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atlabeth · 2 years ago

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bad luck - nikolai lantsov

summary: you have little hope after being captured by slavers in the depths of ravka. but then your ship is commandeered, and you get a little more than you bargained for with your privateer savior.

a/n: sorry that it has been a while since ive posted anything on here and sorry about my neglect for my other series but i am a nikolai lover first a writer second and a person third!!! apparently i cannot write a normal length one shot with this man but i hope you enjoy

wc: 5.3k

warning(s): fem!reader, sturmhond!nikolai, reader is captured by slavers but there is no detail, mentions of fighting and killing, mentions of arranged marriages, reader is highkey annoyed by sturmhond lmao, but a fluffy (and lowkey steamy) ending

At first, you’d thought you were hallucinating.

You couldn’t remember the last time your captors had given you, given anyone in the brig, water, and the beginning of a spiral into insanity wouldn’t have exactly surprised you.

Explosions, gunshots, the screams of dying men. You’d imagined the entire crew dropping dead many times so it wasn’t a shock that this was where your madness would begin. You just closed your eyes, tried to pretend you weren’t in chains, and reveled in the sound.

And then the door to the brig was broken down, and your eyes shot open. You moved to the front of your cell, gripping the cold bars as you looked to see what sort of new danger had been brought upon you.

Instead, you were met with a cocky-looking man—though he hardly appeared old enough to be called a man—a pistol in his relaxed grip and another hanging by his side. His bright teal frock coat didn’t belong in a dingy place such as this.

“Hello, all,” he said pleasantly. “I am happy to say this ship has been commandeered.”

Your grip slackened. “What?”

Your question was drowned out by immediate rioting by all the other prisoners, and the man glanced at the woman by his side. She took one of her two axes from its place at her hip and walked over to your cell. Her golden eyes gleamed, and her axe moved in a barely visible flash. She’d chopped the lock clean off, and the cell door creaked open. The whole brig had fallen silent.

You took another step back, eyes still wide. The man walked up next to her, peering inside your cell at all the prisoners bunched in together, but when his eyes met yours, they widened. His entire body went rigid for a moment, so imperceptible that you thought you’d imagined it when he looked away.

“I have no desire to keep you all here against your will,” he said. “Call me your liberator, call me your savior, call me a captain who just hates slavers—it doesn’t matter to me right now. The only thing that matters to me right now is that this is my ship.”

“Are we free?” you asked.

Again, the captain’s expression changed ever so slightly when he looked at you—this time, you knew you hadn’t imagined it.

“Yes,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up in a slight smile. “You’re free.”

You couldn’t help but smile yourself, and the chains around your wrists felt lighter knowing they would be off soon.

The captain cleared his throat as he turned away, looking at the rest of the prisoners. “Now, do any of you know where they keep the keys on this ship? If we can’t find them, Tamar here will use those handy axes on your shackles.”

Someone spoke up and the captain sent one of his men off to retrieve them, then he looked at the golden-eyed woman. Shu, no doubt. “Tamar, get the rest of these cells open then bring them above deck. I’d like to make a speech.”

She nodded and got to work. Soon enough, you were breathing in salty air and reveling in the wind on your face. You’d been below deck for far too long, and the feeling of sunlight on your skin was glorious. You allowed yourself a moment to close your eyes and just enjoy it. Your mind blocked out the spilled blood and dead bodies of the crew that you had to walk through. You wouldn’t shed any tears for them, but you weren’t accustomed to the brutality that your parents sheltered you from.

“I’d like to introduce myself to you all.” You opened your eyes and the captain was speaking, standing in front of the orderly line you’d all formed. The Shu woman from before—Tamar, he called her—stood at his left, and a similarly golden-eyed man had just joined them. Between his size and her axes, you were quite thankful they were—at least for now—on your side.

“You can call me Sturmhond,” he said. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me, perhaps you haven’t. I don’t particularly care. As you likely saw, each and every man and woman previously aboard this ship is dead, in case you doubted my promises to your freedom. That is what I care about.”

The thought would have normally made bile rise in your throat. You may not have been accustomed, but you liked to believe you weren’t wholly naive.

“But I want to be clear,” the captain said, “this is not a rescue. This is an opportunity.”

Sturmhond gestured with his head and a woman stepped forward, lithe with wispy hair divided into two braids. She moved her hands apart and concentrated, and with a few concise movements, the cuffs around your wrists broke apart and fell to the ground. Your eyes widened, and the exacerbated clatter made you glance down the line, same as some of the others—she removed everyone’s shackles at once.

Sturmhond kept company with Grisha. You knew the captain was Ravkan from his accent, but any connection to the Grand Palace and the King sent unease trickling down your spine. The chances were small, what with how much time Grisha spent in the Little Palace—Saints, the Fabrikator might not even be Ravkan—but there was still a chance. The last thing you needed was to be recognized.

“We didn’t really need the keys,” Sturmhond said with a boyish smile. Again, you were struck by how out of place he looked—he should have been in university, not heading operations like this. “I just wanted to make you all squirm a little. Tamar’s axes are quite terrifying.”

“Who says we want any part of your opportunities?” asked a man from down the line.

“Because I’m allowing you the choice,” the captain said. “Those of you who wish to be free of the sea and her constraints, we are by the Zemeni border. You will be dropped at the nearest harbor, and your fate will be back in your control.”

There were grumblings throughout your fellow prisoners and you glanced at them. It was a better offer than any of you would have gotten, a chance for freedom that you thought was long past you. Novyi Zem had no grief with Ravka, so you would be safe enough there. You could get a job working the fields or in a factory, and once you had enough you could book passage back to Ravka. You could find your family again.

Your throat tightened. You ran from them—that was why you were here in the first place. Maybe it would be better to try and start a new life all together, nameless in Novyi Zem. No one would ask questions, you were sure of it. You would be in control of your fate again.

And then the captain got a glint in his eye. Your spine straightened almost on instinct.

“As for those of you who want revenge,” he tilted his head, “you can earn a place in my crew.”

“Why would we work for you?” a woman from across the brig shouted. “We’ve got our freedom!”

“Because there is little more satisfying than causing the destruction of those who tried to destroy you,” Sturmhond said. “And because the sea is rather lovely when you’re not a captive.”

“That is my opportunity to you all.” He clasped his hands together, the wind ruffling his red hair. “A chance to help those like you, and put slavers at the bottom of the ocean where they belong.”

“Why would we want to work with pirates?” you spoke up. “We have lives to get back to. And half of us aren’t fighters.”

You didn’t know what it was about you that made Sturmhond’s expression shift just so each time he looked at you, but it was beginning to irk you.

“Privateer, actually,” he corrected. His voice was annoyingly smooth, and his unyielding confidence even more irritating. “As I said, it’s your choice. And it will take us three days to reach Novyi Zem, so you will have time to decide.”

You huffed a laugh, but decided to stay silent. You’d dealt with too many men like him, but it wasn’t a bother—in three days, you would be back in the same position you were in before your bad luck struck.

“Now,” the captain said with an equally smooth smile, folding his hands behind his back, “any questions?”

Nobody spoke up. Whether it was out of fear or simple ambivalence you didn’t know, but you didn’t feel like getting on the captain’s bad side. You planned to keep your head down for three days and figure it all out in Novyi Zem.

“Wonderful. We’ll divide our forces between this ship and the Volkvolny,” he said. “Any of you who wish to transfer ships will be allowed.” His lip curled as he looked around the dingy conditions of the slaver ship. “I doubt you want to spend much more time on board this wreck.”

“Some of my crew will get you situated as we prepare to set sail,” Sturmhond continued. “If you find you have any burning questions later, save them or direct them to Tolya here.” He gestured to the Shu man as tall as a tree standing by him, and he only looked slightly irritated to be given up like that.

“I suppose the only thing left to do is officially welcome you aboard.” Sturmhond swept an arm through the air. “I hope you’ve all earned your sea legs.”

He walked off, Tolya and Tamar following him. They must’ve been his first mates—you were immensely glad they weren’t against you, what with his size and her axes.

But as he did, you couldn’t help but stare. The strangest feeling had come over you during his speech, one that was exacerbated every time he passed the slightest glance at you, every time his expression changed. He was just… unnatural. Unsettling.

You allowed yourself a deep breath and shook your head, trying to focus on the crewmember that was speaking to you all. You didn’t care if he was unnatural or unsettling—you would be gone in three days.

All you had to do was keep your head down.

Sleep wasn’t easy after the day you’d had, but your tired limbs won out after an hour or so of staring at the ceiling. The cot you’d been assigned wasn’t much for comfort, but it might as well have been the plushest mattress you’d ever felt after what you’d been sleeping on before.

You slowly opened your eyes, your grogginess fighting against you at every step, because you had the dimmest feeling that something was wrong. When you saw golden eyes above you, you nearly screamed.

You thankfully held it in, but you could feel your heart hammering in your chest.

“What are you doing here?” you whispered.

“Sturmhond wishes to speak to you,” Tamar said, wholly unfazed as if she did this all the time. She probably did.

“Why?”

“My job isn’t to ask questions,” Tamar said. She left it at that, and you sighed as you pulled yourself out of the hammock. You followed her, squinting in an attempt not to bump into anything in the darkness. The Volkvolny wasn’t familiar to you yet, but it was easier once you were above deck. You rubbed the grogginess out of your eyes when she opened the door to the captain’s quarters for you.

She didn’t follow you in, and you didn’t know whether it was a relief or not.

“Ah. You’re here.” Sturmhond turned around from a cabinet, holding a bottle of kvas, a slight smile on his lips. “Drink?”

“You didn’t just invite me here for a nightcap,” you said placidly, “did you?”

“Of course not,” he said. “I thought it would remind you of home.”

You frowned. “You’re Ravkan. Who’s to say I am too?”

“How did you know I was Ravkan?”

“Your accent.”

“Then how do you think I knew you were Ravkan?”

“Maybe I will need a drink,” you said bitterly. “It’s the only way I think I can keep dealing with you.”

Sturmhond sighed as he poured a fair amount into two cups. “Such harsh words for a noble girl. Quite a stroke of bad luck for the daughter of a duke to end up on a slaver’s ship.”

“Who’s to say I’m the daughter of a duke?” you asked.

He arched an eyebrow. “Do you really want to keep playing this game?”

You crossed your arms in response, and he shook his head with a chuckle.

“An accent gives quite a bit away,” Sturmhond said. “It’s also obvious to anyone that looks at you—and I assume you have quite a few admirers. You speak Ravkan like a princess, like you were taught in schools rather than the streets. You have a gleam in your eye that says you still have hope. And,” he looked you up and down, “you carry yourself with confidence despite your position. Not the attitude of a girl on the other side of the ditch.”

Your lip curled. “How astute of you.”

“Thank you,” he said with a smile.

“Born and raised in Os Alta,” you acquiesced. You offered a thin smile of your own back. “And I suppose you’re correct. Bad luck seems to follow me as of late.”

“You wound me,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. “Are you claiming that my rescuing you is a continuation of your bad luck?”

“I thought you said this wasn’t a rescue, captain.”

“Sturmhond,” he said.

Your lips twitched in a momentary smile. “I thought you said this wasn’t a rescue, Sturmhond.”

“It isn’t,” he agreed, taking a sip of kvas, “it’s an opportunity. I’m just curious of what drove your choice.”

You crossed your arms. “Strange of a pirate to be so curious about a prisoner.”

“Privateer,” Sturmhond corrected, “and you’re no longer a prisoner.”

“My point still stands,” you said wryly.

“Is it wrong of me to be curious?” he asked.

“It’s pointless,” you said. “And if you’re done with your little interrogation, I’d like to get back to sleep.”

“I’m not here to be your enemy.” He sat up, taking another sip of his drink. “Surely you understand that.”

“I understand it perfectly well,” you said. “I just don’t see why you care.”

“Fine,” he amended, “I’ll let you be. Just one more question.” Sturmhond sat up in his chair, leaning forward as he looked you straight in the eye. His were the strangest shade of green. “Why did you run?”

You actually recoiled at his question, your reflex winning over any desire to hold back your emotions. “Excuse me?”

He didn’t waver. “I thought my question was quite clear.”

You picked up the cup he’d poured for you and threw it back. The kvas burned your throat—your tolerance never was all that—but it didn’t make much difference with the scowl already on your face.

“You don’t get to ask me questions, pirate.”

“Privateer,” you heard him correct, and it only made you slam the door harder on your way out.

Three days of keeping your head down should have been easy. Sturmhond, however, appeared to have a different agenda.

He ignored you for the entire next day, but that night, Tamar was waiting for you before you could even get to the barracks.

“Seriously?” you asked. “Did he not get my message clearly enough last night?”

She shrugged. “He just asked to see you again. I don’t know why.”

You sighed and made an offhanded gesture. “Fine. Let’s go.”

You opened the door yourself this time when she got you there, not even bothering to shut it as you stared at Sturmhond.

“What are you playing at?” you demanded.

“Good evening to you as well,” he said. “How did you sleep?”

“What are you playing at,” you repeated flatly.

“I’m not playing at anything,” he said. “Is it a crime to enjoy your company?”

Your jaw ticked, and your hands clenched into fists. “If you’re after what I—”

“I’m not after anything,” he assured with a frown, “and certainly not what you’re thinking.”

His interruption peeved you, but you found that you actually believed him. The tension eased from your shoulders ever so slightly.

“…Good,” you said after a moment. “But I still don’t understand the need for these meetings. I plan to be gone by tomorrow.”

“Because I know you,” he said. “You may not know me, but I consider myself generally knowledgeable of Ravka and its upper class.”

“What,” you said wryly, “do you want my advice on how best to rob them?”

“Of course not,” Sturmhond said. “I wouldn’t need your advice for that.”

You huffed a laugh. “So what do you want?”

“I’ve been at sea for quite some time,” he said, “and you’ve only just left Ravka. I’d very much appreciate it if you could share some of your insider knowledge on the Lantsovs.”

“You assume I have any.”

“I assume that the woman who used to be Nikolai Lantsov’s betrothed would have some,” Sturmhond replied smoothly.

Your heart stuttered for a beat at the mention of Nikolai. Any doubt Sturmhond might have had over his claim had to have dissolved with your expression.

He arched an eyebrow. “Well?”

You allowed yourself a deep breath before you finally took the seat across from him.

“Fine,” you said. “You’ve got me. I’m the daughter of a Ravkan duke and I used to be engaged to a Lantsov prince. Did you just want to prove your knowledge?”

“Not at all.” Sturmhond wisely poured an additional glass—brandy rather than kvas, thankfully. You needed something stronger if you were to deal with this. “I want your knowledge.”

“My being betrothed to Nikolai is why I don’t know as much as you think,” you said. You downed half the glass at once and your chest burned less than the memory. “Nikolai and I were to be wed when we were of age, yes, but he disappeared before I got the chance.”

“Disappeared?”

You nodded. “He was meant to come back after his service so we could prepare for the wedding. Instead,” your lips curled in a disdainful smile, “he up and left. The king broke off our engagement and I haven’t heard a word from Nikolai since.”

Sturmhond frowned. “My deepest apologies.”

You shrugged. “He made his choice. Apparently he’s in Ketterdam studying, but I very much doubt that. He was never good at sitting still. But wherever he is, I hope he’s still alive.” You huffed a laugh. “I cannot imagine Vasily taking the throne.”

“I’m sure he is still alive,” Sturmhond said. “And I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten you.”

“How kind of you,” you said dryly.

He was silent for a long moment before he spoke again. “You say you plan to be gone by tomorrow. Does your plan include returning to Ravka?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I ran from my family and my fate, and that’s why I ended up here. I don’t think I can go back just yet.”

“And what fate did you run from?” Sturmhond asked.

“A marriage I didn’t want,” you said plainly.

“As opposed to the marriage you did want.”

“Are we done here?” you asked. “Because I don’t think you need to know more of my personal life.”

Sturmhond smiled after a moment and nodded. “Yes. But I’d like to see you one more time tomorrow, before we officially part ways.”

“You’re not going to change my mind,” you said.

“And I don’t intend to. There’s just one last thing I wish to share with you.”

“And you can’t do that now?” you asked wryly.

“Patience is a virtue, darling.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He held up his hands. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“You’re very strange for a pirate,” you said.

“I’m quite normal for a privateer,” Sturmhond said.

You huffed a laugh and shook your head as you stood. “Enjoy the rest of your night, privateer.”

You felt his eyes on you as you left, and now more than ever you couldn’t shake that feeling. You looked at Tamar as you shut the door.

“How long have you been part of his crew?”

“A few years,” she said.

“Do you ever get used to him?”

Her lips quirked into a smile. “No.”

You sighed as the two of you started to walk. “What a surprise.”

You were at Sturmhond’s door the next afternoon, Tamar by your side. She hadn’t come to deliver you, but on your way there she told you she would be joining you. You certainly weren’t going to refuse her.

As usual, you didn’t bother to knock. As usual, Sturmhond was sitting at his desk. Tamar followed you in and shut the door, not as usual. Your brows knit together slightly.

“You actually came,” he said.

“Consider me intrigued,” you said. “I couldn’t just walk off and never know what you wanted to ‘share with me’.”

The corner of his mouth curled up into an achingly familiar smile. “You’re just as fiery as I remember.”

“We just met,” you said dryly.

“On the contrary.” Sturmhond sat up, and he removed his jacket. A metal pin glinted on his vest, a crowned double eagle. The Lantsov coat of arms. Your frown deepened. “You spent the other day describing our lost time together.”

“I’m…” you blinked and shook your head. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m Nikolai Lantsov,” he said. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make me say all my titles, though.”

For a moment, you just stared at him. And then you laughed in complete disbelief.

“Is that what this is? You consider me a fool?”

“On the contrary,” he repeated. “It is because of your intelligence that I deigned to reveal myself.” He offered a wry smile. “And because you don’t hate me the way you should.”

“You cannot just say something so absurd and expect to believe it,” you said. “Anyone can rummage up a coat of arms. I have not heard and or received a single word from Nikolai, and now I am supposed to believe that he is right in front of me?”

“It sounds absurd when you put it like that,” Sturmhond said with a frown.

“Because it is absurd,” you enunciated. “I actually thank you for this, because now I know I’m making the correct choice. You may be a good captain, but you are a complete blackguard.”

You turned and offered a tight smile to Tamar. “Please move. I’d like to leave.”

“He speaks the truth,” Tamar said. “I promise you. He’s Nikolai Lantsov. My brother tailored him into Sturmhond at the beginning of all this, when we joined his crew. ”

You paused and looked back at the pirate claiming to be the man you loved. “What?”

“Nikolai Lantsov is much more valuable as a hostage on the seas,” he said. “No one spares a second glance at Sturmhond.”

“Then change him back,” you said, looking back at Tamar. “Get your brother and make him change him back if you want even the slightest chance of me believing these lies.”

“They are not lies,” she insisted. “And I’m not the best tailor.”

“You’re both Grisha,” you said flatly.

“Heartrenders,” Sturmhond (Nikolai?) supplied. “My most trusted crew. Come on, Tamar— I believe in you. Work your magic.”

She rolled her eyes as she walked over to him, and though your immediate instinct was to take the exit you’d been given, you crossed your arms and waited as she did her work. It didn’t take long for his muddy green eyes to change to hazel, his red hair to blonde. A slightly less broken nose.

He… he looked like the Nikolai you knew. It was staggering to just be standing across from him—or at least a mirror image of him—after so long apart. Older, more weathered, but with the same glint in his eye. The same glint that you looked forward to with each day, the glint that you remembered when you didn’t have him anymore.

“That doesn’t mean much,” you finally said, glancing away. “If you can tailor him into Sturmhond, surely you can tailor him into a Lantsov.”

“You overestimate my tailoring abilities,” Tamar said dryly.

“I still don’t trust it,” you said, and you started again for the door.

“When we were seven, I convinced you to sneak out of our etiquette lessons and go down to the river,” he suddenly said. Your hand froze on the door. “You scraped yourself on a particularly sharp rock while we were traversing the waters—you still have the scar on your ankle.”

You turned around. “How do you know that?”

“My father held a party and your family attended,” he continued. “We were ten and it was the most boring night possible. We evaded our parents’ attention and snuck off to the kitchens.” He smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever had so many pastries in my life.”

A smile of your own, almost subconscious, began to form on your lips. You hadn’t thought of that party in years.

“And when I was fifteen, the year before I enlisted, I did the worst thing I could have done to your father.” He chuckled and shook his head. “I took one of his prized swords and did all sorts of moves trying to impress you—I only managed to dent it and get banned from your home for months.”

“I can’t believe you remember that,” you murmured.

“And…” he sighed and opened his drawer, rummaging around for a moment. He held a ring between his fingers when he emerged, and your heart stopped beating for a second. “I still have this.”

Your hand was shaking when you reached beneath your collar and took hold of the string around your neck. You pulled it into view, and the ring hanging on the bottom glinted in the light.

Your engagement rings still matched perfectly.

Nikolai’s smile was bright as you remembered as the realization hit. “And you still have yours.”

“Of course I do,” you said. “It was a lot of work to keep it in my possession.”

“I’m glad you went through it, then.”

“It really is you,” you whispered, letting your makeshift necklace fall back against your skin. “I— I just don’t understand. Why are you here? Why are you playing pretend as a pirate?”

“Privateer,” he corrected. He glanced over at Tamar, still holding her post. “Could you give us a moment alone?”

She nodded and left, shutting the door behind her. The room felt smaller with just you and Nikolai in it, with the man you were meant to marry who left you in the past.

“I do this because I can do much more to help Ravka from the seas as Sturmhond than gallivanting around court as a second son—a bastard son at that. My parents appreciate Sturmhond much more than they would Prince Nikolai.”

“I appreciated Prince Nikolai,” you said. “I appreciated just Nikolai. You could have at least sent a letter.”

“I know,” Nikolai said. To his credit, he did look mournful. “If there is one thing I regret about all of this, it is how I left you. I said what I said the other day because it’s true—I have not forgotten you. I never did.”

“Then why go through all of this with me?” you asked. “Why annoy me into spending time with you?”

“Because I’ve always been quite good at annoying you,” Nikolai said wryly, then his expression sobered. “And because… I didn’t know how you would feel about me after all this time. Everything you said yesterday was true—I did leave you, and I haven’t said a word to you since. I wouldn’t be surprised if you hated me, and if you did, I didn’t want to force myself back into your life.” He managed another small smile. “Fortunately for me, you did not hate me.”

“I could never hate you, Nikolai,” you murmured. “I— I loved you. For a long time, and I think I still might.”

“Even more fortunate for me,” he said softly.

“So why didn’t you come back?” you asked.

“I…” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. Still cut in a military style. “You talked about how you despised your parents for forcing you into a marriage at such a young age. I didn’t want to force you into a life with me. If I had known you—” he chuckled, a boyish smile on his lips— “if I had known you loved me, I don’t know if Sturmhond would have ever come into fruition.”

“You are the reason I was here,” you said. “My parents thought they struck gold when the king agreed to a marriage between us. I thought I had struck gold as well, in you—a marriage my parents wanted couldn’t have been all bad if you were meant to be my husband. But you left that in the dust, and they still wanted a husband for me.”

“A marriage you didn’t want,” he echoed, his eyes soft.

You nodded. “They did all the work behind the scenes—I was going to meet him on our wedding day, some Kerch banker’s son. And I just… couldn’t face a life like that. So I ran. And with all the luck in the world—” you gestured lazily— “I ended up here.”

“Then I suppose it’s only fair that I ended up rescuing you,” Nikolai said.

“I thought this wasn’t a rescue,” you said wryly.

He chuckled and shook his head. “No. It’s still an opportunity— one I think you’ll like much more.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I plan to go back and take the throne someday,” Nikolai said, moving around his desk to be closer to you. “But I don’t want to miss another moment with you, not now. So until then,” he took your hand, encasing it between his own, and the warmth it provided was something you’d sorely missed, “will you do me the honor of sailing by my side?”

“I’m not a sailor,” you said with a breathy laugh.

“I can teach you,” he said eagerly. “I can teach you everything I know until you’re a better privateer than me. And you can teach me everything I’ve missed while being at sea—all the noble things I ought to know for when I return home.”

Your lips quirked in a smile, hardly able to contain the giddiness bursting in your chest. Your life went from destruction at the hands of slavers to renewal with Nikolai Lantsov by your side once more.

“How can I refuse?”

Nikolai grinned, and he tugged on your intertwined hands to pull you into a kiss. It wasn’t the first one you’d shared, but it was surely the best. It felt like a promise of something new—the promise that he wouldn’t let you go like he did before.

You were breathless when you pulled away, and the sight of Nikolai, blonde hair slightly ruffled because of you, his lips slightly red because of you, made you kiss him even harder the second time.

Your back hit the side of his desk and Nikolai was practically on top of you, seven years of lost love pouring through him all at once.

“And if it wasn’t clear,” Nikolai murmured between kisses, “I never stopped loving you for one moment.”

You groaned and pulled him even closer, your hands clenched tight around the fabric of his jacket. “You wear too many clothes.”

“Then fix it.” His voice was sultry in your ear and you didn’t know how you went seven years without him.

You were very thankful that he asked Tamar to leave.

#nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov x you #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov fic #nikolai lantsov fluff #nikolai lantsov angst #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone fic #grishaverse x reader #sadie writes

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81folklore · 1 year ago

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helpless - RUSSELL

pairings: george russell x hamilton!ensemble!reader (fc: ella kora)

summary: george ends his softlaunch with a cast member of hamilton on the westend

authors note: sorry for not posting in forever but ive had no motivation and i cant find the want to finish some of my drafts so have a brand new smau thats been BREWING in my brain ever since i saw hamilton the other week. its literally one my favorite musicals so you know i had to incorporate my two interests, you dont need to have seen hamilton or know about the story for this!

important: rg63 is george’s private instagram

masterlist

georgerussell63

liked by alex_albon, yourusername and 366,450 others

water, sports and sunsets☀️

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user7 shirtless george is back!!

user10 hes so…

user45 THE SOFTLAUNCH HAS TO END SOON RIGHT😭😭

user12 i miss when george wouldnt make me feel single every post😔

yourusername oh myyy🫠

yourusername

liked by jakeh_j, lilymhe and 235 others

smiles (mostly) all round this summer☀️

tagged: rg63 and jakeh_j

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rg63 miss you darling🤍

yourusername miss you too love💜

jakeh_j dinner soon?

yourusername yes!! g is coming to a show soon so we can do it then :)

jakeh_j sounds good👍

user6 cant wait to see you in hamilton!

yourfriend cutie🫶

georgerussell63 and alex_albon have added to their stories

yourusername ahhh cant wait to see you all💜

f1updates

liked by user72, user1 and 2367 others

george, alex and lily with fans today in london

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user1 im the one in the third photo, they were in a rush as they had to go to the theatre but they were all so sweet and took the time to sign a hat i had!

user10 was anyone else with them?

user1 there wasnt! i dont think george was with his girlfriend but she could’ve been waiting for them somewhere else☺️

user72 idk why them going to the theatre together is funny but it is😭

user5 right?? it feels so random😭

user53 i can’t believe they watched hamilton before me

georgerussell63

liked by alex_albon, yourusername and 872,426 others

i have been with you since the beginning of your incredible journey of living out your dream of being in the west end. i know how much getting this part in hamilton meant to you and getting to see you on stage brings me so much joy, forever proud of you darling🤍

tagged yourusername

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yourusername george☹️i will love you forever and ever thank you soso much for being by my side💜

yourusername you have no idea how happy it makes me to know you are in the crowd

alex_albon thanks for being my friend so lily can see her favorite musical😁

georgerussell63 yeah no worries man👊

yourusername alex i hope you know its me she loves to see, not hamilton🤨

alex_albon your wrong.

lilymhe shes very much correct🫶

user7 WHAT IS HAPPENING

user5 HARD LAUNCH HARD LAUNCH

user25 WAKE UP GEORGE POSTED HER AHHHH user6

user6 OMG I LITERALLY SAW HER THE OTHER DAY😭

user10 this is so cute (im sobbing)

user8 wow the highway is such a good place to stargaze!!

user83 i cannot cope why is this so🫠🫠

lewishamilton 💜💜

yourusername

liked by georgerussell63, lilymhe and 6273 others

i look into your eyes and the skys the limit. georgie my love for you is timeless, each day i think about how lucky i am to have you by my side and how lucky i am to get to be the one to love you. you have changed the way i view the world and myself and my life will always be better now youve entered it, and no matter what this chapter in our lives will stick with me forever and always💜

tagged georgerussell63

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georgerussell63 i am so grateful you have come into my life

georgerussell63 i love you so much darling

yourusername i will never stop loving you🫶

lilymhe when will i get posts like this☹️

yourusername yours is next lovely🤭

alex_albon babe?? i post you all the time

lilymhe and yet you havent used a lyric from hamilton🤨

user16 oh i love them so much😭

user45 my😭love😭for😭you😭is😭timeless😭

user12 hahhaa im so happy for you😭😭

jakej_h i hate people in love

yourusername you love us really😁

user9 MY HEART CANNOT TAKE THIS

user7 OH MY GOD GEORGE LOOKS SO GOOD🫠

liked by yourusername and others

user101 george is so boyfriend🤭

user62 that first picture😮‍💨

user99 they are so in love😭

#george russell x reader #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 smau #f1 social media au #formula 1 insta au #formula 1 social media au #social media au #george russell imagine #george russell smau #george russell #f1 insta au

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r1pp4r · 2 years ago

Text

• hiii!!! this is gonna be my first post.. ive literally never shared anything besides on tiktok!!! (my tiktok is r1pp4r most of my stuff is already on there 🫣) anyway enjoy

• uh… simon’s jealous hehe :))

——————————————————————————————

summary: there’s a new recruit who doesn’t understand that you belong to ghost. but is he about to find out.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: smut!!!! MDNI!! simon ghost riley x fem reader, unprotected piv (latex goes inside too), possessiveness, no use of y/n, praise, breeding kink, fem compliments, biting?? idk

——————————————————————————————

god.

simon wasn't a jealous man. he knew that every night you came to him. you were the one under the sheets in the middle of the night. and.. if you loved someone else, did you even love him? he just knew you were in his arms at the end of the day.

but tonight something snapped. there was a possible new recruit that was shadowing you, and there had been for about three days now. and god had he been flirting with you. simon could see it in the way he followed you around like a goddamn puppy. the way he stared at you, would do anything you asked. you were absolutely beautiful no one could deny but everyone knew better.

but of course the new recruit didn't. and simon was starting to get tired of it. the two of you kept things discreet just in case anything could happen to you. most of it was unspoken. they'd all seen, heard, or just overall knew. it was all just unspoken between them. besides that fucking recruit.

and tonight. tonight was what did it. you were all in the cafeteria of the base, it was seemingly small since it was just the lot of you. simon was sitting at a round metal table, sticking his fork into his food while price, and soap sat around him. the two of them were talking to simon but he wasn't fucking listening. he was watching the way the new recruit finally put his hands on you.

the two of you were standing near the door, probably discussing how he was doing and whatnot. and he had reached his bare hand and placed it onto your skin. onto simon's. and simon had to watch as your face became red as you were flustered from the touch. it was clear you were uncomfortable as you took a small step back after, and he could hear your laugh. that fake laugh.

so, simon pushed his food away and got up, his sights on the new recruit. you quickly saw what was happening, and went to stand in front of the new recruit, trying to use yourself as a shield- but when simon grabbed you, your eyes widened and you didn't know what was gonna happen.

"specialist, we need to talk."

was all he said as he brushed by the new recruit. you could see that after he grabbed you, he tried not to stare at the recruit, quickly walking towards his private room. simon wasn't saying a word. usually you didn't mind the silence, but right now you dreaded it. all you could see was the way simon's chest heave. it was something otherworldly.

as the two of you walked into the room with a desk that was littered with papers to your left, a door to a bathroom on your right and a bed with a bedside table and a lamp. the mattress was only on box springs. simon had you go first, watching you with these.. predatory eyes. he was inhaling your scent basically as you walked passed him. simon looked like he was going to go absolutely feral. simon was usually a soft lover, but tonight.. no. not tonight.

tonight it was going to be known who fucked you into the mattress at night.

as you heard the door shut behind you, the hair on your neck immediately stood up as you felt simon's hand on you. he quickly pulled you back into him, and wasted no time. he pressed his front to your backside and you could slowly feel his erection growing.

"simon-" you choked. all of the air left your lungs at that moment. "what are you doing-"

he didn't even say anything in acknowledgement of the fact you said his name. he just growled and grumbled against your neck. his hands were then on your hips, your waist, and ultimately moved underneath your shirt. he ran his hands up your bare stomach, as simon's mouth had come onto your neck, where the joint of your shoulder met. he wasn't being gentle.. there was teeth, and he was marking you.

his hands had made their way to your breasts and he began to squeeze. your hear fell back against his shoulder as you couldn't stop the soft whimpers and gasps that were now falling from your lips.

"yeah. make those pretty little fuckin' noises fa' me. good fuckin' girl. those 'r all mine. only mine. and everyone's fuckin' gonna know. "

simon had growled into your neck as one of his hands came up to play with your nipple, while the other moved from under your shirt, and came to wrap around your throat.

"simon— are you- are you jealous?"

the word made him freeze. he quickly stood up and removed his hands from your throat and breast, and moved them to your arms, turning you around so the two of you were facing fronts. simon towered over you. you were about 5'4", and he was 6'4". so a foot taller, but he moved his hand, and wrapped his fingers around your jaw, making you look up at him.

simon began walking you back to the bed, slowly trapping you with a dangerous look in his eyes.

"he touched you, ripley. he touched what was mine in a way no one else gets to have you. i see the way he looks at you.."

he grumbled, and you were slowly beginning to understand. so you nodded as simon got in close, slowly pressing you down against the bed with you in between his legs.

"how dare he touch you like that? touch what's mine? i don't care anymore, ripley. everyone's gonna know who you belong to."

your lips had parted the minute simon had started talking. but even as he started talking, simon was moving the two of you. he had moved in between your legs, rubbing his groin against your own core and you could feel his bulging cock strain against those gorgeous cargos of his. you could feel it through your own, but he couldn't feel how soaked your panties were.

"do it simon. i want everyone to know i'm yours."

you whispered softly to him. you knew exactly what you were asking for. the room was already thick, as the tension finally snapped between the two of you. you watched as simon lost his resolve when he ripped his mask off and crashed his lips into you.

it was so carnal. the way he kissed you. it was tongue, teeth, anything you could thing of. his hands were dragging along your clothing at this point and you swore if he didn't have that tiny bit of restraint, he wouldn't ripped your uniform off and he could. you would know. so with a growl of his own, he pulled away, staring down at you.

"strip. i need you tonight, i can't.. just fuckin' strip."

you could tell simon was trying to keep all of his self control in that moment. and you were thankful for it. but you did as you were told, but you couldn't help but go slow as you watched simon undress. he was absolutely beautiful.

simon truly wasn't the jealous type. he knew you were his, and you had proved that for the past few years. but something in this new recruit just broke him. it was probably the way you were spending so much time with him, but simon knew it wasn't your fault. he trusted you and you knew that. but the way that recruit was touching you.. looking at you.. speaking to you.. it was too much. this recruit was too comfortable and only after three days? simon was lucky this was all he was doing.

but you had absolutely no complaints. simon was overall a soft and sweet lover. he took his time with you, making you cum as many times as he could muster out of you before you became in a cock drunken state. he loved sweet talking you through it, making sure to be gentle. but sometimes he couldn't be gentle. he needed to feel your thighs slap against his, he needed to see the marks on your neck that would soon serve as a reminder of who you belonged to.

as the two of you were finally bare, simon had moved you into his favorite position. he loved to have you on top of him. even though you were over him, he still had all the control over you. he moved your hips, he fucked up into you, and you were pliant in his hands every fucking time.

simon was grinding his red, angry and throbbing shaft against your entrance after he opened you up on his fingers, and tongue. making you ride his face. but the tip of his cock was rubbing its way up and down your flower, teasing you for a good minute but god it felt absolutely divine.

"oh my sweet girl. i want everyone in this fuckin' building to know who you belong to. you understand?"

"you're gonna do so good. and you're gonna take it fuckin' all, yeah? i know you can do it."

"i want to hear you scream ripley. i want to hear you tell everyone whose making you feel this fucking good."

and as if to tease you, simon pressed his tip up against your hole, pressing in slightly. and god did that small stretch feel absolutely beautiful.

"simon!"

you basically squealed, your arms had come to wrap around his shoulders, and your finger nails were making your own marks against his skin as they dug into the soft flesh.

"yes- yes yes yes. i'm all yours. only you make me feel this good."

"mhmm~! gonna take it all. all for you, simon.. holy fuck please."

"please i- god was thinkin' about you when he touched me. what you would do to him. how badly i wanted to tell him i belonged to you."

"please simon. please fuck me i need it. claim me. fill be. breed me."

you were blabbering and begging while simon had moved one of his hands down to your slick cunt. there was a fucking river dripping down your thighs and onto his manhood. you wanted- no needed his cock. it was the only one that could stretch you. fill you to the brim. his dick made you cock dumb. and simon loved that.

"greedy fuckin girl. you want me to fuck you, aye lass? don't worry. i'm gonna fuck you well and good."

and simon made good on that promise. the hand which was swirling light circles onto your clit moved to grab the base of his length, holding it still as he slowly pushed his hips up into that beautiful and tight fucking cunt.

your jaw slacked open as your eyes screwed shut. you used simon's shoulders to steady yourself as you sunk down slowly, soft cries beginning to fall from your lips.

"that's it."

"good girl."

"keep takin' it. just like that. oh sweet fuckin' girl."

the absolute stretch as he filled you was delicious. even though he had stretched you open earlier, simon's fingers were still no match for the girth of his shaft. so as you bottomed out, you couldn't help the shudder that went through your body as you let out a cry.

"fuck! simon!"

you breathed heavily as your head fell onto his shoulder. simon had one arm around your waist, and the other was still guiding his manhood into you. but he moved that hand after you had bottomed out, and moved it to the back of your neck, massaging softly as he cooed to you.

"oh love. look at that. you're so fucking tight and so fucking wet."

"i can feel this pretty little cunt already gushing around me sweetheart. god my cock that good huh?"

simon was pressing soft kisses to the side of your neck, jaw and nibbling on your ear. you quietly moaned into his shoulder as you swiveled your hips a bit, feeling him shift deep within you.

"mhmm! god your cock it's so.. it's too much simon.. god you're huge-"

and it was too much. his cock felt so good tonight and you didn't know why. it felt bigger. you felt full and simon was going back to marking you softly as he brought his hand back down to your clit.

"hey- hey. i got you baby. don't worry, start movin' those hips love. i got 'ya."

simon spoke softly under a grown as you clenched on him while he began rubbing your clit, feeling your soaked little cunt. you whimpered as you slowly began to grind back and forth, feeling simon roll your clit between his fingers. you moaned loudly into his skin once again as he moved one of hands to grip onto your lips. simon was groaning and growling into your chest as you ground against him.

"oh my god simon. you feel so good-"

"god i can- i'm so full. want to be full of your- of your cum-"

you were babbling into his skin. you couldn't help it. he made you cum at least twice. once on his fingers and once on his tongue while speaking obscenities into your cunt as you rode his face. and now he was doing the same as your rode his cock. simon's fingers had left your clit and came to your hips, holding them tightly. his fingers were gonna leave bruises at this point.

"fuck sweet girl- you're doin so good. but i need more."

"hold onto me love. i need you to get a good grip. i'm gonna fuck you good sweetheart, so i need you to scream for me."

simon had held your hips still as he spoke to you. he wanted to make sure you understood what was about to happen and you did. you nodded at simon, your eyes becoming fully glazed over finally. simon immediately wrapped his arms around your waist, and laid you back a bit further, before planting his feet into the mattress as he began fucking up into you.

your ass slapped against his thighs every time, creating a delicious smack every time he bottomed out. god simon was going to split you in half. he was murmuring in your ear, how good you were doing. how sweet that little cunt was. how tight you were around his cock. and all as he continued to fuck into you at a brutal pace.

you were on the brink of tears at simon's pace. he was leaving no mercy as you were crying out his name, and you were loud. shameless. just how he wanted you.

"yeah, that's right. scream my fuckin name lovely girl."

"god you're so fucking tight- goddamnit. fuck- me."

simon grunted out as he moved one hand up to your shoulders, and he was practically slamming you down against his cock. you were a blabbering mess, as his cock was hitting that spot just right. you were getting so close.

"oh- fuck! simon! i need it! your cock is so big- right there! there!"

"yes! ah~! i'm so close!"

simon could feel you clenching against him as his pace hadn't faltered. he knew not to let up or change when he found that sweet little fucking spot that made you scream. and you were so close. you were crying now, loud sobs of his name falling from your lips, and reverberating around the room. he didn't stop even as he felt the slight bubble of blood on his shoulders and your legs beginning to shake.

"yeah. that's right. cum on my fucking cock, ripley."

"scream my name. tell everyone on this team whose fucking you this good. let everyone know you're all fucking mine!"

simon was animalistic in his movements now. his own nails were dragging down your back as your own made their way to his chest, once again marking you as his own.

"fuck! simon! i'm cumming!"

"breed me. breed me please! fill me! i want it i need- god i'm all yours fuck!"

and you absolutely shattered against him. your throat was nearly bleeding from how loud you screamed. simon's shoulder became soaked with tears as his pace began to falter.

"yeah yeah yeah- i'm gonna breed this pretty little fuckin' cunt. gonna paint your walls with my seed. fuck sweetheart- fuck!"

simon moaned into your neck as he pressed you fully down on his cock, while still trying to fuck all of his seed up into your cervix. you were on birth control thank god but.. maybe one day.

simon held you against his chest, both of your bodies covered in a think layer of sweat. you were nearly unconscious, your eyes rolling back as simon sat the two of you up a bit.

you whined as you felt him move. you tried to move off his cock but he just held you there whispering sweet nothings.

"shh.. it's alright sweet girl. don't worry. you're okay. i got you."

"you were so good. such a good girl. i'll run you a bath here soon, yeah? you're my sweet girl. you did so good. i'm so proud of you for takin' my cock like that."

simon pressed kisses to the side of your face as you slowly blinked back to life.

"there's my sweet girl."

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swanshapedheart · 8 months ago

Text

Poorlittlekoi’s statement

Disclaimer. I, the poster, am not Koi

I am someone putting her thoughts and response to her situation into the public as I was encouraged to do so. I feel it is also necessary to bring this up as well.

I do not want to be affiliated with controversy any further.

——————————————————-

“this whole situation has messed with my head to the point where i cant even send a text to most people without worrying they are gonna leak it or use it against me in the future,, svlvnsore was just bored and found me really annoying shown in screenshot one…. not only that they also called me out for heavily referencing or tracing when they reposted an artpiece thats doing the same thing. Svlvn said they are on my ass because i didnt credit who i referenced, when the person they reposted didnt do the same either proof in screenshot two three and four. Another thing i caught on to is that they SPECIFICALLY said they didnt care that i self harmed or did horrible things to myself when they posted about me. i have anxiety, i overthink! of course im going to do bad things to myself, im mentally unwell. proof in screenshot 5… and for screenshot 6, this is only an assumption, but saying that svlvn "didnt know" is something that really throws me off. when someone makes a callout post on someone else, there will OBVIOUSLY be harassment. thats just my thought, i feel like they knew what they were doing since him and his bf arent very good people either. especially holding onto old dms and gathering them up to use it against me, when they could have handled the situation privately with me, rather than hide it behind my back.

all of this could have been prevented if they handled it differently, and that goes for me as well.

im fully aware im in the wrong, but these people are wrong in some places too. and i want people to realize that.

many artists in tcc trace, reference, all the time. i dont understand why im slandered for heavily referencing something, not tracing. theres proof of an artist doing this FROM THE ORIGINAL ARTIST BTW in my dms right now but i dont get them involved

am i handling this situation immaturely? maybe, but arent they doing the same by harassing me? absolutely.

when it comes to someone being racist/homophobic, people feel the need to harass this person to make them feel worse about what they did. this isnt how you handle a situation. harassing someone to the point they attempt suicide is just as bad as what i did, possibly even worse.

now i have recover slowly until i have the chance to even feel comfortable with myself again. i understand what i said and did was wrong, and im sitting here attempting to change and apologize to the people ive offended and hurt, but throwing that apology under the rug and making it seem like im guilt tripping is ridiculous.

so they cant say i didnt try to apologize, but nobody is guaranteed to accept my apology and thats okay. but putting it out there as if im guilt tripping when im giving reasons why i said it is not even giving me a chance to change

when it comes to growing up with a HUGE racist family, these words and beliefs become apart of my vocabulary and thoughts. its very hard to change that especially when i was always told "its just a word" and i hear it daily! growing up with these slurs has become so normal for me to say it just slips out with no worry, but ofc im seen as guilt tripping when i say this.

its different for each person, i saw a comment saying they grew up in a southern family and they dont say it, but thats them, not me.

people at school and during family events would peer pressure me into saying this slurs multiple times because they found it "funny." i slowly believed that as well.

i was a young teen being taught the wrong things, and seeing other people in tcc say it made me feel like i should say it as well to fit in and be edgy, since thats what the community is like

this situation is another lesson for me to learn, but other people in it need to learn that harassing someone isnt okay, either. especially when im trying to change, it doesnt make it any easier.”

#tccblr #tcc tumblr #tcc columbine #tcc fandom #teeceecee #zero day #eric and dylan #true cringe community #calvin gabriel #caldre #andre kriegman #cal gabriel #zero day movie #elephant 2003 #alex frost #zero day 2003

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necronatural · 9 hours ago

Text

no real GSW post-131 spoilers just thinking abt where we are at chapter 166:

ok ive been thinking this for like 30 chapters where does kim soleum sleep. not once has his rest ever been addressed - the times we do actively see him sleep its 1. in the hospital 2. in a different hospital

he obviously can't go back to company housing. not having a place to go home to was a serious conflict when joining the company. his bedroom has been a major setpiece as a "private space" until this point. where does kim soleum go home to

heres my thoughts on the story thus far (actual spoilers this time)

You're not supposed to visit the fox counseling office regularly.

In chapter 166 Ho Yuwon gets a little upset that Kim Soleum is bothered by the conflict of interest of your company exec being your therapist; because he is a Darkness, he prioritizes doing his job. He is not an exec who is a therapist, he is a therapist who is an exec.

There is no one more fucked up than kim soleum rn

Despite the theming, it's likely Ho Yuwon is not in of himself a kumiho, but instead the youngest brother from the tale The Fox Sister, which is heavily associated with the use of potions; he's repeatedly described as unusually young, he controls the fox counseling office (who's true form is a thatched hut in a state of disrepair, much like the house was when the disowned brothers returned home), and in Chapter 143 when Kim Soleum skillfully lies to him, he is overcome with deep longing and reminiscence for his past self - in "The Fox Sister", the youngest son keeps his position by constructing an elaborate lie to appease his father's sensibilities.

There are memory erasure services from both the company and the Bureau.

Ho Yuwon specifically points out the ring isn't just dulled, it's completely tarnished; he then repeatedly pushes Kim Soleum to attend a session. something is actively wearing down on it.

In both arcs, we see an extreme reaction to figuring out the exact right way to save someone. He isn't just relieved or heartened, it's outlined as somewhat similar to taking a hit of cocaine. It's a rush. He also fucking cut his fucking arm off. Kim Soleum is brainpoisoned.

Braun is still following Kim Soleum, but is an inactive participant; he's only appeared for Kim Soleum when he's unusually frightened

Kim Soleum has not used the heart of merit since the resolution of the Train to Tamra arc. I'm pretty sure he's saved the lives of a hundred people at this point between when he started and where he is now

THEREFORE:

Something is actively eating at Kim Soleum's brain

It is where he is going home to every night

Ho Yuwon has noticed it, but because he is a therapist, Kim Soleum has to choose to go to him to keep his brain from getting eaten

This plot point is going to resolve explosively in a Fox-Sister-themed arc where Kim Soleum abuses his new potions to escape

Removing the ring will make him so terrified he can doxx himself (funniest concept so far)

The heart of merit's abilities are no doubt astronomical at this point

POSSIBLE CULPRITS FOR KIM SOLEUM HOMELESSNESS:

The fox sister is drawing him in (bad)

Ho Yuwon is drawing him in (neutral; funny)

The elevator reflection he let free is drawing him in (???)

Director Cheong Psychic Attack (definitely bad)

Alien safehouse Kim Soleum does not have the clearance to remember (good; funny)

Fucking Braun again (???; funniest)

The heart of merit has become a Darkness corrupting him because he is literally so too good for this world too pure it unlocked a special new state. Kim Soleum becomes a cult leader for real (inevitable)

#ghost story work #pers

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habitsbf · 3 months ago

Note

hi, I really like your account and you always post very interesting things! I would have loved to ask you to explain the seven trials of Habit because since am very new to everymanhybrid and i just cant understand it and i know that it probably plays a big part in the lore

(Sorry if this dosent makes sense i cant really write in english so i used google translation)

AHHH YAY IM GLAD YA THINK SO :D EverymanHYBRID is a pretty confusing series to get into. theres a LOT going on in it and im more than happy to help you understand better!! ALSO SORRY THIS RESPONSE IS SO LATE </333 ive been kind of out of it lately, but im back now!! i can only go so long without posting about HABIT...

the seven trials of HABIT is a tournament that HABIT hosted a couple years ago. everyone involved in the tournament was assigned a new name under "Rabbit #XXX" and 231 participants were accepted into the trials. this included ryan (rabbit #001) who was the first one eliminated, jeff (rabbit #002), evan (rabbit #003), vinny (rabbit #004), and at the time jeff told alex that he forbidden from joining the trials, but alex ignored jeffs warning and joined anyways under rabbit #231. the other participants were viewers at the time who could join via email, but not everyone who sent in an application was accepted into the tournament.

HABIT eventually created his own Twitter account (SEVENTRIALS) and officially welcomed all the rabbits to the tournament. he then divided them all into 3 groups: angora, english lop, and netherland dwarf, which are all breeds of rabbit. the groups were divided by numbers, 1-77 were angoras, 78-154 were english lops, and 155-231 were netherland dwarfs. each group was set to hold 77 members (its clear the number 7 is important to HABIT for some reason, it appears a lot here)

what is the purpose in all this? what is the purpose of the trials? well you see, we dont know exactly. theres been multiple speculations surrounding the purpose and we dont have a real canon verified answer for it.

one thing i would like to mention is a lot of what takes place in the trials matches up to how cults function. a lot of cults require their members to do things that will strip the members of their former lives in order to make them ready for a new path. im gonna list a few examples ↓

TRIAL ONE: the rabbits had film themselves burying a cherished item of their choice.

"LEAVE YOUR LOVED ONE BEHIND."

they had to part with a beloved possession that was important to them in some way. im not sure what jeff buried, but i know evan buried the prettiest knife he had, vinny buried his special edition of ocarina of time, and alex buried a bullet he shot with his dad.

"I REALIZE YOU MAY HAVE LIVES. THAT IS UNFORTUNATE. AND WILL CHANGE."

TRIAL TWO: when congratulating the rabbits who successfully passed trial one, HABIT says "GREAT, YOUVE BURIED SOMETHING. ALL YOU HAVE DONE IS LOST ONE MORE THING THAT MAKES YOU HUMAN."

TRIAL THREE: the rabbits have to lose a friend "BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY."

"DO NOT TELL THEM WHY YOU ARE DOING THIS. BLAME IT ON THEM."

the rabbits dont even get to go by their own names, which is required in some cults. some cults make their members change their names as a way to sever ties with their past identity.

whenever the rabbits do something, he wants them to state and make it known "HABIT MADE ME DO IT."

HABIT hasnt said anything about this publicly, but HAS addressed it in 2 private chats he had with some of the rabbits. in the first conversation HABIT stated the purpose of the trials was simply "BODY COUNT", but in the other conversation HABIT stated the trials would come to and end when the last rabbit was eliminated, regardless of whether he had reached the seventh trial.

ALRIGHT THATS ALL IM GONNA LIST i definitely left some details out, but i just wanted to go over the gist of it and give a decent amount of info since this post was getting too long. if i listed every single thing that took place within the trials, this post wouldve been SUPER MASSIVE 😭 buuut if youre still curious about anything, feel free to shoot an ask my way :D

#sai rambles 🐇#HABIT #everymanhybrid #slenderverse #there is so much going on

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glassprism · 3 months ago

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hey, im sorry if this sound rude, but ive been getting into musical theater recently, and some of the musicals I've wanted to watch I can only find with people that will only trade them, but having absolutely nothing of my own, how would i start forming a collection so that i can trade them? do i go around asking (respectfully) for gifts? can i download some i find on youtube and trade it? honestly, i just don't know how the "rules" of all this trading system goes, and ive got no idea how to do any of this, and since a while ago you made a post talking about trading and stuff, Id thought id ask you :) and i tyvm for any help you can offer lmao

Hey there! I would definitely recommend reading my FAQ on trading (kind of outdated and definitely geared towards the specific questions I get on trading, but it provides some basic info) and the Sassy Guide to Trading to learn a bunch of stuff. And, just to answer your preliminary questions:

How would I start forming a collection? There are lots of places where people gift stuff, including my own Tumblr! Musical Exchange used to be big, but nowadays people gift a lot on Discord servers. And of course, you can ask people privately for a gift (just one or two audios or videos, don't go overboard).

Do I go around asking for gifts? Yep you can, just be polite and don't ask for too much or ask too many times!

Can I download some I find on YouTube and trade them? You definitely should not; traders want the original files from the master (the filmer or recorder). YouTube downgrades all files, plus most recorders do not want their stuff on YouTube, and so traders will typically not accept YouTube files unless it is the only version around.

Hope that helps, happy trading!

#GP gets asks #anonymous

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jqmalikhsgib · 8 months ago

Text

sea view

five

you were very irritated. you couldn’t believe that she has the audacity to comment on your sons post. after harry blocked kendall, along with her family, you’d blocked her from your socials as well. you just never let corbin know. in fact you and harry never told corbin who he’d had affairs with. it wasn’t like you kept the affair a secret.

corbin was old enough to know his dad wasn’t faithful in the past. part of him resented harry for it for a long time. he couldn’t believe his father would hurt him mother like that.

over time though, corbin forgave his dad. he made a mistake and got his shit together. harry made it up to them every single day, he’s still doing everything in his power to prove he’ll never make that mistake ever again.

you were currently on the phone with harry, crying. you were so sick of harry’s past trying to bite you in the ass when you’re trying to move on with your life.

“i know baby. it’s not much we can do though. i mean, we can get corbin to make his account private.” harry sighs.

“i want him to live life like a normal teenager, harry! he shouldn’t have to censor himself because one of your ex bitches are harassing us!”

“honey—”

“no, i know. im sorry. it’s not your fault.”

harry knew that wasn’t true. if he’d been a faithful husband to begin with, none of this would be happening. you wouldn’t be crying alone in your bedroom.

“it is though, baby. i fucked up! that’s gonna haunt me until the day that i die. i—fuck! if you want, i’ll talk to kendall,”

“absolutely not! i don’t want her anywhere near you or the kids. just—set up the meeting and i’ll show up. im gonna handle this once and for all.” you state angrily.

“baby, that’s not a good idea. listen, ill unblock her, text her myself, let her know stop fucking with my family, okay? no need to meet up with her or anything.”

you sigh.

“fine! but harry, i swear to god if she—”

“i know, honey. now, is my girl calmed down a little?”

“stop! you know i hate when you talk to me all sweet and cute after ive just been pissed off.”

“mhm, i know you like it thats for sure. how are the kids?”

“corbin and the girl he was dating broke up. he’s been a bit depressed.” you pout at the thought of your oldest experiencing his first heartbreak.

“is it bad that im kinda happy?”

“harry!”

“what?! im not happy he’s sad. im just relieved he’s not dating anymore. he has his whole life to date, angel. he should just be a kid for right now.”

“i think next year he’s gonna try out for soccer!”

“you mean football, baby.”

you playfully roll your eyes. “whatever you wanna call it, babe. im just worried he won’t do as good as he wants. he really wants to impress you.”

“he’s half english, love. it’s in his blood to be an amazing football player.

“promise you won’t make it a huge deal, harry? if he doesn’t get in he’ll think you’re disappointed in him if you show any sort of excitement.”

“i swear, baby. how’s my princess doing?”

“payton sorta got in trouble in art school for saying a not so nice word today.”

“no?! not my baby girl! she wouldn’t.”

“mhm, she did! apparently she asked her teacher what a dirty little slut meant.”

“what?! where did she,”

“where do you think, harry! when the teacher called she told me she heard it from our room one night. i was totally embarrassed.”

harry laughs loudly. he couldn’t believe his little girl over heard the two of you in the middle of sex. obviously a bit traumatic but, hilarious. he could only imagine what you looked like as the teacher tells you what happened.

“harry, it’s not funny! our seven year old daughter heard us having sex.”

“it’s your fault!”

“my fault?!”

“yes! i recall you being a brat. had to put you back in your place, baby.”

at this point the conversation shifted. you squeezed your thighs together, trying to create some type of friction.

“you can’t say shit like that when you’re gone. it’s not fair!”

“you know i love teasing you, baby. but i miss you too, love. you have no idea how many times ive got a hard on, on stage. it’s not easy hiding it either. with these outfits lloyd has me wearing, i can’t move around too much.”

“what song turns you on that much when you sing it?”

“baby, it’s not even the music. the energy i put out, i give the crowd a show. sometimes you just pop in my head and im gone! fuck, i miss the taste of you.”

you whine. “can’t wait until you’re home. then this problem will go away. i can finally get fucked properly. this vibrator isn’t doing me right, harry! it’s not big or thick enough!”

“need my cock that much, huh?”

“mhm.”

“promise you, baby. when i get home, im gonna fuck you like you need, yeah? gonna make up for all the time we lost, love.”

“promise?”

“one thousand percent.”

you smile at the thought. your youngest son interrupted you right after. you sigh before letting harry know you’ll call him later. you end the call before getting up and going to hayden’s room.

“hi, baby! what’s wrong?”

hayden sniffles as he lifts his arms out. you giggle before picking your son up. “you just want cuddles from, mommy, yeah? im here baby. i love you so much.” you begin to kiss his cheek as he giggles. “you love mamas kisses don’t you, baby!”

you kiss his cheek again as he attempts to clap his hands. “god, you’re the cutest six months old in the entire world! aren’t you, baby?!”

you set up a few toys on the floor and set him down so the two of you could play. you couldn’t wait for your other kids got home from the park and your husband came home from tour in a few more weeks.

#jqhotchner #jqhotchner masterlist #harry styles x black!reader #harry styles x you #harry styles series #harry styles x reader #harry styles fake ig #harry styles x fem!reader #dad!harry styles x reader #sea view jqhotchner

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philtstone · 1 year ago

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Eowyn, 1

1 - in lonely beds ive finally scraped together a functional first scene for my accidentally-a-psych 3 hunters detective agency au. if you guys like this mess i'll turn it into a real fic. with chapters and a plot and everything!!!!! the prompt is ... interpreted but loneliness and my girl eowyn are well acquainted

It is four o'clock on a Tuesday and Eowyn Eomundsdottir has three significant problems.

Arrest, rapid-onset dementia, and laundry.

Each of her issues is easily explainable if considered separately. Eowyn is the first to admit that her brother Eomer’s always had a bit of a temper, and if she puts aside the necessary development of maturity and commitment to familial responsibilities that happened after their parents died, it was always a matter of time before some poor idiot pressed his buttons in just the wrong-enough way in front of another just the wrong-enough idiot to get him jailed overnight for knocking in an unwitting nose.

Plenty of people’s uncles develop rapid-onset dementia, she is freely ready to acknowledge.

And – if Eowyn may be so self-aware – she has certainly fallen behind on her laundry many times before.

But no matter how short her brother’s temper, he wouldn’t be arrested for trying to embezzle family funds. Rapid-onset dementia is far less likely when there is next to nil history of it in your family tree, and even less so when the Uncle in question is a scant fifty-three and doing perfectly fine not two months ago. And, most importantly: Eowyn has fallen behind on laundry before, but never because of the above-mentioned two issues, and never such that the only thing she’s got left to wear is a thin white sundress from when she was fourteen that is too short at the knees and not at all suited for the early spring cold spell they are currently experiencing, nor the creepy wandering eyes of Uncle Theoden’s new business manager, who routinely looks like he’s been doused in oil.

It’s fucking miserable, is what it is. Her knees have goosepimpled, she’s so cold. And to make matters worse, her cousin Theodred, whom she would usually text for help in a crisis, seems to have blocked her phone number.

That, Eowyn simply can’t believe.

It’s because of all these things that she finds herself standing at the dingy brick building by the docks, eyeing the circling seagulls warily, and clutching her backpack in one hand and her bike helmet — which has left her long blonde hair looking like a birds nest — in the other. It’s a small place, with a glass window in place of a front wall that’s got the blinds drawn on the inside. There’s no official sign, but someone has taped a small piece of cardstock to the back of the windowpane, facing out. It reads, in surprisingly elegant black Sharpie penmanship:

Telcontar, Gloinson & Thranduilion Private Investigators for Hire

Beneath this, there is an additionally taped series of brightly coloured post-it notes, which are scrawled over with the following in various hands:

Got a phone! +1591-334-9920 (If no one answers the door, call the number! We DO NOT have a website.) That’s because Gimli thinks the government is spying on us. SO DO YOU! All inquiries welcome :-)

Eowyn takes a moment to read through it all. Then she pauses, listening. There is the distinct sound of voices from within, muffled. So someone must be home, then – better just to open the door, rather than knock, in case no one hears her. She takes a deep, steadying breath, tugs at the too-short hem of her dress, and twists the doorknob.

Inside there is what can only be described as carefully organized chaos.

Within the small office space there is a cluttered desk housing a laptop and overlarge monitor. Boxes cover everything, as though someone has only just moved in, and a lopsided whiteboard rests against the far wall, covered in a far less elegant version than the hand that wrote the outside sign. Everything smells a little bit like camphor, and also cookies, and a very faint touch of gym socks. A man sits on a rolly chair in the corner; he is on his cellphone. Eowyn wouldn’t have even seen him if he wasn’t talking, so well does he somehow blend into the taupe walls and cluttered box decor, but as she does: he is tall (too tall for the chair), dark haired, and wearing an old grey hoodie, running shoes, and an abominably ratty pair of jeans. He’s talking on the phone in a low gentle voice that is nonetheless a touch put-upon, but nowhere near snippy or even frustrated. Eowyn (in a fit of fancy) doesn’t think a voice like that could be capable of snippiness, and then promptly feels very embarrassed by her own foolishness. At his feet, by the bottom of the whiteboard, a pile of dirty blankets rests. From within them sounds a plaintive meowing. Opera music plays from a speaker system Eowyn can’t see; a hammer (maybe?) is banging somewhere in the distant back room, the door to which hangs open on squeaky hinges; and two other voices can be heard arguing loudly from the same general direction.

Also, there is a young man, around Eowyn’s own age, standing very awkwardly with his green jumper and moppish brown hair to the immediate left of the door and looking as if he’s not sure what he’s supposed to be doing with himself. At Eowyn’s bewildered look, he offers her a pained smile and a weird little wave hullo. Eowyn waves weirdly back.

“Yeah – yeah, just a second. We’ve got a client –” The man in the rolly chair looks up at Eowyn and smiles. It is such a very nice, genuinely kind smile that Eowyn cannot help but smile back immediately and then feel her whole face go red; she’d be thoroughly soothed if she wasn’t also feeling so completely out of her depth. Bang bang bang, comes the hammer from the back room, along with a swelling of the arguing voices. “Someone will be with you in a second,” whisper-mouths the man. Then he reaches down, takes off one of his running shoes, and flings it very expertly through the open door. There is a small noise, like a crash, and the other two voices stop. He returns to his phone call.

“... what I was saying. No. No, I don’t want you to be halfway across the world. That’s not the point, the point is your dad stopped practicing ten years ago and now owns a bed and breakfast. He’s not the one who’d be navigating a corrupt healthcare system. Do you know how much lobby money lines the pockets of mega corporations? Remember the whole Nestle baby formula thing? The media definitely doesn’t …”

“Good afternoon!” declares a second, much louder voice, minutes before its owner materializes behind the cluttered desk. He is more beard than man, wears a very formal and very 1990s plum coloured suit and one single gold earring, and comes up to about Eowyn’s shoulder. He claps his hands together. “Now, which of you was here first? No – don’t tell me, I will guess!”

But his imminent guessing is interrupted by the third voice, floating in:

“I still can’t find it!”

Desk man deflates by a margin. Without turning his head, he calls,

“I told you to look in the third box!”

“I looked there. It’s not there, Gimli. I’ll try going through the books.”

“Why would a thing like that fit in a book?”

“Try the kitchen,” mouths the man on the rolly chair. A muffled woman’s voice comes through his mobile. He has one hand covering his face now, and his head tipped back to face the ceiling. “Well, yes – I do know that. You’re really telling me you don’t want to go to Paris for a year.” While Eowyn watches the meowing blanket pile moves and from within it a truly horrible looking little cat emerges. It shoots one paw out as if intending specifically to scratch its phone-occupied companion; the speed at which he moves his foot to pin the blankets hem and thwart the little paw is bordering on superhuman. Cat hisses pathetically from under its blanket prison. On the speakers, the opera singer has reached a uniquely high pitch in her stanza. “No, obviously I don’t want to do long-distance, I just think — uh huh. Yes. I’d tell anyone to go to Paris. I’d tell Gimli to go, if Gimli’s university was offering to send him to Paris.”

“He’s already tried the kitchen,” says the man at the desk – presumably Gimli. Still, he yells out, “Try the kitchen, would you?”

“I’ve already tried the kitchen!” calls the disembodied voice. “I can’t find it!”

“You can’t find it because of your terrible organizational system.”

“It is not my terrible organizational system, which you know, and besides which I have never had problems with it before.”

“No,” from the rolling chair, “Legolas is maligning my organizational skills. I know you think they’re fine, so you can tell your cousin that on Sunday …”

“Try the kitchen.”

“I’ve tried the kitchen twice.”

Bang bang bang, continues the sound from the back room. Eowyn wonders if there isn’t an ongoing construction project. The young guy on her left, with the moppish hair and jumper, gives her a look as if to say, Filing cabinet, maybe?

“As you can see, gentle lady,” explains Gimli the desk man, very politely to Eowyn, while the second voice declares somewhat redundantly that he is, in fact, going to check the kitchen, “we are a tad busy this afternoon. Someone will be with you momentarily.” He turns, presumably in the kitchen’s direction, and calls out, “if you ask my opinion on the subject again, I’ll wallop you with Aragorn’s dratted guitar!”

Eowyn looks. There indeed is a battered old guitar, perched merrily on a pile of papers behind the front desk, ready to be used for walloping.

“I could come back later,” says Eowyn. She looks over at jumper guy, who’s staring at the still-hissing pile of blankets with some concern. “Can’t really speak for him, though.”

Jumper guy looks aggrieved. “Er – no, I’d rather not come back later. Gandalf said you’d be free to help.”

“And help –” begins Gimli, while there is another crash from the back room (they all wince, though Gimli does it with serenity) “-- we shall! If you give my colleague Legolas a moment to get his head on straight –” (the disembodied voice says something very rude in response to this pointed inflection), “-- then the two of us will be at your disposal.”

“Three of us,” interjects the first, almost forgotten voice.

Eowyn and her jumper-clad companion turn startled to look: cellphone put away, rolly chair man has stood up to his quite considerable height and is looking at them consideringly. Despite his mildness of expression Eowyn experiences the uncomfortable feeling of being looked at by someone who could in a more fantastical setting have, like, laser vision or something – how is he doing it? And she is sure he isn’t really seeing right through her but she does get the sense he is understanding a lot more than she’d like to let on. Almost defiantly she tugs at her dress and clutches her bike helmet closer to herself. Jumper guy clears his throat. Then from the back room comes – presumably – Legolas, who is fair, thin, and for reasons unexplained wearing sunglasses indoors. He is also covered in what Eowyn hopes are pillow feathers and holding, in one hand, a very large glittering silver sword, and in the other a dingy looking VHS tape. It has cartoon vegetables in cloaks on the front.

“Did anyone know we still had this?” he asks pleasantly, and it is not clear to which find he is referring, “Arwen and I used to stare at it for hours as kids.” He spots Eowyn and her jumper-clad counterpart. “Oh – hello!”

Eowyn gapes. The three of them make a fascinating picture, standing there alongside each other.

“Now then,” says the man called Gimli. “Faramir, we know of already –” he nods at the boy beside Eowyn, who looks a bit bewildered by this, “as Gandalf sent him here! But this young lady we do not. How can we help?”

Perhaps it is the blinding reflection of the hopefully-a-prop sword, but Eowyn is suddenly overtaken by an awful affliction of watery eyes, which has nothing at all to do with her general feelings of overwhelm — until now expertly repressed — she is sure. She feels at once full of despair and yet shaking with eagerness, and everything she’d been desperate to explain to a listening ear gets stuck in her throat in the face of three, admittedly sort of weird (somewhat stern, verging on intense, dipping into outright comical), thoroughly kind faces looking right at her. It suddenly occurs to her how horribly, horribly alone she’s felt for the past six weeks.

She remains rooted to the spot and tragically mute while Faramir, from beside her, begins all at once,

“I wasn’t sure where to go. I didn’t want it getting back to dad, so Gandalf seemed like the best option — and he said you were very trustworthy, and I do trust Gandalf of course – but it's my brother, you see, he’s disappeared,” vaguely Eowyn is aware of a grim look of surprise rippling through the collective at this reveal, “and it’ll sound crazy but I had this awful dream two weeks ago …”

While Eowyn attempts to wrangle her misbehaving emotions like one would a wobbly-legged yet stubbornly misbehaving colt, an impromptu consultation begins.

“Gone missing?”

“I bet he went hiking or something and lost his phone. It’s happened before.”

“Boromir hates hiking, though. Remember when Aragorn tried to bring him camping with us?”

“No wonder Gandalf sent you here.”

“I have odd dreams too sometimes; they are usually because of indigestion. I’m sure old Boromir’s just fine.”

“No,” insists Faramir, who seems – in Eowyn’s half-attentive estimation – to be doing an admirable job at hiding his surprise at this existing knowledge of his brother. “He’s not answering my texts – it’s like he’s blocked my number, which doesn’t make any sense!”

Eowyn’s head jerks around to stare at him.

Could it be a coincidence? That is exactly the thought she herself had, not an hour ago, about her own cousin. Is it possible that she isn’t crazy, and her awful yearning for Eomer to be here and not in overnight jail, so someone who is not Eowyn could deal with things, is not childish? She opens her mouth, but her words are stuck again. All she can do is inhale like a small bird puffing up its chest and make a very very faint squeaking noise, which she is mostly sure no one can hear.

“Legolas,” interjects rolly chair man. His sharp grey eyes, which had flitted around briefly and shrewdly throughout the hubbub, are now fixed again on Eowyn, and thoughtful. The commotion dies down. In a mild voice he says, “Maybe you could fetch a clean pair of gym shorts and a blanket to lend our new friend, so she’ll be a bit more comfortable.”

Eowyn, swaying a bit on the spot, hadn't even realized she was tugging at her dress again.

“Oh,” she manages.

“Aye, I’d say you’re about the same size,” agrees Gimli, to Legolas, after a beat. “Aragorn has a good eye for these things,” he adds, as if needing their prospective clients in crisis to know this.

“I’ll bring her a comb, too,” says Legolas, not at all meanly, and goes to fetch these things.

“And I’ll put on some tea,” says Aragorn, so named, and for a second time his face softens with that warm, open smile. “I’m Aragorn,” he continues. “Let’s all sit down, and you can both start from the beginning; everything will be alright.”

In the moment after this offer Eowyn locks eyes with Faramir. He is standing next to her. His jumper looks particularly sad now that she is paying attention. He isn’t looking at Aragorn or the sword or the pillow feathers Legolas left behind, but at her. Right at her. There’s a solidarity there. It would be a touching exchange, Eowyn thinks, if not for the fact that the feral cat in its blanket pile has started talking to itself in oddly pitched meows.

A large crash sounds from the back room, accompanied by the sound of a child swearing.

“Yeah, okay,” Eowyn says.

For the rest of today, at least, she has decided that she refuses to feel alone.

#my writing #taylor swift prompt memes #lord of the rings #eowyn #faramir #eowyn x faramir #aragorn #gimli #legolas #legolas x gimli #aragorn x arwen #for those wondering yes the veggie tales vhs is lord of the beans #and the cat IS gollum

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a-christmas-carol-from-hr · 4 months ago

Text

Penelope and Ulysses

AN: marley lives au. marley gets discharged from the hospital and returns home. there's growing pains.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The apartment had never looked better.

Ellen had been awake until five in the morning cleaning. She’d scrubbed at the floor, and stripped all the beds, and dusted until her eyes had blurred. She’d only slept for two hours and then she’d awoken again, returning to bleach the toilets and shower by seven. By the time nine rolled around, the place seemed to glitter.

Ellen still saw flaws. There was a streak on the window. She should have alphabetized the new DVDs. She’d have to buy a new rug for the foyer. She’d done so much, and it still wasn’t good enough. But she didn’t have time to fix it now. She was expected at the hospital for ten.

She’d even cleaned out the car. It shone with a next to new gleam as she drove towards the hospital, a jaunty little air freshener hanging on the mirror. Ellen didn’t usually drive. The car they’d had was rarely used. The wheel felt unfamiliar under her hands but she got to the hospital without even a splash on the hood.

The nurse on Marley’s ward smiled at her as she approached. “Ms. Scrooge! Today’s the day.”

“Yes.” Ellen said. “It, er, is.”

All things considered Marley had made a remarkable recovery. Considering he’d almost died on Christmas Eve, a release home in mid-January was a wonder. He’d dreaded the idea of going to a rehab, and Ellen had dreaded not getting him home. But he’d been approved, provided he attend physical therapy regularly and kept up with all his treatment. Ellen had been making charts and schedules for the past week. He would be fine. He had to be.

“Mr. Marley had a good night,” The nurse said. “He’s very excited to return home.”

“We’re very excited to get him home,” Ellen had no idea who the ‘we’ was. They had no friends besides each other. But it seemed like the right thing to say. “Do you know what time he’ll be released?”

“Noon, if Dr. Dickens has anything to say about it. Just get him all situated and we’ll get him out as soon as possible.”

At this point, Ellen could navigate the stroke ward with her eyes closed. Marley was in a private room at the very end of the hall, just next to a water fountain. He was asleep when she entered which wasn’t a surprise. Post-stroke fatigue was among the most common symptoms. Lately he’d spent much of his days sleeping.

His face was pale and drawn, as it had been ever since the stroke. His cheekbones, always sharp, jutted against his skin. He still looked so terribly unwell, and it still took Ellen by surprise when she saw it. But the stitches in his head had begun to heal, ripped flesh giving away to scar. He was healing. Slowly, but surely, he was healing. And she would make sure he’d continue to heal.

He’d get better, if it took every cent they had. He’d get better.

He had too.

He slept for the next twenty minutes. Ellen got to cleaning while she waited. He’d only picked at his breakfast, so she set the tray aside. She put the pull out bed right, and stripped the sheets to make things easier. She gathered Marley’s few things, packing clothes into a suitcase she’d brought. He only began to stir when she was putting the bag by the door.

His eyes fluttered open. He looked so pretty, even when waking up. Everything Marley did was pretty. Damn the man. His gray eyes flickered around the room before falling on her. And then he smiled.

It still gave her a thrill.

“‘Lo.” He said.

“Hello.” Ellen said. She moved to his side. She took his bad hand in her own. It was now dotted with scars from IV ports, and he couldn’t feel her touch. But she still held his hand.

“How long did you sleep?” She asked.

“They brought breakfast at nine, and it turned my stomach.” He stammered terribly, but she could still understand it. “I wasn’t about to eat that.”

“It’s good for you.”

“That’s why I won’t eat it,” Marley wrinkled his nose. “I want bacon and sausage and eggs.”

“You’ll get a fruit salad and like it.” Ellen said. “I’ve stocked the fridge with every kind of healthy food imaginable. We’ve never had more food in the house. Fruits, and vegetables, and lean proteins.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay here…” Marley mused.

“Absolutely not,” Ellen said. “You’re coming back whether you like it or not.”

Marley leaned a little closer, but his nose wrinkled. “Do you smell bleach?”

Ah. In getting things ready, Ellen had forgotten to shower. “I was cleaning.” She moved away. “I’m sorry. Does that hurt your head? I’ve bought a whole range of scentless shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, as well as lotion, scrubs, cleanser-.”

Marley held up his other hand. He suddenly looked overwhelmed. “Slow down. Slow down.” He said. “I can’t- follow.”

Ellen immediately stopped. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s- fine.” He said. “Just- not used to it. You’ve talked more these past few weeks than you have in seventeen years.”

Ellen blushed. She’d been doing that more recently too.

Marley tilted his head to the side, as if trying to shake out the fog. Ellen was reminded, not for the first time, that as much as he had stayed the same Marley had changed. He was slower to follow things than he had been. It was harder for him to listen along. Her partner was still in there, she was sure of it, but it would take time. She had to keep things simple.

“I went to the fancy soap store and everything,” Ellen said, lowering her voice and slowing down. She had to make sure not to ramble- her regular ‘flat’ voice was apparently easier to parse. “The one we used to make fun of. Turns out the people are quite nice.”

“Oh yeah?” Marley asked, disorientation fading. He liked her voice, he said. It was ‘grounding’.

“I asked what would be best, and they made me up a basket. I even used the face cleanser.”

“You? You have a skin care routine?” Marley asked. “I have been gone a while.”

“I’ve got everything set up. It’s like a new place. We have new snacks, and some new furniture, and I got all those streaming services that people like. We’ll have fun.”

Marley laughed tiredly. “That would be a first.”

It would be, and it was a depressing thought. But Ellen couldn’t let any of those in. So she just gave his hand a squeeze.

They sat in the quiet after that. Marley valiantly tried not to fall back asleep and Ellen mentally cataloged everything she’d have to do. Once she got him home, she’d have to set up his pills. That was crucial. Then she’d have to settle him in wherever he wanted to be. The trip would likely be exhausting, so it would be best if he rested. But she also had things he could do if he didn’t want to. She’d tested each and every new streaming service the previous night, so he could watch something. She had blankets, and snacks if he was hungry, and books to read and games to play and everything he could ever possibly want. It was just a matter of getting them for him.

Oh. And she should probably shower. That would probably be best.

Dr. Dickens came in right on time. He shook both of their hands and reminded them of all their upcoming appointments. After a brief discussion of everything, he told Marley to behave himself and that they’d see each other in a few days. Marley forced himself to give the doctor a firm handshake.

“Thank you, Doctor.” He said. His voice was shockingly small.

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Marley.” He said. “Take care of yourself.”

They got a wheelchair to push him out. Marley could walk a little with the help of a cane, but he quickly became exhausted. There was no way he could walk out on his own. Ellen pushed him down the hallways, pausing occasionally so Marley could shake the hand of a nurse or doctor who had seen him. He stopped a lot to thank the nurses. It was funny, in a way. Marley would never have stopped to talk to a ‘minor’ member of staff before all this. But he stopped every nurse he recognized and said a kind word. Imagine that. Jacob Marley saying a kind word.

Ellen left him inside the lobby while she walked to get the car. She swore as soon as she stepped outside. It had started to rain. It wasn’t supposed to rain today. Everything was supposed to be perfect.

Luckily she was prepared.

“I’ll just wrap this around your shoulders,” Ellen said, walking into the lobby with a blanket in hand. “I shoved it in the back to be safe.”

But Marley weakly pushed her hands aside. “It’s only a minute trip between the car and here.”

“I don’t want you to get cold-.”

“I don’t want to be treated like an old man, woman!”

“You are an old man.” Ellen said. And she immediately knew that was the wrong thing to say. Marley’s eyes widened before they narrowed, and he turned to look ahead, avoiding her gaze.

“Jacob-.”

“Let’s go.”

Everything was supposed to be perfect.

Everything was all quiet as they entered the apartment. Ellen had made sure the lights would be dimmed when they returned, just to be as soothing as possible. Things were cleaner than they’d ever been, and new furniture was placed here and there, but the apartment was mostly how Marley had left it. As he glanced around, arm in arm with Ellen, he had that same distant look he got when trying to place something in his memory.

“You’ve changed things.” He said finally. “It looks nice.”

‘Nice’ wasn’t exactly what Ellen was aiming for, but she’d take what she could get. Ellen helped him to sit down and then she bent to take off his shoes. Marley stared off, mind working overtime to adapt to change. He’d had that far-off look often, lately.

Finally he looked back down. “…My shoes?” He said, looking at his feet. He looked legitimately confused and that made Ellen’s heart twist.

“I took them off.” She reminded him.

“Oh.” He said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind.” She said, standing.

“Where did they go?” He asked. They were sitting right beside him.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll put them back.” She soothed. “What would you like to do now?”

“Now?” Marley asked.

“You’re a free man. You can do what you’d like.”

Marley’s brow knit together. It was the same expression he wore when deep in thought. It shouldn’t be used for something so simple as doing something in his own home. The doctor had warned this would happen. His recovering mind had gotten used to the hospital. There might be a relapse in confusion when he returned home. He’ll adapt. They’d said. But it didn’t make it any easier.

Finally he spoke. “I…think I’d like to lay down now.”

Ellen didn't know why that stung. Marley needed rest. He needed sleep. He needed to heal, and recover. But a part of her, the terribly selfish part who wanted him back, hurt all the same.

"Are you sure?" Ellen asked. "I can set you up in the living room. We can watch a show."

Marley shook his head. "No. I'd like to lay down now."

“Are you sure?” Ellen repeated. She couldn’t tell why, but it felt as if everything was unraveling. It was irrational, and idiotic, she knew. But he was home, wasn’t he? It was stupid to think about anything else. He was home. That was all that mattered. “Alright. Yes, of course.”

She helped him into the bedroom and out of his clothes. There was nothing titillating or shameful about the action - this was helping her partner. She found a pair of silk pajamas Marley had stolen from an AirJapan flight and helped him into them. Ellen tried to ignore how they now hung on his frame. Marley had been slight before he’d entered the hospital, and the lack of appetite and motion had only slimmed him down further. She buttoned the buttons on the shirt while his head lolled back, eyes screwed shut.

“Are you in pain?” She asked.

“No,” He said. “No. Not really. Just tired.” He opened his eyes. “So tired.”

“It’s been a big day,” She said, now fully pro-rest. Yes, yes that would make him well. “You need to rest.”

She pushed aside the blankets and helped him lift his legs onto the bed. She tried to ignore how he sighed with relief the second he was laying down. “I’m just going to shower,” She said as she pulled the blankets around him. “I’ll be a few minutes at most. Scream if you need me.”

Marley just nodded. It seemed difficult for him to speak.

Ellen quickly moved into the shower. She’d filled the space with tons of things Marley would like, but hadn’t gotten anything for herself. She had to shake the shampoo bottle to get some out. By now Ellen was a master of efficient care, and she’d finished her shower in under ten minutes. She changed into a set of sweats she’d specifically bought for when he was back. It was made of a soft material and was a gentle peach color. Soothing on the eyes. Perfect for him. Even her clothes had been chosen for efficiency in making him well.

He was laying so terribly still when Ellen came back into the room. Instinctually she checked for the motion of his lungs moving up and down. Before all this she never thought she could be spellbound by the act of breathing, but it was one of her new favorite things about him. She thought he’d fallen back asleep before his eyes fluttered open again.

His mouth opened but no words came out. A look of frustration crossed over his face.

“What is it?” She said, moving to his side. She sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned forward. “What is it?”

His mouth opened again. He was staring intently at her, focused on something in particular. He lifted a shaking hand up into the air.

“Do you want your glasses?” She asked. He shook his head. “Water?” Again, no. “I can get you something to-.”

“Shh!” He finally managed to say.

Ellen fell quiet.

His hand reached up into her hair. “No, don’t do that,” She said, trying to move away. “It’s still wet. I don’t want you to get cold.”

But he persisted. He pushed aside her hair and tucked it behind her ear. Inexplicably his fingers lingered there.

His mouth worked again and again. Finally, he could speak.

“Forgot.” He said.

“Forgot what?” Ellen asked.

“Ears.” He said simply.

“Ears?” Ellen asked.

“You have…” He paused. “Beautiful ears.”

It was such a strange thing to say. It was such a nothing thought to think. Ellen didn’t have beautiful ears. They were just ears. They looked like every other human’s ears. But he was staring at them like he was seeing them again for the first time. And he was awestruck.

This man was awestruck by the mere sight of her ears.

And it made Ellen cry.

Ellen Scrooge did not cry. She was stern, and she was cold, and she was so emotionally repressed that she’d long since stopped crying. She had become teary when Marley was so ill, and had forced herself to get it together. She had forced herself to focus on making things better. On putting him right.

But here he was. At home. And things weren’t better. She’d done all this stupid shit, and things weren’t better. Because Marley was broken, and none of her careful plans, none of her research, none of her changes or gifts or special outfits would change that. Only time would put him right, if they were given that mercy, and even then he may never recover.

And this broken, shattered man with a mind trying to repair itself had looked at her and been struck by the beauty of her stupid fucking ears.

And it made her cry.

Ellen’s head bent forward and the tears she’d not allowed to fall slid down her face.

“You’re so stupid,” She whispered. “I do not have nice ears.”

He smiled. It was that same crooked smile he always had. The stroke hadn’t taken that from him. It had taken so much, but it hadn’t taken his smile. It hadn’t taken him.

Ellen crawled across his legs onto the other side of the bed. She moved his arm to the side just long enough for her to lay next to him. She placed her head on his chest as his arm moved around her shoulders. He couldn’t feel her underneath his hand. He had no sensation in his hands. But he rubbed her shoulder anyway.

Ellen could hear his heart beating in his chest. It thud-thud-thud’ed away, as regular and even as a clock. Ellen had done all sorts of horrid, scandalous things with Marley that would shock their peers. She knew his body and his soul as well as she knew her own, but she’d never stopped to just lay her head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. It was such a simple action. Who knew that the sound of a heartbeat could be so-.

“Beautiful.” Ellen murmured.

“What?” Marley asked, already half-asleep.

“You have a beautiful heartbeat.”

There was a pause. And then he began to laugh. Jacob Marley, her partner in everything, began to laugh.

She’d forgotten the last time he’d done that.

“You’re so stupid,” He said. “I do not have a nice heartbeat.”

“You started it,” Ellen said. “You opened the dam with these strange compliments. I expect we’ll never put the genie back in that bottle.”

“If you compliment the beauty of my jawbone, I want to be taken back to the hospital.” He said, but he held her a little tighter. He had no intention of going back there.

And Ellen had no intention of letting him go back there either.

She’d only just gotten him back.

#a christmas carol #jacob marley #ebenezer scrooge #scrooge x marley #the christmas carol retelling thing

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homokira · 1 year ago

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a sentimental rant about my time on dn tumblr bc its been well over a decade since ive been on this site and when i used to shitpost on here about it daily

there is smth very strange about being a part of peak death note tumblr back in the 2010s. like so many inside jokes that idk how many of you out there remember still (ex. lightbun) and not knowing if i might be a part of someone’s fond memories of those times back then too like some of you were for me. its very interesting and cool!! the fact that stupid edits of mine have made it onto heritage blogs now and i still get notifs on things i did a decade ago is hilarious

i still love death note and the fact that i got to meet the english voice actors in 22’ was a fever dream and even just over the weekend i still bought a l/light keychain from a convention. some fandoms just stick with you forever! i miss a few friends made back then, but i just hope theyre doing well now 🫶

im 27 now but i got involved in the fandom here when i was just 15. i made so many friends on here and had fun skype calls/livestreams/etc and it really did give me fond memories to look back on as a full grown adult. i moved out back in 21’, im getting married this year, and im into bg3 very much at the moment, but seeing dn fans still active warms a place in my heart and i dont think it will ever go away. im more active on twitter now and its so funny seeing all these new dn fan groups/circles on there and posting similar stuff i did 10+ yrs ago; some things never change and its a lot of fun to see scrolling by as an outsider.

point is death note really means a ton to me and its so awesome i still have this blog. also did you know yagami spelled backwards is -

PS: the fucking iconic youtube poop my title is from on my blog and has been that way for YEARS has now been privated on youtube im actually going to gnaw my fingers off?????

#this is all over the place but idc #tagging this in hopes that an old friend or two sees this 🫶#death note #dn #alexis is bored #personal #dn fandom #death note fandom

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infamousbrad · 4 hours ago

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ive seen some discussion of this in the notes already, but i'd like to second the people saying that they don't fit into either full pornotopia or pornotopia lite.

i'm asexual. a world where every adult "should" want sex with most other adults, and is assumed to want sex with most adults as a baseline, isn't gonna work for me. but pornotopia lite, as it's described in your post, is already too anti-sex to me. nearly everything past the first sentence feels objectionable. "people should be picky about partners; sex or porn addiction is a real thing worth worrying about; forming a family should be your priority; sex is private and talking about it in public should be frowned upon" these are all things i heavily disagree with. i'd find pornotopia-lite way too restrictive.

i guess similar what you said about how even though you're not a woman, you feel unsafe in places where women don't feel safe to be topless. i don't want sex, but i don't feel safe in a place where people wanting sex aren't allowed to be open and casual about it.

I'm going to address that. Soon. Or at least Soon™ (as such things go) and in pieces, because this next point ardently resists being condensed and generalized.

I'm still on my bullshit. Block the #pornotopia tag if you want to keep reading my other stuff but are done with this topic. And, importantly, before I go on ...

This post comes with a Content Warning for discussions of weight loss and disordered eating, below the cut. If you're struggling and at risk of relapse if you think about that too hard, skip this post.

I have to start this one by being personally vulnerable in a way that I'm afraid is going to hurt me, but if this goes to 10,000, fine, I can at least hope it does somebody some good.

Okay? Let's go, let me expand on something I tried to condense and ended up over-condensing in my "Searching for Pornotopia" kick-off post.

Picture This:

It's early 1978. I'm 17 years old, and months away from graduating from the Union of Christian Schools (and John Birch Society covert front group) high school that my parents forced me into to escape murderous bullying for my mental health in the local public schools.

The senior class is having an unsupervised "open study hall" in one of the larger classrooms, some few of us working on homework, most of us just socializing. I'm as happy as a pig in congress because I'm hanging out with both of my ongoing (if fruitless) crushes. Let's borrow some names from cryptography, call the taller, skinnier, bespectacled, earnest girl Alice and call the shorter, cheerier, heavier, sexier one Carol. And of course I'm Brad (sorry Bob), the compassionate famine-thin autistic liberal nerd. I've been friends with both since at least sophomore year.

Alice and Carol get to talking about their respective most-recent dating disasters, and they turn to me and ask for my my most recent dating disaster. Mortified but brave, I admit to them that I've never been on a date in my life. Do I want to date Alice asks, hell yes. Nobody's ever said yes. (Left unsaid: including both of you, not that you apparently remember.) So Carol turns to Alice and says, "[Alice], you've known him forever, why haven't you gone out on a date with him?"

And Alice's laugh is sudden and brief, shocked and horrified. She's a good person, she knows that her surprise has made her do something unforgivably wrong, so she chokes it back fast. But then she makes it worse, right to my face. "I can't imagine dating Brad. (pause) I can't imagine anyone ever dating Brad."

I wrote this in the first-person because it is 2025, I'm 64 years old, and I am still there. That mental, emotional , and social injury has never even scabbed over, let alone healed. It has haunted me my whole life.

And it didn't occur to me at the time, but it may not be a coincidence that within about a year, I read Atlas Shrugged for the first time.

I've lived a long life, and not all of it awful or alone. I've been ferociously political since I was 13, and a journalism addict since I was four. So feel the impact of those facts when I say that I cannot think of any more effective way to permanently cripple a human being than to tell them that nobody will ever feel an ounce of attraction for them, that they will never feel an affectionate touch. And we have whole industries dedicated to doing just that. What diet-culture capitalism and Alt-Right violent radicalization have in common is that they prey on the unloved.

A Perfect Cinderella Story

It's an intense competition to ask me "Brad, what's the most radicalizing thing you've ever read?" but with this on my mind, the slam dunk has to be chapter 5, called "A Specimen American Myth," in Philip Wylie's 1942 (and thus public-domain!) mental-health jeremiad Generation of Vipers.

He points out in the older, continental, mythical stories of the Little Cinder Girl, the prince is a cipher, barely a character, just a reward, a McGuffin in modern terms. The Fairy Godmother intervenes because he's in danger of marrying one of two lazy, slovenly, greedy (but lovely, not ugly!) girls, but also, more importantly, because Ella of the Cinders is everything the Faerie realm admires: generous to a fault, considerate to a fault, and tidy to a fault. Cinder Ella's introduction to, and ultimate marriage to Prince Charming is a reward for her virtue.

Not, unlike in the children's book versions that began to circulate in the Anglosphere in the early 20th century, a reward for her beauty. And it is those versions that make the stepsisters Ugly. Wylie argued that one of the reasons that the whole world was going insane was that:

Boys are taught that the only things women care about are wealth and power, and that they should judge their own success by the youth and beauty of the women who want to fuck them. And, the obvious converse:

Girls are taught that the only things that men care about are youth and beauty, and that they should judge their own sexiness by how wealthy and powerful the men who want to fuck them are.

And, he argued, this drives all of us insane because most moms are disgusted with themselves for having to settle for the husbands they got, and most dads are disgusted with themselves for being married to someone who got old and fat. And dads (and other men) teach young boys that that's why they have to be ever more successful providers so they don't end up with an ugly woman like their mom, and moms (and other women) teach little girls that they have to stay young and thin, and at least dress to look like they have big boobs, or else they'll end up with a loser like their dad.

The Return of Fascism and the Black Pill

This is the straight line that leads to pickup artistry, to Game, to incelry, to the black pill. This why two consecutive generations of right-wing violence hucksters have flogged the same story: liberals and feminists have stolen the good jobs that were supposed to fund your success, they left you behind, you won't have a home of your own or any other success to be proud of until you're 40 or more, by which time all the young, pretty girls will be married, out of your reach, and you'll be lucky if you have the option to be grudgingly accepted by women who are total losers, irreparably damaged themselves by that point. No young, beautiful woman will ever express any attraction to you. You will never feel an affectionate touch.

So vote for Trump, they said. Burn it all down.

The Horror of Diet-Culture Capitalism

A strong candidate for the most radicalizing documentary I've ever seen was Catharine Gilday's 1990 movie, The Famine Within. She interviewed many girls and women of all ages about their experience of a then-recent research finding. I'm quoting from long-ago memory here, so I may have a detail or two off by a little bit, but it was something like this:

The average woman goes on her first calorie-restriction diet at the age of 11. Nearly always because of an unkind remark from an older female relative. She will go on another diet every 8 years. Each of these diets will fail within 18 months and result in a net gain of at least 10 pounds.

Let me also send you to nutritionists Matt Priven and Jen Baum's hour-long podcast episode about the history of diet drugs. If I may summarize their summary, we've had multiple generations of diet drugs, starting with "thyroid extract" in 1888 up to GLP-1 inhibitors of today. They all have the same ultimate mechanism of action: they make anorexia nervosa less painful. Not less deadly, just less painful. And just like every other form of extreme calorie restriction, none of them could be taken for very long and, just like every form of extreme calorie restriction, they on average result in an overall net gain, not loss, of weight, they make the women who take them fatter.

So after 137 years of failure, why do diets and diet drugs still sell, especially to women? Because successful men, the ones women want, are looking for youthful appearance, big boobs, and narrow waists. And there will never be a shortage of scientists and companies, deep in the throes of confirmation bias, willing to take their money, "cashing in on body issues, selling skin and bones and big boobs" (as Jax put it in her hit song "I Know Victoria's Secret").

Because this time just might be different, maybe for you. Because otherwise, no successful man will ever express any attraction for you. You will never know affectionate touch.

Stop eating, they say. Take the drugs.

And it's spreading to men, too, thanks to cultural pressures and intense marketing of anorexia in a bottle, Wegovy and Mounjaro, and equally intense marketing of orthorexia nervosa, aka "clean eating." If I may risk being vulnerable again?

It's gotten to me. I started going to extreme lengths to starve myself rather than eat "unclean" foods, after years of nagging since my primary-care physician got herself certified as a dietitian. By the time I got her to stop, she'd infected me with orthorexia nervosa, and getting her to stop (which took years, and intense courage) hasn't done me a lick of good. In her horror, as my health markers have declined, she's tried to refer me to an eating disorder clinic, but there are none that are affordable, accessible, and who treat men. I'm having to tough it out myself.

But you know what makes it harder? I lost almost 60 pounds in four months, and for the first time in decades, more people were happy to see me, and for the first time in decades, my female friends started telling me that I finally looked attractive. They're still doing it. They're still telling me that, as a relative failure on the wealth and power scale, that if I don't keep making myself dangerously ill, I'll never hear anyone call me attractive, never again feel an affectionate touch. They don't mean to. But they're not immune to the culture we live in.

What Does That Have to Do with #Pornotopia?

I do not believe we can defeat the return of fascism or the health ravages of diet-culture capitalism without providing all people with an attainable, achievable path to feeling attractive, to feeling loved. I think we must find a way to build a not merely sex-positive but actively sexual culture, no matter who it makes uncomfortable, because the alternative is horror for us all. I think those made uncomfortable by the idea of living in a pornotopia will not find its absence any more comforting. I don't think it's enough by itself, but I do think it's essential.

Why do I think that, and how could we get there? Man, give me a brief break. Those are good questions, but writing this and then condensing it down even this far has drained me. Let this go out there and (as if) get read while I build back the strength to continue.

Previously: "Searching for Pornotopia" (poll still open!) and ...

"Topless Women are an Indicator Species."

And this untitled piece: diet-culture capitalism and Alt-Right violent radicalization both prey on the unloved. Next, tentatively:

"Looking for Yes, or Looking for No?" Can and should everybody be attractive? and hopefully finally, but probably not ..

"Nobody Wants to See That" We can't fix any of this while preserving shame culture, and maybe we can fix that.

#radicalization #disordered eating #attractive #pornotopia

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