#last year. it does get better. or you do i think

[icypopz]

coming over when they're drunk ♡

↬ request from anon ; Hiiii, may I please request the LADS boys getting really drunk, and they decided to come to her house late at night (they either live together or just came to her apartment). It can be only Zayne, tho.

↬ notes ; caleb, rafayel, sylus, xavier, zayne x gn!reader

↬ from ice ; hihi!! it's been like 7000 years since i last wrote but caleb's announcement has resurrected me!! this prompt was so fun and silly... anyways i hope you enjoy this!

↬ warning(s) ; all LIs are drunk, caleb antis dni, mc is described as shorter than all of them, sylus + zayne's are p suggestive

please reblog ! it helps a lot :)

[ caleb ! ]

"caleb?" what are you doing here?" you gasp as you open the door and see his familiar figure leaning against the frame. he's so tall that he has to duck to enter your apartment, and he stumbles as he does, making you rush to support him. "y/n..." he mumbles, his voice deep and husky, and you feel your heartbeat speed up at the way he says your name, "missed you..." "tsk, you're so dumb," you scold, though your heated cheeks betray how flustered you really are, "going and getting drunk even though you know you can't handle alcohol?" "mmphhh..." he groans as you both somehow manage to land on the sofa, his head resting on your chest, "sorry." you roll your eyes affectionately, threading your hands through his hair, "it's fine, silly. you're going to be the one hungover tomorrow." he nuzzles further into your chest, making you squeak, "hey! caleb!" "just let me sleep here..." and just like that, he's out like a light, his head tucked perfectly in the crook of your neck even though he's so much taller than you. well, you've known him for so many years that being this close is fine, right? it's totally fine that your heart is racing at a million miles per hour from how your dear childhood friend is sleeping on you... right?

more content utc !

[ rafayel ! ]

"ugh, raf, get off!" you groan, trying (and failing) to shove the purple-haired artist off you. "you're too heavy!" "but miss bodyguard~" he whines, lifting his head from how he's draped all 183cm of himself onto you, arms wrapped tight around your shoulders as if daring you to leave. his cheeks are flushed red from the alcohol, crimson dusting his ears when he gazes at you, "you're so warm! and it's sooo cold! you don't want your precious rafayel to freeze, do you?" he pouts, jutting out his lower lip in a way that's deceivingly adorable, and it almost makes you fold. keyword: almost. "well, you don't want your precious miss hunter to get crushed, do you?" you retort, even though you press yourself further into his comforting embrace. "if it's with me, then it's fine," rafayel teases, "i'll take care of you even if you're a pancake." "you're so annoying," you huff, though there's no real anger in your tone as you tuck a strand of purple hair behind his ear. "i'll even get you the best maple syrup and everything!" "...go to sleep, rafayel."

[ sylus ! ]

"sylus?" the two of you are in his mansion in the n109 zone, and he's just returned from another protocore auction. you help him slip off his masquerade mask, though you know he doesn't need to conceal his identity in someplace like this where his name is fear-inducing enough. "are you okay?" your palm presses against his cheek and forehead, checking if he has a fever, "you seem a little flushed." his eyes flutter shut and he leans into your touch, exhaling slowly, "it's nothing... i might have drank too much earlier." his large hand envelops yours, and he opens his ruby eyes once more, fixing his intense gaze on your face, "you're making me want to do very bad things, kitten." "i haven't even done anything- ah!" you argue, but your sentence is cut off as he sweeps you into his arms, lifting you easily into a princess carry. "you talk too much," he teases as you half-heartedly punch his chest, "ugh, sylus!" "i can think of several better ways for you to use that mouth of yours," he smirks as he kicks open your bedroom door, "so let's put those pretty lips to good use, hm?"

[ xavier ! ]

it's two in the morning when you hear a thump on your balcony. arming yourself, you stalk forward slowly, only to see, "xavier?!" "ah. hello, y/n." he stands up shakily, only to lean sideways and fall into a chair. "i was trying to teleport back home... but i guess i ended up at your apartment instead." he looks at you with his irresistible puppy eyes, and you can already guess what he's going to say next. throwing your hands up in defeat, you sigh, "sure, you can stay over." but as he stands up once more, almost toppling over again, you raise an eyebrow, "xavier, are you drunk?" "...not really." he looks away, and you can see how his neck is flushed, "liar. come here, let me help you." as you help him balance with his arm around you and head back inside, xavier's familiar scent wraps around the two of you like a soothing hug. "do i get to share a bed with you?" his eyes light up when you push open the bedroom door, "yeah, i feel too bad making you sleep on the couch when you're like this." his other hand sneaks up underneath the back of your shirt, pressing against your bare skin and sending waves of heat through your body. a gasp slips past your lips, and when you look up at xavier, he merely smiles, "i guess it's a good thing that i ended up here tonight after all."

[ zayne ! ]

"hmm..." you pretend to look thoughtful, gaze roving over zayne's tall figure as he sits on your couch, "is the famous dr. zayne perhaps... drunk?!" your voice turns dramatic, "how scandalous!" zayne looks at you confusedly, dark eyes seeming even darker and rounder than usual like a pair of twin boba pearls, "...what?" "aw, zayne! you're so cute like this!" you gush, giggling and wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into a hug. "my senses are not that impaired," he retorts, though his voice softens as he feels your familiar weight on his lap, "i am just... tipsy." "mhmm, whatever you say~" you tease, pressing a flurry of kisses along his neck. "d-don't do that..." he gasps, breath hitching as your lips drag over his pulse point, "i might not be able to hold myself back." "so don't." you lean back and tilt your head smugly, knowing that he's putty in your hands, "who said i wanted you to hold back anyway?" his eyes narrow behind his glasses, "don't say things you don't mean." "i mean it one hundred percent~" you smirk, leaning forward to steal his breath with another heated kiss. zayne's hands tighten their grip on your waist before he pins you underneath him, "whatever you say, y/n."

✧ thank you for reading ! if you have a request, feel free to send it in 🌠

© icypopz 2024. do not repost or modify in any way.

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Wrong move | The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: He thought you were in love with him....maybe he needs to show you how much you need him.

Warnings: SFW - Possessive!Salesman - Obsessive!Salesman - Controling!Salesman - Red flag basically - Unhealthy relationship - Power imbalance - DARK!Salesman - grammar mistakes -

Note: Not part of "Home Bliss", this is a different universe.

"No"

These were the words that have been in the Salesman's mind for a week now. His aparment, a place he used to love coming to since you were here waiting for him now felt like a empy box. Walls too grey to look at, too dull. The food did not have teaste and his bed felt too big.

When did things go wrong ? He did everything right.

Saw you one day at the local park, got enamoured by you. Followed you around, got to know your schendelure so he could see you from afar. Was able to hack your phone to know every last detail. Your social media were poorly secured. He got to know you like he knew his own skin, when he finally did approach you, you were already his.

And after two years, two years of beautiful moments together, perfectly crafted by him, each one calculated and made so you would fall more and more for him. He got you to move in with him, he was accepted by your friends, your family loved him, and saw him like part of it.

He was sure, centrain that this was the right moment. The perfect one. This was your favorite season, favorite month, perfect hour of the day and a well secured place so you would not feel pressure over it.

Some part of him wanted you to come to him willing.

But your words were marked liked fire. The exchange and after events lived rent free inside his head.

How he had managed to keep his facade he has no idea. The aparment (after you refused to get back) was the one that suffered his rage. All the expensive forniture was destroyed by him, some walls had blood by how much he had punched them.

He was a mess, a disaster. How could yo do it  ? After everything? Weren't you two the perfect match ?

A ding from his phone, the ding he had set just for you sounded.

"Sorry, I think its better if we stop seeing each other. I will pass to get my things soon"

The phone went flying. Were you breaking up with him by text ? When he had read all the exchange with your friends  ? Like how scared you were and how fast it felt. Why were you doing this?

And your doubts ? He never saw them, you seemed content by his side. And loved him like that.

But your personal diary on your phone said different. You felt trapped, like he knew too much, like he was not being honest.

Maybe he should have been more...severe? Showing you just how bad he could be, maybe he let your leash go too large and now he was paying the consequences.

But would he give up ? No. After all you were just confused, and scared, you just needed a reminder of how much you needed him. How he could be the only one for you.

He took the phone back, the screen broke but other functions working. He ignored your message and instead went to his contacts. He had many friends, friends that could ruin you completly.

"I need a favor"

Leaving him was the start of your nightmare.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

At first the relationship was fine. How does peopel put it ? Honeymoon? Well you two had it for very long.

He was the man any woman could ask for, gentle, caring, doting, never forgot a special date. And would get your favorite things.

But something was off. His eyes, the same dark eyes that sparked when he saw you, these eyes would change to sharp and cold around others. You felt like he was always on you, even when being away for work, he would just know when to send you a message or call you.

Would meet you randomly on the streets, knew when you wanted to do something even when you never mentioned it.

Something was wrong. Your gut told you to run from him but you did not know how. After all on the eyes of everyone he was perfect.

Then he asked to marry you, and you saw your chance. You could say you got scared and that things just did not work out after it.

But it did not go that way.

Once you had got your things from his aparment your Boss called, he had said how sorry he was but the company was cutting off some employees and you were one of them.

Your work, your dream work. The one you had passed years preparing yourself, tears and blood for it. The one that made your parents proud.

Ripped out from you with one call.

Then it came your social circle. Slowly your Friends stopped meeting with you, some removed you from their social media, and some blocked your number. You never got to know what was wrong, or what you did.

And later your parents, it was a shame losing your job, it was worse not being able to get another one.

"Sorry we are looking for something different"

"Your solicitude was read but right now we need another thing"

"We will call you"

Rent became impossible, and so you had to move back with them. Your mother was not happy, telling you how much of a failure you were, how your brother was making money overseas and how your sister had made a family.

Your father did not even look at you. Like he felt guilty, not even the company he used to work for would take you in.

Your days became a circle of sending out curriculums and doing your best to keep your parents happy even when you knew they did not want you there.

And some days you would go to the park and cry. Not caring if others saw you, your life was ruined, you had nothing. Maybe....maybe if you had said yes....

Checking your phone you saw the contacts, mom, dad, brother, sister and him. You were sure you had removed his number but it kept coming back. Maybe you were getting sick because of the stress.  Your finger went over the call buttom till you finally hitted it.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

He never wanted to see you like this, so broken, so out of life. Maybe he had insolated you too much. Let some lies to your Friends and mother that grew and now they hated you. Your father was a rough one, he had used some...other methods for him. But did coperate at the end.

"You dont seem so good" Were his first words and you looked down at your lap.

"Im sorry for have called you.., after everything"

"Dont say anything. I was glad I got your call. I wanted to know how you were doing" He lied, he knew you were miserable.

Only him could fix it.

"I have...well things have been bad" You addmited "I dont want to burden you with it, maybe this was a mistake"

You went to get up and leave but a firm grip on your hand stopped you. His eyes, cold and sharp like he was seeing his prey.

You, you were his prey.

"Sit" It was an order not a request "Lets talk for a bit more, maybe I can help you, for the old times"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

"Are you sure? (Y/N) you can still go back and say no" Your fathers voice cut off.

You were wearing a beautiful weeding dress, outside from a ceremenoy to take place.

"Dad...you have been saying that since I told mom and you that I was getting married. This is good, we actually made up and I even got my work back, with double pay. Was not what you wanted for me?"

Your father did not respond. He still remembers that night. The night your "perfect" boyfriend appear. When he told him how your life would be so bad you would be wishing you were gone.

"And if thats not enoguh, maybe leaving her limp like you will do the trick"

He had tried for many months to hide his injury, the injury that man had caused him and promised to do the same to you.

"Dad? Its your leg hurting? You are crying"

"No dear, im fine. A little emotional to see you go"

When the doors opened and he walked you in and saw the monster you were going to marry he felt like dying there. When he gave you to him he could see it, he was liking his pain.

"I will take good care of her" Were his only words, and by the time his eyes were on you it had changed.

Love? Obsession ? A twisted sense of care ? No one could tell, no one dared to ask.

Him ? He was just happy you finally accepted what was best for you.

Him, he was the best for you.

"Till death do us apart"

Not even death would be able to separate you from him.

[sinofwriting]

Call - Charles Leclerc (DARK FIC)

Words: 685 Summary: It’s just a few days after Singapore and she has a call she really needs to make. (part of Claiming A Wife - Charles verse) Note(s): DARK fic, the first part is dark, so inherently this part is as well though this pretty much just fluff.

Part One | Part Two (NSFW)

Masterlist | Support Me! 

Her stomach is in knots, her top teeth lightly moving against the skin of her knuckle as she stares at her phone.

She hadn’t talked to her family properly in months. Nothing uncommon with them. It was always the holidays where they saw each other on purpose and reunited. Texts were more than enough to keep up with each other. But she still called her parents and grandma every few months, just a brief check in and to hear their voices, to hear the reminder of her childhood.

She hasn’t heard that sound since the day before Charles claimed her.

Her heart no longer aches when she thinks of it, thinks of him. Not since Spain and especially not since Monza.

She needs to call them. Needs to tell them news before someone else does. And really it’s fortunate that all of her family either are too old to be on social media, hate it, or are too young to be on it. She should have called them after Spain, in August during the summer break, before Monza, directly after Monza. But now it’s the last break before the last six races of the year and she’s running out of time before she just ends up surprising them by bringing Charles to Christmas with no warning.

“What has you like this?”

She doesn’t even startle at the sound of Charles' voice, the way his arms immediately wrap around her. “I need to call my parents, tell them.”

“You are worried that they won’t take it well?”

A huff of laughter escapes her. “That is a way to put it.”

“Explain it to me.”

Her head drops back against his shoulder. “I’ve never shown my interest in dating to my family. I’ve never brought anyone home or mentioned anyone. It’s been a bit of a joke since I was seventeen that I was never going to marry, never going to have kids. And now,” She sighs, leaning further into him. “I have you. And telling my family that I’m married to someone they’ve never even heard of or met is going to be an even larger pill for them to swallow.”

Charles hums, breath tickling the skin of her neck. “It will be a surprise, but I doubt there will be much anger, perhaps some hurt, but there is nothing you can do about that, mon ange. They will feel what they must feel. And perhaps it won’t be so shocking to them that you got married out of nowhere to someone they’ve never heard of if you truly have never talked about dating with them.”

“They are going to get angry. I kept it for so long.”

His arms tighten at the slight whine in her voice. “I will more than take responsibility for that. You can tell them that it is my fault, Ferrari’s fault, the FIA’s fault. It can be on me.”

“It is on you.” She pouts. “I should be attending races wearing a Williams shirt in their garage glaring at Vowles and instead you have me raising the blood pressure of your team principal.”

“Red suits you much better and Fred needs to be kept on his toes. He forgets certain things and you can be a fantastic reminder.”

She sighs. “I miss being a lowly intern.”

Charles makes a noise of protest at her words, but before he can say anything, she has heard far too much from him about what exactly he thought of her as an intern, she turns in his hold, pressing their lips together and she moves to straddle him.

“This is unfair.” He tells her when she pulls away, but the look on his face is as if he’s looking at something worth more than life.

“I know.” She smiles, brushing their lips together, erasing that look from his face before she bursts at the seams from it. “Hold me while I call?”

His hands that had been resting on her thighs move up to her waist, giving her a squeeze before his arms wrap around her middle. “I won’t let go for a second.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Not a Word 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a life in hiding, away from your father and the world, until a man decides to drag you into the light. (non-verbal reader)

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: 😻.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You hear your father in the garage. It’s a comfort knowing he isn’t in the house. You’ve learned to navigate so that you rarely run into him. The fact of your existence only ever seems to irk him. 

That day, there’s a low rumble between the clank and clunk of his tools. You’re not sure it’s the engine or something else. The last time you glimpsed inside the garage, the engine wasn’t even in that old Bronco he’s worked on for seven years. 

You rub smooth the lines in your forehead and give a long blink. You’ve been squinting at the diamond art for much too long. You sit up and roll your shoulders. You need a break. 

As you emerge from your room, you feel guilty. A break from what? Doing nothing. That’s what your dad always says. Then he laughs and finds something to throw at you. 

You take his lunch box from the floor by the shoe mat and bring it to the kitchen. You open it up and clean out all the containers. Those things you do, as small as they are, like cleaning and making his meals, aren’t enough. He doesn’t fail to remind you of that. 

You dump the uneaten crust from his ham and cheese sandwich as the door from the garage clatters open and lets in the smell of oil and dirt. You turn your attention to the sink as you put the container with the rest. It’s only as you flip the faucet on that you realise the steps aren’t your dad’s. 

“Scuse me,” Sy says. “Don’t mean to bother, but, uh, had a bit of an accident.” 

You face him as he holds out the front of his tee shirt. You gulp. There’s a smear of shiny oil across it, ready to drip onto the floor. Your eyes round. 

“I can clean it in the bathroom, I see you’re busy.” 

He goes to turn away and you put your hands up. The oil won’t come out if he just wipes it into the shirt. You would know since you deal with your dad’s stained jeans.  

He nears as you sidle down to grab the baking soda from the cupboard. He looms, his shadow moving in your peripheral, and you shift the faucet to off. You grab a paper towel and turn to him. You hesitate to reach for him, that seems too much but before you can make a move, he peels his shirt off. 

You flutter your lashes and point to the counter. He lays the shirt out and you open the box of baking soda. He stands back and watches. Heat trickles down your back as you focus on the task. You sprinkle the powder over his shirt. 

You let it soak up as much as it can then blot daintily. 

“You’re clever,” he muses. “Helpful.” 

You shrug. 

“How lucky’s that daddy of yours, huh? You out here cleaning all his mess. You make his lunch?” He peeks over at the sink and you follow his gaze. You nod. “Hm, think he’d be nicer then, wouldn’t ya? Well, I know him, he ain’t a nice fella.” 

You return your attention to his shirt. If your daddy isn’t so nice, why does he come around? You wouldn’t ask even if you could. You can barely concentrate with him exposed like that. 

Your eyes dart over in a fleeting peek. His chest is hair and his stomach thick, his arms too. You’re always aware of how big he is but at that moment, he seems even larger. You look at his shirt. It’ll need more time to soak and wash. 

“Could wash it with the hose, don’t wanna ruin your machine,” he offers as if reading your mind. 

You frown and shake your head. You hold up your finger and flit away with his shirt. You put stain remover on it and dump it in the machine. You set the cycle then hesitate. What will he wear now? 

Your dad isn’t as big. He’s a pretty small guy. He might have something... 

You hurry into the closet of old things and search around. There’s one of those tees he got from a case of Labatts. They always pack the XLs and nothing else. It has some sports team logo on it. 

You go back to the kitchen and offer it to Sy. He crosses to you and accepts it with a smile, “thanks, sugar. That’s mighty nice.” His fingertips brush yours.  

He unfolds the shirt and shakes it out. He pulls it over his head and your eyes crawl down his torso unintentionally. You back up a step as he tugs down the hem, though it hangs short of his belt. Even that is too small for him. 

“You’re not scared of me, are ya?” He asks as he curls his shoulders as if to make himself smaller. 

You shake your head. Shy is all. You’re not eager to mingle with anyone. Nor they, you. 

“You know, I might have a word with your daddy. He shouldn’t be so nasty to ya. ‘Specially all the work you put in.” 

You shake your head frantically and clasp your hands. You know better than that. Even if he’s trying to be nice, it’s the worst thing he can do. 

“What’s wrong? Huh? Just wanna tell him what a good girl ya are,” he crosses his arms and seems to double in size. 

You pout and press your hands together. You cower and takes another step back. His expression turns dire. 

“Sorry, sugar, hope I didn’t upset ya there. I was only... only bein’ nice, ya know? Seems you’re not used to all that.” He drops his hands to his hips. “Fine then, I’ll just have to save them sweet words for you, huh?” 

You look down and chew your lip. You’re not used to the attention. Your dad’s other friends, if you can call them that, just ignore you or laugh at his jokes about you. You nod and turn, gesturing to the sink. You walk up to it, clinging to the excuse to get away. 

“Yeah, I know, you workin’ hard,” he praises. “I’ll be outta ya way now.” 

You bob your head and turn the tap on again. You work at scrubbing the containers, waiting and listening for him to go. When he does, you can breathe again. You’re not so sure why he’s being nice. Not like you can do much but stare. 

💘

When your dad’s at work, you’re as close to peace as you’ve ever been. There’s still that constant restlessness that follows you. The gnawing reality that time is passing you by. That you have no purpose. No direction. 

You envy others. That they have a reason. That they have everything you don’t. They have other people, ones that care, not those burdened with them; they have important work to do; they have fun things to celebrate; graduations, new jobs, marriages. They have voices and you remain unheard. 

You busy yourself with the tidying when he isn’t there. If you try to clean with him around, he only antagonizes you. There’s a roast out for dinner. It will last a few days. Most times, you lose your appetite. You spend all day craving and making the food then lose all desire the moment it’s before you. 

The small pleasures you once treasured fade with each day that starts and ends the same. You can’t feel too bad for yourself. Your dad doesn’t have to keep you. You’re an adult now. Maybe he’ll never say so, or even show it, but he must care, right? 

You finish mopping and start on chopping up the potatoes. You arrange them in the roasting pan around the slab of beef. Then carrots and celery. You save the onions for last because they make you cry. You’re saved from tears by the rumble of thunder on the horizon. 

Curiously, you set the knife down and go to the window. Would your dad be home early? Some days, they shut down the shop when business is slow. 

It’s not him but you recognise the grating on the truck’s nose. The large truck sends up dirt and gravel as it cuts across the worn roadway. Your confusion floods to panic and you rush out the front door.

Is your father hurt? Why else would Sy be here? 

You hover on the top step as he grinds to a stop and shuts the behemoth truck off. The driver’s door creaks as it opens and Sy jumps down. Instead of his usual camo cargo shorts and sweat-dampened tee, he wears a button-up with short sleeves and a pair of brown slacks. It even looks like he combed his beard. 

Your face twists in a grimace. What’s going on? Why is he here? 

He reaches back into the truck and brings out something behind his back. You can’t see it as he keeps his arm bent behind him and shuts the door. He grins and walks up to the house as you watch. 

“How’s it goin’?” He asks brightly. 

You blink. You look at his collar, the top button straining against his thick neck. You lower your gaze to your loose blue tee and barrel jeans. You’re dressed like a laundry line. Your clothes offer no shape, nothing. They just do the job. 

“I, uh, I wanted to surprise ya, and uh, I was thinkin’ ya know, this place deserves a bit of colour,” he chuckles then clears his throat, “and you deserve good things, so, uh, here.” 

He reveals the flowers from behind his back and you blanch. You stare at the dainty petals, white with violet edges. They are pretty. Too pretty for this place or for you. Besides, why would he do that? 

“You don’t like em? Should I have got roses?” He asks. 

You flinch. You don’t want to hurt his feelings. You come down the steps and cautiously reach for the paper cone. He hands it over and you stare at him. Then you smell them. You think that’s what you’re supposed to do. 

“Smell good?” He asks. 

You peer over the petals at him and nod. You’re not sure how to react. What do you do now? You can’t just leave him out in the yard. You raise your thumb and point it over your shoulder and tilt your head. 

“Sure, I’ll come in,” he accepts. 

He steps forward, a bit too close, and you hop backward up the step. You barely keep from tripping. You get onto the porch and spin around, scurrying to the door. You open the door and step to the side to hold it for him. 

He laughs again, “now, I’m a gentleman, sugar.” 

He grabs the door and gestures you through. You take his directive without pause. You hurry inside and he follows. As he stops to take off his shoes, you continue on into the kitchen. 

You search for an adequate holder for the flowers. You find an old canister and set them in it with some water. His presence lurks behind you. You put the bouquet on the table as he looks around. 

“You cookin’ a fine dinner, huh?” He says. “Like I tell your daddy, he’s a lucky man. Any man’d be lucky to have that waitin’.” 

You shrug. He shifts. 

“I don’t mean to take advantage of your kindness but I was gonna ask ya a favour.” 

You look at him blankly. He reaches in his pocket. He pulls a length of silk. A tie. 

“Couldn’t figure this out,” he explains. “Thought maybe you might...” 

You stare at the tie. You remember tying your daddy’s for your grandma’s funeral. That was a long time ago but you think you could remember. 

You swallow down your nerves and approach him. You take the tie and he glances around. He pushes a chair out and sits. He leans his head back. 

“Just wanna make sure I look good for ya,” he says. 

You flip up his collar and bring the silk around his neck. As you do, your thumb brushes his coarse beard. He hums. 

“Don’t worry bout pullin’ my hair,” he scoffs. “Won’t bother me none.” 

You line up his tie, knuckles brushing his shirt as you go through the steps in your hand. You pull the tie snug and fix hit collar. You step back and he sets his head straight. You hug yourself and give him a questioning look. 

“Ya like your surprise?” He asks. 

You look at the flower then nod. 

“And what about the other?” 

You face him again and your brows draw together. 

“Me,” he snorts. 

You purse your lips and shrug. What does he mean? 

“We’ll wait for your daddy, huh? Then I’ll ask his blessing.” He rests his elbow on the table, “and you’ll have dinner all ready, won’t ya?” 

[sinnabarmoth]

Tribute for the Dragon (16/18)

Pairing: Dragon|Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: The progression of your pregnancy sends Sylus away for the day to acquire something important from the dragons, leaving you alone on the mountain.

Content Warnings: Adult language.

Length: 3k

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15)

Read on AO3

As the months passed and winter melted into spring and into summer you found yourself heavily pregnant during the hottest month of the year. There were good days and bad days and worse days. Pregnancy was beautiful in some aspects, like when you first felt them kick. Sylus hadn’t let go of your stomach for an hour after that just so he could feel them move around more. But other days were filled with puking, mood swings, and insatiable cravings.

“Sylus?” you called.

“What is it--” he stopped when he walked in the bedroom and saw you laying starfished on the floor. “Did you fall?”

“No.”

“Then why are you on the floor?”

“It’s hot and the ground is colder than the bed.”

“Can’t be comfortable though. How about we get you up--”

“No. I live here now.”

“Little bird--”

“Nothing little about me now. Look at me! I look like I swallowed a pumpkin!” Your whole body ached. “Can we just get this kid out already? I’m tired of being pregnant!”

“You look beautiful.” He rubbed your swollen stomach. “You’re growing our child and they will be ready to meet us in another month. I’m sorry you’re having a rough day though. Can I get you anything?”

“You can make it winter again so I’m not dying of heat stroke.” you fanned yourself.

“If I could turn the seasons for you I’d do it but as it is this is the most I can offer.” he unfurled his wings and beat them gently, causing a cool breeze to blow on you. “Better?”

“That does feel nice.” you sighed.

“Now what did you call me in here for? Or did you just need to complain.”

“No. I did need something.” you tried to sit up but your stupid big stomach was making it hard. Sylus stopped fanning you to help you sit up. “Can’t even sit up anymore…can’t believe I agreed to have three more of these.”

“No backing out now.” he said. “Now what did you need?”

You held out your arms. “A hug?”

“Oh my sweet,” he pulled you into his arms. “It’s been a rough day, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah…” you had barely gotten any sleep last night because the baby decided midnight was the perfect time to start doing somersaults in your womb. Then it was just so hot you couldn’t think to do anything but flop onto the ground. You were sore, you were tired, and you just wanted this baby out already!

He looked down at your stomach. “And you in there, treat your mother more kindly. She’s working hard on making you, you should be more appreciative.”

There was a kick to your side. “Baby says no.”

“I fear we have a rebellious child on our hands. Just know, little one, if you keep hurting your mother like this we are going to have words when you are out of there.”

You laughed. “I don’t think they’ll understand why you are scolding them, Sylus.”

“They’ll know. Just like they know what they’re doing right now.”

“You are ridiculous.” you sighed, your mood easing again.

For a few minutes you sat together, tracing your stomach, feeling the faint thumps of the baby kicking at your insides. “I hate to worsen your mood again but I need to tell you something important that I don’t think you will like hearing.”

Your smiled dropped. “Do you have to?”

“Unfortunately.” he brushed some hair from your face. “I need to leave for a day or so.”

“What! Why are you leaving?”

“Hush, it’s alright. You see I…” he sighed. “I have been enjoying our time together so much this past year. I cannot believe that I’ve been able to call you mine for that long. But there’s a certain dragon tradition I need to complete with the due date coming closer.”

“I thought you were done with dragon traditions. You said you were going to create your own rules.”

“I did and I meant it. But there are some laws and practices that I still have to adhere to out of safety.”

“Safety? What do you mean by safety?”

“You see, there is a special salve that all new hatchlings in a dragon tribe are anointed with when they are born. It marks them as dragon and helps keep them safe. It is said to ward off predators and evil spirits. I don’t know how much I believe in evil spirits but with this being our first child I do not want to take any risks.” he cradled your stomach. “The dragons are the closest that they venture this way but the journey is still long. I will be gone for a day, maybe two.”

“I see. But why is it so far? When we went to the beach where they were that only took a couple hours.”

“That was because they needed the sand. And if I showed up at a ride asking for the salve after I had left the tribe it would be seen as exceedingly rude. So I had to wait for another time and this is the time they are closest to this land otherwise. It is still more than half a day’s journey by flight hence why I said I will be gone for a while.”

“That makes sense I suppose. Just promise you’ll hurry back.”

“I will. I promise. Do you want to go stay in the village while I’m gone?”

“No. I can survive a day or two without you here. I don’t much feel like taking a flight. Not if you want me to hurl in your arms.”

“Alright. I leave early tomorrow morning and with luck I should be back late in the evening, or the next afternoon at the latest.” he kissed your temple. “Don’t strain yourself while I’m away.”

“Trust me. I don’t feel like doing much of anything.” you sighed. “One more month…”

The next morning Sylus left, stirring you from sleep but for a moment to tell you he was leaving before giving you a kiss and taking off. You went back to bed for a few more hours until the baby decided to kick at your bladder and woke you up for good.

You went about your day as normal and decided to occupy your time by finishing some of the baby clothes you had been working on. You couldn’t wait to finally meet your baby! Tara had assured you in the reading she did that the birth would go by smoothly. She had asked if you wanted to know whether you were having a boy or a girl but you decided to let it be a surprise.

You were sitting in the hoard room, the reflection of light off the gold provided the best light to work by, when you heard a sound from somewhere else in the mountain. Strange. Was Sylus back already? Maybe the dragons were closer than he thought.

“Let’s go see if your father is home.” you said to your stomach and waddled out of the hoard room. “Sylus?” you called. “Did you forget something?”

You made it to the entrance chamber and saw there was an entire squadron of people there. You didn’t recognize any of them. “Excuse me, you’re trespassing in my home.” you said, drawing their attention to you, “I’m going to need you to leave at once.”

None of them were speaking which immediately put you on edge. You gripped the fabric shears in your pocket. From the back of the crowd one of the men shuffled forward. You knew this man. He was one of the villagers, the one that had been staring at Sylus and you at the woodworker’s cottage.

“That’s her.” he said, pointing to you.

“You weren’t shitting us, Aaron.” one of the others said, “The dragon really mated with a human.”

You placed a hand over your swollen belly. “I don’t know for what reason you have all come here but I suggest you leave now while you still can. If you so much as touch me you will have to answer to my mate and I doubt you want that.”

“Your mate isn’t here.” the man from the village, Aaron, said. “And he won’t be back for a while. We spotted him leaving early this morning with a large pack. Hardly something you take for a quick flight around the mountain, is it?”

They had been stalking the mountain? How long had they been watching? What did they want? None of that mattered right now. You needed to act. You were severely outnumbered and you couldn’t fight without endangering your baby.

“Now, miss, you can come quietly or we can do this the hard way.” they said, brandishing their weapons.

Fuck! You turned and sprinted as fast as you could back into the tunnels of the mountain. You lived here for over a year. You had time to memorize these tunnels. You could hide from them so long as you kept ahead. But it was hard to do that when you were eight months pregnant! You needed to go. You needed to find some place to hide they’d never find you.

“Hard way it is.” their cruel laughter echoed off the walls, “Get her!”

~~~

Sylus was not looking forward to this. The closer he got to the dragons the more agitated he got. He had to talk himself out of turning around and returning home a dozen or more times. He was already anxious leaving you alone and he started to question how much he really needed this salve. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad would happen if he didn’t get it.

He also didn’t want anyone else letting them know that another half-breed was being born. He would deliver that news himself and face whatever ire came with it. It was late in the afternoon when he finally spotted the tribe down below.

Too late to back out now. He flew down, bracing himself for any manner of reactions from the others. Immediately they picked up on his scent. He recognized most of those that he passed. They glared, some growled, but no one had yet to make a move to stop him.

He steeled himself, his hands balling into fists as he charged forward only to have his path abruptly cut off by a large blue dragon with citrine eyes. “The half-breed returns,” they laughed, “And he reeks of human.”

“Nilamegh, how dearly I have not missed you.” the Draconic fell off his tongue easily. It was strange speaking it again after so long. It was rough in his mouth.

Another of the dragons, a green one landed behind him. “He always reeked of human. But this is new.” they pointed a massive claw at Sylus’s neck. “He is mated now.”

“Yes I have, Bercilak.” Sylus said, “And I see you still have not. Why does that not surprise me?”

“You--” Bercilak snarled before Nilamegh cut him off.

“Really? You took a mate?” their large head glared at Sylus, “What poor pathetic human did you force yourself on?”

“Shut it!” Sylus felt his composure slipping. “She is my mate and she wanted to be my mate. She is now pregnant with my child. I have only returned to get the salve for the anointing of my offspring. I promise I will not return after I have acquired a jar to take home with me.”

“More half breeds?” they snarled and the others that had been eavesdropping showed the same shock. “Was our race not already disgraced by the addition of you?”

“That is enough.” a voice boomed louder than all the others. Every dragon bowed their head and moved out of the way as Tengya stepped forward. Despite being surrounded by dragons twice his size this was the only time Sylus felt truly dwarfed. He took a knee, keeping his head low.

“Sioltach,” Tengya said, his voice calm, “You have returned.”

“I go by Sylus now.”

The old dragon made a noncommittal grunt. “You would.” he dismissed the others. “Raise your head. Walk with me.”

Sylus followed obediently, his entire person on edge as he and Tengya wandered farther from the crowd. He wanted to just ask for the salve and leave but knew better than to talk before the elder did. When they were far enough away Tengya sat down, Sylus knelt in his massive shadow.

The large dragon regarded him for a moment. “You come seeking the salve to anoint your offspring, yes?”

“You heard that much, did you?” Sylus muttered.

“No. But I know there is only one reason you would return to the tribe after so long away.” Tengya said, lowering his head to be more eye level with Sylus. “You have a human mate.”

“Yes.”

Tengya sighed, his molten red eyes assessing Sylus up and down. “You have grown. Last I saw of you, you were but a child. Rebellion in your blood, fire in your eyes. You were such an angry child.”

“My anger is what let me survive.” Sylus could feel all those emotions clawing at him. “Are you not angry, elder? You know why I am here. I have a human mate. She is soon to give birth to our child. There will be another half-breed running amok in the world. Does this not make you angry?”

“Why would it? I am glad that my progeny has found peace.”

Sylus stared at him dumbfounded. “Your jokes are cruel.”

“I do not joke. Do you think that I regard you so little, my son?”

“I am a curse!” Sylus fumed. “A punishment for a woman who tried to take your magic. I know you do not care for me.”

“I created you. If I thought you would be a blight on this world I would have found a different way to punish that woman.” Tengya’s quiet and calm response only stoked Sylus’s own ire. “But I see how your time away has warped your opinion of me.”

“It is not warped. I know I was not accepted here. You all saw me as a monster. An atrocity!”

“I cannot speak for the others, but I know what I thought.” Tengya huffed, blowing a jet of steam at Sylus. “And I never saw you as a monster. You were my creation, my child, whether you accept that or not is your own decision. And then you left. Ran away from the tribe.”

“Because I was not accepted.”

“You were accepted, Sioltach. You are because I say you are. But that was not the problem.” Tengya said, “You are dragon, but you are also human. And you craved to be loved, but that is not something dragons can provide. I cannot apologize for not being able to defy my nature. But I can give you this.” he reached into a chink of his massive scales and produced a jar the size of an urn.

Sylus caught it with a small grunt. “Take the salve. Anoint your child. Accept them as a dragon, love them as a human, as only you can.”

“That is it?” Sylus stared at the jar. “You have nothing else to say?”

“What more is there to say?” Tengya stood. “Return to your mate. Live well, my son.”

Tengya took off into the sky, leaving Sylus alone in the field holding the massive jar. He bowed his head. “Thank you.” he said to the wind.

He packed the salve into his pack and immediately began the flight back to the mountain. There were many thoughts going through his head but all he cared about was going home. Sylus was relieved though. He had the salve and while it wasn’t set in stone there was an implied promise that Tengya would not let any of the others harm you or your child.

Sylus wanted to get back as soon as possible but the flight was long and he needed to bunk down in a tree for a couple hours before continuing the journey. He finally made it back to the mountain late the next morning. The sight of the mountain had filled him with so much joy. He was finally going to be back with you.

He touched down at the entrance and the joy of being home immediately evaporated. Something was wrong.

He sniffed at the air. Your scent was faint, almost gone. And there was something else. Other scents that didn’t belong. Sweaty and masculine scents. Had you decided to go to the village after all? Had your father come to get you? What was happening?

Sylus set the pack down and ran through the cave trying to find you but could find you nowhere. That’s when his nose caught another scent, it was hidden but the further into the caves he got the more prominent it became. Blood.

“No…” Sylus followed the scent into a dark room. His eyes strained in the darkness until he found the source of the smell. That horrible sweaty masculine smell was strongest in here, mixed with the faint sour tang of fear and metallic blood. He found a pair of large scissors were covered in blood. Not yours. But the dark stain on the ground, that was yours. That reeked of you.

Someone had come in here and and hurt you. Someone had raided his home and taken his mate and child!

His skin grew blisteringly hot. What felt like fire surged through his blood and red hot heat burned out of his eyes. Each breath he tasted smoke and death on his tongue.

He ran back out of the cave, his skin shredding around him as he took to the sky once more. A scream ripping from his throat in pain and fury. He was going to kill them! He was going to kill all of them!

[catalyswitch]

Was talking with wife recently about AI and the ways it's incredibly stupid and I am reminded of the time a few years ago the Execs at the place I worked previously wanted to incorporate AI into our workflow in order to help materials development. They wanted to make sure that the company was "utilizing the latest technology to make us more productive" so they partnered with a company that uses AI/ML to predict chemical structures in order to enhance performance based on our desired properties. My boss and I kinda thought this was stupid when it was first announced, but we were still unprepared for how bad it was really going to be.

The problem of course here is that what a computer thinks is good and will perform well does not often make sense according to the laws of physics. So more often than not the computer would spit out extremely specific and nonsensical structures that it believed would increase performance. These structures could range from completely impractical to sometimes downright impossible to actually make, so for every set of predictions we got back we had to first filter all the nonsense and then select a set from the ones that could be made and tested in a reasonable amount of time. In addition, they emphasized that the more data that they have the better the predictions would be, so the pressure was on to synthesize and validate as many molecules as possible as quickly as possible. This was a huge drain on time and energy because again some of these structures were nontrivial to make. Not that the computer people would be able to tell the difference. But still the executives were excited about it so we gave it a try anyway. The idea was that we would start by making a bunch of different materials and test the results and then feed those results back into the machine to predict better structures based on the ever growing data pool.

The funny part of the story, of course, is that with every iteration, the performance got worse. This was not surprising to me. The mechanisms that dictate performance in this field are not fully understood even now, and there are still many papers coming out every year adding more knowledge to the field. Additionally, the predictions weren't being made using some fundamental understanding of the mechanisms at play, but by training an algorithm using a pool of existing literature. You're just not going to get good results by "midjourneying" chemistry. We did around 3-4 iteration cycles with them over that year contract and every time the performance of the structures that it had predicted were worse than the last set, sometimes dramatically so. And they would tell us "no no, the data set isn't really big enough to give good results yet" and "once the model has tested enough structures it'll get better" but it didn't in that period. And it's possible that on a long enough timescale it might be possible? But, the reality was that we had a whole year of time and resources essentially wasted because our CEO thought that some tech guys in SV could use AI to do chemistry and didn't believe us when we said it was stupid.

And you know what? We figured out something that worked really well less than six months after dumping them and getting to do it our way again.

[highlady-of-prythian]

Enchanted by Starlight ── ( prologue )

SUMMARY - In a world rules by the hierarchy of Alpha's and Beta's, Avaryce is on the run - and run she does, right into the Night Court where a certain pack is in need of an Omega.

Warnings: This is my first ever story on Tumblr. Mentions of runaways and abuse, and this story includes A/B/O. Not gonna be good, so brace yourselves.

Pairings: Inner Circle x OC

---

With each step I took away from my old life, the weight of expectation and abuse suffered at the hands of those who were supposed to be my "pack" fell away, leaving only uncertainty and adrenaline in its wake. The stars blinked down on me like old companions, and I couldn't help but let out a small exhale. I was free.

I had been on the run, I suppose you could say, for the past few days. The journey long and perilous. In truth I had no idea where I was going, only that I needed to get as far away as possible from my old pack, or what was supposed to be a pack.

I sigh, slinging down my backpack ducking behind a tree. If anything this would be a good place to rest for the night. The forest had become a part of me now. It enveloped me like a mother would her child. It felt comfortable, right, in a way that was inexplainable.

I found a rock next to the stump of tree I decided to rest behind and took a seat. I grabbed the bag digging through what little bit I had. I started off with a few protein bars and water, only to now end up with half a bottle of water, and maybe a crumb or two of protein bars that would make a mouse scoff in distaste.

Seems I need to head to a town, tommorow. The thought alone made shivers run up my spine. I had been careful thus far not to run into anyone. After all, I was an Omega. One that was now packless, and alone. There's likely two things Alpha's or Beta's would do to me if spotted: take me back to my original pack, or try to mark me as their own. And we'll, neither option is viable in my opinion, especially if they're as brutal as my previous pack was to Omega's.

Since the beginning of well...forever, Alpha's were known to take an Omega and mark them as territory in packs. And since the pack I was in previously was strictly familial, I wasn't yet marked by any bonded packs as theirs. Which means I am now practically free game to any pack that wants me . . .Yay. Not.

I didn't even know which court I was near anymore. I didn't have a map or a sense of direction. I simply booked it in the middle of the night three days ago. The thought alone makes me groan in annoyance. I should have planned this better, but after a particular beating, I realized I couldn't take it anymore, that I sshouldn't.

I was not some animal to be treated so unfairly. I wouldn't sit and be caged and look pretty only to be sold off to a cruel pack to sit and bare faelings, or pups. And I wouldn't. If there was a pack that could look past me being an Omega and see me for me then I would finally think about a life settling down. But until then, I would remain packless, and alone.

My thoughts are interrupted by the growling of my stomach. "Shit." I mumbled, tiredly. I hadn't realized when I shut my eyes, or when the stars fading into nothingness above me.

---

The next morning I set back off on my journey. The winds bristled past me whipping through my strawberry blonde hair. The void in my stomach only grew, and grew. I would need to eat something soon before Ipassed out. I gulped. That's the last thing I need.

I set a faster pace forward, keeping the negative thoughts down. There wasn't time for that. It wasn't until I caught a wiff of a delectable pumpkin pie that I finally paused. The aroma of the dish made my mouth water, and oh? The scent of whipped cream filled my senses.

I was nearing a clearing, and when I finally pulled back the last bit of brush in my way, I saw it. The Night Court. Or, well, Velaris: the City of Starlight. By legs didn't care as they led me down a steep hill towards that magnificent city. Its been years since they opened the border to outsiders. It won't be a suprise to see a new face, luckily.

I saw people walking, and talking with each other, the people seemed, peaceful. Much unlike what I saw growing up. The city felt alive and refreshing. As I walked past many streets and shops, onlookers seemed to pause and look at me. Not surprising: I probably look like a mad woman looking for this pie. But I couldn't care.

Not as the scent grew nearer and nearer, until there it was. A pie, sitting on the edge of a window sill. Steam wafted off of the pastry, and my mouthed opened slightly at the sight. In front of me was a building to a art studio where I could hear the laughter and voices of children inside. No one would notice a tiny bite being gone, right? I got closer to the pie, already tasting the deliciousness when the door to the studio opens.

My eyes widen as I run to the side of the building which just so happens to be an alleyway. Praying that no one had seen me. My scent was blocked off with scentblockers, so they couldn't tell that an Omega was near. "Huh, I swear I could have heard something." A sweet melodic voice mumbles.

"Probably a stray squirrel, Fey, nothing to fear. " A soft, sweet, voice says. "Oh! I almost forgot! The pie!" I ducked further into the alley before the voice drew to close. "Can't have the kids getting to hungry, right?"

"They'll love it, Elain." The voice, "Fey" states.

"You think?" The Elain girl questions.

"I know it!" Fey exclaims. "It's so sweet that you baked it for them, they must be starving." The sympathy in her voice makes me wanna gag at the thought that I was going to eat these kids' pie. "Come on."

When the door shuts, I lean on the building with a sigh. I need to be more careful. With scentblockers I will be fine for a while, but running up to the studio and acting like a deranged female was not a part of the plan.

And now the pie is gone.

A rack of guilt flowed through me. A pie that was meant for children. A gnawed on my fist and sighed. It didn't matter. I didn't get it, anyway. No harm done, right? Wrong. Suddenly, something sharp pointed at my ribs, and I stiffen. Oh, no. I'd been caught. And now I was going back to my old pack. My face paled. I can't go back. "Turn around." A sturdy male voice said. The voice sent shivers down my spine.

He voice was like a symphony of shadows. Dark and controlled. Alluring and hypnotizing. Deep and tempting. I mentally curse. Now isn't the time to get hormonal. I obliged the mystery man, taking my time to face the man with the blade. And when I do - when I see those delectable dark eyes, and the shadows that erupted from every which way from around him, it is only then that I realize how much shit I'm in. Maybe even more so than I was before I left in the first place.

[cellythefloshie]

;; Locked In    by cellythefloshie

Summary: When the NHL season is abruptly halted by a global pandemic, and you find yourself sharing your tiny apartment with your brother's rookie teammate, Quinn Hughes. Kinks & TW: Tanev Sister Reader, Forced Proximity, Secret Hook-up/Romance, 2019-2020 Season, Covid-19 Lockdown, Hints of Mild Dominance from Quinn, Mild Alcohol Consumption, Dry Humping, Vaginal Fingering, A Little Angsty (unresolved). Word Count: 4k+ A/N: I hadn't planned to post anything in January. I was just going to post my Best of 2024 and be done until February. BUT then I decided I wanted to challenge myself a little. I wanted to write for a player I thought I would never write for. AND then I was writing for a time I never thought I would write before because, of course, his rookie season had to be during the pandemic. Please be gentle with me. I took a lot of creative liberties here, but I hope you all enjoy.

“Why does he have to stay here?”

The tension in your shoulders grew as you glared up at your brother Chris. If your words hadn’t been clear enough in telling him just how displeased you were with his proposition, your body language would have to help get the point across. 

“It’s just for a few days until they get everything figured out,” Chris replied, brushing off your annoyance with a casual shrug with an ease that left a bad taste in your mouth—and it really shouldn’t have. As your big brother, he had years of practice in the art of convincing you to do things you didn’t want to do. 

Sighing, you passed Chris and at the player your brother was hoping you’d welcome into the small one-bedroom apartment you called home. Quinn Hughes, the team's rookie defenseman. Tall, and handsome, you had done your best to keep your distance from him when you had met once before—knowing yourself too well to trust that you would behave around a guy like him. 

He was shy back then and seemed just as timid as he stood awkwardly in the hallway, pretending not to hear the conversation you were having with Chris. Quinn kept his head down, his warm brown eyes locked on the floor like a sad, pound puppy that nobody wanted, with his hands shoved into the pockets of his team branded hoodie. 

Forcing a smile, your gaze focused back up on your brother, and his toothy grin that was always just enough to convince you. 

“It’s bad enough that there’s some illness going around that’s so serious that they halted the season and the world feels like it’s ending,” you began, “but now you’re locking me in my apartment with the team’s rookie?”

“I can hear you, you know?” Quinn spoke up from the hallways, his gaze raising from the floor for the first time since he had arrived. 

Your heart beat hastened, and it pounded so strongly you could feel it against the delicate flesh of your throat. It raced so quickly; you thought it might burst through your chest as a wave of heated embarrassment washed over you. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you tried to play it cool, but if Quinn had reached out and felt just how sweaty your hands had become, he would know just how much of a facade it was. “Why can’t he stay with you?” You cocked your head as you brought your arms up to cross over your chest, begging him to get to the point he was trying to make. 

“The kids’ daycare is closed. Mom’s flying in before things get worse–but he’s my responsibility since we already got Petey home to Sweden and they don’t want any of the guy alone for-” Chris cut himself off, as if there was more to say but he didn’t want you to hear it. You hung on his words for a moment, ready to question him on it, but you didn’t. You knew better than to question your big brother. 

“Does mom think it’s a good idea to stick me in an apartment with him?” You challenged him in a last ditch effort to try to get out of the familial obligation of helping out your brother when he needed it. 

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” His smile grew wider as he placed Quinn’s bag down on the floor just inside the door. 

“You know,” you sighed, leaning against your door, giving Quinn just enough room to come inside, “instead of flying mom home, Quinn could have helped with the kids.” It was your final, half-serious attempt to escape the arrangement, but it only made your brother laugh. 

“Thanks, Sis,” he said simply, ignoring your every attempt to say no before he was gone, leaving you and Quinn alone in your apartment. 

You lingered by the door for a moment, your head resting against the surface as you let out a steady breath. Maybe if Chris had given you a heads up, you might have felt differently about the entire situation, but your place was in no condition for a houseguest. Dishes had piled up in the sink, your laundry was half folded on the couch, and you were in the middle of rewatching your favorite television series on Netflix as a way to avoid the hell that was going on in the world. And Quinn, he was just going to have to accept all of it. 

But only for a few days. 

With a sigh, you pushed back from the door and forced a smile. “Sorry about the mess,” you told him as you moved to the couch and gathered armfuls of clothes. “You can set yourself up on the couch. Put on anything you like. I’ll get this all out of the way.”

“Do you need a hand?” Quinn offered, and you almost flinched. You hadn’t expected him to be so nice. 

“No, no, I’m fine,” you assured, carrying the clothes into your bedroom before throwing them onto your bed. You would deal with them later. First, you would have to deal with Quinn. 

Leaving your room, you shut the door firmly behind you. “That’s my room,” you gestured to the closed door, “it’s off limits to you unless stated otherwise. Obviously, you’re in the living room, which also happens to be the kitchen and the dining room. And through there is the bathroom, and if you can manage all of that without getting lost, tomorrow I can show you where the laundry room is down the hall.”

It wasn’t much of a tour, but the apartment was small. Surely if Quinn needed anything, he would figure it out—and you wanted nothing more than to retreat and hide away from the awkward situation your brother had forced you into. Maybe it made you seem harsh—or maybe it didn’t, because Quinn met your words with a soft smile and a quiet thanks before he settled in on the sofa, making himself at home. 

“If you need anything,” you started softly, your words becoming heavy with a sigh, “just knock.”

Slowly, you slipped away into the sanctuary of your bedroom, your lips moving in a whisper of a prayer as you began to put your laundry into its place. “It’s only for a few days…”

Days turned into weeks. And as the world’s condition only seemed to worsen, necessity foiled your determination to keep Quinn at arm’s length. You could only take so much solitude in your room before the silence became unbearable. While you had movies on your laptop and video chats with your friends to keep you entertained, you needed real human contact to keep yourself from insanity. Slowly, you began to share meals together, and small talk that slowly grew beyond hockey and the relationship you had with your brothers Chris and Brandon. And to your surprise, he wasn’t the worst house guest. Quinn was self-sufficient, considerate, and–while you would never admit it to Chris–the only person keeping you from losing your mind. 

“Do you maybe want to watch a movie together, or something?” you asked him one night after dinner, your tone as casual as you could muster. 

Quinn’s attention snapped to you, shifting from his phone that lit up the surprise that overtook his features. “Yeah, sure. I can set it up. Anything you want to watch?”

You shrugged as you tucked the last of the clean dishes away. “Just put on whatever. I’ll pop some popcorn.”

Settling on the couch minutes later, you place the bowl of popcorn in the space between you. As the movie played, the distance between you and Quinn seemed to shrink with each handful. You felt the warmth of his body radiating from him, and the softness of his hands as they collided with yours on the hunt for just another handful of popcorn. It was a subtle, but unignorable touch that made your pulse quicken. 

Biting down on your lower lip, you brought your hands back to rest on your lap, and you glanced at him from the corner of your eyes. Quinn was focused on the movie, his sharp jawline tense as he enjoyed the last handful of popcorn. His eyes didn’t hold the heavy sadness they had when he had arrived at your apartment weeks ago, but seemed to have a hint of a smile in them as he laughed at one of the jokes as it played out on screen. 

You smiled softly to yourself. 

You liked his laugh, and maybe it was just the weeks of isolation consuming you, but… he wasn’t bad company at all. 

“What?” Quinn’s question sent a nervous jolt through you. He had caught you looking. 

“Nothing,” you said quickly, trying to play it cool. 

The couch shifted as Quinn turned his body away from the movie, giving his attention to you as he relaxed back against the arm of the couch. “Tell me.”

For a moment, you thought about ignoring him. That the two of you could ignore what had just happened and just get lost in the movie until the crack in your hardened facade was forgotten. But his stare left you giddy, and there was no hiding the smile that began to blossom over your features. 

“You’re not a bad guy to have around, Hughes,” you finally admitted, “and I’m glad you’re here.”

A smile, genuine smile spread across his face as he reached up to push his thick brunette hair from his eyes, “your brother thought it would be best for you–”

Your brows furrowed, your question leaving your lips in a firm question before he could continue, “I’m sorry, what?” “He didn’t want you to be alone during all of this,” Quinn explained, his voice soft and sheepish, as if he knew he shouldn’t have been telling you anything. 

You leaned back against the opposite arm of the couch, your legs coming up to spread across the cushions and dragging along his leg slowly, accidentally, until you were comfortable there. “That lying bastard,” you laughed in disbelief, “he told me you being here was for your sake!”

Quinn’s laughter joined yours, warm and contagious as it created a symphony with yours. “We’ll have to give him hell for it later… but it hasn’t been all that bad, has it?”

You shook your head slowly, a silent admission that the weeks you had spent together in forced proximity weren’t all that bad. Standing up, you moved to the fridge, finding two tall beer bottles in the back. You carried one in each hand back to the couch, offering one to him as you stood just behind him, your body leaning against the back of the couch. 

“I can think of maybe two people I’d rather be stuck here with,” you joked lightly. 

“Ouch,” Quinn teased as he twisted off the cap and took a long, satisfying sip. 

“Don’t lie,” you told him. “I know you’d rather be at home with your brothers.”

“My brothers aren’t as easy on the eyes as you are,” Quinn said quickly, without hesitation. But then his face flooded with color, and his eyes went wide. Just as quickly as his words had been said, Quinn had realized they had not just been the thoughts reserved for his head. “Let’s pretend I didn’t just say that, okay?”

You raised your brow, challenging him with a smile as you asked, “What would be the fun in that?” 

Quinn’s smile grew. 

Your brother had thrown you both into this situation. You, his sister, cooped up with him, the team’s rookie defenceman, during a global pandemic that left you both isolated and alone. What Chris had expected to happen? You didn’t know. But it was only a matter of time before the lines you had created became blurred. 

After a long, satisfying sip of beer to boost your confidence, you leaned forward and placed it down on the coffee table. Licking your lips slowly, you hesitated, your mind screaming no, but your body telling you yes, as you climbed into Quinn’s lap slowly. You seated yourself there, his lap between your thighs as you straddled him. His eyes shot wide, a quiet cough choking him as he forced back a sip of beer and silently handed the cold bottle to you. 

Leaning back carefully, you place it down next to yours, Quinn’s hands reaching out to grip carefully at your thighs to keep you from falling back. He anchored you there, in his lap, as you settled back into place carefully, your body arching further into his, stealing more and more of his space until you were a breath away from his lips. A small smile blossomed over your lips slowly, your body consumed with the giddiness of what you were about to do. Your brother would kill you for this, or Quinn, but you didn’t care. It made it all the more exciting to lean in and kiss him. 

There was a moment of hesitancy in the careful kiss of Quinn’s lips as they welcomed yours. His kiss was slow, and curious as your eyes fluttered shut and your hands came to rest on his shoulders. Your touch was a feather light fleeting touch that quickly found its way into the thick wisps of his hair as his kiss deepened with desperation. 

He kissed you like you were a glass of water, and he hadn’t had a sip in weeks. His tongue stroked your lips slowly before parting them, and you could taste the beer on his tongue as you welcomed it into your mouth. The sweet contact unleashed a hum that caused through Quinn’s body in a subtle vibration that could feel between your thighs. And suddenly, your entire body was weak, like gelatin, and craving more than just the kiss of his lips. 

“Quinn,” you whined against his lips, your hips moving in slow rotations over his lap, grinding your core against his cock that you hoped to coax into an erection. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, breaking the kiss for the first time as he threw his head back. Quinn’s touch left where he held you firmly at the back of your thighs, dragging upwards until they settled on your hips and encouraged your every movement. 

You watched as his face melted into a soft expression that you couldn’t quite place, his mouth agape and his eyes shut as he focused on the very feeling of you. And between your legs, you could feel the stiffness of his cock, hard and ready. Reaching down, your fingers fumbled to work him free of his pants, but the quick lurch of his one hand captured both of yours in his hold. 

You looked up at him, your eyes wide in shock as he guided your hands to the waistband of your pants carefully. 

“Take those off,” he told you, his words firm and far from a suggestion, “and go to your room.”

Holy fuck. You had never been someone who liked to be told what to do, but in that moment, Quinn could have told you to do anything and you would have done it. 

Standing slowly, you stood between his knees as she remained seated on the couch. Your eyes fixated on his features, worried that if you had let them wander down out of curiosity, you might moan. As you held your breath, your hands pushed down at the waist of your pants, you pushed them down—and your panties went with them. 

They remained in a heap on the floor, your toes tripping over them slightly as you began the agonizing walk to the bedroom. With every stride you could feel your own wetness dripping down the inside of your thighs, your core begging to be filled. And as you got to your bedroom, you froze, your legs pressed firm together as you waited. His footsteps didn’t fill the silence. Quinn wasn’t following you. 

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, your flesh suddenly red hut and sent a shimmer with a sheen of sweat. Quinn was still in the living room, his thoughts entirely his own as you waited, near panicked, for him to join you. 

Standing with your back to the door, your eyes shut as you took deep breaths in an attempt to remain calm. Maybe you had been too forward. He wasn’t interested—or maybe he wasn’t as reckless as you and wasn’t ready to throw away a good relationship with his teammate by fucking his teammate’s sister. 

“Fuck,” you cursed to yourself, ready to accept the mistake you had just made. 

Reaching for your blanket, you had intended to wrap it around your waist and retreat back into the living room with an apology, but when you turned around, Quinn was standing in your doorway. 

His steps were slow as he entered your bedroom for the first time since he had arrived two weeks prior. Quinn wasted no time getting familiar with his surroundings. He only had eyes for you as he met you where you stood frozen at the foot of your bed. Quinn’s arms wrapped around you in a careful bear-hug, drawing your body flush with his as his lips found yours in a kiss that reassured you that your advances had been welcome. 

You moaned against his lips as he lay you out on your bed with an effortless strength and splayed your legs open wide. Quinn could have settled himself in between them, but instead, he lay down at your side, your one leg propped up against him. He stroked at the delicate flesh of your inner thigh slowly as he kissed you. His touch moved up only an inch at a time, teasing you as he encroached on the apex of your thighs. He left your body shuddering with anticipation, his hand hovering over your eagerness but void of his touch when you knew he was so close to where you wanted him. 

“Please don’t make me beg,” you muttered against his lips. 

It had been weeks since you had anyone touch you, and when he had become your unexpected house guest, he was the last person you thought you would welcome into your bed. But now that you had him there, you wanted all of him, or as much of himself as he was willing to give you. 

First, you felt him smile against your lips, a hum of a laugh coursing through him, and then you felt his fingers on your clit. 

Your teeth grit in a satisfied hiss, your hips raising to meet his touch with an eagerness that was out of your control. Your heels dug down into the bed, your hips rolling into every careful circular stroke he made before his fingers dipped down, feeling the slick of your arousal and plunged into your core. 

“Quinn,” you gasped out, your hips dropping into a downward angle to welcome his fingers into your core. 

His middle and ring finger worked you in quick thrusts that left your mind dizzy and your movements purely instinctive as you anchored yourself to your bed with the grasp of your hand and bucked your hips up into his hand just to feel more of him. Quickly, you were so embarrassingly close to coming, and it left you reeling as you looked up at him with pleading eyes. 

“Are you going to-” you started, your body trying to roll on top of him in a swift movement that was interrupted by the careful push of his free hand against your hip. Quinn pushed you back to laying flat against the bed, one hand still buried in your core while the other held you down at the hips. The angle he worked you into, paired with how his fingers curled at just the right spot as they worked you, sent a fire burning through you. Your arousal coated his fingers, dripping down over his palm and making a mess of the bed as pleasure pulsed through you. It left you moaning, your head thrown back against the mattress as your core clenched around his fingers, wishing that it was his cock. 

As you lay in your bed, panting, you tried to remember the last time you let someone do something as adolescent as getting you off with nothing more than their fingers. But your mind was fogged by the bliss of your climax—but one thought hung low over you, preventing you from enjoying it fully. Quinn hadn’t gotten to enjoy releasing himself. 

Rolling over slowly, you tried to reach out for his waistband again, but he caught your hand. Your gaze met his, his eyes soft, and his smile small as he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb slowly. 

“You didn’t get to-” You started, but he cut you off. 

“I know,” he said, his hand bringing your hand to his lips to place a gentle kiss on your palm—a small attempt at a distraction from how his cock still seemed to throb in the confines of his pants. “But let’s sleep on it, okay? Make sure you don’t regret this in the morning. I mean, your brother is my teammate, after all.”

“Oh,” you sounded softly, trying to hide your disappointment behind understanding, “yeah, okay. But ah- can you stay in here with me tonight?” You requested slowly, “I don’t want to sleep alone anymore-”

Quinn nodded slowly, leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead. “I can do that, anything to get away from sleeping on that damn couch–”

The morning sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains, casting long shadows across the table as you sat across from Quinn. It was the first morning since he had arrived that it felt like you weren’t walking on eggshells. It was a quiet, comfortable affair, yet there was a new tension in the air. One that you couldn’t quite place. Maybe he was regretting what had happened. That thought alone left your stomach in your throat as you poked at your breakfast, trying to find the will to take the first bite. 

Then, breaking the silence, Quinn found the courage to speak. “I’m allowed to fly back to Michigan, to be with my family until the season resumes.”

Your grasp on your fork tightened, his words hitting you like a slap to the face. You could feel your face wanting to fall into a scowl, but you did your best to mask it by taking a long sip of your drink as you sought composure. 

So that was it. After weeks of shared solitaire, an awkward beginning that turned into something that felt natural, he was leaving? Just like that?

“That’s great,” you said, forcing a smile. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he answered. 

You could feel his gaze on your face, searching for the reaction you refused to give him. Instead, you let your features soften, a practiced smile on your features as you set your fork down on the table with deliberate care. “I won’t keep you then. You’ve got some packing to do. The last thing you need is a distraction.”

Pushing your chair back, you abandoned your place on the table, your breakfast unfinished, and moved towards your bedroom. Your footsteps were quick, your eyes fixated on your bedroom door, and they did not deviate from it. Not even as Quinn’s voice followed you, your name leaving his lips in a gentle plea, “Please wait, can we talk about this?”

His words didn’t stop you. You didn’t turn around; you didn’t look back at him. Instead, your hand just tightened into your fist at your side as you reached the threshold of your doorway. There, you lingered for a moment, your flexed hand reaching up to rest against the door frame. You could feel Quinn’s eyes on your back, and your lips parted as if to say something–a sharp retort, a clever quip, anything to fill the silence–but no words came. 

Only a quivering breath left your lips as you stepped into your room and closed the door firmly behind you. 

The quietness and sudden isolation of your room were suddenly suffocating. Just mere hours ago you had Quinn had woken up there, together, and now he was going to just leave? It felt like some sick and twisted joke that left you trembling as you sank to your knees. You couldn’t help but wonder if he had known before breakfast, and that last night only happened because Quinn knew he was going to leave. The what ifs were all-consuming in your mind, raging louder and louder even if you tried to combat them with: Quinn, isn’t that kind of guy. He’s good—at least that’s what you wanted to believe. But the thought wasn’t enough. Your tears came anyway, hot and unrelenting as you silently sobbed. The hot tears spilled down your cheeks as you pressed your psalm into your face to muffle any sound that threatened to escape your lips. 

Quinn was leaving. After everything. After the awkward days of learning to live together, and the late-night talks, the laughter, and the moments that felt too intimate to be casual. You’d finally allowed yourself to settle into the strange shared existence the two of you had been thrust into. For two weeks, it was just the two of you alone in the little world that was your apartment. When Chris had dropped him off weeks ago, you knew the arrangement was temporary. At one point you had been counting down the hours until he could leave… but now, as you struggled through shallow breaths in search of a glimmer of composure, you had to accept he was leaving you behind, and it felt achingly permanent. 

In just twenty-four hours, Quinn would be gone.

You spent each one of them alone in your room, your mind racing with so many things you wanted to say, but never brought yourself to. As the next time you left your room, the apartment was unbearably quiet, void of Quinn’s presence. And for the first time in weeks, you were truly alone. 

[999-roses]

TLDR: imo chuangCN is sketchy af and if forced to answer yes/no I'd say yes, it's run by white sinophobes if not outright feds, but I can't definitively say anyone there is doing digital yellowface, for lack of specific authors/persona attribution; for lausanHK: no, they appear to be legit diaspora, except when the specific author clearly is just a white dude, but similarly their content carries water for US/NATO New Cold War-aligned anti-China narratives. Because of course the last thing the imperial core bourgeoisie wants is anyone on the left in their countries sympathetic to China. yellowface context: I think some adjacent xtwitter thread links to a grayzone* article regarding "kong tsung-gan" who was supposedly a native HK activist but turned out to be a white dude. *grayzone is wonky and specifically, I think max blumenthal is a conspiracy theorist, but grayzone has had reporters I respect like ben norton work under him in the past. the exposé about kong tsung-gan appears to have legitimacy as the white guy behind the "pen name" has come out about it.

chuangcn has two separate outlets for their pieces: blog and journal.

On their blog, chuangcn does not publish who their authors are, but date their pieces. On their journal side, they might include some names of partial contributors but many articles again do not have author attribution, and their journals do not clearly demarcate publication date. The "authoritarian/big bad censorship" narrative, in which authors have to hide their identities for "safety", lends particularly well to this kind of authorship obfuscation.

Including publication date is important because it provides placing it in context. While time seems to move slowly in the west, where conditions under unfettered capitalism keep unceasingly getting worse for the average person at the agonizing pace of molasses, where the last four years didn't really change much from the next, I must remind people reading in English on the American anglophone webbed site that this is absolutely not the case for China. Comparatively, social conditions and policy in China moves fast, and unlike the political structures in the west at least, policymakers and enacters actually make efforts to course-correct (not that it is perfect. Yeah, China isn't perfect. Why do I have to keep saying this?); even so, the fruits of those efforts still take some time to see the desired outcomes. China's 5 year plan that included poverty alleviation was passed in 2016!! And that's not the current 5 year plan anymore, that was almost 10 years ago! To a westerner, seeing info published in the 2010s might seem fine and recent; but if you're talking about socioeconomics in China, say, the conditions of migrant workers, again, shit moves fast! So, depending on the topic, you might be working with info that is already outdated. If you are a westerner who mainly reads in English looking for info on Chinese migrant workers, and you come across a chuangcn article about it (because they publish in English), it might seem like you came across a mother lode of info you were looking for, but in actuality, chuangcn published a translation of a critique on a domestic situation that is dated to a decade ago, and of course, framing it as an alarming human rights situation.

Particular of note on their blog, their most recent XUAR atrocity propaganda piece draws "parallels" between difficulties of Chinese Uyghurs living in Xinjiang and the genocide of Palestinians in Gaza. (I am not denying there are issues in XUAR, or that the chosen policies to those issues could have been better *somehow*, but eliciting direct parallels to the genocide in Gaza? to actual brutal occupation and systemic ethnic cleansing? Japanese occupation is within living memory of older Chinese people, and right now people are dying under Israeli occupation, so eliciting that comparison - I'm speechless. Who else's suffering are you willing to utilize as a tool to smear enemy number one as designated by the US empire?) The intro for this piece says that a "Chinese communist" who's written their previous blog article penned it.

This other blog post is titled "Against Pinkwashing 反对粉红清洗: Sinophone Queers and Feminists for Palestine 华人酷儿女权撑巴勒斯坦声明". Being against pinkwashing has made its rounds in the online anti-imperial/anti-zionist left in the year+ since Israel's brutal genocidal response to Oct 7; this is familiar pattern for chuangcn, dressing their analysis in leftist lingo. However, "粉红清洗" doesn't appear much in Chinese language internet, and where it does appear, is mainly around translations of Queer Palestine and the empire of critique., and other discussion that spotlights western progressive/leftism. Thing is, pinkwashing (or its reverse, I guess) isn't some isolated or crazy thing to Chinese people who care to look at what the west has to say. There's a whole human rights NGO industry pointed at designated 'enemies of the west', of which in this decade frequently includes China: all the accusations of mistreatment of women, lgbt, minorities -- sometimes they even pretend to care about workers! -- removed from prior socioeconomic or historic contexts. Funny I'm mentioning it, because for all intents and purposes it seems like chuangcn lends credence and launders narratives to that network, or rather, they've been at the forefront of anti-China atrocity propaganda for years. So IMO it's ironic given the circumstances that pinkwashing ends up in the title of that piece in Chinese. 》note: I am Chinese diaspora living in the west, those more familiar with this term '粉红清洗' usage please feel free to jump in or make corrections

My second docking against their "Chinese communist" authorship claim, or at the very least the intentions of translators if there were linguistic middlemen: "sinophone" has its origins in western-affiliated academia with sinophobic intentions with regard to Chinese diaspora. I made a messy and childish post about the origins and motives of the term "sinophone" a couple years ago. I'm not super proud of its presentation, it was partially a vent post, but I think the content, and subsequent discussion of attempts to scrub away Chinese-ness à la colonialism, still holds. "Chinese people" or even "Chinese both mainland and diaspora" for "华人" would have sufficed, okay yeah it's a mouthful in English, sure, but instead "sinophone" was used. I'm not saying a Chinese person would never use the term "sinophone", but to me this is suspicious; to me it is saying 'my target reader is a westerner'+'people would never willingly choose to be Chinese, they might just happen to speak a sinitic language'.

Speaking of linguistic middlemen, I doubt they exist. Publications that claim something was translated will usually link to the original document - not published or posted by the same group - if not post it as well; it's something I look for when evaluating credence, intentions, veracity, etc. There are a few chuangcn blog posts that link to a Chinese version, but they never link out of chuangcn: they are only ever hosted and published on their site. Even if "our contributors have to hide from the eyes of the draconian authoritarian Chinese state, so they limit where they can publish and speak their truth" were true, there are other places to cross-publish that aren't chuangcn. It's very odd.

Ah, back to the article in question, the 'oppression of Uyghurs and oppression of Palestinians follows the same shape!' atrocity propaganda piece. Sure, we can still read and critically digest the other stuff the article or chuangcn has to say, and they seem to even be cognizant that Adrian Zenz is not a trustworthy source, and even denote as such. However, this "Chinese communist" uncritically cites (uses as factual authority) Darren Byler no less than 6 times - Byler, who cites Adrian Zenz in his academic work. This article also uncritically cites (uses as factual authority) the Uyghur Human Rights Project, which calls XUAR 'East Turkestan' and is downstream of the Uyghur American Association, which is in turn in partnership and association with National Endowment for Democracy (NED) which is funded by US Congress... the pattern of organizational ourobos of sockpuppets endemic to human rights industry-NGO circles (wait! and Falun Gong also). When this article appears to provide historical context, it truncates the history of the region to just the 1900s and particularly post-1950, eg, after PRC was founded, rather than including relevant ethnological history carried over from the late Qing dynasty. There's probably a lot more but this post is already really long.

I guess whoever authored this article thought that if they "clearly" sided against Adrian Zenz et al and dressed the narrative in anti-colonial, anti-imperialist verbiage, if they pull the idpol "this was written by a Chinese communist, trust me bro," it would pass under the leftism radar, and even some 'communist' westerners might even give it credence and further their "China critical [outsider, but I promise I'm nuanced]" positions. Hm, how odd that this 'China critical' stance rarely if ever spotlights anything that China does right or at least better than the west. As other comrades have said more succinctly, ultimately even if you're doing it leftist-ly or whatever, you're still just a westerner who's bashing China when bashing China is on US/NATO's agenda.

----

lausancollective/lausanHK on the other hand, seems to be a bit less shady, at least in terms of digital yellowface or dubious origin. Their contributors are primarily sino diaspora living in the west, but unlike Qiao Collective, who are also primarily sino diaspora, lausan are unfriendly to PRC as a whole, CPC, and Socialism with Chinese Characteristics. Most of their content I skimmed labeled present-day China "capitalist (badism [sic])". And other frequent themes such as calling PRC 'imperialist' as well as other claims I would consider errors (somewhere between anarchist-liberal-ultraleft depending on the article/lingo used) but at this point I'm tired so I really gotta end this post quickly.

However they do have more variety of authors, contributors, and collaborators who permitted reprints, so their content is more varied and some of it might be worth gleaning info from, with a grain of salt and a heaping of critical sense.

For example I thought this article was interesting despite: 1. the original document (it's a translation) can't be found with link cited, even with waybackmachine, and searching for the original author with that context/title only results me in a China Digital Times article (CDT is sponsored by a slew of western orgs including NED) 2. calling present-day China 'post-socialist' 3. its error in prioritizing workers/unions over other matters, such as erosion of US hegemony. (However skimming one of their several Tiananmen articles, it was more full of both idealist-socialist and worker unionist drivel than revelations, at least to me. But I at least got a laugh from seeing someone spin the "massacre" narrative from a workerist angle rather than the student-centric narrative that is more prevalent in the west, ie, recounted to US Congress with more exaggerations and embellishments every year or so by Operation Yellowbird's benefactees now living in the west.)

But scrolling further, huh, that's weird, lausan published an article authored by Darren Byler...... The Adrian Zenz-citer strikes again.

Anyway yeah lausan's central theme is again anti-China, always going on about 'authoritarianism' or 'statist' etc; rarely mention things that PRC does well, or when they do, they always have some way to subvert it as "actually bad" or attribute it to other entities. So, even if they're the real deal and mean well (whatever that might mean) their overarching agenda matches with New Cold War, even if they might frequently publish articles regarding pushback against it or against "choosing sides" (lol).

I dont know where you people are finding or trusting (!!) places like Chuang or Lausan but come on.

1. pieces using terminology like authoritarianism or totalitarianism should at least give you some skepticism, if not in taking them seriously, then at least in having some understanding of how those terms are positioned geopolitics, eg, western imperialist motives in smearing their enemies who have the most power and ability and organization in fighting back.

2. theyre very purposefully unclear in their exact positions or affiliations. say, their funding for operations - especially when it's not just one guy and clearly they're not asking for viewer/follower support. they may (supposedly) seek collaboration with indigenous and anti-imperialist groups and then turn around and either insinuate or openly call china imperialist. unserious. and then have the gall to say they support a revolutionary global leftism

[sushi-enthusiast]

Handsy Man Ghost

Continuation of this post

Got a little intense towards the end, it’s been weeks since I’ve seen my BF and I have NEEDS, okay?!

Some slightly suggestive material, heavy petting/kissing

Two weeks after Simon first works for our unnamed woman, she calls him up again, asking him to fix a drafty window. He dutifully makes his way over, calling other clients to tell them that an ‘emergency job’ came up and he’d be running late, even going so far as to cancel his last job.

When he arrives there, he’s greeted by the same beautiful face. She welcomes him in with a smile, the way her laugh lines crinkle as she does so has Simon at a momentary loss for words. When he steps into the threshold the smell of fresh baked cookies hits him. He wonders if she had made them for him (she had) or if she’s simply the kind of woman to bake in her free time. He begins working on fixing the draft, a few minutes in she approaches with a glass of water in hand. Simon has to take a deep breath when she explains that she thought he might need it, he’s been working so hard and she’s so grateful that he had been able to swing by so quickly. As he grabs the glass of water, his calloused fingers brush over her’s. They’re so soft and delicate, he wonders if she ever had to lift something in her life or if she uses lotion, maybe that’s where the warm vanilla scent is from? As he thanks her, he imagines her rubbing lotion into her legs, caressing them slowly as her hands slowly creep further up her legs and onto her plush thigh. He’s practically drooling at the idea. He’s so distracted that he slams his hammer down onto his hand. The shouted expletive causes the gorgeous woman to come rushing over. The look of concern in her eyes makes Simon want to sweep her into his arms and mark her as his. After assuring her that he really is okay, he gets back to work. His mind is still filled with what he’d like to do to her, how he’d like to make her feel.

As he wraps up, our unnamed woman approaches him with a plate of the fresh baked cookies wrapped in plastic. The imagine of her standing before him, arms outstretched with the baked goods is one Simon decidedly MUST see again, preferably in their hypothetical shared home, perhaps with a few children running around—she looks like she’s young enough that it could be a possibility.

Simon steps closer, the smell of sawdust, iron, and a musky cologne wafts over her. Somehow, the large man’s presence seems even larger as he grabs the cookies and thanks her with a soft smile. When she explains that she wishes she could express just how much she appreciates his quick work, he hooks a large hand in the crook of her waste, and whispers “think there’s a way you can, love.” Her face flushes a bit. It’s been a lonely year, she hasn’t been this close to a man since before her divorce was official. She wraps her arms around Simon’s neck and pulls him to her level, staring into his eyes hesitantly before his lips slit between her own. Simon’s kiss tastes like mint gum, with the faintest hint of menthol cigarettes. The plate is quickly set on the nearest surface as Simon pulls her in by the waist, wanting to feel every inch of her body against his. He’s rough, squeezing her love handles, memorizing the way the little patches of fat spill through his fingers. His hunger as he kissed her is outmatched by her own, like she wants to consume him. Simon’s hand trails down slightly as he grabs her round cheeks, if he had any less self control, he’d be doing a hell of a lot more than just feeling her body. He wants to make her legs shake. Frankly, she’s not any better. Squeezing his muscular biceps, the strength this man carries is more than astounding. Finally, after a heavy kiss, they pull apart and panting. The air is heavy with desire. Blushing, Simon hands her a different business card. “My personal number, call if you need…anything.” With that, he’s gone, platter of cookies in hand and an ache in his core.

[jackactuallywrites]

All Seeing, All Knowing, All Loving Part 7

Rating: Overdrinking and drunk emotions

Warnings: Ghost is in his feelings

Summary: You get rejected by a mysterious stranger and then Ghost turns up at your house drunk!

Notes: extra long because the last one was so short (also mc is not alcoholic she’s just British)

Word Count: 2,435

ao3 link

Considering that you’d sworn off alcohol after your New Year’s hangover, it hadn’t taken you and the girls long to get back into the clubs.

Granted, you were only having one drink tonight, and it was a nice cocktail rather than a shot, more of a sophisticated sex and the city girls' night out rather than a full booze-up.

In keeping with this theme, you were checking out the local talent in the bar. Helen had already disappeared from your little group to chat up a beautiful dark-haired woman at the bar, which left you, Katie, and Marge sat, trying to play the game of ‘queer woman or overly friendly straight’. So far, you and Katie were leaning towards a straight woman who was blissfully unaware of Helen trying to hit on her, whereas Marge still held hope.

“See, she’s leaning in! She’s so gay.”

“That was a laugh lean in; that doesn’t count.”

“She’s looking at her lips!”

“Because she’s listening to her talking!”

“Homophobe you are!”

You snorted at the pair of them bickering, sipping your cocktail as you watched the two women at the bar. You would have liked to have believed that Helen would pull, but inexplicably, she had a habit of only ever managing to find the straightest women out there.

Marge gave up trying to convince Katie and turned to you instead: “So, are we gonna talk about the guy that’s been staring at you since he came in?”

“What? Who’s staring at us?”

“Don’t look now, you div! Tall, blond, beefier than a prize-winning bull.”

“Is he fit?”

“Well, he’s about twenty-odd years too young for me, but I think you’d like him.”

“You sure he’s staring at me and not Katie?”

“I’m not senile yet! I can tell who he’s looking at!”

Marge was sat across the table from you, so whomever she was looking at was annoyingly out of your range of sight.

“Katie, have a look, what’s he like?”

Katie looked over very unsubtly, leaning back so she could get a better angle,

“Oh, he’s gorgeous. Bet he could bench press you, no problem. Tall, too. Surrounded by lads though.”

“Like, lads lads?”

“Oh aye. Tattooed and the like, jägerbombs and all. Willing to bet you’d be choked by Lynx the second you get near them.”

“Ew. Is he a lad, d’you reckon?”

Katie hummed, frowning.

“Yeah, probably. He is gorgeous, though.”

“Does he have a jägers?”

“Uhhh,” she squinted, “Could be a whiskey or summat?”

“Okay, okay, stop- stop looking, Kate, Jesus Christ. Subtle as an elephant, you are.”

“Aha! See? That woman’s sliding their number over to Helen! Told youse she was gay.”

You looked back to the bar, seeing Helen looking pleased as punch, though you still weren’t convinced that the other woman wasn’t just being friendly.

“Alright, Marge, I’ll buy you a drink then.”

“Weren’t we supposed to be doing just the one drink tonight?”

“It’s not like we’re gonna get proper hammered or anything. Just another drink.”

You should have known, really. If you stayed with the one drink, you might have been fine, but the moment you moved on to that second drink, it was all over. Two drinks turned into three, four, and then shots until you were almost as rowdy as the bunch of lads across the bar.

“I just think you should talk to him!”

Katie was insistent, with Marge in support.

“I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Really? You’re gonna ask us like I can’t give you hundreds of worst-case scenarios?”

“But like, realistically?”

“He could laugh at me, he could reject me, he could pour a drink on my head.”

“Oh, come off it.”

Katie pushed her empty glass over to you,

“It’s your turn to go get the drinks, anyways.”

“He’s at the bar, isn’t he?”

“Oh, would you look at that? Coincidence. Get a move on.”

Helen tapped her fingers on the table, having returned newly emboldened from the bar, “I will buy all your drinks for the rest of the night if you at least say hello to him.”

“All my drinks for the next month.”

“All your drinks for the next month!”

You really didn’t want to, but you could spend your money on so much more pointless shit if you didn’t have to spend it on drinks. After all, you had seen a fancy litter tray for Soap, something you wouldn’t splurge on normally, but if you didn’t have to buy drinks for a month?

“Fine.”

You were regretting making your deal the second you’d gotten up. What the hell were you going to say? You weren’t dressed for the occasion; you’d planned on a chill night out with the girls, so you hadn’t worn anything too alluring; the dress was shoulderless, sure, but it was also made of a nice thick knit to keep you warm, and it reached just below your mid-thigh. Your shoes weren’t all that exciting either, a pair of dark leather boots so you wouldn’t slip over on the icy pavements. You looked nice, but you didn’t feel sexy. Not ideal to try and go on the pull.

When you finally turned around to go to the bar, you could see him. As described, he was, in fact, tall and built like a brick shithouse, though you’d describe him as more a dirty blond. Above all else, though, he was gorgeous. Strong jawline, pale green eyes, and a large nose with a slight bump in it. He was wearing relaxed blue jeans, and a thick black jumper, with a basic pair of trainers. He turned over to look at you, and he watched you for a moment, his expression subtle but curious.

You were the one to break the eye contact, looking away so you could pick your way through the crowd to the bar, steadily making your way toward him, trying not to drop the glasses and make a tit of yourself before you’d so much as opened your mouth.

Once you’d reached the bar, standing beside him as you placed the empty glasses down, your mind seemed to have completely gone blank. What were you going to say? ‘Hello’ didn’t seem cool, ‘hi’ seemed too awkward, and ‘hey’ made you feel like you were trying too hard. You turned to look at him, hoping that you could think of something to say in the spur of the moment. He’d turned to look down at you, his head slightly tilted to the side, the corner of his lips picked up in a slight smile.

“Hi.”

Fuck.

“Can I help you?”

Even his voice was attractive, smooth and self-assured, with a certain level of warmth. Damn alcohol had made your brain all fuzzy.

“Hi. No. I mean, yes.” You pressed your fingers to your temple. How could you have fucked up so quickly?

“Take your time, love.”

In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Can I have your number?”

He actually looked surprised. Of course he did. You were acting like an absolute fool.

“Really?”

“Uh, yup.”

“I, uh, I don’t think-“

Oh God. Oh fucking Christ, he was turning you down. You could feel the embarrassment eating away at you like a virus in your gut.

“Never mind!”

You abandoned the drinks, fleeing back to your table of girls, knowing that your cheeks were flaming red. Fucking Katie.

Expectedly, you’d called it an early night after that.

It didn’t matter how much your girls told you that you were sexy and beautiful and that the man at the bar was an idiot; all you could feel was the sting of rejection, which the alcohol did little to dampen. They’d tried to convince you to stay, to ignore that group of pricks, but all you wanted was to go back to bed and curl up under the cover with Soap. At least that man would never let you down. He quite literally didn’t have the balls to.

You hadn’t expected to be disturbed after that; the girly group chat had been pinging with their remarks, mostly about the guy at the bar getting embarrassingly drunk and having to be carried out, clearly to do with the shame of missing out on a woman like you. You weren’t convinced. You’d just ignored your phone after that, knowing that the pings were lovey-dovey mush in the group chat, as per usual after a night out, and settled in for a quiet night with Soap, who’d taken his position of privilege, lying across your chest as you watched tv on your laptop.

Would it have been rude to mute the girly chat? It was still going off, not the usual rapid-fire messages, but slower, enough that it would catch your attention every time it lit up. Reluctantly, you tapped the space bar to pause your documentary, gently holding Soap as you leant across to grab your phone where it had been sat on charge.

It wasn’t the group chat.

It was Ghost.

‘Where are you?’

‘Tell me where you are.’

‘Talk to me.’

‘Talk to me or I’m breaking in again.’

‘Please.’

What the fuck.

He’d never text you like this before. He’d never really text. Shit, you better text him back, he actually might break in if you didn’t.

‘??? I’m literally at home chill out’

God, you were nervous now.

‘Simon don’t actually break in? Okay??’

Ah, there it was. The knock at the door. Well, it was less of a knock and more of a thump, one and then another, as though he’d leant his entire body weight against the door and used his head to knock. You would have liked to have used your camera to see what it was, but you hadn’t bothered replacing it since he’d ripped it off. Like there was a chance it could be anyone else banging on your door this late. You sighed, and picked up Soap, hugging him to your chest as you got out of bed and walked to the door,

“Time to see your father.”

You didn’t bother with the chain on the door, deciding you had little to fear from Ghost.

Without the chain holding the door back as you opened it, Ghost practically fell in through the doorframe, catching himself at the last second. He stood unsteadily, swaying, his hand firmly gripping the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping him upright. You blinked at him, taking a step back,

“Jesus, you been drinking?”

“‘M sorry love.”

You could practically smell the alcohol on his breath, it was that strong, and you wrinkled your nose,

“Fucking hell, how much did you drink?”

He reached out for you, his hand grabbing onto your arm like a vice, pulling you close to him, giving you little chance to freak out about the complete personality shift that seemed to be going through him right now. Both you and Soap were crushed against his chest, your face smothered in the black fabric of his jumper, able to smell his cologne and the unmistakable scent of cigarettes, the common shame of a drunkard. Soap squirmed uncomfortably, and you gently pushed away from Ghost,

“Simon, Simon, there’s a kitty here.”

Ghost pulled back, and you looked up at his face, his eyes a little bloodshot, but the pain in them was so tangible it tugged at your heartstrings. He reached out again, gentler this time, his fingers brushing against Soap’s head, “Johnny, ‘m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I shoulda been there.”

There were tears in the man’s eyes.

You’d just have to pretend Ghost was a drunk girlfriend.

You reached out to touch his arm,

“Hey, hey, come on. It’s okay, you’re okay. Come in and sit down, yeah?”

Ghost nodded softly, and you gently guided him toward the sofa,

“Take your trainers off and get comfy, yeah? I’ll put the kettle on. Here, have Soap.”

You dumped Soap on his lap, still not entirely sure why he seemed so emotional about the cat. There was something more there. But, it wasn’t your place to pry.

The situation was familiar; once you’d been drunk on that sofa while Ghost made tea, and now the situation was reversed. You chewed your lip as you waited for the kettle to boil. You could hear him calling your cat Johnny again, apologising to him over and over. You didn’t want to interrupt; clearly, the man had some serious demons, but you didn’t want to abandon him either. Instead, you busied yourself with the tea, rummaging in the cupboards louder than usual to drown out his conversation, unwilling to eavesdrop.

With tea and a pint of water in hand, you returned to the living room to find Ghost with his forehead pressed against Soap’s, his shoulders shaking in silence. Fuck.

You set the tea and glass down on the coffee table, eschewing the mandatory coaster in favour of speed as you sat on the sofa next to him, reaching out to place your hand on his back, rubbing it reassuringly,

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

His voice was soft, broken, his forehead still pressed against Soap’s.

“S’fucking stupid. Shouldn’t be here.”

“No, no, it’s okay, don’t worry.”

“I didn’t- I couldn’t-“

“Simon, seriously, it’s okay.”

He was quiet then, the only sound being his breathing, the sniffs that accompanied every inhale. You leaned in, resting your head against his shoulder as you did your best to wrap your arm around his broad back, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

Ghost shifted away from your touch after a minute, gently nudging Soap off his lap. He turned away from your touch, his back to you as he pulled off his mask, throwing it at the wall with some force.

“Ghost’s a fucking prick.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that. In fact, you weren’t sure what to do at all, you’d been winging it and it didn’t seem to be helping him. He’d wrapped his arms around his head and buried his face in the corner of the sofa, only the dark blonde hair on the back of his head visible. Strange, you’d always thought of him with black hair. You didn’t know whether to leave or stay, awkwardly perched on the edge of the sofa, unsure whether to touch him or not. A blanket was always a good idea, and you pulled the fluffy throw off the back of your sofa, gently draping it over him.

“Sleep it off, Simon.”

He didn’t respond, and you didn’t press him.

“Goodnight. Please don’t throw up on the carpet.”

[kisolvetica]

Hello!!! Thanks for the tag!! <3 Didn't expect to be tagged to be honest but I'm glad I did get tagged! :D

Also I must say everyone who reblogged before me sounds like such cool people! :>

Last song: American Jesus by Bad Religion! At first I wanted to say a Bowie song because I was listening to it all day due to it having been his death anniversary but then my playlist thought to be like "I don't think so!" and played a different song I like. I am pretty much a person who listens to everything.

Favourite colour: Despite my layout having purple and blue as the primary colours, my favourite colours are yellow (especially the yellow daffodils have) and dark green! Obviously I also like my layout colours but I'd say green and yellow just feel so soothingly happy to me.

Last Book: I am currently reading Faust 1 by Goethe because my finals are creeping up and it's one of the books I may need for those lol. But I also enjoy the book quite a lot!

Last movie: The phantom of the opera! I watched it together with my mother one random evening last year and I haven't watched any movie since then. I do want to watch Nosferatu next, though!

Last TV show: My mother and I have started watching a lot of shows together (this includes DBDA but it was too gay to handle for her conservative mind and she noped out after the cat king was introduced) and the latest is "From" it's not really popular, I think, at least it doesn't have a lot of Fanfics but I did enjoy the first season. I am a little sceptical about how they always introduce a bunch of characters but I hope that they flesh them out! It does have sapphics though so that's a win.

Sweet/Spicy/Savoury: I do have a big sweet tooth but I think outside of snacks and chocolate I am more of a fan of spicy food? Like, if someone asked me whether I'd want a spicy or a sweet dish for dinner, Id probably be more inclined to choose the spicy one.

Last thing I searched online: I researched for a fanfic I want to write and so it's "Boarding schools in Edwardian Britain" (now take a big guess for which fandom!! It's so niche you will never figure it out /s)

Current Obsession: My obsession with Genshin and HSR is dying down quite a bit (let's face it, it's the fandom's fault) And now my focus is back on demons and Greek Mythology. I have the want to get into Athuriana literature as well but ugh I'm too busy for this. Outside of occultism and mythology, yeah, obviously DBDA. It hit me HARD and I'm not mad!!! ... Also my own OCs but that's something only I can fix.

Looking forward to: Graduation!! Yes, everyone is telling me that it only gets worse from now on (which,,, very promising btw) but I am so glad when I leave this school. At least at university I can choose a bit more of what I want to do. I am also gonna get a therapist which I am in dire need of and hopefully try to get gender affirming care at the end of the year. I already have a job lined up so the only other things I want to achieve this year is finishing up my driver's license and get the scholarship I applied for but that part is something I have no control over! Also, I might need to look out for apartments because of a reason surrounding my family situation but, well, I prefer living alone anyway. Just gotta see how I'm gonna support myself.

Ten people I'd like to know better: You know, I don't even know if I know the blog names of ten separate people or if they're even okay with me tagging them (what's the etiquette for that? I know that some other platforms were rather... nasty about it). So,,, if you come across this and you want to do this, I always like to read about other people's interests!! So pretend I tagged you, if we're mutuals or I follow you, I do know and like you, I am just an awkward person who doesn't know how to act with people :).

10 People I'd Like to Know Better

Thanks for the tags @gaiaseyes451 and @beerok23!💜!💜

last song: Gloria by the Lumineers

favourite colour: Red, like a deep luscious red that you know would taste good if you licked it. Don't act innocent, you know exactly what I mean by that. Red is a color that you just know tastes good.

last book: I am currently trying to read the Witcher series (per @lickthecowhappy's suggestion) so I am at the start of the Last Wish

last movie: Moana 2 (I have young kidsssss)

last TV show: My oldest is almost 10 which means she stays up late. Which also means I have so little time to watch adult things. So we've been watching the Office with her. I think I want to watch the Good Place with her next tho (I've never watched it!)

sweet/spicy/savoury: Sweet followed very, very closely by spicy. Habanero maple syrup is one of my favorite things on the planet.

last thing i searched online: How to explain a 10 year career hiatus in a cover letter (looking to return to work since having kids. It's been an interesting experience so far).

current obsession: Have not moved on from Good Omens, but recently realized that my obsession may be more in my own little connected universe of fics that I wrote rather than the actual canon at this point😳. I'm sure once we get that first glimpse of red and white hair that will change very quickly.

looking forward to: Going back to work and having a more established adult life again, honestly. I've been so lucky to be home with my kids while they are young, but I am ready. And figuring out how my newfound passion for writing is going to fit into that new life of mine. Another big year of change over here for me, and I am eagerly looking forward to how the growing pains are going to make way for something beautiful beyond.

ten people i’d like to know better:

@addledmongoose, @di-42, @afrenchwriter, @haemey, @eybefioro, @alwaystuesday, @katspause, @alphacentaurinebula, @shadesofecclescakes, @ochre-sunflower and whoever wants to do it (but also feel free to ignore!)

[strange-anni]

How do you think Mike and other characters will come to understand Will’s trauma with Lonnie?.

This is such a good question, anon! Thank you!

Right now I don't think Will has full access to all of his memories. They are currently kept by both El and Vecna which indicates that he doesn't want to remember or is not yet ready to fully face them. Understandable given that he's gone through a lot.

As for Mike he does have - and most likely still remembers - the message Will told him at the beginning of the show, he just needs to decode it. He will do this. I'm sure of it.

1983 - 7 = 1976

It was the year when the Demogorgon aka the Deep Father aka Lonnie got Will. Once Mike gets behind the message he will have a better understanding of what had happened. Yet it will also not tell him everything that happened all at once.

Plus there is also the possibility that Will may not want the truth to come out so once Mike decodes the message, it may also affect their relationship. In what way I am unable to tell you but I would not be surprised if Will raises his walls even higher. He's afraid even though he himself doesn't have a full understanding of what happened to him.

Then there is El who I believe does hold some of the memories particular those of the ab*se Lonnie made Will suffer. It is entirely possible that she will be part of the process of rediscovering those memories either through reliving them and showing them (at least some of the ones which can be shown) to Mike or Will or both.

There are leaks of El and Mike visiting a baseball field in S5 and revisiting some old memories might fit into here.

It also all depends on how much Will is ready to open up as I don't think El and Mike will be forcing him to relive memories he doesn't want to relive. Trust is important.

Then there is Vecna who doesn't want the truth to come out at all. So Will, Mike and El will have to face him too in the end. I don't think it'll come down to defeating or killing him. That's not possible. Alters can't fully die unless the host (the body or the mind) dies. What I believe could happen is that they'll persuade him like El tried to in the last Episode of S4 but this time they'll be successful. Then Will (and possibly Mike too) can face the last part of Wills past.

This may or may not include that Will and Mike have swapped places in 1976 like I've theorized here. If it's true than it's important that Mike is there as well as this truth would not only affect Will but also Mike as well. They all need to be ready to face it though. This will be important as I don't believe that Will is at all ready to open up about this, if Mike isn't also ready. It depends on them both.

[starsofjewels]

no wait because I loved the autistic headcanons you did for tywin and tyrion!! of you could, can you do one for jaime as well? it was just chef kiss, I need so much more of it!

When Gold Met Silver

Jaime Lannister x Autistic! Lannister! Reader

CONTENT: Vague mentions of Joanna's death, Tywin being an incredible(!) father, subtle neurodivergency, Lannisters are their own warning

For any confusion, please read the other 2 parts of the series (link pending)

No joke I had 4 requests all asking for Jaime and the sister, so apparently it gets traction now (?) teehee...

Thank you everyone who submitted the exact same request, this was just the first one on the pile. Now I wait for Cersei requests....

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Welcome to the first post of 2025, and what a way to bring it in. I'm starting to think the autistic Lannister reader might just become a series at this point, but I'm not going to complain.

Happy New Year, hopefully it'll be better than the last one. I don't know what to expect from this year yet, but I have a whole pile of unfinished drafts to either finish or delete, so we'll see what gets pulled out...

Love you all lots xx

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

When you are born, Jaime is twelve years old- Nearly thirteen, as he is terribly fond of reminding those around him. He is a knight-to-be, and one day he will be a lord in his own right, and he shall have Casterly Rock as his herald. Jaime does not care about the squalling, pink lumps his mother produces for him any more than he does the young ladies of court, who bat their eyes and fawn, like little rabbits caught out in the open season.

But you are something different. And it is your fault that his mother is gone from this world, to whatever lies beyond. He will have no more nights under the stars, recounting each one to her delight, nor stories of his grandfather’s mishaps. He will never feel her embrace, or her love, again. Jaime Lannister is twelve years old, and he is no different from any other boy. He loves swords, and he loves sneaking glances at pretty ladies as they walk past him, and he loved his mother.

Tywin instructs him, very firmly, that he is not to speak such horrid things about his baby sister, nor is he to even think about them. You are beautiful, Tywin says, and perfect in every sense of the word. His gaze falls to young Tyrion, in the corner, with his nursemaidens, and his eyes crinkle with something like disapproval.

You are dressed, bizarrely, in silver and the kind of sweet, dusky orange one might associate with Dorne, and certainly not a pale Westerlands girl. Not scarlet, and definitely not gold. As it transpires, Tywin has had Tyrion’s swaddling clothes burned, or locked away somewhere, and he cannot bear to be reminded of a time Joanna, lively and beautiful, cradled any child in Lannister colours, so your blankets are fresh, and new. 

Newness seems to be a recurring theme in your life, as observed by a young, growing Jaime Lannister. He is far too busy training to particularly care, not as much as Cersei does, at least, but even a deafened, dumb beggar out on the streets could notice the blatant favouritism you receive. Jaime is not bothered by this, but he listens to his sister’s constant fixation with your father’s love to a numbing extent. 

“And she sleeps in his chambers-” Your move from the nursery to the Hand’s chambers has become something of an overused point. “She’ll be in his bed next!”

Jaime crosses his arms, unamused. He knows Cersei crosses the line frequently, and this, apparently, is one of those times. You are a little child, even he can see that, you have no control over your own life. 

“What, are you defending her honour?” 

He sits opposite his sister, and says quietly,

“She’s an infant, what does she need honour for?” 

It is the one time in his life Jaime can remember actually defending someone against Cersei’s jibes. Usually, he lets them slide through, with a vaguely interested hum. But you are a baby, and, despite how much he yearns to blame you for his mother’s death, it really is not your fault. The Gods could have sent Joanna any child, and any child would have done the same. 

And so, Jaime begins to see you how your father does. Where Tywin sees you as his angel of earth, his purpose, Jaime takes a much more mellowed approach. He takes you out riding on your pony, regardless of Tywin’s instructions, and, when you ask, he gets you a practice sword and your own helmet. With enough begging, he gets one of Cersei’s friends to cover the bruising with her powders. Your sister will still not look at you.

Cersei is almost jealous. That is, until a tiny, chubby toddler bounds into her lap and insists that she is a princess. Princess Cersei seems to have a certain fondness for her little lion-cub of a sister, and when Jaime finds her tying ribbons into your hair, he seems relieved, more than anything. After that, she dresses you up in her old clothes, and parades you about, practically on her hip, and pony rides are supervised; no more powders.

But, war is war, and war changes people. 

Jaime becomes a Kingslayer, and Princess Cersei becomes a queen. They are corrupted by court, corrupted by Tywin, and most everything falls into disarray. This is what happens when the mighty dragon falls to the lowly deer, apparently. 

You are seven years old the first time you come back to the Red Keep, with your anxious father, and a whole new king upon the throne. He dresses you in red and silver- A rather odd choice but, supposedly, you refuse gold with a burning passion. He has never heard of a Lannister refusing to wear gold. Even your bracelets are of silver- Silver and rubies. A nice combination, of course, but not a Lannister one.

Tyrion follows along behind, but he does not care about that. Tyrion is a young man, he has changed very little, it is you who is different- Grown by at least three, if not four, inches, your sweet blonde hair darkened down, and a still face. He can’t forget those big eyes, frozen in fear. You do not recognise him. 

Tywin keeps your arm, he moves Jaime away from you. Something is terribly wrong, apparently, and he cannot figure out what. Cersei seems to know, his father and brother know as well. And there is a jealousy which builds, to not be aware of this ailment. He thinks you are dying. You are not, of course.

“What is wrong with her?” Tywin looks up briefly from his studies. You are in your chambers, tucked up in blankets which, almost a decade ago, he can remember himself visiting and watching his mother hold you up. “She doesn’t talk, she doesn’t look at me- Is it serious?”

And his father sighs, in a way only he can,

“She is intelligent, nothing more than that. She likes her things in a particular order, and she doesn’t trust those she does not know.”

“I’m her brother.”

“And she has only had memories for the past eight moons.” Tywin stands, setting his book down upon his chair, “She will warm up, always does. Take her to the stables, she still likes ponies. But not the horses.”

Jaime wants to say more- What is so wrong with horses?- But he gets the sense that there is no more room for argument.

The next morning, whilst Tywin goes to inspect Jon Arryn’s timetabling capabilities, you are brought down with him to see the ponies, who are neatly sectioned in their own place. They bite the horses, apparently, the stablemasters are still trying to heal Robert’s stallion. You trudge past the larger mares nervously, and you jump when they make a noise, or move any more than a hair flick. Jaime has never known any girl to be afraid of horses, especially not noble girls; he has vague memories of a young Cersei escaping their mother’s clutches and parading herself around on a grey mare until Tywin could catch her. But by now, he has figured out that you are by no means a normal girl. There is something underneath the surface that no-one is willing to address, and he dares not bring it up further.

He sends you letters, however brief, and little gifts, and you begin to reply back to him, for it is only polite for a lady to thank her benefactors. Until, eventually, you begin sending him real substance: things you draw, the latest gossip and, his personal favourite, recounting the tall tales you overhear from Tyrion, and asking which words are the ‘bad ones’. He sometimes forgets you are so naive, though he hates to say it. When you write to him, you sound so normal, like any other little lady, perhaps even better. He can feel your emotions flow through your writing in a way no other lady ever could. Jaime keeps every single one of your letters hidden away from Cersei, but there is no real reason to. By this point, Cersei is a mother, and a fed up queen, she has no care for her shy, smaller sister away in Casterly Rock. 

And then, Robert dies. The whores, and the boars, get to him, but at least he dies happy, that is more than could be said for most men. Joffrey is a tyrant in the making, Ned Stark is executed publicly, and Tywin is named, for the second time, as Hand of the King. 

You are ill the days after your arrival into King’s Landing. A change in the air, Tywin says, not that Jaime is inclined to believe him. He knows you are sensitive, and assumes that, once you settle in a little, you’ll go back to the little girl he knows in his letters. 

What he forgets, of course, is that little girls grow up into little women. When he properly sees you, for the first time in what must be a decade, you are about as un-Lannister as he can imagine. Still in silver, sitting by the fountain, quietly brushing your dog’s fur. Your Septa takes her leave when she sees him coming,

“You’ve grown up.” 

“Did you expect me not to?”

Not the response he was expecting, but more Lannister than your appearance. All lions are sarcastic, literal. At least some part of you is tied to that. He isn’t quite sure what he wants- Perhaps you run to him like Cersei would, to jump into his arms and kiss him fondly and sweetly, as he’s seen you do to Tywin. Perhaps he is jealous of how your father treats you, or, more likely, he is upset that you love Tywin more than you do him. Jaime tries, he tries very hard, and it is you who limits him. He lets you be after some short questioning, called up to Cersei.

As your weeks begin to shift to months, he sees you more and more, from his position at Joffrey’s side. Cersei grows cautious and closed, as the rumours of the boy’s true parentage seep in, as though she expects him to do something about it. You are happy, though, he is sure of it. Tywin buys you new outfits, or you sew them, he isn’t quite sure, and you have that stupid, old dog which he is certain has stayed that age for decades. 

Of course, nothing can be peaceful for long. He goes to the North, to the Riverlands, or wherever his captors take him. He loses a hand, his long hair, and most of his dignity. Cersei falls out with him, Tywin views him as a pity-case, and he isn’t particularly sure where Tyrion has gotten to. 

Jaime’s duties are vague and little, supposedly to aid his recovery following the amputation. He spends much of his time standing there and, as tactfully put by Tyrion, ‘looking pretty’. He doesn’t feel particularly pretty, dressed up in gilded armour. And for once, he understands why you might hate gold.

It is one of these ceremonial days that you bound up to him, bangles up your arm and a new ring on each finger, stroking your way through a bouquet of wildflowers. He has never seen you so confident, or so happy. You plop down beside him, and he looks over, with careful vigilance.

“Where did those come from?”

You look up at him, you smile, and he finds himself growing increasingly confused,

“From Father,” You say it so obviously, as though there is no other possible answer. Jaime cannot imagine the great Tywin Lannister gifting anyone but you a bouquet of flowers, aside from the vague memory of Joanna putting daffodils in his sister’s rooms when they bloomed.

You offer him a single flower, purple; lavender, he thinks. Not uncommon by any means, but not a noble flower. He imagines you would like that sort of thing, simple, and defined. It sways from side to side in the soft breeze, not quite enough to rustle the petals, but enough to make its point known. The two of you sit in contended silence, watching as the occasional servant, or lower lord, rushes past to gain someone’s attention. The two of you are almost invisible to the greater population, he as a living statue, and you as an outsider.

“I’m coming to the Reach with you and Cersei,” You say eventually, glancing up at him from your seat on the steps, “If that’s alright.”

Jaime cannot remember why Cersei wants to visit the Reach, something about a flower festival- Or a wine festival, more likely. He cannot seem to imagine you, his delicate, little, sister enjoying such a thing. 

“Without Father?”

You shrug slightly, lifting yourself up from your step to stand in front of him. Of course, being smaller than him, you have to look up. You are no different to him than a little child in this state, though, most people are.

“If I’m going to be a lady, I have to learn to do things without Father, that’s what Cersei said. I can do things on my own, you know, I’m not a baby.”

He’s never heard you speak so well, so clearly. Perhaps he’s been mistaken in what he’s heard. This is not the shy, small girl he watched grow up. But he has no room to voice it, you continue,

“But Father says I can only come if there’s someone watching me, so I told Ser Meryn he has to stay behind me, and he’s not allowed to do anything for me- Unless I’m too short to reach something, I suppose and-”

Jaime takes you by your shoulders, and you stop. He is amazed, and you, for whatever reason, are exceptionally excited about the Reach. No one is ever excited about the Reach.

“Of course you can come.” He says, almost too quietly, “you can do anything you’d like.”

You emerge from the Reach a month later, rosy-cheeked, whether by wine or the air, covered in flowers, and babbling about something or the other, Tywin calls for him. Jaime sits on the other side of his father’s office, that fat, old dog spread out beside him. 

“She’s never been so happy,” The Old Lion rearranges red and yellow flowers in a pot as his desk. They’re new, he notices, probably a gift from you. “It was good for her.”

And that is all that needs to be said. 

[thecaptainsdeck]

Captain_CumShot

Chapter 2 - Tier III Summary: You treated yourself to a tier upgrade. Looks like you've got a message!

Admin: Thanks for upgrading your subscription to Tier III! The Captain will want to thank you personally ~ drop your next available hour slot and we’ll set it up. You: 10 PM Admin: Talk to you soon ~

10:00 PM

Captain: Hey doll. I’ve seen your likes and comments around here for a while and I’m chuffed that you finally upgraded. What changed?

You: Truthfully, I challenged myself to save up so I can really treat myself when I felt I needed it. Especially after the last year and four months at work.

Captain:…

Captain: You waited ONE YEAR and FOUR MONTHS before you felt like you needed a break?

Captain: I’m flattered you’ve chosen me as your reward but gat damn girl. You need to treat yourself more often.

Captain: What the hell do you do for a job??

You: I’m an accountant at a small but valued firm, so we’re kind of just always busy! Especially at tax time which is ALMOST over. So I spoiled myself a few days early.

Captain: Congratulations ~ Do you work in a stuffy office with a buncha dorks?

You: Well I wouldn’t say dorks and it’s not a closet! I work in an office building with maybe less than 50 other people. I have a corner office so yay for small wins!

Captain: Aye that’s the least they can do fer’ya!

Captain: Do they make you dress business professional like you’re gonna meet the president every day or is it a normal place that lets you dress like a human being?

You: Haha, nothing so refined. Business casual for the most part, Fridays we can wear jeans, and sometimes during the seasons they’ll do a morale boosting themed clothes week thing.

Captain: 🤔

Captain: Does anyone enjoy that?

You: Some do, some don’t. The bosses buy a big lunch spread though so it’s not all bad.

Captain: Tell me, are the morale boosting bits mandatory?

You: You’re not required to dress up. They don’t technically say you have to be at the luncheon but they do have someone sweep the desks to make sure no one is still working. I think they legitimately think they’re providing a “break” for us but like, a paid lunch hour would be a thousand times better.

Captain: Bet.

Captain: You ever skipped it all together? Just said fuck it and hid on the roof to scroll on your phone and eat lunch?

You: Sometimes my car! We have a secure parking garage and its air conditioned so it’s quiet and not boiling hot.

Captain: Hooray for small victories.

Captain: Have you ever gotten uncomfortably turned on enough that you’ve escaped to your car to get relief?

You: 😳

You: Maybe once or twice. I’m always afraid of getting caught.

Captain: I’d make sure we wouldn’t.

Captain: See I personally fucking hate it when instead of just paying people more, employers make their people do a whole dog and pony show. Leave people alone!

Captain: This is literally a crime.

Captain: If you’d let me, I’d come and save you from those stupid lunches.

You: 🤔

You: I wouldn’t hate that!

You: Not sure you could pull it off though, you would garner a lot of attention just from standing, you’re just that attractive 👉👈🥺

Captain: Relax, I’m nothing if not professional. Want to hear my grand scheme that I cooked up, just now?

You: Oh go right ahead!

Captain: I’d start by doing research into your company and get the lunch reservation details of these luncheons. I would then pose as an employee dropping off the food order/doing set up and while everyone is gathering, I would linger a little, totally incognito, and slip out to find your office if you haven’t already entered the room.

Captain: Should I continue? I’m really proud of this scheme actually.                           

You: Please, I wonder how you plan to get away scot-free and not get me fired!

Captain: You’d not only get fired – you’d get off, repeatedly and it would be a seasonal thing cause I’d never get caught. I think it would be a professional bonus because then you’ll be so satisfied at work, you might even get a promotion or pay raise or some shit😏

You: This I gotta hear

Captain: Where was I?

Captain: Just kidding

Captain: I would then smuggle you to the parking garage under the guise that you’re my ‘job equipment’ or whatever, and then, I’d take you to your car. Ideally, I can convince you to get in the van I rented as part of my infiltration disguise so I can actually sit and stand without breaking my neck. The windows are blacked out, I keep anchors and blocks on the wheels to keep it stable, and then I rock your fucking world.

Captain: Still with me?

You: I am

Captain: You’re probably thinking, ‘but if you’re as beastly as I think you are, won’t I be screaming my brains out?’

You: I was!

Captain: As a professional content creator – amongst other trades – I know a thing or two about sound proofing. There’s always a gag if you’re into that.

You: I could be persuaded…

Captain: I have a lot of things I’d like to persuade you to do in there.

Captain: Do you normally participate in the themed clothes or do you keep it professional?

You: I don’t usually, not really my thing.

Captain: I see.

Captain: Back to my scheme ~

Captain: After I’ve successfully fooled everyone and have you in my clutches, I’d take you to my van where you can have a lunch break actually worth attending.

Captain: I would first take off my disguise and reveal that it was me all along! After you get over your initial surprise, I’d ask you what you’re hungry for.

You: Oh I get options?

Captain: Hell yeah doll. Your choices can range anywhere from a quick snack to a mega meal.

You: Do the options change too?

Captain: I don’t believe in constraints. Unless they’re kink-related.

Captain: I think since you’re the kind of doll that doesn’t splurge too much on ‘erself, I’d start you off with a ‘left no crumbs.’

Captain: What that entails is me, sitting you all pretty like on a seat cushion, starting ngwith something soft and sweet. Kisses up the arm, on the neck, slow, building up anticipation. I’d tease you over your clothes, petting your kitten until I feel your wetness through the fabric.

Captain: Pepper your body with kisses and bites to keep you on edge. When I have you down to just your undergarments, I’d sit you in my lap. Spread your thighs open. Start rubbing your pussy until you’re leaking all over my hand. I’ll let you have a quick orgasm, a small and sweet one. But don’t think we’re done.

Captain: I might take my pants off to feel you a bit better. Push you down on my hard-on as I wrap an arm around your waist to keep you still. I’ll use my free hand to play with your pussy again. Rubbing you, flicking you, lightly smacking you, rubbing your clit, finger fucking you. Rub my big dick against your trembling body to make you even more sensitive.

Captain: Since you only have an hour, I’ll make sure you look presentable before you go back to the office. Where you can spend the rest of the day sitting in the mess I’m going to leave. How does that make you feel?

You: I’m…speechless, in a good way…Shit that’s really hot. It makes me feel devious, a bit dirty, like I really want to do it.

Captain: Damn and I haven’t even finished telling you what’s included in your lunch?

You: 🤐

You: Please forgive me

Captain: I could never stay mad at you doll.

Captain: As I was saying ~

Captain: I can’t let you leave your break without feeling fully satisfied.

Captain: Before you go, I’d spend some time with you against the van wall. If you’re into it, I can use rope to help keep you standing. I encourage it, you’re gonna need it.

You: I’m into it, I’m into it 🤤

Captain: Heh. Freak.

Captain: I’d keep you still and propped up, putting your blouse on, keeping my lipstick stains and bites hidden underneath. I’d pull your panties and bottoms over your ankles, slide your soaked underwear up your thighs…

Captain: And give you dessert.

You: What am I having??!

Captain: Me.

Captain: I’d pull your panties up your thighs but not put them on entirely. Leaving them maybe a few inches from your twitching pussy. Then I’d finally let you see my cock.

Captain: Do you want to touch it?

You: Yesss🥺please let me touch.

Captain: Don’t worry you’ll be feeling it.

Captain: I’ll prod my cock against your clit, slide it up and down your puffy lips, maybe push in a little bit.

Captain: After I get it nice and wet with you, I’d stand in front of you and fuck your body. I won’t go in in, I’ll slide in between your desperate lips, make you clench over my cock with your needy pussy, I’ll hit your delicious ass cheeks, pull back out and rub against your clit until you’re crying.

You: Oh my fucking god.

Captain: I’m not done.

Captain: While I do this, I’ll rub my thumb down on your clit, and I won’t stop until you’ve cum over my cock, frustrated yet relieved.

Captain: But don’t be disappointed just yet because the next part is my favorite part.

Captain: As you’re coming down from your orgasm, I’ll finish myself off. Jerking myself in front of you and finishing right on your cunt.

You: 🥵

Captain: Yeah.

Captain: I’d milk my length to cover you, watching it drip from your vulva and trembling lips down to your underwear and thighs. Whatever falls further down I’d wipe with my thumb and make you lick it off.

Captain: Then I’ll pull your panties up nice and high, make sure they sit on your hips just right, don’t want any of me to spill out. For good measure, I might even rub your underwear against you some just to smear it in you some more.

Captain: I love cum play.

Captain: I’ll pull up your bottoms, wipe your tears, and send you away with a kiss on the cheek and a slap on the ass.

Captain: How does that sound doll?

You: I would fucking die!!! I want this so bad fuck why would you DO THAT TO ME?!?🥵🤤 FUCK! You’re so hot, all I want is to touch you and be touched by you😩

Captain: Are you touching yourself?

You: If I said yes?🥺

Captain: I’d say me too. Check out the photo gallery later, you’ll see the load I blew for ya😘

Captain: Glad to add you to my harem of Cabin Hoes. I’m not supposed to have favorites, but I think I’m gonna grow fond of you.

Captain: G’night doll. Thanks for subscribing😘

<end chat>

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Read on Wattpad | Read on AO3 Originally posted

[celticcrossanon]

Hi Celta,

Thank you for expressing how you truly feel about Camilla. I’m glad that she’s being revealed for the person she is.

I got into a disagreement with a tarot reader on here because I called out her bias against the Wales. Her opinion was that William and Catherine were destroying the monarchy because they’re lazy, don’t want to work, are on ego trips against the King, especially Catherine all of last year, and they don’t want to take on assignments as ordered (which I suspect has a lot to do with reconciling with Harry, and bringing him back into the fold). She wanted to nitpick every decision and ongoing project the Wales have, and every single one was baaaaaad and destructive. All of this amid the worst health crisis they are facing, I thought it was highly unfair.

I challenged her to look at Charles as POW and asked what HIS plans were for the monarchy at William’s age (42), when he was newly married to Diana. Besides playing hide the sausage with Camilla at her sisters estate, ruminating about plants and architecture, I’m not aware of what his long term plans for the monarchy were. His decisions about the Duchy of Cornwall I’m sure were based on solid financial advice given to him by the best advisors. He’s had the better part of fifty years for his Princes Trust and Duchy to gain value on the stock exchange. What were his future plans for continuation of the monarchy really?? She got angry with me, and instead of answering the question, she blocked me, and called me a Wales worshipper and being delusional about William and Catherine.

Here we are in 2025, Charles is King and things are falling apart. It seems to me no one was asking Charles the same hard questions being asked of William. There was no accountability then and throughout Charles’ life, yet some people ( I strongly suspect Sussex sugars) are turning the screws on William and demanding the accountability they never asked of Charles. All of this to say, if you can turn back time, can you look at Charles when he was William’s age now, and ask what were his plans for the long lived continuation of his line?? It seems that’s the point of the monarchy, and Charles seemed only into having the best time, and not on thoughts of future. The future has now arrived with a bang, and now Charles seemed only to be interested in status quo. If you fail to prepare, prepare to fail.

I wish only the very best for the Wales, they have their work cut out.

Hi AnonymousRetired,

I think my main gripe with Queen Camilla is that for me, she is not acting like a queen. All the gloating and self glorifying PR is not what a Queen does, at any time, in public, and neither is showing disrespect for the country's main religion, the one of which her husband is head. It's just wrong, and it rubs me the wrong way, and then I get blunt in my assessments as I'm too irritated to be charitable.

I know a lot of people like Queen Camilla, and I am glad that she has supporters. I don't blame people for liking her. I wish I could - I wish I still had the grudging respect that I had for her before she opened her mouth and showed what she was really like - but I can't, and that is all there is too it. I wish her supporters well but I can no longer be one of them.

Some royal watchers are biased against the Prince and Princess of Wales. I have noticed that. There is no point in arguing with them as they are not open to reason or logic in that area.

They have built up their own community and their place in that community by abusing and bullying The Prince and Princess of Wales, and they are not going to change now. Part of that abuse is holding one standard for the King and Queen that is filled with excuses for their behaviour, and another, much higher standard for The Prince and Princess of Wales, where everything they do is torn apart and criticised to the nth degree, especially if there was nothing wrong with it in the first place.

What those royal watchers say about others is what they are guilty of themselves - their comments are projections of their own behaviour.

I ignore them, as what they say is of no interest to me. IMO their comments are driven by dislike, if not hatred, and/or intense envy and jealousy, and I see no reason to engage with that.

Other royal watchers prefer to focus on The King and Queen, and that is fine. I have no issue with that at all. Everyone can follow their own interests on their own blog, and others can engage or not as they wish. There is always the option of scrolling by if you don't like what another person says.

As for accountability, that I think goes back to the media. They were fine letting King Charles do whatever he wanted and covering his activities in various ways, and the closer it got to the time King Charles would ascend the throne, the more flattering their coverage became. On the other hand, the media have a definite bias and against and, in some cases, hated for Prince William and Princess Catherine, because the two of them do not play the media's games, and the media takes it out on the couple in their coverage, including holding Prince William responsible for things that were never his responsibility in the first place and comparing him unfavourably to his father. Certain royal watchers have picked up on this trend and they follow it and apply it to everything done by Prince William and his wife.

Your arguments about comparing The King to his heir make very good points. My own preference is not to compare the two but to judge each one on their own merits. So far Prince William is winning in my eyes, but that could be my bias showing (every time I think King Charles has shown that he can be a good king he stuffs it up in some way, most recently by shoving Camilla down my throat).