lips, and exhales a long, slow sigh of relief. It was done. There were no more names to cross from the list once more tucked securely into his pocket. This part of his plan was complete – but there was still more yet to do. The evidence he had left at each scene should be enough to tie everything together, but he had to be sure.

He bends amidst the gore, swipes a hand through the spreading lake of blood slowly seeping into the rug. They'll never get that out. He straightens, turns to the expanse of wall above the hearth – the perfect blank canvas. The rage within him is subsiding, the flames reduced to embers, but it lingers long enough to guide his hand across the wallpaper. The fury that had given him the strength to do what was necessary has been sapped – he can feel the weariness creeping into his bones, his body aching with the effort. But he cannot rest yet.

Suavegothe's screams will have alerted someone. Violence may be commonplace in Fleuve Cendre, but here in the height of society, it is unheard of. Someone will have woken, called for the gardes. A patrol may have heard the screams themselves and raised the alarm. His time is limited.

He sinks into an armchair, rests a boot atop the savaged body on the rug. He lays his sword across his lap, withdraws a rag from another pocket. Reclining, he begins to slowly, methodically, clean the blood from his blade.

Now that his rage has burned cold, he has time to think, and he thinks of Neuvillette. He cannot imagine the shock, the horror, that the Iudex will feel upon learning of his crimes – and that will just be the beginning. A familiar ache settles in the captain's chest as he thinks about what he must do, of the worst betrayal that is yet to come. In the gloom of this house of horror, a choked sob breaks the silence.

He cares nothing for his name, his reputation. He can give up his freedom. He can brand himself a murderer, a monster, for all of history. A great cost, for sure, but a necessary one – one he knows will be worth it when his plan succeeds. He would give all of these things and more without question. But the one thing that pains him the most, the greatest price he must pay for Carole's dream, is losing the last person who means anything to him in this cursed, hateful world – for if Neuvillette can be seen to be undeniably impartial, for there to be no doubts about his position, for him to become the icon of justice in Fontaine, then he must sentence his best friend, in a public court, to a lifetime within metal walls.

And Vautrin must hate him for it.

His hand clutches at his chest as if to quell the ache within. He ought to compose himself – the gardes could be here any moment. Yet he allows himself this moment of weakness, this moment of truth, because he knows he has an act to play that cannot waver, not for a second. If he is to be believed, then he must hate Neuvillette with the same ferocity that he loves him.

So he weeps for the truth he understood too late. He weeps for the bond to be shattered and never repaired. He weeps for a future that will never be – of him, working at Neuvillette's side until retirement, of being his friend until his last breath. He weeps for the future that will be – of going to the grave knowing Neuvillette will never know the truth. And he weeps for the little sister that will never grow old, who set him on the path of justice to begin with. He weeps for the Melusine who wormed her way into his heart only to leave a gaping wound behind – whose voice he now hears, chiding him yet again:

'Come on, blockhead. It's not over yet!'

Then he gathers himself, wipes the tearstains from his cheeks. He summons that resolve once more, schools his features into that of a man who holds no regrets, who feels no guilt. And when the gardes at last arrive, they find him exactly as he is: reclined in an armchair, boot atop his last victim, methodically cleaning his blade beneath a statement painted in blood upon the wall:

HER NAME WAS CAROLE

And as they gape at him in horror, recognising both his uniform and his face, he utters four words – the same four words he left at each crime scene, painted in the blood of his victims.

"They had it coming."

#( personals DNI )#( 4036 words in total )#( honestly if you read this entire thing i applaud you. it was not meant to be this long- )#( GOD i am so EMOTIONAL over this man and his stupid unwavering loyalty )#( and the *parallels* i see with wrio are *insane* to me )#;here we go again i will not give in (headcanons; vautrin)#;here we go again i will not give in (about; vautrin)

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polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup · 1 year

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Fantastic chapter like always and absolutely adorable.

I love how you expand so much on the characters even the dead ones in this fic in a way that makes them so present in the narrative. The way this makes Frank just completely absorbed by his family constantly while still building them as real people independent to him is great. Just the little details about Maria this chapter and how they relate to Matt is absolutely fantastic

The situation between Peter and Frank needed to blow up spectacularly before getting resolved I should have known that something would actually blow up.

The way you showed the Spidey sense in action through Franks pov was really good it's my favorite Spidey power and really fun to see in action.

Poor Peter though. I hope that once the situation gets resolved he can have a good cry about everything ever.

Also I really want Tony to get punched in the face. Just a small punch! Just once! But Jesus Christ the way he handled this situation has been so bad for Peter I am so angry at him. I know he's dealing with something behind the scenes bit still he needs to think about the impact this all has on Peter it's so bleak and isolating

i simply love explosions and add them in to everything i can. they're the spice of life. do not have the police investigate me i am so so normal about fire

Maria Castle is alive in my head and I love her. the version that lives in my head simply loves Matt. He's the dumbass little brother she's always wanted. He enchants her with his poor decision making and emotional unavailability. When he comes over she insists on throwing herself in his arms and he twirls her around because it annoys frank and they're inherently both assholes. The Maria in my head will never be showcased unless i end up pushing my Castle Family Agenda in earnest, but I will reference her as she exists in my head in works where she's still dead. I love her your honor.

The reaction to tony in kintsugi continues to be hilarious to me because kintsugi partially exists because I didn't see this reaction post-CW. Like the reaction I saw was mostly hardcore Iron Dad and i just didn't really see or hear a lot of commentary about how he handled the time between CW and Homecoming. And in kintsugi I changed literally nothing about how Tony treated Peter in that time and people are soooo mad at him. It's kind of funny

#there definitely were people who also didn't like how tony handled the time between CW and homecoming i just never really saw them #like to be clear i don't think this response originated with kintsugi and op you may have felt this way pre kintsugi #it's just part of the thing that kicked off this fic was that i didn't like tony going radio silent after CW #and then getting a world best dad mug from the fandom after it #i'm so glad y'all agree #the tony stark thing was the one thing i took no creative liberties on it's just straight up canon #like it's far from intentional but that's the thing you've got a kid and you've got to think past that intention to how it may hurt them #like tony throughout homecoming just. didn't make a single decision with respect to peter i agreed with. not in the entire movie.#i walked out like 'wow i would sort of try to have this man arrested if peter was my child' which was NOT the fandom takeaway that i saw #i just saw like 900000 irondad fics applauding it #it was pretty bad child care all around #the first step of kintsugi #pottery shards verse #thank you for reading and coming to talk to me you are a delight as always and i am soooo grateful #your kinds words are always a joy #pottery shards is not abandoned i'm just enslaved to hyperfixation right now which is over in the tma side

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lxclerc · 10 months

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𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐢 ─ 𝐜𝐥𝟏𝟔

summary... in which karma finally bites you in the ass faceclaim... christina nadin pairing... charles leclerc x reader warning... none so far. petty charles and petty reader

note... i need everyone to pretend like all the text messages are in french. also no charles yet but lots of charles in the next part.

series masterlist main masterlist

part one → current part (part two) → part three

charles leclerc has never been on your podcast. it isn’t for the lack of trying per se but rather out of your own sheer stubbornness and need to protect your pride. chasing red, the motorsport podcast you’d built from the ground up, consists of you and your best friend emma. months ago, emma had emailed charles inviting him as a guest with emma alone as the host. it’s already unusual in itself considering you’re in every episode, but charles had replied to the email with a sort of snarkiness you aren’t used to but definitely not surprised to hear.

dear emma,

if y/n wants me as a guest then she can contact me herself. thank you. sincerely, charles

it had been short and to the point and you’d rolled your eyes when you read it. if charles wanted to be petty then you’re certainly not about to appear on his doorstep begging him to come on your show. charles seems to forget that he’s gotten his pettiness from you.

still, after that particularly irritating email, emma had been badgering you to explain what had happened. charles leclerc is the nice guy after all. who else would let ferrari fuck them over as much and still scream forza ferrari at the top of his lungs? according to emma, it’s simply impossible for charles to respond in such a way without some hidden history between the two of you.

and she wouldn’t be wrong but you’d been able to keep that under wraps pretty well. you’ve kept your past right where it belongs – in the past and in your opinion, there’s simply no need to dig up old bones. of course, up until now as you watched with furrowed brows as your name trended on twitter. it seems no matter how deep you bury old bones, it comes back and haunts you – or in your case, bites you in the ass.

“you dated him!” you winced at emma’s sharp tone. you already feel a headache coming in – you hadn’t expected to be shoved down memory lane at a random tuesday if you’re being completely honest and you’re definitely not in the right state of mind to be dealing with it.

“keep your voice down,” you say, putting your phone down and allowing yourself a sip of your coffee as you try to ignore emma’s incredulous looks.

“you dated him?” she says again, in a sarcastic whisper this time that made you roll your eyes. you hated her sometimes. you love her of course, but you really hate her sometimes.

and you hate whichever idiot got ahold of those photos. everyone seems to have so much to say but they can’t seem to comprehend that the charles and y/n in those photos aren’t the same charles and y/n now. you’re both grown now, no longer little kids fueled only with dreams and ambitions. now you’re fueled entirely by coffee and the will to not stalk his social media.

you’re over charles leclerc. you’re so over him that you spend all your time applauding yourself just how over him you are. of course, you’ve seen charles around after the break up. you both live in monaco after all. it’s impossible not to accidentally pass by each other walking to the grocery store or be at the same restaurant or the same party. you’ve seen him around the paddock multiple times but neither of you say anything. sometimes your eyes meet and the familiarity in each other is difficult to ignore but mostly, you just walk past each other as though you’re strangers, as if you hadn’t spent your childhood memorizing the patterns in his eyes.

you groaned at where your mind went. this is the last thing you want to be thinking – or talking – about at eight in the morning. you blame twitter and emma entirely for your predicament. it doesn’t help that you share an apartment with her too.

“no comment,” you say finally at her expectant face.

her little evil grin terrifies you as he picks up a stack of papers from the coffee table, placing it in front of you. “i’d suggest clearing the air between the two of you before thursday because you’re spending vegas with ferrari.”

you almost spit your coffee as you grabbed the paper and double checked. unfortunately, there it is in plain sight, your sponsor team right next to ferrari. the document contains your schedule for vegas as an F1 presenter. you’ve been lucky enough not to be assigned to ferrari since you’ve been assigned the job three months ago. but alas, all your bad karma seems to have finally caught up with you today as you read through your itinerary, the first words being an ice breaker game with carlos sainz and charles leclerc proceeding with a hot lap with one of the drivers on friday.

oh jesus christ, you’re screwed.

yourusername

liked by arthur_leclerc and others

yourusername vegas ready and sporting red for the weekend!

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emmauser very excited for the weekend

⤷ yourusername 🖕🏻

⤷ username emma what do you know

username god have answered all my prayers and forced y/n and charles to finally interact

username watching the childhood lovers to strangers, forced proximity trope in real time

⤷ username i am so invested actually

username her and charles are my roman empire

⤷ username they have consumed every nook and cranny of my feeble brain im afraid

username now what in the booktok is going on

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#formula 1 #f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #formula 1 one shot #charles leclerc fluff #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc x you #f1 one shot #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc smau #smau #social media #formula 1 smau

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leidensygdom · 6 months

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The ways in which being asexual feels isolating

I've been pondering whether to post this or not, but I figured out I wanted to explain a bit of this experience.

So, I could go on a very long tangent on how being asexual is usually a lonely experience, and how much I've been otherized here and there- Specially in real life. How the same people that claimed to be queer (or allies) had been much weirder about my asexuality than they were about me being bi/pan or whatever.

But I think I wanna talk about how something like that bleeds in every aspect of socializing, even down to something like fandom. I stay away from fandom usually- I like to look at cool fanart and that's about it. I hate discourse, I hate drama, I hate reading people getting worked up because they're treating fanon as canon. But there's one thing I've noticed, over and over, that just sends me off my rails.

And it's how fandom tends to treat asexuality (or aromanticism). So, you get a character in some piece of media that explicitly, unequivocally, states they're either ace, aro, or both. "I do not have interest in a partner", "I don't desire to have sex nor do I enjoy the topic", whatever. And as an ace person, I do appreciate being able to see myself in media- There isn't many chases where something is established that bluntly.

Now, you decide you want to check some fanart for that. Fandoms have this tendency to make absolutely everything about shipping, even when the media they're basing it in does not revolve about that (and it's annoying, because a lot of times people aren't interested in the actual themes- It's all reduced to shipping). Suddenly, you notice people treating the aforementioned character as anything but aro or ace. It's all about shipping. "This person interacted with this other person in a way two friends would, but we gotta make this their entire personality now". Some people may instead go for "well, maybe the character is not having sex, but they're probably an absolute freak about it, studies it extensively, has encyclopedic knowledge about it-"

Now, there's of course sex-favourable aces, and that's completely valid, but it's already straying from what, canonically, the character had mentioned. Asexual or aromantic characters aren't really allowed to exist as themselves. People often see them as a blank slate to fill, to change, to fix. I could talk forever about how people react to real life aces like that. I've had people asking me incredibly invasive questions because they saw my lack of sexual attraction as something broken, something they could fix.

And I hate that! I think I'm allowed to say that I hate that! It's hard and unusual for media to cement an aro/ace character, because they're defined by the lack of interest for something, which is often hard to show. But when it does- No one seems to care. It's all shipping, it's all "well, he's gay in denial", "well, she's probably super repressed". If you took a canonically gay character and made them straight on a fanfic, you'd get angry people. Which is bound to happen when you erase representation that people identify with. But aro/ace characters are NOT even seen as queer, they're not even seen as "representation" by most people. You can erase that bit of it, put some god awful shipping on top, and people will applaud you. And it sucks!

I wish people would see being aro or ace as an identity worth respecting, not an identity that needs overwriting. It feels a bit too close to how people often treat aro/aces irl, and it sucks. It reeks of this sort of exclusionism, where "aro/aces are technically queer but it's queer lite at best, it's less interesting than being gay, and we kinda don't want them near us anyhow". Again, I've had far worse experiences about being ace than I have about not being straight.

Sorry if the post got long, but I hope this experience may at least resonate with other people who have been struggling with this, too. It has always felt just kind of lonely to be ace, and see how little people do even consider it an identity, even when it comes down to something like fandom.

#lgbt #lgbtq #asexual #asexuality #aromantism #aro #ace #aroace #aromanticism #queer #long post

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honeylations · 7 months

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NAKAMURA KAZUHA x FEM!READER

PART TWO

Prompt: Still not being over your ex boyfriend (Choi Yeonjun), you thought it was a good idea to fake a relationship with Kazuha, aka a complete stranger, to make him jealous.

Warnings/Notes: small angst, fake dating to lovers, g!p Kazuha for spice, eventual smut for you horndogs

Link to part 1

A/N: RAHHHH FINALLY DID A PART TWO BECAUSE I WAS INDECISIVE OF HOW I WANTED THE STORY TO GO😭 this is like my 5th draft of Part Two💀

It’s been 2 weeks since you and Kazuha began the fake relationship and you were starting to feel a little too comfortable within the Japanese girl’s presence.

There were many things you were liking alot while being with her:

Seeing her smile

Her stupid jokes

Holding her hand

Having her arm around you

Walking you to your classes

The list can go on and on.

She went all out with your pretend dates and you found yourself staring at the photos you took together during your nights out. The warm feeling you had while with her was different than when you were with Yeonjun.

But it felt too good to be true.

Kazuha was only doing all this to help you. To protect you from Yeonjun. Right?

Wrong.

If you were a mess, Kazuha was an even bigger mess.

Every night she would pray that you’d open your eyes and realise that she was willing to do anything just for you to be officially her’s.

In Kazuha little mind, she believed you just needed protection from your ex. That you didn’t need Kazuha’s deep love. That this was only going to remain as a fantasy for the rest of her life.

But with the way your angelic laughed filled her ears, your soft hand perfectly fitting into her bigger ones, your beautiful smile…Kazuha was going to enjoy every moment while they lasted.

You were sitting next to each other as always at the lunch table with your friends, hearing more nonsense stories come out of Yunjin’s food filled mouth. You were leaning your head against Kazuha’s shoulder, playing with her fingers mindlessly as laughter continued to echo from your group.

It felt so right.

Like you had almost forgotten that it wasn’t real in the first place.

Then Yeonjun showed up again, seeming a little more timid than his usual approaches. Your table went silent upon his presence, clearly unhappy that he’s here yet again to possibly get your attention.

Kazuha’s arm instantly went around you, holding tight like you were going to disappear from her embrace.

“Hey calm down please everyone, I’m not here to try anything” Yeonjun quickly said when he saw all of your cold stares on him.

He continued. “I’m here to actually apologise. Especially towards you Y/n. I can see you’re really happy with Kazuha. She’s treating you in ways I wasn’t able to. I’m sorry for the mess I’ve caused recently, I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me someday”

Without letting you respond, Yeonjun bowed and took his leave silently, leaving your group stunned.

“Well it was about damn time he said something. We can all live in peace now” Chaeryeong sighed dramatically, applauding everyone as if it was a team effort.

“Good job on faking the entire thing guys! Really got him fooled. Such a shame though, you two make a really good couple” Yuna hummed and tilted her head towards you and Kazuha.

“Y-Yeah…We do don’t we..” You heard Kazuha mutter while retreating her arm away from you.

Your eyes darted all over the floor out of panic. Everything was ending too soon! You didn’t want this to end. You didn’t want to lose all the warmth and happiness.

“Hey…” A voice broke you out of it, seeing that it was Sakura grabbing your hand. “Are you okay?”

You took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. I’m good”

Sakura’s lips went into a thin line as she rubbed her thumb across your hand. “Don’t think about it Y/n. Just do it before it’s too late”

You looked at your friend with more worry, knowing that Sakura could read you easily like a book.

She knew you were in love with Kazuha but was too scared to do something about it.

As all your classes ended, Kazuha was kind enough to walk you back to your dorm, talking normally about your day and what you’ll be up to for the rest of the semester.

Then you both halted when you reached your door. Kazuha tucked her hands into her pockets while she looked at her feet like they were interesting.

“So…Is this it?” She asked with sadness.

You gulped away the choking feeling in your throat. “I-I guess…Thanks for everything Kazuha. You were a great pretend girlfriend”

Kazuha gave a half smile and nodded. “You were a perfect pretend girlfriend. Whoever gets you in the future is one lucky person”

“Same goes to you, Zu. Thanks for taking me home one last time”

“Of course. Anytime…”

The Japanese girl began slowly walking away, her feet feeling heavier with each step like she didn’t want to leave. She really didn’t. The thought of not having you by her side 24/7 was picking at her heart piece by piece.

Then the thought of you being in someone else’s arms snapped something in her head. She wanted you to be all her’s. She wanted to be the arms you fall into. She wanted to be the one you kiss and cuddle all the time.

She needed you to be her’s and her’s only.

Her feet stopped, catching your attention from the keys you were about to push into the lock. She made a U turn on the spot and sped walk back to you, grabbing your hands and pulling you close to her face that your lips were close to touching.

“Z-Zuha?” You gasped at the sudden movement.

Her eyes were filled with emotions you couldn’t decipher but her touch made your heart beat faster.

“Y/n. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me”

“What?”

“Tell me you don’t love me so I can have a peace of mind. Tell me you didn’t feel a thing throughout the two weeks we’ve been together” Kazuha said with determination, her chest rising and falling rapidly from the anxiety she was feeling.

“Kazuha…”

“I love you Y/n. We were two dates in and I felt pathetic that I fell in love with you so quickly, but to me it felt like I wasn’t allowed. I felt like you only saw this as an escape from Yeonjun. But please tell me Y/n, through the times we held hands, did you not feel some sort of chemistry between us?”

You stared up at her for a couple more seconds before tears escaped your eyes. Kazuha froze, thinking her words had affected you in the wrong way but she couldn’t rip out an apology before you leaned up and captured her lips as your arms hooked around her neck.

Kazuha’s eyes fluttered shut and her arms held you closely by the hips, relishing the warm feeling of your lips moving against hers.

She could bask in the warmth forever but you slowly pulled away, gaze flickering from her plump lips to her eyes.

“Kazuha I love you too. I didn’t want to pretend anymore. There’s no one else in this world I’d rather love than you”

The taller girl leaned her forehead against yours with eyes closed, sighing deeply with relief at your words. “Can you be mine Y/n? For real this time?”

“Yes Kazuha, I’d be honoured to be yours. For real this time” you giggled in response as pecked her lips.

“No more hiding?”

You snuggled your head into her chest, squishing your cheek against it that you could hear Kazuha’s heart beat. “No more hiding”

Just when you thought the day couldn’t get any better, you had led Kazuha into your dorm and to your bedroom where you were laying flat on your bed, legs spread, the space in between being occupied by your girlfriend’s mouth.

She was eating you out like she’s been starved. Her strong arms were tightly wrapped underneath your thighs, holding you in place while she switched between diving her tongue deeply into your entrance to sucking on your puffy clit.

“O-Oh Kazuha! Yes baby, right there!”

She hummed at your taste, not minding the thought of being in between your legs forever as long as your juices kept satisfying her thirst.

It felt so painfully good that you were too weak to push her head away. All you could do was pull at her hair, pushing her deeper into your wet cunt despite orgasm after orgasm.

And as good as it felt, you needed her deeper inside you. You needed her cock.

“Z-Zuha…Zuha please, want your cock baby” you sniffled, gasping for air once the girl finally pulled away to let you breathe.

“Aw but I was enjoying myself. Just want to eat your pussy forever” she gave a fuckboy type of smile with your juices literally coating her mouth and chin.

“Please baby. Want your cock and your cum” you begged, making Zuha wipe your tears away.

She leaned over and kissed your nose and the rest of your flushed face. “Okay, Princess”

You watched with awe as Kazuha removed her boxers, finally being fully naked as you, then spreading your legs wider so she could give you a view of her entering your needy cunt.

You already felt full with just the head in, clawing your sheets that they almost ripped but the feeling of familiar big hands on yours let you relax a little. You didn’t realise your eyes were shut tight until Kazuha called your name softly.

“Princess, are you okay?”

You sniffled and blinked away more tears. “H-Hurts. S-So big…”

Kazuha nuzzled her nose into your temple. “Shhh, I know baby, I’m sorry. Just a couple more seconds okay? If it still hurts, tell me and I’ll pull out”

You shook your head and ran your hands up her biceps to her back, rubbing up and down. “N-No. I can take it. Just please g-go slow”

“Of course, Princess. Anything you want”

“How are you being romantic while almost ripping me in half?” You huffed, feeling Kazuha chuckle against your cheek before kissing it.

“I’ll move now”

You shut your eyes again when your girlfriend slowly pulled out just so the tip was inside before going back in at the same pace.

You’ve had 6 inches inside you before and that hurt like a bitch. But with Kazuha, 8 inches could quite literally kill you if she wasn’t gentle.

As she kept moving, you found yourself moaning louder, wanting more, craving more. You dug your acrylics into her back, possibly drawing blood.

Kazuha’s breath was getting heavier, feeling her pant against your neck like a desperate puppy. “Princess, I love the way you feel around my cock. So tight and perfect”

“More..” you whispered, giving Kazuha’s back some rest so you could cup her jaw and pull her into a needy kiss.

Kazuha pushed her tongue inside, licking you all up and even sucking on it, earning louder moans and whines from you.

“More hm? Does it feel that good, my Princess?” She said in Japanese, causing your pussy to clench tighter.

Thanks to your online Japanese classes, you were actually able to understand your girlfriend’s words. It was so hot. Her voice sounded deeper and husky, how could you NOT get soaked?

Your moans were enough of an answer for the taller girl. With one hand on your waist and the other on the headboard, she let her animal brain go loose, fucking you crazy like she dreamt of.

The slapping noises bounced off the walls (and possibly the entire dorm) as you chanted your girlfriend’s name like a ritual. She was biting and licking at your neck, stamping as much hickies as she could, not willing to miss a spot so the world would know who you finally belonged to.

“Fuck baby. You’re all mine to love…to fuck…to kiss…All mine” she growled deeply.

“Oh fuck, Zuha I’m cumming! Don’t stop baby please please please!”

“Me too Princess. Let me cum inside”

Feeling too fucked out, you nodded your head as your eyes rolled back to your head, letting the intense orgasm hit you like a goddam truck.

“Fuck…oh fuck—ah Y/n baby!” Kazuha grunted loudly and gasped into your shoulder as she continued pounding into you.

Her pace eventually slowed down to a stop when she emptied every drop of her cum inside your cunt, groaning profanities, then sweet nothings into your sweaty temple.

After a split second, Kazuha rolled you both over so you laid on top of her, not caring that her semi hard cock was still deep inside you. You felt your mixed cum sliding out of your pussy and down Kazuha’s balls, possibly dripping onto your bedsheets.

You felt your girlfriend rub circles along your back, letting you catch your breath. “You okay?”

“More than okay” you chuckled, still panting.

“Just realised we did that raw. I’m sorry”

You lifted your head up and planted lazy kisses across your girlfriend’s face. “Don’t be. I love it raw”

“As much as I love the thought of getting you pregnant, we have yet to graduate” Kazuha pouted, letting you kiss it away.

“I know, don’t worry. I’m on the pill anyways”

“Oh ok good” Kazuha sighed with content.

She thought she could sleep and have a cute lovey dovey moment with you but you abruptly sat up and placed your hands on her shoulders, giving her a mischievous smirk.

“After all that fake dating, you think one round is enough?”

“Eh?”

“Oh don’t worry, baby. Just lay there and I’ll do all the work. You know, as a thank you for saving me from all those times” you winked and slowly lifted yourself up before sinking back down.

Kazuha instantly got hard, holding onto your waist for dear life.

“Goddamn it Princess. I’ll make sure you pass out from how good this cock is”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” You tilted your head, moaning in between as her length reached your womb.

You were definitely going to be missing your early morning lectures tomorrow.

#gxg #wlw #le sserafim x fem reader #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim #le sserafim smut #nakamura kazuha x fem reader #nakamura kazuha x reader #nakamura kazuha smut #nakamura kazuha

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vitaminkyeom · 9 months

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could i request a dk fic where the reader is a lresenter at an awards show and has to read out the winner for one of the daesangs ( like mama album of the year award where they won!) and how all of it goes down and stuff ( like the reader and dks relationships public knowledge so it makes jt even more fluffier!!)

PAIRING || Seokmin x Female Reader

GENRES || Fluff, Idol!Seokmin, Idol!Reader

WARNINGS || none

WORD COUNT || 0.6k

A/N || i'm so so sorry this took me so much time. but i really loved this idea tbh it was just so cute! i hope you like this fic. requests are open !!!

TAGLIST || @romeosbreastmilk @y00nzin0 @cecedrake2217 @candidupped @ashkuuuu @hanicore @alyssng @weebotakuboy @angelfeverdream @aaniag @sea-moon-star @thepoopdokyeomtouched @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @mnstxmnbb [if you want to be added to my taglist, fill in this form!]

[00:08]

“wait, what? don’t tell me-” seokmin gasped, staring at the stage with eyes wide open as you walked in with a bright smile, bowing and greeting the audience seated.

“didn’t you know?” seungkwan asked, to which seokmin shook his head in negative, mouth still hanging open in surprise. how come you had never told him this before? even yesterday when the two of you had talked before going to bed, you had not even mentioned it in passing when he had said that he hoped that they would win a daesang this time.

but now that seokmin thought more about yesterday’s conversation, he realised that you had said that you had a surprise for him. was this what you had meant?

“i didn’t. i didn’t know at all. ” he replied. “but y/n did say she had a surprise for me.”

you smiled at the crowd once more before greeting into the mic. “good evening, everyone. a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

seokmin smiled involuntarily, feeling his heart melt at the sweet way you were talking. then the he heard the scream, causing him to finally tear his eyes away from you and look at the screen. to his surprise, the camera had panned to him to capture his expression, and he felt his cheeks heat up.

“don’t make it so obvious.” minghao snickered beside him, causing him to elbow him lightly. but some of his members like soonyoung had begun pointing at him and then at you, before making hearts, causing the crowd to go more wild.

seokmin felt his heart burst out of embarrassment even more as he watched you too faltered at your speech a little, biting your lips so as to not smile too much.

“hey.” chan said, his eyes lighting up. “maybe the surprise was that the winners of album of the year-”

“and the award goes to…” you said, carefully opening the envelope. then your eyes crinkled as you smiled even more brightly, before leaning into the mic once again. “seventeen!”

the roar around him was almost deafening. he felt someone yank him up by an arm and pull him into a hug, as he tried processing what was happening around him.

they had won? they had won? but wasn’t he just staring at your face a few seconds ago-

the next thing he knew he was being pushed on to the stage with the entire group. he could feel people still applauding them and congratulating them from behind and he felt his heart swell with happiness.

they had won. after all these years of hard work, they had finally won a daesang.

as he approached you, he could feel himself getting giddier and giddier. you were beaming at him with such a proud smile, that seokmin felt like he was in heaven. he could not have been happier than ever. he had the best members, the best fans, he was doing what he loved and finally being rewarded for his hard work. and he had you.

you, who had tears in your eyes right now as you carefully handed the prize to jeonghan, before he indicated you to give it to seokmin instead. you, who loved him and cherished him so much.

and right now, the entire screaming of the crowd died down to nothing as all the lights dimmed around you, causing you to practically glow as you silently whispered a congratulations. seokmin felt his own eyes prick with tears a bit, being brought to reality only when his own members ‘ooh’-ed with the crowd when the two of your hands met.

as you bowed to the members one last time and made your way out, seokmin saw you secretly wave him a tiny goodbye.

turning back to the crowd, he let out a happy sigh. he had to thank you for your surprise later on.

#caratlibrary #seokmin x reader #lee seokmin x reader #lee dokyeom x reader #dokyeom x reader #dk x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #dk fluff #dokyeom fluff #lee dokyeom fluff #lee seokmin fluff #seokmin fluff #fics.#[00:08].#asks.

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macabr3-barbi3 · 2 months

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if it interests you, I’d love to see what you do with alastor/dog sinner reader. I think it could be a very interesting dynamic- anyway good work! :)

HI ANON SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG LOL

I ended up combining this with another request from Ao3: "please please please I'd love a rough/teasing/edging (with a lil hate to love twist) oneshot i bet it would be another amazing read owo" from liddlefangirl

Tags: edging, rough, hatesex(?), teasing, Alastor Does Not Like Dogs™️

AS ALWAYS an extra large and mushy thank you to @fraugwinska for being a lovely hype-woman and my Alastor dialogue mentor 🥰

Things were bound to come to a head between you and Alastor eventually- the nature of your Sinner form had guaranteed that when it manifested you with features similar to a dog, the floppy ears of a Beagle drooping off the sides of your head and a sensitive nose to match.

Charlie had apparently seen no issue with allowing a dog- a hunting dog of all things- in the confined spaces of the Hotel with the deer demon, and his discontent with the situation struck fiercely and often, out of Charlie’s sight, usually in the form of a wayward tentacle tripping you down the stairs or some kind of Eldritch magic moving doors and hallways around so you ended up hopelessly lost and unable to find your room.

Alastor himself avoided you like the plague, only interacting with you when absolutely necessary and with his cane held in front of him like a barrier, like he thought you would attack him unprovoked- even though it was him doing the antagonizing, constantly fucking with you, and the one time you had asked him about it?

“You are quite welcome to leave at any time if the nature of the Hotel is not to your liking!”

The bastard. And even though it wasn’t like you, even though you were at the Hotel for redemption and everything and things like petty revenge should have been beneath you while you tried to improve yourself, you couldn’t resist pushing back a little.

You knew he had some sort of trauma with dogs from his death, so you weren’t trying to actually terrorize the man. You just didn’t let his bullshit get to you anymore- if he tripped you down the stairs you stopped sending a death glare over your shoulder at him, just standing up, dusting yourself off, and suppressing your limp until you were out of sight; when you found yourself in a twisting corridor that you knew hadn’t been there before, you simply picked the closest door and entered it like that was where you had meant to go the entire time. When he took the doors away entirely and just dropped you into an endless hallway with no entrance or exit, you plopped yourself down on the floor and took a book from your pocket to read until the lights went back to normal and the doors returned, indicating his departure.

You even played up some of the more canine aspects of your personality just for his benefit; you scratched at your ears whenever he entered a room; you sometimes barked or howled instead of applauding during some of Charlie’s meetings; you teased Husk incessantly, sometimes playfully ‘chasing’ him around the bar before Alastor left the area, always sure to apologize afterwards and make sure the avian cat knew that you didn’t mean any real harm, that you were just fucking with Alastor a bit.

But as with any war, sometimes there’s a line that shouldn’t be crossed from either side.

You’re walking carefully through the kitchen with a couple buckets of water for Niffty when you spot the shadow snaking out of the corner, and you’re not quick enough to sidestep it this time. You land hard on the floor, covered in hot soapy water, and when you see Alastor watching you from the doorway with that fucking smirk on his face and lowered lashes something in you snaps- the harsh bark of anger that rumbles from your throat is entirely genuine, as is the fear that seems to flash in his eyes before his smile grows cruel and he snaps his fingers.

There’s a muzzle around your face, the straps of it far too tight and digging into your skin before you can even get a chance to try and tear it off, and the yip of pain that escapes you hurts your sensitive ears combined with the laugh track that comes out of Alastor’s microphone.

“Ahh, isn’t that a sight? Muzzled at last, as every wretched mutt should be.” Apparently the sight of the muzzle makes him brave- he steps closer, reveling in being above you. “You know, in my time the strays weren’t even allowed indoors- how kind of Charlie to open the doors of the Hotel to you and the infestation of fleas that you’ve no doubt brought with you.”

In lieu of a verbal response, you take advantage of his proximity and swipe at his ankles with your foot- his shadows don’t have time to react and catch him before he’s on the ground beside you, caught in an awkward crouch as he tries to flee before he’s fully landed. You snarl at him, sharp teeth bared behind the wire of the muzzle, still able to be seen and heard even if you can’t use them on him as you pounce, tackling him flat to the wet floor.

Whether it's the shock of the move or something else, you’ll never understand why he doesn’t call on his shadows to assist. Instead, he lunges back, flipping your positions around, water splashing and scattering as the two of you essentially wrestle on the floor, harsh words and snapping teeth as you both try to bow the other into submission. He manages to get the upper hand, pinning you to the floor by your wrists, both your breathing heavy, sweat lining your brow, growling low in your throat while you try to wriggle out from under him. “Take the muzzle off,” you say.

“So you can bite me? I think not.”

“Take. The fucking muzzle. Off.” You stay locked in a dead stare, and when he doesn’t make any move to get off of you or reach for the straps of the contraption on your head you try once again to twist loose, managing to get your feet up under you to try and buck him off with your hips like some kind of wild horse. It accomplishes two things, neither of them what you wanted to happen.

First, you become aware of a dampness to your panties that is not just a result of your tumble across the wet floor; the fight-or-flight instinct combined with the adrenaline of the impromptu fight on the floor, ending with you pinned under a strong, powerful (sexy, even if he’s an ass) demon, means that your body has completely misconstrued what was happening here.

The second is that Alastor becomes aware of that the same moment that you do.

His eyes light up with malicious interest. “How interesting,” he murmurs, taking in the light tremble of your body, the likely dilation of your pupils and how hard you’re breathing. “Not just a feral mutt but a bitch in heat as well it would seem!”

Shame warms you from the inside out, burning in tandem with the arousal making itself known with the flush of your skin. “Fuck you,” you hiss through your teeth, but it’s weak, needy rather than demanding like you intend it to be. “Just- get off me, let me up-”

You continue to try to get out from under Alastor, attempting to buck your hips again to dislodge him. Quick as a whip there’s a tentacle wrapped around your wrist when he lets it go to dig his fingers into the skin of your hips, keeping you bowed nearly in a bridge. Your legs tremble from the strain of the position, and when Alastor presses his own hips down to meet yours you can’t help the cut off moan that escapes you at the feeling of his heavy erection pressing against your core.

“Get off? Are you quite sure?” He grinds against you, making you whimper when the drag of his cock through his slacks rubs under your skirt, against where you’re wet and sensitive. “You know, the one good thing about dogs is that they can be trained; by either rewarding them with a treat, or by whipping them into submission… perhaps there’s a mutually beneficial arrangement that can be made for us, depending on your preference on the matter."

“I’m not making a fucking deal with you,” you mutter, turning away from him, and a new tentacle slips around the other side of you to grab at your wrist so Alastor can release that one as well, using his now free hand to twist your face to meet his eyes over the cage of the muzzle.

“Who said anything about a deal? It’s a proposal- we can continue as we have been until you inevitably aggravate me to the point that I rip you apart, Charlie’s opinions on the matter be damned.” He lets go of your face to trail his hand down your throat, squeezing softly before continuing a path down your body to rest on your other hip, dragging your body up against his and properly slotting one of his thighs between your legs. “Or you can be a good dog and let me be the master with a firm hand that you seem to so desperately need to straighten your... flaws out, and make you at least bearable to have around my Hotel.”

When you hesitate, he taps the bars around your mouth. “I’ll even take the muzzle off at the end,” he says, “permitted that you prove to me that you can behave .”

And it shouldn’t be hot, the way that he says that; like you’re some unruly fleabag that needs to be fucked to act properly, like you were the one causing problems instead of just reacting to the ones he was creating. But the pressure of his leg against your sensitive clit, even through both of your layers of clothing, is sinfully delicious, and you can’t help but wonder what exactly Alastor as a ‘master’ would entail.

You force your muscles to relax, going slack against the Radio Demon, and he smiles wide and dangerous as he lowers your back down to the puddle of cooling water beneath you, still clinging to the faint lemony scent of the cleaner that Niffty uses. “Good girl,” he says quietly, and the praise floods your brain like a drug. “Obedience is a treasured trait in a pet, don’t you think? Even in one that’s a brazen tart- the slightest hint that I’ll touch you and you acquiesce so easily, how lovely.”

He releases his grip on your hip to reach up and rub your ear between his fingers; the action makes you whimper in your throat, the soft skin there thin and sensitive as he pays attention to it, slowly stroking while the thumb of his other hand rubs arcs across your stomach where your shirt had ridden up in the tumble across the floor. His touch sends shivers through your body, a perceptible tremor that he sees and delights in in his wild grin is anything to go by. “Go on,” he encourages, his fingers not ceasing their movements. “Tell me you’ll be obedient. Tell me you’ll be good for me.”

You grit your teeth behind the muzzle and nod as well as you can with his hand on your ear. Saying it out loud felt like a step too far, would feel like losing something to him.

Both hands tighten their grip, the prick of claws against your skin forcing a gasp from your lips. “Even young puppies can follow a basic command,” he mocks, and the hand on your hip shifts to dip below your waistband, his fingers quickly finding the slick heat of your cunt and rubbing teasingly along your entrance. “Come on now, don’t you want a treat? Speak.”

“Fuck you- yes, I’ll be fucking good,” you mutter, and he tuts in disapproval, pressing hard against your clit before starting to retreat. “Wait, no-”

“I won’t repeat myself again,” he says lowly, hand poised to exit your panties, possibly to leave you soaked and wanting on the kitchen floor as he disappears into the shadows.

You glare at him, even as the words bubble from your throat in desperation, wanting his dexterous fingers on your pussy again. “Yes, I’ll be good for you.”

His grin sharpens. “Lovely. And I am a man of my word…” His fingers return to your folds with a fierce vengeance, his thumb swiping hard against your clit as one of his thin, strong fingers dips inside, followed swiftly by another as they press against the sweet bundle of nerves inside you and stroke the soft skin there with unerring accuracy and pressure. The action makes your body tense, a rush of heat through your entire being as he rockets you towards a swift and sloppy orgasm with little more than a couple fingers and his hand rubbing the skin of your ears.

His gaze is fire as he looks down at you, the weight of his erection still straining his pants where it rests against your thigh as he crouches above you. “Who could have guessed it would be so easy to get you to listen to me? Why, had I known you were such a desperate harlot I may have taken your metaphorical leash in hand a bit sooner if that was all it took!”

You can’t respond as the pleasure builds in your body, shaking and whining in your throat as your orgasm builds, fingers inside you never ceasing in their movements as your walls clench around them. You won’t give him the satisfaction of crying out, biting your lip behind the muzzle to suppress the sound as well as you can; you’re helpless to the force of your release as it grows, cresting, and-

Alastor pulls away, his fingers pulling out of your fluttering hole, the slick of your arousal trailing out along with it before he brings his hand to his mouth. You can see the hint of his tongue darting between the digits as he cleans them, oblivious- or uncaring- of your incredulous stare at your ruined orgasm, so close you could fucking taste it before he ripped you back from the edge.

“What the fuck, Alastor?”

“I can’t have you making a mess already,” he says, your pussy clenching around nothing as he sucks on his fingers as if in thought. “Wouldn’t that be a shame?”

“‘A shame’ is not letting me fucking finish,” you snarl at him, his grip on your ear preventing you from being able to turn away, tentacles still keeping you restrained so that you can’t finish the job your goddamn self. “Get off me, I’ll fucking do it-”

“I have no need for a naughty pet, you know,” he murmurs quietly, and the tone of his voice makes you freeze in your half-hearted struggles to get free. “Perhaps if you can learn to ask for what you want instead of simply expecting me to give it to you we might get somewhere! What do you say, my dear?”

You start to nod by default before remembering his earlier command- speak. If you wanted to cum it would be best to do as he asks. “Yes,” you say, and he tears your panties from your body and positions his fingers. “Please,” you add on a moan when he delves back into your wet heat, repositioning so that he can grind his erection against the soft skin of your thigh again.

“Let’s see if you can do this correctly this time,” he muses. “Be sure to use your words, darling- tell me when you’re about to finish.”

And he’s back to the task at hand, pistoning his fingers in and out of your drenched cunt with unerring precision, stroking that spot inside of you that made your breath come quicker and your body start to tense again. Too soon you can feel the orgasm creeping back up on you, tears budding in your eyes as the pleasure and the pressure becomes too much, too fast. You’re tempted- so tempted- to ignore his demand, to just race towards completion and damn the consequences if you could cum before he realized it was happening and stopped again. Then you think about the way he had called you “good girl” earlier and despite how much you hate him and this situation, you want that again.

You crave the praise, the rush of endorphins and pleasure that it sent racing through your head. It’s the thought of this that has you choking out, “c-close,” when the edge gets a little too near; instead of pulling off entirely, Alastor merely slows, brings down the intensity of his actions enough that you can breathe, the wave of ecstasy fading before it can crash.

“So you are a quick learner,” he says, something like pride in his voice, and he finally releases his grip on your ear; the disappointed whimper that escapes you at this doesn’t go unnoticed as he trails his hand down your body, cupping your breast while his fingers continue to pump slowly, too lazily to bring that buzz back to your limbs. “There might be hope for you yet. Shall we go again?”

And again.

You lose track of how many times he does this- bringing you right to the brink, waiting for you to vocalize how close you are before he stops, repositions, and starts over. You’ve nearly cum on his fingers, tongue, and a tentacle that slithered up between your bodies, your words failing you the longer he denies you- he eases up on your shadowy restraints enough that you can reach up to grab at his clothing or hands once your voice seems to stop working, nothing coming out but a litany of moans and whines with no words attached to them. He reads your sounds like the words of a book, knowing exactly when to stop to leave you the most frustrated. His eyes rarely leave your face unless its to look down at whatever appendage he’s fucking you with, his cock still constrained within his slacks, hot and hard where he ruts against you when he can.

This time, when he lets you come back from the edge, his fingers drop to pull at his belt, the metal clink of the fastening loud in the kitchen as he pulls himself free, prick flushed a deep red and the slick sheen of precum beading at the tip, stroking down the shaft with a hiss. His smile is strained, a faint tremor to his expression and limbs from holding out on his own pleasure for so long. “Is this what you want?” He asks, low and dangerous, rubbing the head of his cock against your folds, the evidence of how many times you’ve almost cum dripping from your core to the drying floor.

You nod, barely able to speak, to do much more than cling to him for dear life and jerk your head up and down in the affirmative.

He cocks his head to one side, an eyebrow arched even as he presses forward with his hips, the tip of him a blazing heat where he rests against you. “You can do better than that,” he says, “or has all our training been for nothing? Beg.”

“Please,” you whisper, your voice a broken, raspy thing in your throat, and he purrs in satisfaction, bucking his hips as he uses a hand to bring a leg up around his hip.

“Please what, dear?” Alastor takes his hand off his cock now, an experimental thrust against you sinking the tip of him inside you, the stretch of it burning in the most delicious way even with how long he had been preparing you. Even he stops to take a moment, a low hiss escaping his lips at how tight you are around him. “Go on- no more edging, this is the last time, and you’ve done so well thus far. Such a well behaved mutt, aren’t you? Tell me what you want.”

And even with the barbed insult in there, the pleasure of his words zips through your body like a bolt of lightning, the floodgates of your voice open and overrun. “Please, please, Alastor,” you whine, and with every word he presses harder into you, spearing you on his length with every cry from your mouth. “God, please, fuck me- please, I- let me cum, I need it, please-”

Alastor finally bottoms out inside you, the heavy weight of his balls slapping against your ass as he grips your hips with an almost possessive ferocity. “Good girl,” he growls, leaning forward to lick and suck at the delicate skin of your throat. It should be frightening, his sharp teeth so close to your jugular, but all you can think about is how fucking perfectly he’s stretching you, the harsh bolts of pleasure that spark through your body and make your head fuzzy as he pulls back only far enough to slam back in, hitting that spot inside that he had been teasing with his fingers and tongue for however long it had been now. “We might make a proper pet of you yet, darling- fuck, you feel too perfect.”

It’s the first time he’s vocalized his own pleasure the entire time, the first bit of praise meant for how your body makes him feel and not just how well you can follow orders. It swims through your brain like the buzz of whiskey, another wave of arousal crashing through you and reflecting in the gush of wetness where you’re connected with Alastor. The feeling of it makes him curse again, eyes glowing black and red as he pulls back and watches you, your mouth open and panting behind the wire cage of the muzzle. You can feel the faint ache of the marks he’s left on your skin, where his teeth had nipped and drawn traces of blood that pool in the soapy water below you. His body snaps sharply each time he thrusts into you, chasing his own orgasm through your body as you cling to him, unintelligible sounds that only seem to spur him on as they fall from your lips.

Another orgasm builds, one that Alastor has promised to actually give to you, and the ‘training’ has been effective enough thus far that your mouth is open before you can consciously think about it. “Close, c-close, please, Alastor- gonna cum, please let me, I’ll be good, fuck-”

“Do it,” he demands, a hand releasing your hip to brush over your swollen clit, sensitive and sore but fuck it still feels good, gives an edge to the need that has you clenching hard around Alastor’s length. “You’ve earned it, so well behaved for me- for me alone, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, yes- please please please, fuck, I-”

The ability to speak leaves you with a well timed and well angled thrust as Alastor fucks into you, fingers rubbing at the sensitive nerves at the apex of your thighs at the same moment; the world beyond the fluttering of your cunt around Alastor’s cock shatters and dissolves into nothingness. You just barely register his own harsh grunts and a couple pulses of white-hot heat inside you before he pulls out, the rest of his cum dripping onto the bare skin of your pussy and combining with the mess you’ve made from your own release.

Slowly the feeling returns to your limbs, everything in your lower body still faintly clenching and twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm, having been kept at the edge for what felt like hours before you were permitted to take the final leap. When you finally open your eyes, Alastor is still knelt between your thighs- he uses a couple of fingers to scoop the mess of his cum from your skin and push it back inside, the feeling of it making you shiver. Once he’s satisfied, he rubs his thumbs in small circles against the skin of your inner thighs, and it takes a moment to realize what he’s doing.

“Are you fucking- that’s not lotion, asshole,” you say weakly, head falling back against the floor, and he merely chuckles and continues to smear the remnants of his release against your flesh.

He stops, tucking his soft cock back into his pants and doing his buttons back up. “I thought ‘marking one’s territory’ was a dog behavior- one would think you would be flattered! Though I suppose you can always wash it off- you do shower, yes?”

You kick weakly at him, not too irritated when he steps away. You fix your skirt, pulling it down over the evidence of your afternoon. “Fuck off, yes I shower,” you mutter, trying to rise to standing and glaring at your shaky legs when they won’t comply. “Trust me, first chance I get I’m going to- hey!”

Alastor pulls you to standing with his hands under your arms, the motion sending you careening into his chest. He stares down at you for a moment, his hand reaching up to cup the back of your neck, fingers carding softly through your hair. Your pulse stutters and increases as he leans in- was he going to kiss you?- and your eyes clench shut, waiting…

There’s a clink of metal, the straps of the muzzle loosening at last and letting the cage fall from your face, landing neatly in the grasp of a nearby shadow. “I did promise to take the muzzle off if you could behave,” he murmurs. “And you’ve shown me you can- well done.” He steps away then, the muzzle vanishing with a snap and the wrinkles in his clothing straightening out. “I should be off! I put off quite a bit of work for our… training,” he says with a smirk, and you feel the blush light up your face. “Do come see me if you think you can handle more- there’s always more treats to be had for a good pet.” He drops a hand to the top of your head, pats a couple times like one might to a real dog, and fades into shadows just as Niffty appears in the doorway of the kitchen.

She wrinkles her nose. “Phew, it smells like wet dog in here! Did you spill my water? You better not let Alastor find out, I don’t think he likes you very much!“

“Don’t worry, Niff- I need to have a word with him soon anyway,” you mutter. “Let me help you clean this up…”

She fetches the mops, leaving you alone in the kitchen to wonder exactly how open Alastor’s offer to come see him for another ‘session’ was. Judging from the laughter you can almost hear echoing from the shadows at your furious blush when Niffty returns and notices a spot on the floor where Alastor's cum had dripped out of you onto the tiles, you'd say the next time couldn't come fast enough.

#hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor #x reader #alastor the radio demon #hazbin alastor #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #ily frau <3 #hazbin hotel x reader #my stuff <3 #requests <3

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zeroreasonstocare · 3 months

Text

Dad’s Best Friend

Cont: dad’s best friend!Nanami x (ADULT)fem!reader, protected sex (yay Nanami!), cunnilingus (kinda), mentions of aftercare, mentions of daddy issues (real), Nanami calls you princess most of the time, praise kink

Word count: 1300 exactly (I’m cool like that)

Masterlist

A/n: this was half written in my notes app?? And reader still lives with her dad, but he’s rarely around because of work. Happy birthday Nanami!! Likes and reblogs are appreciated! <3 ignore any grammar mistakes, they’re not real.

〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎ ❀ 〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎

Thinking about how Nanami, your dad’s best friend, who has known you only around 6 years, but is always there for you. When you break up with a partner or make the Honor Roll at school, he’s always there to hold you close when you cry or to applaud you in the audience. How he was there more than his best friend, your own father, was for you your entire life in just a few years.

You may not admit it, but he was your first love, you think he’s your soulmate. No one else gets you like Kento. Especially when it comes to the things you like. He can read you like an open book. He wants to know all of you like the back of his hand, but fears you don’t feel the same way. You know him more than your dad does, since he offers to hang out with you while your dad works long hours through the week. You two have gotten to know each other a lot.

So it makes sense when one day, you had just broken up with your boyfriend of a year because he cheated on you, Kento let’s you cry in his arms, whispering soft “I’ve got you”’s and “don’t stress over dumb boys who can’t keep it in their pants”’s. You look up at him with the latter comment and wipe a couple of tears from your face.

“I hate men who do that…” you whisper, voice shaking from crying.

“Those boys aren’t men, men know how to treat women right,” he whispers back, giving you a loving look as he wipes your tears for you.

You can’t help but feel a twinge of desire at his words and look up at him.

“What does that make you?” You ask. Kento pauses for a few seconds and lifts you off his lap so he can stand.

“How about I show you what a man is supposed to be like?” He whispers, taking your hand and leading you to your room. You can feel the desire warming both of your bodies as you willingly follow him. “On the bed, baby,” he whispers, shutting your door gently as you slowly crawl onto your own bed. He sits down and sits you on his lap, gently caressing your body.

“I want to know you more than I know myself, not just your thoughts and personality, but your body too,” he whispers, looking at you for your consent. You swallow hard at his words, nodding and silently begging for him to do something. He gently grabs your face and kisses you, letting you melt into his touch and kiss before gently pulling away.

“Was that too weird?”

You laugh a little, blushing profusely at his genuine question. “No, Kento. Not too weird,” you giggle, smiling genuinely.

“Good. Because I plan to make you forget about that little cheating brat you called a boyfriend for a year,” he says before gently pulling you into a more passionate kiss.

Your tongues clash and you moan into the older male’s mouth, his hands tangling into your hair. He grunts and hums into your mouth, hands never staying still, moving from your hair to your body, meeting every desire you’ve had for him and he’s secretly had for you.

“Can’t get enough of you, dear,” he mumbles into your ear and grinds you against him. You gasp as his hips tilt just right against your skirt, rubbing your clit so sweetly.

“Kento, god, that feels good…”

“Good, princess, want you to feel good. I’m not being too greedy, am I?”

“No, not at all. Want more, actually,” you whisper against his lips.

He grins and starts to undress you and you help, lifting your hips when he pulls off your skirt.

“So pretty, princess, let’s not tell your father, yeah?” He smiles and plants kisses on the exposed skin of your neck and collarbone.

You gasp softly and lightly scratch at his back, helping undress himself and watching as he lays you back. He gives you a look, double checking that you want this. You nod and spread your legs, and he places his head between your thighs, lightly kissing as he slowly pulls off your panties.

You let out a soft hum as he starts to lap at your wet cunt, your arousal on his tongue making him groan against your clit.

“Kento, that feels good,” you whisper and card your fingers through his hair.

He hums in response and makes sure that you’re wet enough down there then reluctantly unlatches himself from your needy clit and hole. He unbuckles his pants and pulls off his pants and boxers in a clean swoop, searching for a condom and carefully putting it on, your eyes watching his every move, seeming a little too eager.

“You excited, princess?” He smiles and feels up your sides with his free hand while the other grinds the rubber against your soaked cunt for a makeshift lube.

You hum in agreement and nod. “You have no idea, I’ve always found you attractive, Kento.”

“Same goes for you, princess.”

He slowly slides himself in, pausing every few seconds to let you adjust to his size and to feel you stretch around him.

“You’re doing good, princess. I’m almost fully in.” He kisses your neck gently and traces your nipples to get you to loosen up a bit. You feel him bottom out inside you and let out a groan against your neck.

“God, Kento, you’re amazing.” You moan softly into his ear.

“Haven’t even got to the fun part and you’re praising me, princess?”

He smiles and slowly pulls his hips back almost all the way, then pushes back in, angling his hips to hit just right and make you moan out.

“There we are, princess, you’re doing so good for me,” he whispers, the praise making you a little dizzy as he continues to slowly thrust and graze just right against your g-spot.

Your relationship with your dad is a little rocky, so hearing praise and validation from his best friend makes you even more pliant under the blonde’s touch.

“I can take more now.” You moan softly into his ear and grasp at his shoulders as Nanami picks up the pace.

He constantly hits just right against your g-spot and brings you close to your orgasm really fast. He feels you tightening up and laughs through a moan.

“Close, princess?”

“Mhm, please, Kento, I need it…”

“Who am I to deny my girl?”

His girl. You are his girl. The words push you over the edge and you whine out his name in a sharp gasp as your orgasm crashes over you, more intense than any you’ve had with your shitty ex. You almost forgot that he was the reason you got to fuck Nanami.

Your thoughts get interrupted by the overstimulation that follows after you come down from your high, Nanami drilling himself a bit faster and chasing his own orgasm, whispering breathy praises to you as you whine and claw at his back.

“I know it’s a lot, princess, I just- fuck, I need to cum too. You’re doing so good for me, princess, just hold on- fuck- yeah, just scratch at my back, I’m- fuuck…” he groans and stills his hips as he cums into the rubber condom wrapped around his now-softening dick.

He slowly pulls out and removes the condom, laying next to you and holding you close.

“We need to clean ourselves up, princess,” he mumbles and kisses your forehead.

You groan and bury into him. “Five more minutesss…”

He chuckles and rubs your back, his free hand running through your hair as he whispers sweet praises and compliments to you.

“Fine, five more minutes…”

#nanami smut #kento smut #nanami kento smut #kento nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento #kento nanami #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut

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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 2 years

Note

Is there any chance we could have a round up of the Circus? I am so lost on how the dominoes fell over the last 40 days

Okay this is not comprehensive, because (a) my husband the politics nerd is currently on his way to a gig in west Wales somewhere and so cannot chime in and also (b) all our political journalist friends are understandably quite busy right now doing political journaling, but I seem to have an influx of new followers who are also very confused and don't understand what's going on, so I shall try.

Alright so what we're seeing here is the Second Clownfall of 2022, the hotly anticipated sequel to the Adventures of Big Dog the Clown. However it revolves around the character of Liz Truss, and will use some terminology, so

Previous Reading

Important Terminology - Required Reading

What is a Whip?

How do Whips work?

Shadow Cabinet

Front Benchers, Back Benchers and the Cabinet

What do we need to call an early General Election?

The Adventures of Big Dog the Clown - Suggested Reading

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Elanor's Guide to Liz Truss - Suggested Reading

Character-based prequel

...okay I think that's everything. On with the show!

The Premiership of Liz Truss (2022-2022)

Week One

We begin our tale on September 5th, 2022. Coincidentally, that was also the date that I personally started my new job. Let's see which of us does better!

The Daily Mail is delighted, and runs a headline proclaiming "Cometh the hour, cometh the woman". Tory rag in a frock coat the Financial Times runs an op-ed:

So the results ARE IN! She will definitely fuck us up! But that's a good thing for vague reasons! Blitz spirit everyone. Tally ho, pip pip, shoot a servant and have sex with a wall, hey what. Good old Blighty.

(That's my best impression of Tories I'm good at their accents I hope you like it)

Truss does an interview with Laura Kuenssberg, and fellow guest and comedian Joe Lycett wildly and effusively applauds her every word. Even Liz realises no one would sincerely applaud her. Bafflingly, the entire right wing press and every member of the Tory party freak out about this, because they don't understand the function of a satirist and don't know how to defend against it. It is extremely funny. Joe Lycett announces he's a right-wing comedian now, and begins a new extended career bit effusively and sarcastically praising right wing politicians. They all cry extensively and call him mean.

SO, it's been a long hard leadership campaign! But she made it. For years, Tories have been blighted by the curse of the PM/Chancellor relationship, backstabbing and cheating and lying about each other to try and get power. But not our Liz, oh no; her Chancellor is Maths Mate and BFF Kwasi Kwarteng, an insipid and poisonous gnome known for three (3) things:

He once wrote a stupid book with Liz Truss about his stupid opinions on how he thinks economics work and everyone laughed at him and stuffed him in a locker

On the night of the Brexit vote he was overheard by a journalist gleefully saying “Who cares if sterling crashes? It will come back up again“ which are of course the words of a man who knows all about economics and how they work

This fucking bullshit back in July:

But hey IT'S OKAY! Everything is fine! Because Liz and Kwasi are BFFs who certainly never had an affair and are marching in lockstep and have each other's backs and both love maths more than their own children if they had any! Maths Friends!

Multiple resignations immediately follow.

Among them is Ben Elliot, the Tory Party chair, which is a pretty big deal from a man who just lived through the Johnson years; also, shockingly, Priti Patel, the deportation-happy Home Secretary, decides that even as an animatronic goblin she cannot support this nonsense.

It's not a resignation per se, but at ten to seven in the evening it's announced that Andrew Bridgen, the Troy MP for Leicestershire North West, has been evicted from his home and ordered to pay £800,000 in legal costs, and a possible £244,000 in rent arrears. Also described as "dishonest" by a judge.

This is not directly relevant to Liz Truss but look, it was a staggeringly weird day and this was basically the topper.

Anyway.

Liz goes to the Palace and is duly sworn in by the Queen, who promptly keels over and dies the very next day. Parliament is instantly shut down for mandatory mourning. As omens go, this one was not subtle.

This triggers the circulation of some very awkward footage of Young Truss talking about how she thinks the Monarchy should be abolished for being a gross relic of horrifying social stratification. However you must understand that it's not awkward because anyone thinks she murdered the Queen. It's because Liz Truss's attempts at public speaking are like sitting through a children's Christmas play when you're the only person in the audience and they can all see your face so you have to look encouraging for four hours when inside you are shrivelling into something approximating an apricot pit travelling to the core of Jupiter.

Take a look at her acceptance speech and wither.

Anyway we're now several MPs and a queen down so she's got to get on replacing those so she can focus on her real love: the much-anticipated mini-budget that she is preparing with Kwasi to save the UK from the harrowing quagmire of crippling poverty that Big Dog managed to drive us into (all while pretending it wasn't Big Dog who did it.)

Fortunately, she does not need to replace the queen! Monarchies take care of themselves, which many people would argue is very much the problem, of course. They had a proper reunion with Meghan From Suits and Meghan From Suits' husband, both of whom were banned from visiting Balmoral, and also the Nonce flew in, who was allowed to visit Balmoral. Such heartwarming scenes.

But the Cabinet, that's another matter. That's something Liz DOES have to do, and it's important she gets it right, Tumblrs, because you see, every time a Cabinet minister is replaced it's expensive and a hassle and it weakens a government by making them look all crumbly, like a packet of biscuits that's been rammed against a wall and now someone is opening it and everyone is bracing for Crumbs.

So, step forward to the Cabinet soulless ghoul Suella Braverman, the new Home Secretary. She immediately distinguishes herself by trying to legalise torture.

And then, naturally,

YEAH THAT'S RIGHT IT'S TICK TOCK TERF O'CLOCK also FUCK the sovereignty of the Scottish Parliament amirite ladies lol Girl Power uwu

Not that she can actually do anything at this point, of course. As I say: Enforced Mourning is in process, which means Parliament is shut down for ten days. No work, no speeches, no appearances, no announcements, just taxpayer's money going on legal fees to see if she can interfere with another nation's elected government in order to strip away the human rights of queer people.

However, while we all weep over the corpse of Queen Lizzie Two and beat our breasts in grief, the already-beleaguered pound is slowly bleeding out through this inaction. And this, to the Maths Mates, is unacceptable.

Two things get quietly slid into the news cycle.

Thing the First:

BIG YIKES LADS

Thing the Second:

Fracking ban in England lifted in bid to boost UK gas supply - BBC News

For those who don't know, fracking is an energy extraction process. Water, gas and dust are pumped at high pressure into shale bedrock to crack it open, releasing pockets of natural gas that can then be harvested for fuel. It's environmentally disastrous for multiple reasons, both direct (earthquakes, groundwater pollution, social impacts) and indirect (IT'S STILL A FOSSIL FUEL YOU STUPID CUNTS ARE YOUR SKULLS FUCKING EMPTY). The Welsh and Scottish governments have both banned it outright, a straight-up "Foot down no, petal". England, though, is the Tory paradise, so the ban was less complete.

However, this is still a Huge Deal - the 2019 Tory manifesto was very clear that fracking would only be unbanned IF "the science shows categorically that it can be done safely". In fact, most Tories don't like it either. Their constituents REALLY don't. Also in March Kwasi Kwarteng literally went on record and said it wouldn't lower European gas prices anyway; but not anymore! Now he thinks it's a zippy idea. Just spiffing. Top hole, pip pip (I'm so good at their accents :))

Scientists who have been studying the environmental impacts of fracking produce their report -

And it is quietly buried, so as not to offend the corpse of Lizzie Two.

Here ends the first four days of the Reign of Liz Truss.

Second Week

Anyway, royalists have gone insane and started a REALLY BIG queue to see a box that supposedly contains the rotting cadaver of the old queen. Multiple people have to be hospitalised because they join the Queue and don't take food, water, warm clothes, or essential daily medications with them, even though the Queue is literally days long. Some die. Many take the ashes of their own loved ones so they can wave them at the box for the thirty seconds they get to be in front of it, like a sort of play date for ashes.

Prince Charles, now King Prince Charles, starts swanning about as King, demanding everyone be sad for him and clap him to cheer him up. Someone holds up a sign saying 'Not my King' and gets arrested. This triggers a whole wave of protests and arrests as free speech slides out the window, until the Met Police chief has to step in and explain to the police like they're five-year-olds that they can't do that, actually, and need to cut that shit out.

But we can't wholly blame the police, because the main pressure to clamp down on protestors actually came from...

The government.

Meanwhile the country goes bat shit fucking insane. In order not to offend the fragile sensibilities of royalists, now so brittle they need to be treated with the same delicate touch normally reserved for unstable nitroglycerin, the UK sees supermarkets lowering the volume of self-serve checkout desks, people's funerals cancelled, vital operations and other medical interventions postponed, Centre Parcs cancelling holidays, FOOD BANKS CLOSING, Nintendo Direct cancelling its live stream in Britain (but not cancelling the release of the recording onto You Tube an hour later because as we all know Queen Elizabeth II was a MASSIVE livestream fan and would have been DEVASTATED to miss it but she was very 'meh' about YouTube), cycle racks being closed, and this unhinged shrieking harridan:

Very normal, lads. Very normal.

Oh and also they cancelled Owain Glyndwr Day so as a Welsh person I am now legally allowed to forcibly ram a daffodil into the urethras of the landed English gentry.

However, the protests grow as the suppression wanes. By the time King Prince Charles comes to Wales, he is met with silent protests, this guy who learned a sentence in Welsh specially for the occasion, and a petition to abolish the Prince of Wales title.

Except government is still shut down, so the petitions are all suspended.

But not to worry! That gives the Maths Mates more time to work on their special mini-budget.

Week Three

More of the same at first, really, but she finally addresses the nation to announce that the Queen was the "rock" on which "modern Britain was built".

Also someone finally spots that the necklace she always wears is a day collar, so that was fun.

BUT THEN

The moment we have all been waiting for, with baited breath.

On the 23rd September, 2022, the mini-budget finally arrives. The golden egg of Kwasi and Liz, their beloved, beautiful child, the crowning glory, the culmination of their economic beliefs and values. They are so proud of it, so sure of it, that they do not even submit it for the approval of the Office for Budget Responsibility. Why should they? This is the moment Kwarteng can finally show the world that he was right; that this is the way to do economics after all; that he alone in his brilliance and genius has reinvented the field and will lead the country to a new era of riches and prosperity.

And the pound does this:

Yikes.

Truss goes into hiding for a day and a half, during which time her aids claim all her relatives have died so she won't have to speak to the press, which is obviously a simply fantastic quality in a Prime Minister. Finally, she resurfaces by doing a series of radio interviews for regional stations around the UK, hoping they'll be easier on her, starting with Radio Leeds. The good journalists of Yorkshire eviscerate her and strew her corpse through Adel Woods. It's downhill from there.

Week Four

One poll puts Labour 33 points ahead of the Tories.

It can be a little difficult to translate polls, because the electoral system is complex, so I asked my journalist friends. They cheerfully informed me that, if translated into a General Election, the Tories would have just 3 seats left.

Except! Of course, naturally, that is me reporting naught but the most extreme result, Tumblrs, dancing upon the bones of my enemies as I chant the rites to make the Tory party die faster. If I were to be fair about this - and I am, of course, a journalist of Integrity and Morals - I would actually give the average poll result. And I am wise and fair to all, ancient rites aside, so I shall.

The average poll result is still 19 points ahead.

Tony Blair's landslide Labour victory in 1999 was 12 points.

Rounding off the day, Labour declare that they are backing a change to a proportional representation voting system in place of the UK’s archaic first past the post system. Funny that.

Anyway, that mini-budget is going poorly. Realising unlimited borrowing rather than tax cuts for the rich is maybe Bad Actually, the Maths Mates decide to get the money for their bail-outs some other way. Can you guess, Tumblrs? Can you guess where they decide to get the money from?

Naturally.

Week Five

In a fascinating little twist, the papers claim Liz banned King Prince Charles from going to the Climate Summit in Egypt. This is interesting for about a billion reasons, not least of which is that the papers seem very angry about this and yet also that it's an unsubstantiated rumour - the phrase "it's understood that _" gets a hell of a workout.

She then does not go herself. Makes sense. They'll probably be mean to her about the fracking.

She then loses the support of the Daily Mail, a paper that five weeks before were ecstatic about her rise to power :( so sad. But why? What made them change their minds?

Well. What else from Truss, but a massive and catastrophic u-turn on the economy?

And she does! The absolute nutter!

Plans to cut the 45p tax rate for those earning upwards of £150,000 were abandoned, as were:

abolishing the planned rise in corporation tax

cutting the basic rate of income tax

the two-year energy bill support plan

scrapping the planned dividend tax hike

VAT-free shopping for international tourists

freezing alcohol duty

easing of IR25 rules for the self-employed

ALL GONE! All gone. The mini-budget is not working so lol jk we'll think of something else, that's how government works, right? The pound promptly implodes further. Of all people, Nadine Dorries is the one to criticise

WE ARE IN A TOPSY TURVEY UPSIDE DOWN WORLD

The Daily Mail still finds a way to say it's all Michael Gove's fault, though.

Anyway, the 5th October dawns bright and beautiful and YouGov polls rural voters:

THIS IS HUUUUUUUUUGE, because farmers just will not fucking stop voting Tory, AND YET. Wowsers. Not just popularity. Voting intention. She might as well have personally infected every farm in the South Downs with foot and mouth disease.

Truss realises her popularity is plummeting and she needs a new audience. She tries to appear down with the kids and declares that she's the only PM to have gone to a comprehensive school.

This is not true. Gordon Brown and Theresa May both did. However, it's certainly true that all three of them became PM by ousting a sitting PM, so there's that I guess.

Week Six

At this point I can start putting in PRECISE DATEs just call ME Robert Peston.

13th October

News reporters start speculating that she'll be done by the end of the month as the first rumoured letter of no confidence reaches us. People realise that her competition for shortest serving PM was a guy who died in office of TB at about the four month mark RIP king sorry about your lungs.

(A reminder - normally, if MPs want to oust a party leader, they must send in 54 letters of no confidence. This makes the 1922 Committee - a bunch of back benchers who preside over this shit - hold a vote of no confidence. A leader who loses gives way - this is very rare. A leader who wins is then immune to another such vote for 12 months, but they almost always crumble within a month or two anyway - this is much more common.)

This is extremely funny, because a newly-elected leader of the party has a 12 month immunity to votes of no confidence, same as people who've won such a vote. Likes charge reblogs cast apparently. MPs are getting desperate.

Pressure mounts. Chancellor Kwasi Kwarteng announces that he is "Not going anywhere."

14th October

Chancellor Kwasi Kwarteng is sacked and blamed for the entire economic mess.

Incredibly, Liz does this without first planning a replacement, so it's several hours before Jeremy Cunt suddenly reappears like the spectre at the fucking feast.

Meanwhile here's Ed Milliband on Twitter

Seven and a half years he waited to retweet that. Seven and a half long years, look, to have the last laugh.

In the end, he still went too soon.

15th October

Deputy PM and also Health Minister Therese Coffey (side note - have they always doubled up in roles like that? Or are there just not enough of them anymore?) announces that she loves antibiotic resistance and dead kids and also breaking laws:

16th October

The Sunday Times calls for Extremely Corrupt Former Grand Vizier Rishi Sunak to take over, and then a General Election so that Labour can take the reins.

The SUNDAY TIMES

Calling for LABOUR

The Sunday Mail tries to stir up support for Ben Wallace taking over, because no one has heard of Ben Wallace so he needs the boost, but then accidentally publish their front page with a different man

In another YouGov poll for the Times, not a single political group, age group, area of the country, gender, or other demographic said that Liz Truss was the right choice for PM

This is the new predicted election graph:

Yikes

17th October

The projected election results are a Labour victory so complete the opposition would be the SNP. Legend suggests Nicola Sturgeon's cackle on finding out was so powerful she accidentally resurrected a witchfinder.

18th October

Meanwhile in the Senedd, Welsh Tory leader Andrew RT Davies, a sort of humanoid boil dressed in ham, tries to accuse placid and gentle First Minister for Wales Mark Drakeford's Labour of being responsible for long ambulance waiting times.

T'was a mistake.

youtube

19th October

Oh boy.

Well, first of all, Suella Braverman sends an official email from her private email address, and then promptly leaves the Cabinet at cannonball speeds as though she's seen a brown child about to be given citizenship. Was she quietly fired by Jeremy Cunt? Did she do it deliberately to resign? On her way out, she blames the true source of our problems - the Guardian-reading, tofu-eating Wokerati.

Nigella Lawson spends the day tweeting tofu recipes.

Meanwhile, Graham Brady, the Chair of the 1922 Committee, comes to Liz Truss to inform her that he has in fact now received 54 letters of no confidence. Normally, of course, that would be considered enough to trigger a vote in her leadership; but not now.

However, these are unprecedented times. So he changes the threshold - if half of the Tories send him letters, her immunity will be revoked.

But the thing is, Tumblrs, the thing is...

It is all about to kick off in the most spectacular and catastrophic fireworks since Guy Fawkes had a dream.

Because Ed Milliband, once accused of leading the country to chaos and now riding high on the joy of his well-timed Twitter jab of Some Days Ago, wakes this morning and chooses violence.

He has spotted, of course, that no one likes fracking; even the Tories are against it.

He has also spotted that Liz Truss is very stupid.

So he goes into the House of Commons, and he digs a big pit and covers it over with twigs and leaves so it can't be seen, and he bakes a big cake and he places it in the middle of the twigs, and he sets up a net to fall as well and a big stick of ACME dynamite, and he hammers in little signs everywhere saying CAUTION - TRAP, by which I am of course being metaphorical because what he actually does is table a motion to extend the moratorium on fracking. The signs aren't necessary, really. This trap is easy to avoid.

All Liz Truss has to do, you see, is not use a three-line whip on this vote.

The three-line whip, as you'll all recall, is the highest level of coercion. MPs cannot defy a three-line whip. MPs cannot even abstain on a three-line whip. MPs have two choices on a three-line whip: to vote as they're told, or to be removed from the party. You obey or resign. That's all.

For this reason, it's sometimes called a 'confidence vote', as it is effectively a stand-in for one. The vote is not about the issue at hand - this is now a vote of confidence in your leader.

(He's also laid lesser traps. Years back when fracking was first being heavily discussed, Ed was Labour leader and one of the main figures in those discussions. During today, before it all Kicks The Fuck Off, a Tory stands and challenges him on previous statements about fracking, trying to accuse him of hypocrisy.

He was fucking ready for it.)

Graham Brady pops his head back around the door. He's changed his mind - a third of the party is all that's needed now to trigger a vote of no confidence in Liz Truss. And legend says he's only 17 off.

This is presumably the reason for what comes next.

Liz panics. Liz sees she's desperately unpopular. Liz sees that she has to do something to shore up support; and she sees that her important fracking rule, which her party hates her for, is now being challenged by a former Labour leader, and if he wins (which he will) she'll lose all credibility and maybe they'll take her nice office away and tell her she was a Bad Girl.

And so, with the inevitability of gravity on the now-leaden pound sterling, she makes it a three-line whip, and a confidence vote in her government.

INSTANT CHAOS.

There is uproar! There is rage! There is blinding fury! Tory MPs are standing up in the Commons and snarling and pissing and moaning! No one likes fracking except Jacob Rees Mogg! For TWO HOURS they shriek and scream and gnash their teeth, yelling at Liz Truss, demanding to know why this is happening.

(Legend has it chaos-deity Ed Milliband simply leaned back, put his feet up on the chair in front, and made Christian Wakeford hand-feed him grapes and fan him with a palm leaf, but this is unsubstantiated.)

And then, at 6.55, FIVE MINUTES before voting is ready to begin, the Tory Minister for Climate Graham Stewart stands up and declares that everyone should vote how they want because it's not a confidence vote.

Did I say there was chaos before?

Lol. Lmao, even. Rofl, in fact.

Now Tories leap to their feet and basically all scream one long, unending breath of WHAT-DO-YOU-MEAN-IT'S-NOT-A-CONFIDENCE-VOTE-WHAT-THE-FUCK-IS-HAPPENING-IS-IT-OR-IS-IT-NOT-A-CONFIDENCE-VOTE and so Stewart gets up again and says, right to everyone's faces, "It's not for me to say whether it's a confidence vote or not," which is an even faster and more spectacular u-turn than Truss herself could pull off given that he literally just said it wasn't and did so while being a minister.

And then the voting starts. MPs are now milling about like chickens who've sighted the hawk, clamouring to know if they're going to lose their jobs unless they vote for Satan. The Whips - specifically Chief Whip Wendy Morton and Deputy Chief Whip Craig Whittaker - descend upon them like fucking wargs on the hunt. They don't just spit vitriol and blackmail into MPs ears. They fucking bodily drag people into the right voting lobby. MPs are legitimately screaming. Grown men are crying literal tears. Labour's Chris Bryant reports holding multiple Tory MPs as they sob into his shoulder. Multiple MPs report similar scenes.

And Tories still don't know if this is even a damn confidence vote, or if they should just knock the Chief Whip's teeth out.

And then the Whips, filled with bloodlust and frenzy, suddenly realise that NO ONE IS LISTENING TO US, YOU'RE ALL SUPPOSED TO LISTEN TO US SO WE FEEL POWERFUL -

Cue sudden meeting in a locked room with Liz Truss. For over HALF AN HOUR.

So is it a confidence vote? No one is sure. Deputy PM Therese Coffey thinks so, so in the absence of the Whips she decides physical assault is her job now and is seen by David Linden MP (SNP) physically carrying someone into the voting lobby. Jacob Rees Mogg thinks not and starts yelling "It's not a confidence vote!", to which his colleagues reply, "Fuck off." Meanwhile the Whips have possibly resigned, no one is sure. It is still uncertain if this was a confidence vote.

And Ed Milliband basks in the chaos, playing the fiddle while it all burns around him.

Finally, voting concludes. The Whips reappear to lurk.

The votes are in - the government wins, and fracking will go ahead. But.

32 MPs abstained.

And one of those is Liz Truss.

Which is WILD??!? What possible benefit could she get from that??? No one knows. Everything is uproar again. Guess who else abstained? Well, riveted reader, here's a list with important names highlighted:

Nigel Adams, Gareth Bacon, Siobhan Baillie, Greg Clark, Sir Geoffrey Cox, Tracey Crouch, David Davis, Dame Caroline Dinenage, Nadine Dorries, Philip Dunne, Mark Fletcher, Vicky Ford, Paul Holmes, Alister Jack, Boris Johnson, Gillian Keegan, Kwasi Kwarteng, Robert Largan, Pauline Latham, Mark Logan, Theresa May, Priti Patel, Mark Pawsey, Angela Richardson, Andrew Rosindell, Bob Seely, Alok Sharma, Chris Skidmore, Henry Smith, Ben Wallace, Sir John Whittingdale, and William Wragg.

Kwasi still smarting about that p45, I see.

In any case it then turns out that Liz DID vote, but incompetently, because her voting card didn't read properly, which is actually fair given that she was being screamed at by angry Whips waving Graham Stewart's severed dick and balls around while they demanded power and authority. While she's clearing that up, the press are understandably waiting open-mouthed for comment, but don't worry Liz! Your old pal Jacob Rees Mogg is here to fill in for you!

And thus it is that JRM willingly chooses to go on the live news and calmly confirm to the nation that no one knows if it was a confidence vote or not.

Chaos. Chaos again. Unbridled chaos. The Whips are furious. Everyone is furious. The rebels are now in limbo, unsure if they're now out of a job. Tories are weeping, trying to work out if Rees Mogg WANTS to sink the party. Back bencher Charles Walker MP delivers a frank interview to the press absolutely SHIVERING with rage, like the drummer in a Fleetwood Mac concert. Ex-Lib Dem leader Tim Farron, a bland man known only for the time he himself willingly chose to go on the news and calmly explain that he's a homophobe without provocation, tweets that Liz Truss is a Lib Dem sleeper agent they sent in to destroy the Tories, sparking what is likely to be a whole slew of conspiracy theories by next week. No one knows what is going on. They all decide to sleep on it.

The good folks at Wikipedia ultimately decide to make three separate pages for the UK 2022 government crisis, and to label them with the month "to leave room for another by the end of the year."

Ed Milliband skips all the way home, and treats himself to a bacon sandwich.

20th October

Okay, Liz thinks, the morning after. Okay. Last night was bad. But today will be better.

So first... the vote.

Because there's bad news for Tories who like money and good news for people who like liveable planets - there are problems with the vote. For one, the vote counts are being called into question. Are the results reliable?

For another, the Speaker of the House of Commons calls for an investigation into the reports of, um, assault. So will the result stand?

It's so unclear! And so is that ongoing issue of whether or not the damn thing was a confidence vote. Angry whips say YES, JRM says NO, Downing Street refuses to pick up the phone to the BBC, but does send ITV's Robert Peston a text at 1am to say it was definitely a confidence vote and, unrelatedly, the Whips aren't resigning :)

I think we have found the price paid to keep the Whips.

Meanwhile. Let's see what this has done for Liz's leadership stability!

13 letters of no confidence are confirmed submitted by Sky, 5 of which came in overnight. The 1922 Committee reconvenes the coven to discuss matters. Simultaneously, the One Nation Conservatives reconvene their coven to discuss the same. Presumably there is much "Girl what are YOU doing at the Devil's Sacrament?"-ing and "Same cloak, how embarrassing"-ing. MPs are CLAMOURING for her head. It is VICIOUS. It's like cartoon piranhas in a supervillain's lair; which is highly appropriate, because that's exactly what Tory MPs are.

Graham Brady, head jester of the 1922 Committee, demands to see Liz Truss.

He walks into a room with her, and the doors are closed. Half an hour later, he walks back out of the room.

Ten minutes later, she calls a press conference.

45 days after being appointed, Liz Truss breaks the record, and becomes the shortest-serving British Prime Minister.

#politik #the second clownfall of 2022

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neptunes-sol-angel · 9 months

Text

Pick the picture(s) that you're drawn to the most, then scroll for their corresponding message about what your soul tribe will love about you.

Paid Readings | Patreon | Tip Jar

Pile One

The traits that your soul tribe will love the most about you, are the aspects of yourself that people may have told you were "too big". You could be reduced to someone who's "very dramatic" or overly sensitive, but I'm seeing that in the eyes of your soul tribe, you're very adorable and witty. Emotionally, they're going to make sure that you're taken seriously, by being there for you when you need comfort and support for the things that you worry or are upset about, while still offering balance in this relationship by not infantilizing you. What's really sticking out to me is that that they're not going to be annoyed by you being happy. I know that sounds weird, but to break this down a bit, you could generally be someone who has a lot to offer, enchantingly attractive, but with no control over who it is that you're attracting. You could have experienced a lot of people that may have tried to dim your light by being pestered by your humanely traits like being excited for something, being social and knowing how to communicate, getting compliments on your appearance and talents, and maybe even just breathing (I'm not kidding, people are weird like that) but your soul tribe will be the backbone in the kind of support that you need around you, they're not going to be intimidated or jealous by your vibrant personality and the attention that you get in life, they're going to celebrate you and genuinely treat you like you're someone they want to be around. They'll always be there to help you win and applaud you for what you achieve, but they'll also love you enough to hold you accountable for things or to assist in unpacking conflicts whether it be external or internally. It will feel like a real family, where this isn't any anxiety, and that interacting with each other is like this flow of peaceful and orderly harmony. You won't have to hide from them at all.

Pile Two

Your soul tribe will tremendously appreciate your fierceness. I'm not talking about loving your grit, assertiveness, and darkness when it benefits them, they will love you whole as you are because the key theme in the foundation and lesson of your relationship is duplexity. You have the gift of helping people find their way back out of rock bottom both physically and mentally. Your insight is something fresh and unique that they don't get from anyone else, and it's usually always the missing piece that helps shift their entire mood and focus in an ironically positive way, no matter how how screwed up things may look for them. They love how you have their back and in return you'll finally have people who will reciprocate that instead of getting scared and ditching you when things are rough or when they can't gain anything from your hurdles. They'll love your humor and how you inspire them to have more confidence to not let people walk over them. Interchangeably, you use your imperfections to elevate each other in a way that's both equal. Another interesting trait about what the good qualities of you and your soul tribe, is how you don't keep each other stuck, even if you guys reach a disagreement, you will always find a healthy and peaceful resolution that will move you guys forward and stronger as a team.

Pile Three

What your soul tribe will love about you are the traits about yourself that you may feel are not identifiable. You could feel like because of your lack of experience in life that you have a dull personality, but your soul tribe will see you as someone with so much depth and will happily and effortlessly uncover your layers and help you discover your inner mogul. Almost every outing that you guys have will be out of the ordinary, or you will find yourself to be not as mundane as you thought. You could notice how you tense you've been in your day to day activities once you start hanging out with your soul tribe. You're going to feel more relaxed and no longer have this idea that you have to give in to the pressure that people put on to you. You could have had a lot of obsessions with perfectionism, and they want to release you from that. You could have had this attachment to restricting yourself because you feel that it's more likeable or acceptable to be this way in fear of being judged for letting loose, but your soul tribe is going to love what they see on the other side of when you finally just let go and allow yourself to be complex as you are instead of just one way.

#divination #intuitive #psychic #pick a card #tarot #spirituality #pac #tarotblr #pick a pile reading #pick a pile #pick a picture #tarot reader #tarot reading #the tarot community #tarot community

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juneberrie · 1 year

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VIOLINIST GF — ATSV HEADCANONS . . . 🎻

characters : 1610 ! miles morales, earth-42 ! miles morales, pavitr prabhakar

author's note : this is very self indulgent sorry nawt sorry >:)

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 1610 ! MILES MORALES

okay so in middle school his parents made him take piano so he can kind of help with reading sheet music if ur struggling with it

sooo encouraging!! he loves hearing u play and will literally applaud u. even if u play just like. twinkle twinkle little star or something he's so whipped and he just thinks you're amazing <3

has an entire sketchbook thats just filled up with drawings and sketches of you playing the violin. he'll sit and watch you practice and think, she looks so pretty. and BAM sketchbook is out and you're now his muse :]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ EARTH-42 ! MILES MORALES

woooahhhhh he's impressed!!! liek, very very impressed!! bc your fingers r moving so fast and does your wrist not hurt and is it hard to make sure youre playing the notes right and not screeching???

after going out and doing his prowler thingy, he loves coming home to hear you practicing whatever piece you're learning

its v calming to him!

whenever ur away and ur violin is out, he'll like. put rosin on ur bow, clean off any smudges, organize ur sheet music, literally just be cute and make life easier for u!!

omg and on the topic of him spoiling his gf, him buying you violin related things? little charms, earrings with violins on them, stuff like that <3

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ PAVITR PRABHAKAR

literally!! your biggest!! mfing!!! supporter!!! does NAWT give a shit if your violin is out of tune (like mine rn ughhhh) or if it was screechy or if you messed up he thinks u did amazing and he'll gonna tell you!

"my angel, you were amazing!! it sounded so magical <3"

i feel like pav knows how to play an instrument, and for ... purposes (😊) that instrument is the viola >:)

he'll listen to whatever your playing and then he learns it for himself on his viola. so he can surprise you!!!

i think violas have some different notes? (idk im not a violist lmao) so he does have a bit of trouble when he reads off your sheet music but he figures it out pretty quickly!

omg him doing duets w you!! he forces hobie and miles and gwen to watch ur impromptu recitals and glares at them until they clap

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madwomansapologist · 8 months

Text

i love everybody because i love you

Meet Kind!Druid!Tav | More Weirdos | AO3

synopsis: It doesn't matter what their first impressions of you were, they certainly did not expect you to be so important in their lifes. And as the days passes, each one of your companions need to understand a simple fact: they love you. They all love you.

warnings: a sequel to that (you don't need to read if you don't want to). song "strawberry blond". companions (lae'zel, halsin) x druid!tav. background cast (alfira, mirkon, scratch, owlbear, shadowheart, astarion, wyll, mizora, karlach, minthara). lae'zel love language is pressing a dagger against your throat. i accidentaly made her somewhat a stalker?? there is a high chance minthara doesn't sound like her because i killed her like two onversations in. if you discover which animated character is my biggest inspiration for this tav i will give you a reward.

In a harsh world, people are supossed to shield themselfs from even the possibility of danger. Is the only rational response to the ambiguity of chaos. What those who crave to survive must learn, what those who deserve to survive must do.

You get stronger, so you won't feel pain. Because to feel pain is to remind your soul that one day your body will perish. To get stronger is to forget about the eventual end. Is to get protected from death itself, even if as just a concept.

When not even death can catch you, you're free. When you have nothing to love, nothing to care about, you are free. That's real strength. To be invulnerable. To have nothing to lose, no one close enough to ever hurt you.

Lae'zel lost the count on how many times you bleed. How many times you fell. Burned, drowned, exhausted in pain. Arrows crossed your chest, swords cut your legs, calloused hands stopped you from breathing.

You're somewhat good at hiding it. How much things can hurt you. When someone disrespect one of your companions, when people blame you for their fates, when you did everything you could and it wasn't enough. It hurts you in a different, worst way. She can see it on your face.

Maybe you could've earned a good end, if the world worked in a different way. A peaceful life, one fit for those who don't aspire greatness. But Lae'zel knew it was only a matter of time until the tadpole took control. She felt it on herself. Saw it on you.

No one would save her, no one would save any of you, but perhaps Lae'zel could. It was an merciful act. To end you first. You failed as a leader, but you tried. Then she'll go to the others, knowing she's brave enough to kill herself after.

She thought you had surrendered yourself to her. That you had come to the same conclusion. A wise druid, after all. Then Lae'zel felt. The cold thread against the base of her neck. A dagger she didn't saw coming.

"Step back," you ordered, voice unaffected. Lae'zel never heard you like that before. She had a dagger against your throat, but you spoke as if you rule the entire world.

"Chk, you think that tiny blade of yours will stop me from free..."

"What I think doesn't matter, but what I know does." Your eyes burned her skin. "You're stronger, I'm faster. I propose you a bet. If you kill me, go on with your plan. If I kill you, that's it. I won't kill them. I won't kill myself. Even if I can, even if I must. You would've died for nothing, forever ignorant if it was the right thing to do."

Lae'zel saw you barefoot at the Emerald Grove, applauding Alfira as she sang. Crossing the river by jumping from stone to stone, talking to Mirkon as if he wasn't a kid but a dear friend. How many times did Lae'zel found a bed shaped of you on the grass right next to where Scratch and Owlbear slept?

A sacreed deer, whose even blood is ever so sweet, howled like an wolf.

Would you turn into a mindflayer out of... stubbornness? Would you let the rest of your beloved party turn into something utterly disgusting, putting in danger all those people you swore to protect, just to prove a point?

Maybe you would. Maybe you wouldn't.

No one died that night.

You intrigued Lae'zel. Before you were her supposedly defenseless prey, and now you are the object of her curiosity. Lae'zel didn't understand you. And she craved to.

So she kept a close eye on you.

You bleed. All the fucking time. You bleed, and you wept. But everytime someone crushed you down, you rose up. For every tear that fall from your eyes, you made sure to smile. You survive, and you keep on doing it.

Strength and weakness merged in the warrior's mind. She knew what strength is, she can smell weakness from afar. Lae'zel was taught everything she was supossed to know.

But you were never the one to fit in old impervious notions.

Lae'zel saw you end a hyena's suffering without flinching, and you trying to hold on the wind when you were about to fall. She heard you helping a bird decorate its nest, and the breaking of a skull of someone brave enough to maim Shadowheart when she was near you.

You yelled at Astarion as he tried to stop you from helping gnomes. Helped Wyll with herbs for his pain after Mizora's trick. Helped Gale with dinner, putting a smile to the usually frowed wizard's face. Gave Karlach her first hug in years.

She saw your every movement. Lae'zel heard you laughing, saw you dancing, watched as you helped your new friends. Sometimes it felt as if you made white lines so she could follow you. So Lae'zel could see you being good, nice, decent. Being you in a way that showed her that no, you would've never let your companions turn into mindflayers. You were bluffing, and she fell for it.

At some point, it started to ache. Anytime you laugh at some tiefling's story, something inside Lae'zel burned. At night, she could picture your smile on her eyelids. When you call her name during battle, yelling instructions that somewhat always end in victory. When you look at her.

She can still see that fire. That same flame that stopped her from killing you right then and there. But diluted, controlled. And still, just as able of burning her entire soul. You have a fire contained within your gaze, and Lae'zel doesn't mind getting burned.

Maybe you're not that weak. And maybe she's not that strong.

She's not watching you anymore. Observing your every move so she can understand your mind. Not a prey, not a walking question mark. Lae'zel is purelly admiring.

For some, you came as a tempest. Slowly, without announce your intentions, your way of being embraced them.

A few flinched, scared of what that meant about them. That by admitting you're good despite it all means they could be good too. Some welcomed it, scared of what that meant about the world. If you're good despite everything that happened, then others could be too. Others chose not to.

But you stroke Halsin as a thunderstorm, just as quickly and fiercly. In such a dark time, you were a lighthouse. A shining light that blind at first, but embraces and comforts.

The grove was in danger, his life could end at any given moment, a goblin camp separated him from the world he worked so hard to protect. But your party helped him, and it gave Halsin the right amount of hope.

You asked him to stay behind, and he did so. Halsin wouldn't be able to control himself, and you didn't need all that attention. He was hopeful, not an idiot. But when Halsin heard screams from the room beside... Knowing that Minthara was there, Halsin couldn't help himself.

A wizard focused on the goblins. As he held them in place, a cleric made sure to end them. But at the other side of the room, the only other druid he saw in weeks had a dagger deep on her chest.

Minthara had you on your knees, her nails digging on the skin of your chin. A burning tiefling didn't knew a way to react that wouldn't end within that same blade slicing your throat. She waited for an order, an instruction of any kind, and Minthara realized that you were leading the rebels.

"Is that your leader?" Minthara looked at the tiefling. Her eyes were numb, bored even, but her grin was sharp. She forced to blade deeper. "A weak druid, barely able of helding a sword? Are you that desperate?"

You should've cried. You should've beg for mercy. You should've do anything, instead of laughing. Minthara glared at you, sure that you were reduced to a crazy, desperate animal. But when you bit her hand, blood staining your chin, you were more of a beast.

Minthara stumbled, and you pulled the blade she left on your shoulder. Blood ran down your side, but that didn't stopped you from rising up. Halsin don't think anything would've.

"Maybe you're right," you hissed. With her dagger on your left hand, you took your sword from the ground. "I'm not a fighter. I wasn't educate to control the Weave. I can't heal a thing. When I can't do something, I find someone that can. Without their help, I would be dead by now."

Halsin came here to act. To help, protect, kill. But all he could do, just like everyone else in that room, was to watch you. To look at your beaming smile, to see the blood on your teath, not even trying not to get blind by it.

"Why would anyone follow someone that professes to be so weak?" She looked at the wizard, a dead goblin at his feet, her brain thinking of all the ways she could defeat your party. "What can you do that give you the right to rule them?"

Your smile seemed to grow wider. "I can beat the shit out of you."

And beat the shit out of Minthara you did.

With a first impression like that, ain't no mistery why Halsin couldn't do anything but to stay with your party. But to go on with you, deafeting the Shadowcurse and exploring Baldur's Gate. But to see you shine, feel your warmth, and let it pull a string on his heart.

At the end, it didn't matter how it started. It didn't matter how much they fought the thought back. If they lied to themselfs, made you a villain on their minds, welcomed you with open arms.

You have their hearts. Simply as it can be. You have their hearts.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

BALDUR'S GATE 3 TAGLIST: @citrusbunnies

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

#madwomansapologist #lae'zel #lae'zel bg3 #lae'zel x tav #lae'zel x reader #lae'zel of k'liir #halsin #halsin x reader #halsin bg3 #halsin x tav #halsin baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav #bg3 x you #kind!druid!tav #oc: liliana wilde #tavrem

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bloatedandalone04 · 1 year

Text

➪the one where ethan makes you playlist of songs that remind him of you. (requested)

Warnings: fluff, ethan being a cutie and having the biggest crush on you, non-ghostface ethan, more fluff

Word Count: 1.8k | Ethan Masterlist

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine <3

Ethan couldn’t remember the last time he felt like this.

Well, he could as he was still young and it had only been a few years since he had been in middle school. Still, the small crushes he had back then were nothing compared to what he felt now.

His brain felt fuzzy, his heart sped up whenever those eyes met his own, he would break out into a sweat when he felt the brush of skin on skin. He had never had it this bad before.

And you were to blame.

Your sweet smile, your kind eyes and your bright and carefree personality. How could he not instantly be drawn to you?

Ethan was developing a deep crush on you, and at a rapid pace.

He sat in his room, his laptop playing some rock band from its place on his desk while he was across the room on his bed. His thumb was beginning to hurt from his countless hours of scrolling through Spotify, subconsciously adding random songs to a playlist - every song in which reminded him of you.

Cloud 9 - Beach Bunny.

Crimson and Clover - Joan Jett & the Blackhearts.

Compass - The Neighbourhood.

Someone to You - BANNERS.

The list just goes on and he only decided to stop when he saw how long it had gotten, the top of the playlist reading ‘67 songs, 4 hr 21 min’.

God, he felt like a kid again.

His last crush was brutal. Ethan never found the courage to ask the cute girl in his homeroom out, making that story end before it ever even began. He never even spoke to her.

Thankfully, that wasn’t the case with you.

Not entirely, anyway.

He talked to you almost everyday, and that in itself was an improvement from his last crush. He even went out on dates with you…sort of. Group outings with Tara, Chad, Mindy and Anika counted as dates, right?

Either way, it was another improvement. If there’s one thing high school taught him, it was that sitting around and waiting for people to come to him was borderline useless; insert the name of the crush he quickly forgot about upon meeting you.

You; the cute girl in his econ class.

You; his sister’s roommate.

You; the girl currently walking straight towards him.

Shit.

“Hey, Ethan,” you greet in your usual cheery voice.

He smiles back, hoping that he hadn’t gotten too caught up in his thoughts to the point where he was staring at you. He hoped that you didn’t come over here to call him out on it. “Hey,” smooth.

You adjust the strap on your shoulder, tilting your head to the side as you ask, “What are you listening to?”

His brows furrowed before he realized that he still had his earbuds in. Now he knew why your voice sounded so muffled.

Quickly pulling them out, he stuffs the wires away in his pocket as he shrugs. “Oh, um, nothing. Just a playlist I made,” he simply said, applauding himself for being able to sound so casual when his heart was beating a million miles a minute.

You nod, looking down at the tiled floor of the hallway. “That’s cool,” you trail off, feeling like you were bothering him with your sudden presence. Maybe you were overthinking it, but the way he talked made you think you were interrupting something, whatever that something was. The last thing you wanted to do was bother him.

Unbeknownst to you, Ethan didn’t think you could ever bother him.

He sounded so closed off just because he was having a hard time coming up with words, the effect you had on him quickly beginning to take over his whole body.

“Um, well,” you murmur and back away, feeling your face heat up in embarrassment at the short lived conversation. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

Ethan’s eyes widened as he watched you turn around. He mentally kicked himself for being so monotone with you and giving you the wrong idea. Fuck, of course he’d accidentally give you the impression that he didn’t want to talk to you when it was actually the exact opposite. “Hey, wait,” he called out before he was able to fully think it through. You turned around, a small, confused smile on your lips. “I actually wanted to show you something. I made it last night.”

You raise one brow and walk back over to him. “You made it?”

He laughs awkwardly, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Yeah, I was bored,” he answered and tried to ignore the way his heart fluttered at the sound of your laugh. “Can I see your phone?”

“Um, yeah,” you grab your phone from your back pocket and hand it to him, confusion still evident on your face. “How are you going to show me what you made on my phone, though?”

He smiles to himself at your cluelessness, putting in your password - he still can’t believe you trusted him enough to give him that - and going onto the Spotify app. “It’s a playlist,” he tells you and your face heats up for the second time.

“Oh…right,” you nod. “I knew that.”

Ethan shakes his head and hands you back your phone. “I made it for you,” he says. “It’s full of songs that remind me of you.” He hoped you wouldn’t find his words creepy or weird. What was he doing?

You take your phone, tearing your eyes away from his to look down at the screen. It showed a playlist on his account, simply titled ‘For Her’. “Oh, wow,” you say quietly, scrolling through the songs before tapping on the heart icon and saving it to your own account. “Thank you, that’s really sweet.”

His own face heats up in a blush, his eyes meeting yours once again. “No problem,” he says just as quietly. “I hope you like it.”

You smile at him. “I’m sure I will,” your eyes briefly look at his lips before you back away again. “I’m running late, but I promise I’ll listen to it later.”

“No rush,” he calls out as you give him a final smile before turning around the corner.

It was then when he could finally breathe again.

Ethan hadn’t seen you in a few days. You were busy with work and studying and he had more than a few assignments he had to catch up on.

You stayed true to your promise and listened to the playlist. However, instead of just listening to a couple of the songs and skipping over others, you listened to every single one. Over and over again.

Thanks to the app’s friend activity being on, Ethan was able to see that you had the playlist on repeat ever since he gave it to you.

An undeniable feeling of happiness consumed every inch of him, filling him with a sense of pride. He was happy to know that the three hours he spent putting that playlist together weren’t for nothing.

Thank God for Spotify and it’s weird but very useful features.

Another day or so goes by before he sees you again, a warm feeling washing over him as you give him a smile that takes up nearly your entire face. “Hey, Ethan!” You greet him like usual, but this time you catch him by surprise as your arms wrap around his shoulders in a hug. “Thanks so much for making me that playlist. Some of those songs are really good.” You wanted to say all of them were good, but also didn’t want to come off as being too forward.

“I’m glad,” he returned the hug and had to force himself to pull away after a few seconds. “So, I take it you like it?” He knew you did but he also wanted to hear you say it as well.

“Of course, I love it,” you reply, feeling shy all of a sudden. You weren’t dumb, you knew what 99% of the songs were about - if it wasn’t obvious enough. Each one gave you butterflies, as did the title of the list.

For her.

You could kiss him right here and now.

“Good, that’s good,” he says and you try to fight off your growing smile.

“There were some really romantic songs on there,” you trail off, hoping to anyone that was listening that you weren’t reading too much into things. You’d die of embarrassment if you were to confess your feelings to him and have him turn you down. You’d probably cry if he were to say he just saw you as a friend.

Ethan leaned against the bricked wall of the university, his forearm keeping him balanced as he raised it just above his head. “Only some?” He teased, knowing damn well that all of the songs were romantic in one way or the other.

Relief falls over you at his voice, his teasing grin only making you believe your suspicions even more. “Okay, maybe more than some,”

Ethan’s smirk turned into a boyish grin at the way your face began to tint red. “More like all of them,” he smoothly corrected you, not entirely sure where the sudden boost of confidence came from, but not wasting a second of it. “You know, I meant it when I said they reminded me of you.”

You feel your face flush at his words, tilting your head down to stop your growing grin. “Yeah, I know,”

Ethan felt like he could fall over at any given second and he was glad his arm was currently doing a very good job at keeping him up right. Still, before he could lose the courage he rarely ever felt, he inched closer to you as he says, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something,”

You don’t dare move or speak or breathe as you wait for him to continue, your eyes never leaving his.

“We’ve been friends for a while now, and it’s been great. Really great,” he starts and waits for any indication that he should shut up before he ruins something good. When you only slowly nodded, he decided to just go for it. “But I want something more. And I want it with you.”

Your eyes flicker all over his face, butterflies begging to be set loose all over your body as you process his words. Even though you had a strong feeling that you already knew what his answer would be, you still ask, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I really like you,” the butterflies had officially been released and your face heats up in both relief and happiness, overjoyed that your feelings weren’t one sided. “Would you like to go out with me?”

You refrain from screaming out a ‘yes’ and instead look down at the concrete you were both standing on. Slowly, you nod and don’t bother to fight off the smile growing on your face. “Yes,” you say and feel your heart skip a beat at the way his tense shoulders immediately lift, a grin taking over his own face. “Yes, I would like to go out with you.”

#scream 6 ethan #scream 6 imagines #scream 6 x reader #ethan scream 6 #scream 6 #fluff #ethan landry #ethan landry imagines #ethan landry x reader

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