#little old ladies are fucking ruthless

[astrobi]

I just saw someone dog ear a page from the book they were reading (which ew but fair enough) but she straight up folded the ENTIRE WIDTH OF A PAGE AT A DIAGONAL

[fairysluna]

"look what you do to me" with ye olde cregan I BEG

worthy of you.

Cregan thinks his little brother is not worthy of a woman like you, which is why he takes the opportunity to show you that he is the one for you.

MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Cregan Stark x Fem!Reader / (Side) Masc!OC x Fem!Reader.

TAGS — smut (f!oral sex, p in v, praise kink, loss of virginity), mentions of cheating, mentions of alcohol consumption, cursing, OC is a terrible man, older!cregan, widower!cregan, age gap (early 20s and early 30s). If something is missing let me know!!

AUTHOR'S NOTE — first of all, a big thank you to my gorgeous @bucknastysbabe for being my beta reader and helping me edit this, ily!! i got a bit inspired by this plot and it's longer than i expected💀

Thank you Bel for sending this request because i loved writing this!! I hope you enjoy it!!🤍

WORD COUNT — 4.3k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤenglish is not my first language.

How cruel were the gods when they put you in his brother's arms instead of the ones you craved the most.

The first time that Lord Stark laid his eyes upon you, he felt the air leaving his lungs, and his voice being caged inside his throat. His eyes immediately widened at the beautiful sight of you, bewitched by the way you so politely greeted him, and mesmerized by the way you uttered his name. Cregan was in awe, trying to ignore the feeling in his gut and the quickened pace of his heart as he smelled the sweet scent of vanilla coming from your hair. He wondered if you were some kind of nymph, effortlessly enchanting him with a single glance. 

After the loss of his wife, few were the women who managed to catch his eye. A couple of balls were made, and they all resulted in the same thing; a group of ladies following him around, showering him with shallow compliments and words that he did not wish to hear. 

How lucky he felt when he saw you walking in with your father, Lord Reed, into the ballroom, and how miserable he left that night after learning you were betrothed to his young brother; Edrik, a careless young man who —according to Lord Stark— is not worthy of you. At all. He's ruthless, the opposite of a chivalrous man. Cregan knows that while you were waiting for him for dinner, he's fucking some whores in brothels and paying with gold that he would steal from Cregan's chambers. He despised him. He was ashamed of him, and his behaviour towards you. You were a lady, a delicate and sweet girl who could have found someone better. 

Someone like himself, he would think. 

At that moment, while you were nervously chewing your nails sitting at the small table of your chambers as you drank tea, Cregan was out there searching for his younger brother, and trying to force him back to the Winterfell castle. That very same day was supposed to be your wedding, and the groom was nowhere to be seen. You knew better than to cry, you didn't want to suffer for him anymore; so you just sat there, slowly tapping your fingertips against the delicate porcelain of the cup, staring at the crackling fireplace and thinking about something else. 

At that point, you were just begging for him to be alive and well. Nothing more. 

A few minutes passed when you saw Cregan entering your chambers with his grey eyes staring intensely at you as he walked inside. His heavy boots stumped against the wooden floor, prompting you to stand up a bit too quickly. You noticed the pitiful look in his eyes when he noticed you were still wearing that white wedding dress; his heart shattered for you. 

“Did you find him?” you dared to speak first. Somehow, your voice came out colder than both of you expected.

“We did,” he nodded. “He was in a brothel… drunk and enjoying his last hours of freedom, as he said.” The annoyed tone of his voice was quite clear to hear as he spat every single word with rage and even shame. 

Gods forgive him for this insurmountable wrath towards his kin. 

“Where is he now?” The question slipped out of your lips merely out of habit. 

“In his chambers, being bathed by one of the maids,” Cregan explained, unable to bear the vision of your tears gathering in the corner of your eyes. He sought to look at a place over your shoulder, just to ease the ache in his chest.

It wasn't sadness, not at all. It was ire; he knew it. It was supposed to be your special day, and your betrothed decided to ruin it, though you were not surprised.

“Is it the maid that sucks his cock every morning? Or is it the one that let him fuck her in the arse?” you mockingly mentioned, lifting the cup of tea and sipping it slowly. The knot in your throat was becoming unbearable, too tight and barely letting you utter a word. 

Cregan's eyes softened with sorrow. “My lady,” he started, daring to take a step closer to you. The small rounded table was the only thing keeping you two apart. “Allow me to apologize for the misbehaviour of my brother, you deserve the utmost respect from whoever is lucky enough to marry you. Edrik is childish, and his actions often bring shame to our family name.”

“You shall not apologize for your brother's mistakes,” you softly said, sighing tiredly at this situation repeating over and over again. “You're an honourable man, Lord Stark, it's a pity your brother is not even half of the man you are.” 

Cregan felt his heart tapping against his chest, even under those thick layers of fur, he was still able to hear how fast it was beating. His eyes briefly looked away from you out of shyness, feeling so flustered by your mere presence. Oh, gods, this was excruciating; seeing you there with your beautiful eyes staring up at him, looking so fragile and bewitching. The white dress fit you perfectly, you were radiant that night, and he cursed at his brother for looking down on you. 

Edrik was a dumb boy. Luckily, Cregan was a wise man. 

“It pains me to know he doesn't appreciate you,” he muttered as he took unhurried steps closer to you. “You deserve so much more.” 

“It's the best I can get, I suppose,” you shrugged. “At least my betrothed is indulging his uncontrollable lust with whores instead of forcing himself on me. It could be worse.” 

“But it's not supposed to be bad at all,” Cregan discussed. “A husband has to provide for his wife, and treat her with respect.”

His hand approached your left cheek and he placed it there, cupping your face. Your soft skin felt his calloused fingers and suddenly all the air of your lungs vanished. Your lips parted, and that simple gesture blurred Cregan's mind with the urge to devour them. As he looked down at you, you could see in his eyes that there was a rare sparkle in them. It was so mesmerizing. 

“I guess you're asking too much from your brother, my Lord.”

He scoffed.

“If only the gods had been more merciful of us, you would be my wife instead,” he mentioned with a wistful tone. He took another step, and now you were able to smell the pine scent from his clothes. “We probably would be in our private celebration by now.” 

You sighed delightedly as his thumb went to your lower lip, lightly touching it as he glanced at it. Falling in love with him had been so easy; he was so kind, so courteous and gentle. Whenever his brother was cruel and mean to you, he was always there to make you feel good. Many were the times you imagined this wedding being with him instead of Edrik. 

“I would be looking at your beautiful body as you remove this gown. Only for me to see,” he whispered, his touch going downwards until he grabbed the pearls around your neck. “I would take my time to appreciate every single inch of your skin, touching you… kissing you, making sure you know you're the most beautiful maiden in Westeros.” 

His face leaned towards you, and you felt his nose rubbing against your cheek as you closed your eyes. His deep, low voice sent shivers down your spine while your mind was imagining every single word that came out of his plump lips. His touch reached down your sides until you felt his strong grip on your waist. 

Cregan took a deep breath as he smelled your sweet perfume; he couldn't help but sigh. 

“I would pleasure you in so many ways,” he continued, his voice so raspy it made your knees weak. “With my mouth, my hands… until all that comes from your lips is my name.” 

“Cregan…” you breathed out, and he hummed in delight. 

“Yes, just like that.” 

You dared to open your eyes, meeting his and seeing how they were dilated and glazed with lust; yours were probably in the same state. You were able to feel the heat between your legs, almost causing you to squirm to make you feel something. Something to sate the intense desire crawling around your body.

“I would do so many things to you, my darling,” he murmured. “Would you like me to do them?” 

You nodded.

“Yes?” 

“Yes,” you replied, embarrassingly fast. 

His hands went to your back, calloused fingers finding their way to untie your gown. Your chest was against his, and the closeness did nothing but increase your desperation to have him. 

“My brother doesn't deserve you, does he? He is just a stupid boy, and you deserve a man.” You felt the dress loosening around your body and you swallowed hard at the expectation. “Please, let me be that man for you…” 

You were unable to bear it any longer, the temptation being too much. You closed the distance between you two at the same time he started to slip the dress down your body — until it pooled around your feet. His lips fit perfectly against yours, they were slightly chapped due to the cold, yet they felt heavenly. He moaned against your mouth when you boldly deepened the kiss by grabbing Cregan’s nape and pulling him closer to you, all while his hands pressed your lower back. 

It was slow and passionate, taking your breath away as he claimed your mouth with his tongue, swirling against yours and stealing soft whimpers from you. Soon, he grabbed your thighs to lift you and sat you on the table; the cup of tea spilling to stain your white undergown, you couldn't care less. His lips on yours were all you could think of as his hands gripped your body, pressing you against him.

The thin skirt of your undergown lifted as you wrapped your legs around Cregan’s waist, and his hands began to sneak under it to touch the soft skin of your thighs. He left a heat on your body with his fingertips, one that made you desperate to feel him. All while his mouth was reluctant to leave yours, obsessed with the sweet taste of you. He would unconsciously groan, and as he pressed his hips against yours you could easily notice the effect you had on him. 

He pulled away to take a look at you, he found your swollen lips glistening with remains of your and his drool. Your eyes were sparkling as stars and your breathing growing agitated. It wasn't an exaggeration to say that Cregan Stark had fallen in love with you once again at that moment. 

“You should belong to me instead,” he huskily said. “I should be the one who takes your body-”

“Do it,” you interrupted without doublethinking it. Your tone was decided and demanding, it shocked him a little. 

“Oh, my little one…” he murmured with a strained voice as if the thought had left him breathless. 

“I don't want your brother… I never did.” Your confession drew a small smile on his lips. “Since day one all I've wanted is you.” 

He took a deep breath before cupping your face with both of his hands, forcing you to look him in the eye. 

“Look what you do to me,” he murmured as you stared at his face, noticing a rare glow in him. “Believe me when I say your feelings are mutual… you've been on my mind ever since you arrived. It was torturous to see you being disregarded by Edrik while I was sitting there wishing I could just hold your hand. My heart, my body, my soul, it all aches for you. I'm desperate to feel you, and I cannot bear it any longer.” 

The despair in his voice, so clear and vivid. 

“Allow me to do it,” he pleaded, “I'm begging you to let me have a taste of you, at least for a night… so I can finally end this torment.” 

“I will accept,” you managed to say in small gasps. “Only if you promise me this won't be the last time.” 

He nodded. “I promise.”

The time was not wasted, you quickly leaned forward to kiss him again with the same intensity and need as before. Both of you moaned against each other while your hands were swiftly untying his snow-covered coat at the same time his were pulling down your undergown until it fell down your arms. Your breasts were freed and you couldn't help but feel slightly ashamed; no man had seen you in such a vulnerable state before. However, all insecurities vanished from your overthinking mind once he laid his eyes on your chest and sighed, enamoured by the view. 

He gave you a single glance at you to ask for your permission and, once you nodded, his fingers travelled down your body until they trapped your nipples. He gently squeezed them between his digits, soft enough to not cause you any discomfort but hard enough to make them peak. Your mouth was slightly parted, allowing silent gasps to fall down your lips as he admired your pure flesh. He leaned forward then, and you instinctively leaned back; before you noticed his tongue was lapping at one of your sensitive buds, swirling around it and nibbling on it from time to time. You held your body up with your forearms, closing your eyes once he sucked on it. A moan escaped you as he pulled apart from it and went to the other one, giving it the same attention. 

His hand was grabbing the small of your back as you touched his hair, tangling your fingers in his brown locks and pulling them whenever his tongue made you feel butterflies in your belly. It was so good, and you were blissful thinking that you were doing it with him. Your ever-kind and loving Lord of Winterfell.

Suddenly, his mouth traced a path down your body, licking and kissing your belly until he reached your pelvis. You lifted your hips once his hands started to pull down your last vestiges of coverage, and in mere seconds you were completely exposed to him as your cheeks got warm once again. 

Your legs were spread by his hands on your inner thighs, and Cregan was able to see the mess in your core; you were soaking, and his mouth watered with the urge to taste you. For a few seconds, he was just there admiring you, and then he started to kiss your legs from your ankles, all the way to your hips, shamelessly marking you and leaving red bruises behind; you loved it. 

Cregan gave you a quick look, noticing how you were almost shaking with expectation; your eyes reluctant to leave his frame as his thumb spread your swollen lower lips and exposed that little, throbbing button begging for his attention. He stuck out his tongue, slowly brushing it against your clit. You almost died there. Your hand immediately went back to his hair, pulling it a bit too harshly for his liking. 

“Sh…” he cooed, kissing your inner thighs in the meantime. “Come on, little one, let me make you feel good, I know you want it.” 

Gods, you did. You need it.

“Keep your legs open for me, and let me have my feast,” he murmured before his tongue lapped on your pearl again. 

The way he teased your flesh so sensually made your limbs shake. You were gasping as he licked and kissed every single part of you, lurking around and trying to discover your most sensitive spot. Once he found it, you saw stars. 

Your betrothed was far from your mind when Cregan dared to push one of his long, thick fingers inside your weeping hole. You cried out his name as your legs shook around his head and, as he curled up his fingers to rub your walls, you felt a knot in your belly starting to form and begging to be released. Goosebumps erupted over your stimulated body.

“Gods… Cregan!” you found yourself whining. He hummed delighted with the way his name sounded from your lips. 

His tongue fervently began to flick your clit as he added another finger, pumping them slowly but deeply. The sound of your juices coating his digits was becoming addictive; so sinful, yet heavenly. He was desperate to feel you all. 

As he moaned and whimpered against your soaked flesh, you couldn't help but feel an unknown sensation in your gut; as if you were about to explode. Your heart was beating incredibly fast as you leaned your head back and let your mouth spill thousands of obscene sounds; Cregan's cock twitched in his pants the moment he looked up at you. 

Gods, you were so fucking beautiful. It was not fair that you belonged to someone else. 

Suddenly, with a shout of shock, you felt yourself peak. You gasped loudly and you clenched your eyes shut. Cregan felt your walls squeezing his fingers so deliciously as he drank from you and licked you clean. By the end of it, you were sweating, breathing fast and your hips twitching. You turned into a quivering mess.

Cregan lifted his face, giving one wolfish look before quickly grabbing your cheeks. He desperately kissed you as he groaned in ecstasy. You tasted yourself on his lips as he picked you up and took you towards the bed… the very same bed you were supposed to be sharing with your betrothed that night. 

The guilt hit you, briefly making you feel dirty and sullied. But then, as you saw Cregan slowly removing his attires, you remembered who was your betrothed, and what he was doing earlier that day. If he could fuck a whore, why couldn't you fuck another man? You doubted the lesser brother would even notice. 

Besides, it wasn't just a man, it was Cregan. Your Cregan. 

So, now, as the handsome man in front of you removed his last piece of clothing, you felt your walls clench around nothing as you glanced at his cock. His head furiously red, already leaking and twitching as he started to crawl from the bottom of the bed until he was between your legs. He kissed you again, this time slower… more tenderly. You sighed against his lips.

“You're still a maiden,” he said as a statement rather than a question. You nodded, either way, confirming his words. “Then I'll go slow… though I must warn you, it might hurt for a bit, but I promise you, little one, it'll all be worth it in the end.” 

“I trust you,” you whispered as your hand reached his cheek, gently caressing his stubble. 

“Open your legs for me, my darling,” he commanded, and you did as he said. He looked down at your entrance, “seven hells…” he groaned at the sight, before spitting down to his cock and stroking it a few times. Cregan swiped the ruddy tip of his prick against your folds, teasing them to hear you moan one more time before carefully pressing the blunt head against your entrance. 

You cried out once he started to stretch you out, feeling the slight burn that left you breathless as he made his way inside the tight hole between your trembling legs. You closed your eyes and opened your mouth; Cregan noticed your discomfort, so he brought his thumb to your clit, tracing slow circles on it and trying to make you relax. You let out a shaky breath, chest heaving through the pinch.

Your tightness would try to push him away as tried to go deeper, yet he found a way to keep going until he was fully buried inside of you, whimpering your name. Your soft walls felt so fucking good around him, almost making the man drool against your shoulder. His sweaty forehead was pressed against your cheek and you could hear his ragged breathing in your ear, causing chills down your spine. He gave you a moment to forget about the pain, all while he peppered your neck with soft kisses and gentle bites. 

“I think I have just reached heaven,” he murmured, his voice sounding so deep and seductive. “So tight, so small around my cock…” he continued words that left his mouth before he could even think about them. 

“I- I feel so full…” you muttered, feeling his length pulsing inside of you. 

“Shh… I know, my darling, just take deep breaths for me,” he commanded you, and you obeyed. His thumb pushed slightly harder against your clit and you hummed. “Mhm, does that feel nice? My beautiful girl, you're doing such a good job for me,” he praised you, “taking me so well.” 

“Feels good…” you nodded. 

“It does, doesn't it?” he softly chuckled. “Gods, the way your sweet little pussy takes my cock makes me fucking crazy. Can- can I move? Fuck– Is it okay if I start moving?” 

His gentleness and softness did little to make you forget about the way he spoke to you. His dirty words made you clench around his girth, feeling butterflies in your lower belly. You needed Cregan to move and bring back the effervescent heat. 

“Please, do,” you begged, and he wasted no time in obeying. 

His mouth dropped open as he dragged his cock out of your tightness, noticing how it was covered by your slickness. He pushed in again, filling you and causing you to moan in simultaneous discomfort and pleasure. His left hand went to your hip, grabbing your skin and going deeper inside of you. Slowly at first, he started to fasten his pace until the sound of your bodies colliding against each other was mixed with your moans. 

Your hands wrapped around his shoulders as he hid his face on your neck, his harsh breathing causing chills on your skin as he moved slowly but forcefully; such a perfect pace to make you see stars. Your legs were bent at each side of his body, while he took you and claimed your shaky frame. Soon you realized that he had not lied, it felt magnificent once the pain started to fade away. 

His name would escape your lips as if it was an endless chant, incentivizing him to keep going, to continue his movements until you couldn't bear it anymore. A layer of sweat would cover your body as Cregan's weight was on top of you, it felt as if you were burning yet you didn't want to push him away. You craved to feel his skin on you, loving the way his pelvis would brush against your throbbing clit each time he thrusts into you. 

“Fuck, my darling,” he groaned in your ear, “your pussy was made for me to fuck,” he whimpered, biting your earlobe. You replied with a whine. “So fucking delicious, feeling so tight around my cock.” 

Cregan lifted his face to look at your messy state. The eye contact that followed almost made you reach your peak once again, it was all so intense it made your head spin. Your nails dug into his flesh and he whispered your name; you hummed in response. 

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmured.

He further quickened the pace, his cock now touching that sweet spot of yours. Your walls would clench around him as you felt the much-needed orgasm approaching. A ring of your juices appeared on his cock, and he changed positions so now he was on his knees, grabbing your hips and fucking you faster, rougher. 

He saw your breasts bouncing on your chest as he thrusted into you, the sight so arousing that he felt his cock twitch inside of you. His stones were full, ready to burst at any moment now. However, no matter how much he desired it, he knew he just couldn't release inside you. No risks must be taken if he wanted to do this again. 

With your legs spreaded, his thumb effortlessly reached your exposed clits, flicking it and smearing your wetness around it. Your limbs shook as your mind went numb, and soon your orgasms washed over you. You cried out his name, tightening your grip around his cock. 

That's when he pulled out and poured himself on your soaked flesh, staining your folds with his pearly seed. 

Once he took a quick look at you, he felt a coil of raw pleasure snake around his body. A whine left his lips as he wrapped his hand around his length, stroking it a few times to make sure he would cover you with every single drop. He was overstimulated already; sweaty, breathless and flushed. He looked so beautiful like that.

“Thank you,” he breathed out, caressing your thighs. 

You frown, slightly confused. “What- what for?” 

Instead of answering you right away, he leaned and joined his lips with yours, gently and tenderly kissing you. His hands cupped your face and yours laid on his thick arms. A few minutes later, he pulled away only to leave soft kisses all over your face making you giggle. 

“For giving me the honour of making you mine,” he replied. “Though I must confess that I don't think I will be able to live without having you in my bed every night.” 

You felt a smile appearing on your lips and a familiar warmth on your cheeks. 

“Well,” you sighed, “perhaps, you should do something about it.” That flirtatious tone was a bit odd coming from you, but Cregan loved it. 

“Yes,” he nodded, softly chuckling as he leaned to kiss you once more. “I will definitely do something about it.”

@arcielee

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[hqbaby]

four — just a little

mess it up — gojo x reader & sukuna x reader

⁀➴ when i told you i’m fine, you were lied to. when the love of your life falls for someone else, you decide to move on—by pretending to date your best friend, the campus fuckboy.

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 1.8k content. profanity, alcohol consumption, a lil bit of tension???

booger: r u up?

It’s 4 AM and you should not, in fact, be up. But you are. And apparently so is Sukuna.

You contemplate ignoring him. You can get back to him in the morning and act all high and mighty like, “I’m a proper human being with a life, so no, I don’t stay up until 4 AM like you, loser.” It’s not like anything good has ever come from you replying to his late-night/early-morning texts. You recall another time you replied to him at this hour; the two of you ended up almost getting arrested after sneaking into a reservoir.

Alas, you’re still up and you’ve been rotting your brain on your phone for hours, so your better judgment has gone the way of your last few brain cells.

you: what do u want

You watch as he types something. “Damn, so hostile,” probably. He deletes it. Then, he types again. “Why are you up?” maybe. Deletes it. Then, “Wanna fuck?” before he remembers who you are. He types again and actually sends the message this time.

booger: be there in 5

Part of you wants to prank him. Go to sleep and let the poor guy pound on your door until one of your neighbors—probably the grumpy old lady who lives beside you—scolds him and threatens to call security. It’s a good prank. You go as far as thinking about it.

When gets there, he’s got his hood pulled over his head. He’s wearing a pair of sweatpants, black sunglasses, and a serious expression on his face.

“Damn, you look so cool,” you say. He cracks a grin and you crack up. “What the fuck are you doing? You look ridiculous.”

His face falls into a frown as he steps into your apartment, closing the door behind him. You’ve already left him behind, crashing onto your couch as he changes his shoes into one of the slippers you keep for him by your door.

“You’re a real bitch, you know,” he says. He sheds the sunglasses and pulls his hood away. You’ve ruined the whole vibe he was going for. “Aren’t you gonna offer me a drink or something?”

You lift your head and point at the console table by the door. “There’s a bottle of Cuervo there,” you tell him. “Get it for me.”

He huffs but does as you say anyway. He picks the bottle up and walks over to you, sitting on the floor in front of the couch. “You’re a shitty host,” he says as he opens the bottle.

“You’re an intruder,” you say, snatching the bottle away from him before he takes a sip. You raise it to your lips to take a swig. “Why are you here?”

“Am I not allowed to see my girlfriend?”

You choke on the tequila. “What?” You cough as he laughs and pats your back. “Don’t say shit like that.”

He grabs the bottle from you and chugs a good amount. “I love teasing you,” he says, pinching your cheek. “It’s so easy.”

You slap his hand away and sit up. “I hate you.”

He just grins and passes you the bottle. “You love me,” he chirps. “Wouldn’t put up with me otherwise.”

“Haven’t you heard? Everyone’s saying I’m incapable of love.”

You don’t know why you say that. It’s not part of the script, the usual back and forth between the two of you. For a moment, you worry that you’ve said something wrong.

“Who says that?” He looks serious now. Like he’s about to beat someone up. You know, the usual. What were you even worried about? “You got a gun for me to use on them?”

You laugh at his dour expression. It’s true, of course, that people have been spreading this new rumor that you’re a cold, ruthless bitch who doesn’t have room in her heart for someone, let alone a boyfriend. It’s why you broke up with Satoru apparently. You know it’s stupid and people don’t really know what they’re talking about, that they’re bored and just making shit up, but for some reason, you can’t shake the thought.

What if they’re right?

You put the Cuervo on the floor beside Sukuna and hug a throw pillow to your chest. “I had a dream.”

“Is this where you break into song?”

You roll your eyes at him. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”

He doesn’t take the challenge lightly, immediately hopping onto the couch beside you and dropping his head onto your lap to stare up at you. He bats his lashes at you and says, “What did you dream about?”

You place your hand on his face. Then, you feel something wet on your palm. 

His fucking tongue.

“You’re so gross,” you whine, wiping your hand on his hoodie. “What do girls even see in you?”

He smirks. You’ve just given him an opportunity and you wholly regret it now. “It’s not so much what they see, but how big it is,” he says, amused by the disgusted face you make. He pokes your cheek with his finger now. “Tell me about your dream.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

He pouts, his lower lip jutting out as he looks at you with big eyes, practically getting teary-eyed now. He’s a great actor, you’ll give him that. He’d probably get better grades if he was a theater major.

“I wanna know,” he says softly. “Tell me.”

There’s something about the way he looks at you that feels unnervingly familiar. You’re used to his antics, you’ve had to deal with them since the two of you were in high school, but it’s moments like this that you remember just how much you know each other. It’s a constant thing, always lurking beneath your banter and jokes—it just surprises you when it’s in your face.

You place your hand on his shoulder and sigh. “It’s stupid,” you say. “I just keep having these dreams where I’m running from something. Different things every time. Zombies, ghosts, clowns—”

“You run away from clowns?”

“Clowns with murderous intentions.”

“Okay. Valid.”

You shake your head, smiling now as the teasing reminds you of who you’re talking to. It’s just Sukuna.

 “Anyway,” you say as you stare off into your empty living room. “I just… run. And I get to a point where I feel safe until I realize that I’ve actually been cornered. I wake up before anything happens.”

When you look at him again, his brows are furrowed, already in deep thought. He considers your dream carefully. You wonder if he’ll crack another joke, change the tone of the conversation, but of course he doesn’t.

“What do you think it means?”

You squeeze the throw pillow beside you. “I don’t know,” you say. “I should probably ask Nobara. Psych majors know all about that shit, right?”

He nods. “Yeah, they got that Freud dude.”

“I’m not sure that Freud dude is necessarily accurate about dreams.”

“You never know until you try.”

The two of you are quiet for a moment. You can hear the air conditioner buzz, the fridge rumble. You’ve gotten used to these sounds of silence, what with you being more alone than you’ve been in a while. This time though, you can hear Sukuna’s breathing. Quiet, but steady, a reminder that you’re not completely alone this time.

“Is that why you’re still up?” he asks eventually. “You can’t sleep?”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not.” Earnest. Sincere. “I just wanted to know.”

You look at him skeptically, but he just stares up at you from his place on your lap, blinking in the light of your living room.

“I mean, it’s not just the dreams,” you tell him. “I’ve been feeling a little lonely, you know. Since… Satoru.”

He cringes at the name but schools his expression before it turns into a full on snarl. “Still don’t know what you saw in that guy.”

“He was good to me,” you say. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He must’ve if you broke up with him.”

You hesitate, but you find it in yourself to insist, “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

Sukuna stands up. “If you say so,” he says. He reaches his hand out in front of you. “Come on. You gotta sleep.”

You stare at his hand. “You don’t think you’re taking me to bed, do you?”

“I am taking you to bed.”

He stays there for a moment, watching you watch his hand, unmoving. “I’m not getting in bed with you. Chill, bro.”

A beat.

“It’s not that,” you say, taking his hand and letting him pull you up. “It’s just…”

He raises a brow. “What?”

Yeah. What?

“Nothing,” you whisper. This is stupid. “You can sleep beside me. It’s fine.”

It’s his turn to be taken aback. Suddenly, he thinks that your hand being in his feels terribly comfortable. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, pulling your hand away. You pad over to your bedroom, walking straight ahead without looking back. Pretending like you don’t care if he follows. “We’ve slept in the same bed before. It’s no big deal.”

But it is. Somehow, you feel like it is.

You’re already under your blanket when he follows you into the room. He stands at the foot of the bed a little awkwardly. Like a lost puppy.

“When was the last time you slept in the same bed as a girl you didn’t fuck?”

He’s sheepish now, stripped of all his usual brazen demeanor. “A long time.”

His hand reaches for the hem of his hoodie.

“What are you doing?” you ask, eyes wide. “This isn’t—”

“Relax,” he says, pulling the hoodie off his head. He’s wearing a t-shirt underneath. Plain red, one you’ve probably seen more times than you can count. “I just run warm is all.”

You feel your face heat up. What did you think he was doing?

Your best friend slides into bed beside you. This isn’t anything strange for the two of you. You used to sleep over at each other’s houses back when you were in high school and one of you wanted to avoid the chaos of your home. You’ve slept beside each other before. It was never a thing.

But it’s been a while since then. You’re no longer the kids you were, all playful and shameless.

It feels different this time. Somehow.

He’s keeping his distance and you can feel it. Your body is turned away from him, but you can feel his eyes on you. He wants to be closer to you.

You want to be closer to him too.

“You can—”

His chest hits your back as he rolls over to lie directly behind you. “Is this okay?” he asks quietly. You can feel his breath on your neck.

You swallow. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

You feel his hand carefully move around your waist. He doesn’t touch you, his arm hovering just above the thin fabric of your top. “Is this—”

“Yeah.”

He rests his arm on your waist and you feel yourself relax into his touch. He wasn’t lying when he said he runs hot, it feels like you’re melting against a furnace. Still, somehow, you can’t find it in yourself to mind.

If anything, you might just admit that you like it. Maybe. Just a little.

notes. soooo the besties are doing a thing 👀 how do we feel about reader and sukuna so far 👀 we also haven't seen much of gojo yet but next chapter is gonna be interesting ;)

[no1teleneoshipper]

Okay I'll say it. People ship Telemachus and Pyrrhus, but where are the fanfics? It makes me wonder how many shippers there actually is.

I know there's a lot of people who love the ship! I swear, I know! I read all of the literal 10 fucking fanfics from ao3 about them. (And mind you, 2 of them are with ships I don't even like, but I still read because I love them so much. Even if they were only background characters and so was the ship.)

But tell me where are all the fanfics, huh? Where are the modern aus? The high school aus where they're an bestfriends to lovers slow burn or an academic rivals to lovers kind of vibe? Because I swear, every single fandom has one of those. What about a fanfic of Ody like running across Pyrrhus in the palace halls, freshly killed all of the suitors a few days ago and being all like :

"Neo? Why are you here, Aren't you supposed to be at scyros or with Thetis training for a new war?"

And Pyrrhus and Telemachus have to explain and all that. Where's the fanfics of that?

Or what about the same thing with the trope of meeting the parents but it's with deidameia meeting tel?

Or a nice coffee shop au where they're both oblivious and idiots in love with no social life and it's super cliche and they could be in the same college for an extra cliche middle schooler worthy story of a 13 year old girl who just recently transitioned between wattpad to ao3, because fuck it. Those types of fics are my guilty pleasure.

Or what about a cute little 5 + 1 fics or something? Where's those fics? Because no matter the ship, they have that. FIGURE 5, A FANDOM THAT IS DEAD AS FUCK (hi, if you're a figurine it's me @no.1kymieshipper on tiktok I think I'm kind of at least a veteran in the community) HAS ONE OF THOSE. BUT TELEMACHUS AND PYRRHUS? NONE.

I want a cringe fic. I want a beautifully written novel worthy amazingly pitched fic by a girl who's first language isn't English. I want a cross over fic with Lady bug or some shit. I want a fic where it's all angst, with no happy ending what so ever. I want a fic from someone who only knows them for Madeline Millers horribly done books with an great writting style but horrible characterization that is just inaccurate and horrible so they make Dei a bitch, Achilles an innocent little bean, Patroclus a WARRIOR who CANNOT FIGHT, AND PYRRHUS THE MOST RUTHLESS EIGHT YEAR OLD WHO WAS AT FAULT FOR THE ASHES THING EVEN THO IT. DID. NOT. HAPPEN. THAT WAS MADELINES THING.

heck, I'll even stroll through the dark sides of fanfictions and look through watpad for them if I have to. I am THAT desperate.

And I can write, I can. I am in fact writing a fic for them as we speak. I am trying, and trying, and rereading everything. Every little scene. Analyzing every detail. I love them so much they are my cuties.

[docholligay]

I do think there are a handful of missteps in the show, admittedly, and one of them is that Claudia loses a lot of her resonance. I know, if I get murdered by the fandom over one thing, it will be this. I know she's a huge fan favorite. I don't even dislike her!

But aging her up compromised the tragedy of her situation, and honestly, made it a bit ridiculous. I know all of the extra-universe reasons she had to be aged up, but that doesn't change the question of what Claudia is doing in the story as she is presented.

We're asked to swallow this idea of being their daughter, of them using her to repair a marriage. The story of Interview With the Vampire is, in many ways, the story of both losing a child, and the tragedy of hanging onto a child. Claudia's tragedy is that she is frozen in amber. She can never grow up. She can never change. She is locked in that childish moment, seen as a child by her parents forever, and this is her great tragedy.

All of this becomes much harder to swallow about a fourteen year old, specifically given the time period in which she's turned. It's not that fourteen year olds were regularly running around by themselves, but in an edge neighborhood, in New Orleans, in the early 1900s, it's hardly out of the question. People would not have thought of her as a 'little girl'. So as soon as we enter into this, it's already become unserious. Her ruthless killing is not belied by a cupid-like look, because she is too old to look cupid-like. The way Louis and Lestat think of her is entirely out of their position and time.

I will admit to a piece of bias: I think Claudia is as close as Anne Rice ever comes to actually doing something really compelling with the narrative. In any of the Vampire Chronicles books. I think this tragedy of a child who did survive, a child who, unlike her own, will live forever, and the way she works through that as its own tragedy worse than death, and how CLAUDIA. HAS. TO DIE. Because that's what happened, and that's how it must happen, is probably the greatest literary stroke in any of the novels. So it pains me to see it essentially wiped away by child labor laws (The children yearn for the mines).

We have to deal with it, then, in these half measures. She's a child who can do nothing, she runs around on college campuses by herself, she will never be taken seriously and everyone sees her as a child, Madeline being attracted to her is no way unsettling or odd, etc. They try to make a big deal of her being a teenager forever, and always prone to irrational emotions, but she's written as one of the most reasonable people of season two. We are shackled to the Claudia of the books who cannot live with the Claudia of the show. Her character doesn't stand up to much scrutiny, we lose both its tragedy and its monstrousness and we are left with a pretty cool lady vampire in her own right, but someone who fails to deliver on the promise of Claudia's tragedy.

This isn't really her fault, but it becomes even more ridiculous with the actress switch in season two, who looks even OLDER than the original actress. I know that even Kirsten Dunst was too old, and where the fuck are you going to find a twelve year old like Kirsten Dunst again, who looked younger than she was and could act like a forty year old woman? But I do mourn the loss of a Claudia who was a tragic child, for a Claudia who is...inconvenienced. I would have preferred the ol Olsen Twins trick, having twins play a singular role so she could be actually a child, but we can't have everything.

(I will say a change with Claudia I HATED initially, that I came around to really liking, was having Lestat turn her after Louis' begging, and not having had Louis drain her in a moment of weakness. I love that moment in the books, and was SO disappointed that he just...saved her. Saint fucking Louis. But I came around to it, and I am so glad I waited for season two. I think they did a great job in the sketching of it.)

THIS IS THE ONE I'LL GET HATEMAIL ABOUT

[angelsndragons]

fuck it, we ball.

meet my veilguard kiddos.

ekaterine "eko" mercar (she/her, cis) is my canon rook. raised by human parents in tevinter, she learned young how to compartmentalize, charm, and lie with the best of them. like many of her relatives, she was trained by clan mercar for the military and joined up when she turned eighteen. eko's charm and lies, vital to her survival, caught the eyes of her superiors. they quickly shunted her to internal services, where she became a key interrogator, notable for extracting useful information from enemies foreign and domestic and turning assets towards her goals.

two years before veilguard, she left the military and joined the nearest shadow dragon cell. her viper, a woman named, calpernia, sent her on the nessus assignment then put the word out to the other cells that "rook" might come calling for help before she went to ground.

eko is charming, patient, and ruthless. too charming, some would say. she hides her vulnerabilities and insecurities behind a grateful smile and a quick word. she could so very easily fall into the trap that solas has been unable to escape for millennia: people are tools to be used. but eko deep down wants a kinder, brighter future, even after her life in tevinter, she keeps that hope alive.

strongest relationships: neve (bff forever, tevinter ladies to the end), davrin (romance, two intensely focused protectors searching for the light of a kinder life and future find home and hope in each other), taash (eko becomes taash's auntie and their relationship is so precious to me).

my other rooks are below.

arzhel laidir (they/he, non-binary) is a spitfire of a person. which matches their fire magic. they grew up in treviso as the eldest of nine children in a very well off antivan elven family. their family pulled out all the stops and strings for arzhel's future: they were to become a templar, one of the few elves ever allowed to do so, and bring more prestige to the family to do it. they even found a very suitable marriage candidate for arzhel. but alas, fate had other plans and at seventeen, arzhel's magic came in. violently, they started a pretty large fire in the family homestead. the circles then rebelled, which meant the templars rebelled and suddenly there was no place for a new mage to go. save to the very distant dalish relations the laidirs pretended they didn't have.

the culture shock overwhelmed both sides, to say the least. they lasted a few years with the dalish but the clan never really trusted them and thus arzhel never really learned full control. once word came of their family's fall, that the family no longer had the means to ensure good marriages and lives for their younger siblings due to the disgrace of having a mage relation, arzhel left the clan in pursuit of treasure and adventure. over the years, they've provided for a few of their siblings but have never really settled down or had a place to belong.

strongest relationships: neve (romance, fire and ice, two people looking for dependability and stability in their relationships, one has to rise to the occasion, yep, let's do it), taash (like recognizes like and immediately goes 'oh nooooooo'), lucanis (puppy crush morphs into genuine respect and admiration for a man who has survived so much and yet kept so much of himself in the process), bellara (arzhel is a nerd behind the jock veneer)

jasper thorne (she/her, trans woman) never expected to be the special one. sure, she's the child of paragon korrin aeducan, warden-commander of ferelden, but she's the normal one in her family, her birth mother was a noble hunter for crying out loud. her little brother (once) held the soul of an old god (maybe something greater?) while her mother is daughter of flemeth, keeper of mythal's memories, and a fearsome mage in her own right. jasper? she just swings a sword and shield.

jasper is a bright, happy, and reckless young woman. she believes in seizing the moment and loving truly, deeply, and openly. she hasn't been a warden long enough to lose those fundamental pieces of herself. she's happy to take on the world; she knows it can be done. at the same time, there is a deep well of loneliness and insecurity surrounding her place in her family. love has nothing to do with it. she wants to contribute, to help the save the world her mother suspects will soon be in real danger. she wants desperately to make a difference, to matter.

she's very early in the play through so i don't have relationships for her yet. she and kieran? tight as fuck, no one messes with her little brother. she led him into so much trouble as a kid and even now, when kieran has like half a foot on her, she can still take him down and give him a noogie if his mind wanders too far. she's been in contact with her birth mom and her half-siblings on that side of the family and they're fine, for the most part. jasper and kieran weren't allowed into orzammar until they were fifteen because their father is half convinced the ruler would have them killed. she adores evka as a big sister figure, though her greatest admiration is saved for inquisitor cadash. she wants to be her when she grows up (and the monkey's paw curled).

[lilmissnatcat24]

Turn Left Ch 30- Meow

Shepard puts two and two together.

Relationship: Femshep/Garrus Vakarian

Archive Warnings in author's note

Additional tags: enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, slow build, alternate universe- canon divergence, detective noir, sex club, anonymous sex, canon temporary character death, murder mystery, drug use, dom garrus vakarian, whump, smut, heavy angst, alien sex, dual pov, an overly sexual elcor named candy, earthborn, ruthless, fake/pretend relationship, dead dove: do not eat, identity porn, minor character death

Detective AU mixed with identity porn mixed with so much whump my fingers are bleeding

(or, start from the beginning here)

lil text blurb:

“I-- well-- this wasn’t my choice necessarily. I never thought-- I mean-- I’ve done a very good job at keeping this part of my life secret from all of my coworkers-- which believe me, has not been easy at times, but I guess we do what we can--” 

“Garrus, what is it?” Shepard asked, her curiosity now peaked. And frankly, it brought her a small amount of joy to see Garrus squirm like that after all of the shit he’d been hiding from her lately. 

“I… um…” Garrus said, for some reason looking at the crack at the bottom of his door intently, as if it were about to get up and walk away. “I have a roommate.” 

“Oh,” Shepard said. That wasn’t so bad, was it? “Okay, well I guess it’s time to meet him--” 

“Her.” 

“Ah.” Now it was starting to make sense. “So, like a girlfriend or something?” 

“ No, she is not a girlfriend ,” Garrus said so quickly it sounded like one garbled, jumbled up mess. A sound came from the other side of Garrus’s door. It wasn’t speech or anything, it sounded almost like a whimper. 

“What, is she a vorcha or something? Why does she sound like that?” 

“Shep…” Garrus said, rubbing his eyes. With a resigned sigh, he pressed his omnitool to his door, unlocking it. 

At first, it seemed like just an empty apartment. A tiny little kitchen on the back wall, a couch on one side, a bed with perfectly made sheets on the other. A few spare rifle parts littering the table in the middle, one window the size of a basketball onto the street below. Shepard almost didn’t see anyone. That was, until she looked down, gasping loudly much to Garrus’s dismay. 

“Oh my God. You have a kitty !” Shepard squealed, bending down to pet the cat. It was a very pretty gray color with white markings on its face and belly, giving a very satisfied chirp to Shepard’s reaction to it. 

“That is not a kitty ,” Garrus said through gritted teeth. “That is a cat .” 

“ What a sweet little thing !” Shepard cooed, scratching its ears as its tail stuck up straight into the air.

“She’s not, trust me.” 

 “What’s her name?” Garrus mumbled something under his breath. Shepard glanced up at him, so blue in the face it almost covered up his colony tattoos. “What was that?” 

“Hmph,” Garrus muttered, crossing his arms in an incredibly bratty and snooty fashion. 

“I’m sorry, one more time?” 

“ Whiskers von Trapp .” Shepard stared up at Garrus incredibly blankly, blinking rapidly. He refused to look down at her, or his cat. Just as she was about to open her mouth to say something, he gave her a little kick. “Will you just get inside already?” 

Garrus locked his apartment door behind him, Whiskers von Trapp weaving in and out between his feet merrily. “Did-- did you name her--?” 

“ No, I did not name the fucking cat Whiskers von Trapp ,” Garrus all but yelled. “Look, it was my first week as a beat cop on the Presidium. I was called to do a wellness check on this old lady, she ended up dying earlier in the day. And this creature was inside. I was just going to leave her be, because it is explicitly not my job to care after cretins like this, but then she gave me these big eyes and this manipulative little mew, so I thought I would scoop her up and take her to a shelter. But as soon as I put her in my car, she slinked onto my lap and started making this Siren sound that was like subvocals, and now she’s wormed her way here .” 

“What a devastating tale that is,” Shepard said, a scandalized hand on her heart. “The Day Garrus Vakarian Found His Soul.” 

“I tried to just call her Cat. Because she is a cat,” Garrus continued. “But she wouldn’t respond to that. Or Whiskers. Or even Von. The only time she responds is when I call her Whiskers von Trapp. Like she lives to patronize me into calling her such a ridiculous name.” 

“Cats do tend to do that.” 

“Do not be fooled by her soft fur or her adorable little face. She is a vixen, an evil creature of the night. Did you know I need to steam my uniform every night? Do you know how hard it is to get the smell of cat out of everything? Did you know that no matter how many times I demand that she sleep on the little bed I bought that cost me five hundred creds , she just ends up sleeping under my carapace? Ignorant little beast she is, not to be trusted.” 

“Oh, what a horrid life you lead,” Shepard said patronizingly, finally stretching back up from her squat. “Should I get you a trophy? A shot? Drones of whores?” 

“All three, thank you very much.”

[madebypointlesswords]

just for funsies: books im currently reading

I cannot, for the life of me, read just one book at the time. I've tried multiple times and I just can't. It's most likely my untreated ADHD but oh welllll, have fun with my silly little books and go right ahead and judge my taste in the tags <3

The Iliad, Homer

Honestly such a fun book. I'm reading it very slowly though, because I want to savour each sentence. It's a thrifted version that someone else annotated and I got it for like, 7 euros? The annotations are very cute and fun to read while reading the actual book and it made me consider doing the same (annotating a book and then donating it to thrift so some random stranger can delight in my silly thoughts). Achilles is a bit of a dick but I like him that way. Diomedes is my absolute favourite (together with Patroclus).

This is the edition I have

1984, George Orwell

This book was an impulse buy from my favourite bookstore. I'm enjoying it thorougly, and I mainly bought it because I was going to see a play inspired by it that week and planned to read it first. I got through 50 pages. Orwell's style is a delight though, I have no notes. I'm currently like, one quarter into the book.

My edition (I'm looking for Animal Farm in the same style. I know it exists I just keep finding other ones and it irks me.)

Good Omens, Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman

Tumblr (and my best friend @mairrion) convinced me this year to watch Good Omens right when season 2 came out. I curse you all for the brainrot you have given me. Literally why did you have to do this to me. I bought the book very recently (this monday) and I'm 1/5 into the book. The writing is honestly so fun and I've laughed several times out loud on the bus while reading. Definitely recommend this to new (or old) fans of the series.

I got the edition with Crowley on the cover (they didn't have Aziraphales version but I still would have gotten Crowley's anyway). Mine's a tad different: the letters are golden, Terry is mentioned before Neil is, and Crowley's wine isn't red. Oh and there's a sticker advertising the series.

Little Thieves, Margaret Owen

Oh my god this book is fun. Delicious characterisation. Wonderful dialogue. Stunning worldbuilding. Honestly I am so angry at myself for not being able to read this cover to cover. Why am I LIKE this. The cover is also so extremely pretty what the fuck.

Just look at this

Crime and Punishment, Fyodor Dostoevsky

This book is a banger. It annoys me that I can't read it in one sitting. Because I genuinely LOVE it but I just fucking can't. I love it when Dostoevsky takes a break from the plot to remind us as readers that Raskolnikov is, in fact, very much a pretty boy. Peak comedy right there.

I got the Wordsworth classics edition because it was only 4 euros at my favourite bookstore again (i apologise this is the best picture I have)

The Ruthless Lady's Guide to Wizardry, C.M. Waggoner

I got this book today from one of my best friends and I've read only one chapter but holy hell I am hooked. This is amazing. This is fun. This is exactly what I want. Chaotic, sapphic and unhinged slightly evil women are my drug of choice and this is a heroin shot. Live laugh love Dellaria Wells.

also look at the pretty cover mmmm

The Darkening Age (The Christian Destruction of the Classical World), Catherine Nixey

My first non fiction book I think. Nixey's writing is exquisite and I am loving this book with all my heart. It's educative, interesting and just overall, a wonderful experience to read. I do encourage everyone to take it with a grain of salt, but the author has many, many cited works, so I'm not saying that you have to be overly critical of every sentence, just that the author is (just like any other human being) a bit biased.

btw the cover is pretty too :) but I just can't find a picture of it.

[izartn]

So about the Katherine and Will thing.

Anyways I for one, liked much more his whole thing with Katherine when it came to light she was his pseudo-sis/full sister and he manipulated her for revenge. Like also for his mother who made him promise to protect her and Elizabeth but he didn't have to seduce Kate. That was him being attracted to her and also getting to give the middle finger to Simon. Also ruthless in going for the fastest way to get Katherine and Elizabeth to his side. I totally wasn't expecting Will going for that angle but wow.

I also loved it didn't fuck him or anything, her probably being his sister, bc he has so much bigger problems going on. The fact that Katherine essentially killed herself trying to kill him in vain being one of those, alongside the whole being Sarcean Reborn thing.

lts just soo funny, bc all those traditional YA who are like, Sebastián from Shadowhunters you know? The villain who is obssesed with the female protag is also like her brother or something, and its proof that the chara is terrible, but they had a chance once, but ugh incest and they need to die, etc etc.

Only here is our protag, Will, who has so much going on, the brief detour for heterosexuality town bc Lady and him were a thing in a past life and "mother lookalike also tried to murder me" trauma is more interesting in what it says of him than the fact Katherine was kinda his sister.

Poor Katherine had to die bc this isn't a classic YA story with her as the heroine in distress with the dashing villain who tempts her. This is Will story and we only need her little sister, who is a more interesting adversary as a 10 year old seeing through his bullshit that Kate could be.

[haytham-loves-chocolate]

Okay, today I finally got Black Flag and Rogue, and I’ve been playing Rogue mostly. I know that the gameplay for Rogue and Black Flag are similar because they’re made only months apart from each other but I still love them. I just decided to play Rogue because, ahem, Haytham, but also Shay being his handsome self.

The stupid thing is, I haven’t seen Haytham yet, but, I do have the recording memory of Otso Berg talking about which Templars influenced him to be who he is and the second person I got was Haytham. Before that happened, i was doing the little hacking on the computer. Ya know and blah blah blah, then the screen just jumped at me before going immediately into Otso’s dialogue. Just hearing him, hearing this man saying all this shit about Haytham made me wanna throw him off the Abstergo building. Even seeing his old man self, made me just have a mental comparison between the two and I’d still chose Haytham. Why? I got to know Haytham’s story better. I mean, I know he and Haytham aren’t perfect people but don’t talk shit about someone that you know basically had the same situation you did. Makes him an asshole to me. Always.

Also, I think Haytham, if he met Otso, he would say his line before meeting someone he knows is a problem, “Oh this is rich” before they fucking have an argument over who’s the better Templar Grand Master. To me, Haytham will always be more of a man than he is. I mean yes, he became ruthless and sort of an ass too after killing his grand master mentor figure, but he only did that over betrayal, over feeling used just to become this… big headed noblemen who can actually fence well and dress classy.

And you all know how Haytham gets me so damn riled up, with his smug ass and Smexy British noble voice, and just… me going crazy.

Anyways, theme is, Haytham is a classy son of a pirate and a lady who deserves better and wishing he could’ve made a pact with Connor and hunted and been a father to him; while Otso, can fall off the building then, if he doesn’t die, ship him off with his daughter somewhere where he doesn’t have control. Piece of… shiitake mushrooms.

[just-some-random-blogger]

GIRRLLLLLLLL AHAHHAHAH WTFFF 8S THISSSSS NAURRRRRRRRRRR MY HEART GO BOOM BOOM POWWWW

THERE WAS AN old northern superstition —more like an old wives’ tale, really— that said if there was snow on the wedding day, the marriage was doomed to be a cold one.

CRISTIIIIIII

WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN WHY ARE YOU STARTING THIS FIC LIKE THIS THAGS SO GOOD ITS DO BEAUTIFUL HOW DO YOU EVEN THINK OF THESE THINGS WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKK 🫵WITCHHHHHH🫵

Cregan had hoped that if not a loving wife, he would get a caring mother to Rickon.

Honestly I hate that for her. And rickon. Poor boy. I mean found family be like.

He would like to say that the days went on the same way they did before he wed you, but it would be a lie. Winterfell ran much better now there was a lady present.

THAT PART 💥💥💥💥💥💥 WHAT THE FUCK DID I FUCKING TELL YOU YOU RAT ASSS I TOLD YOU YOU DONT FUCKING KNOW HER YOUR PRESUMPTUOUS PIECE OF HIT

Cregan had been wrong about you. It seemed like you could run a keep, and you did so with ruthless efficiency.

AND THAT'S ON PERIOD 💯🙏💪🔥

The castle had never been warmer, the meals so well planned. Even the servants seemed happy, now that they didn’t have to follow Cregan’s too broad instructions. It seemed that asking them to clean and cook was a little too vague for their tastes.

She is that gwORL with the lipgloss unmoving

The lack of sunlight had made you lose your southron tan, leaving you with a look of quiet frailty that made Cregan want to wrap you in a thousand blankets and keep you safe. He just was unsure of the execution.

🤨 honestly 🤚🤚🤚 stay away I will poke your eyes out. Poor bb girl tho.

You seemed at ease enough around Sara, and some other northern ladies, so social interaction wasn’t what you disliked. It was him.

Never had Winterfell’s corridors been filled with so many women. The northern lords already called you Queen Alysanne’s second coming, with your all female court. The only thing missing was your husband. You didn’t have Cregan’s ear, simply because you didn’t wish to.

PERIOD 💯💯💯💯💯💯💯💯💯💯🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 GRIEF IS OVER TIME SO SLAY AND KEKE

“You intend to honor me by giving me more work?”

HES JUST A MAN 👎👎👎👎

You place your hands on your hips, highlighting your figure, and Cregan is but a man.

PFFFT the way I just said he's just a man. MY GUY YOU RNT UR A DAWWGGGG 👎

It is the wrong thing to say. You bare your fangs then, and Cregan has a moment of absolute and utter clarity. You are not a seahorse. Such a puny creature could never hope to deliver the utter destruction that you cause with your next words.

BEAT HIS ASS

... Ngl I don't remember the context of this but HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH THE SENTIMENT REMAINS

“Yes, and your precious Arra is dead! She is gone! Why can’t you understand it?” You turn on your heel, face absolutely thunderous, and go to rush out of his chambers.

..... Ngl shes dirty for that. She would stab him if he ever did the same to her with Luke 👎 L work sister. A sad day to be yn. Your honor that wasn't me I would never

Cregan does no longer dream of trying to hunt a seahorse. Instead, he sees the world at a much lower angle than usual, and runs for his life. Somehow, in the dream, he knows a dragon is hunting him.

And you know what he deserves it for underestimating her

I was gonna add that pic of this girl posing then there's like a dragon breathing fire behind her but I couldn't find it lol

Because the boy has gotten sick. And look, you have visited the nursery before, it is a part of your duties. You also cannot deny that you had been curious about the tiny version of your husband that will inherit everything.

☹️ POOR RICKON. I PERSONALLY COULD NEVER HAVE BEEF WITH A CHILD BUT THEN AGAIN I WASNT JUST MARRIED OFF TO A MAN I DONT KNOW OR LIKE

Had you not hardened your heart to it already, you would want one of your own. You know, though, that their only inheritance will be tears and petty squabbles over land, so it’s best they are not born at all. It had been so between your husband’s father and uncle, and it was being so between your mother and your uncle Aegon.

I hate this for her

Jacaerys. You hoped that wherever he was, he was suffering.

HAHAHAHAH I APPROVE THIS MESSAGE

You despised this place, and he had dared plot with your mother behind your back to get you here. With your beast of a husband, and this child of a previous marriage, whose existence would forever ensure your future children would inherit nothing.

The whiplash of the previous sentence being the first part of this paragraph goes crazy my gosh what the fuck

You get him. You would like to cry too.

JAHAHAHAHAHHA SHE SAID I UNDERSTAND YOU HAHAHAHAH U N ME BOTH KID 🤝

He is clearly feeling better if his lungs allow him to shriek like that.

❗❗❗❗NO BUT LIKE HONESTLY. THATS HOW I MEASURE HOW SICK I AM not shrieking but singing. Like if Im not singing I'm fucked. If I start singing again Im getting better 💕

You begin to rock him as you pace through the room. As his tears begin to subside, and he begins to grow curious about the soft song, you realize he is not the threat to your future children you had envisioned. Rickon is beautiful in the manner all babes are, soft and sweet. His little fists cling to your wool cloak, gray eyes meeting yours with fascination.

I love that for her

Lord Stark is drenched to the bone. His hair is stuck to his head and shoulders, dripping water onto his furs. The cloak he had worn is wet, and he is quick to remove it, leaving him in simple breeches and a jerkin. His face is the picture of worry.

🧍‍♀️ ........ 🫵WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-🫵

“I rode as hard as I dared.”

I have something inappropriate to say. But also 🗣️AS🗣️YOU🗣️ SHOULD 🗣️

His voice is low, pleasantly so. You had never considered the northern accent he sported attractive, but when his voice is gruff, and pitched low, you might see the appeal.

Lol. She said ok and?

The embarrassment from earlier, and the anger at the thought of your husband being soft because you remind him of her make you snap at him.

HONESTLY SHES BEING SO PETTY AND NORMALLY I WOULD BE ON PETTINESS'S SIDE BUT ???? IDK ITS GIVING IRRATIONAL????? IDK IDK LIVE YOUR TRUTH IG???

Why does he keep staring at you? Is he… Oh, by the Seven, he is smiling at you? So softly? You cannot stand it.

Cregan. YN

Look, princesses do not flee. They simply walk hurriedly. Very hurriedly.

Literally what she thinks of cregan and her reaction to it

CRISTI IDK WHERE I WAS EXPECTING THIS TO GO BUT IT WENT AND I LOVE IT. IM PATIENTLY SATTTTT EEEK LOVE LOVE LOVE 1000000/10

Winter (Cregan Stark x Reader)

Summary: As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?

Warnings: Mature language. Grief. Toddlers. Unreliable narrators. Miscommunication.

A/N: I was so excited about this chapter! These scenes are the ones I wrote first. Also, the biggest hug to anyone who is reading this. I had not expected the amount of love my first chapter got, and I am so grateful!

THERE WAS AN old northern superstition —more like an old wives’ tale, really— that said if there was snow on the wedding day, the marriage was doomed to be a cold one.

It hadn’t been snowing the day Cregan had married you, but his marriage was proving to be icier than the lands beyond the wall. You weren’t interested in spending time with him at all, and you actively tried to avoid him. He had tried to convince you to share rooms, trying to foster some intimacy, to no avail.

Cregan had hoped that if not a loving wife, he would get a caring mother to Rickon. The boy was too small to grow without one, not yet having reached his third nameday. But you hadn’t shown interest in that either. Instead, you pretended the two of them didn’t exist.

He would like to say that the days went on the same way they did before he wed you, but it would be a lie. Winterfell ran much better now there was a lady present. Cregan had been wrong about you. It seemed like you could run a keep, and you did so with ruthless efficiency.

The castle had never been warmer, the meals so well planned. Even the servants seemed happy, now that they didn’t have to follow Cregan’s too broad instructions. It seemed that asking them to clean and cook was a little too vague for their tastes.

As for you, grief still followed you around, like a too long shadow that refused to budge even in the face of Winterfell’s brightest light. Sara had befriended you, with little success. While you had been far more welcoming to her, you still looked constantly tired and sad.

The lack of sunlight had made you lose your southron tan, leaving you with a look of quiet frailty that made Cregan want to wrap you in a thousand blankets and keep you safe. He just was unsure of the execution.

You scared him. He was man enough to admit it. People were often afraid of things they didn’t understand, and Cregan was no exception. You were made of absolute ice. There was no better description. Cold, but as fragile as glass.

He was running out of ideas on how to bond with you. Invitations to tea were denied, nor did you want to ride with him to see his tenants. You seemed at ease enough around Sara, and some other northern ladies, so social interaction wasn’t what you disliked. It was him.

Never had Winterfell’s corridors been filled with so many women. The northern lords already called you Queen Alysanne’s second coming, with your all female court. The only thing missing was your husband. You didn’t have Cregan’s ear, simply because you didn’t wish to. He would support your endeavors if you asked him to. He had offered his help with your attempts to establish a charity, since the North didn’t have Septas to take care of it, but you had proudly rebuffed him.

There was no pleasing you. He was at his wits’ end. Hence, the awful choice he had made that day.

To try to force you to be in his company.

“Why are you ordering my servants around?” You complain, barging into his chambers. While usually the kitchens were the domain of the Lady of the household, Cregan didn’t know you took it so seriously. “Do you not think me capable enough?”

“I do!” Cregan sits up in his bed, bewildered. He had given the orders around lunchtime, hoping you would not find out, yet here you were, less than half a day later. Far more soon than he had expected. “I just want to throw a feast to honor you.”

“You intend to honor me by giving me more work?” You place your hands on your hips, highlighting your figure, and Cregan is but a man. He cannot help himself, his eyes lingering for a second too long, and his brain coming with no response to your statement.

You seem to take his silence for affirmation.

“Seriously? Do you at least have a guest list?”

And your tone is so haughty, your words betraying you believe Cregan to be an absolute imbecile, he cannot help but give a heated retort.

“Of course I have. Truly, I am more than capable of organizing it on my own. Arra let me do it a few times, and I was unmarried for quite a while. I am experienced enough to…”

It is the wrong thing to say. You bare your fangs then, and Cregan has a moment of absolute and utter clarity. You are not a seahorse. Such a puny creature could never hope to deliver the utter destruction that you cause with your next words.

“Yes, and your precious Arra is dead! She is gone! Why can’t you understand it?” You turn on your heel, face absolutely thunderous, and go to rush out of his chambers.

Cregan loses his head fully, then. He grabs you by the arm, hard enough to hurt, and forces you to face him. For a frightening moment, he fears himself. Fears the wolf, the one screaming for him to strike you and remind you of your place.

How dare you come in his chambers, uninvited, after rejecting all his offers of companionship, to lecture him on grief? As if he could forget Arra was dead. It wasn’t so long ago that Rickon cried for his mother still, unable to understand why he didn’t have one. It wasn’t so long ago that Sara had to take over the role of Lady of the House, and suffered mockery from it. And it wasn’t so long ago, Cregan woke with a scream choked in his throat, reliving that awful morning in every dream he had.

He still did, sometimes. Less, now that he had more urgent matters to occupy himself with. Cregan was ashamed to admit it, but before Jacaerys and your arrival here, Winterfell had been far too empty to keep the ghosts away.

Now, with the war, and the flurry of activities that seemed to follow you, Cregan had little time to dwell much in his dark thoughts. Throwing himself into his work had allowed him to begin healing a wound he wasn’t even aware existed.

And wasn’t that a terrible thought? That Cregan was a man who thrived on war and hunger? Winter was coming, after all. It wouldn’t catch him unprepared.

He had sworn a vow to protect you. As long as Jacaerys had no children, you were third in line to the Iron Throne. To think of hurting you was not only to think of staining his honor, but to think of treason.

Cregan holds you there for a second longer, curious about your reaction. His grip must be bruising on your arm, he can feel the delicate bones under your flesh shift with how hard he is holding you. Yet, you show no fear. Your hands are balled into fists.

Were he to strike, you would strike back. Your face is the very picture of anger, your body coiled and ready to tear him apart.

He throws the feast. You sit next to him in icy silence and somehow manage to speak and dance with all the guests but him.

Cregan does no longer dream of trying to hunt a seahorse. Instead, he sees the world at a much lower angle than usual, and runs for his life. Somehow, in the dream, he knows a dragon is hunting him.

OF COURSE IT is today. The only day you actually wish your Lord Husband to be in the castle, and he is not.

You had spent many of your days fervently praying for him to leave on an errand, and yet, the day he does, you cannot even enjoy it.

Because the boy has gotten sick. And look, you have visited the nursery before, it is a part of your duties. You also cannot deny that you had been curious about the tiny version of your husband that will inherit everything.

The boy is cute, you suppose. In the manner all babes are. He is well-behaved, and quiet, and takes well to his teachings, even if they involve only naming things aloud.

Had you not hardened your heart to it already, you would want one of your own. You know, though, that their only inheritance will be tears and petty squabbles over land, so it’s best they are not born at all. It had been so between your husband’s father and uncle, and it was being so between your mother and your uncle Aegon.

The only assurance a woman has in a life spent as little more than property is her children. They are to inherit their father’s lands, and that is supposed to be enough. But for the second sons, said promise is always broken.

You had never, not once, thought you would come to understand Alicent, yet here you were.

You reflect on this as you hurry to the nursery, worried the damn boy will die before you reach it. When you get there, you feel the urge to scream. There is not one, but three serving girls hovering by the door, and the Maester is mixing some herbs in a chalice.

The child sleeps peacefully, unaware the surrounding turmoil. He looks impossibly small in his bed of furs, shirt open and chest covered in strange poultices. The boy… No, Rickon, had taken ill after the first snow. Perhaps he had been spending too much time playing outside, or he lingered too much in his wet clothes. You wouldn't know. You tried to avoid him as much as you could.

After this was over, you would have a stern talk with his maids. They shouldn’t be this careless. This was your husband’s heir. Someone had to care about him.

Not you. Never you.

“Will he be alright?” You ask, as the Maester places a wet cloth on his forehead. You have never liked children, never having had the chance to be one yourself. Your mother’s constant quest for the Iron Throne and her love for Daemon had often left you in the hands of the help. And when you were old enough, you had to take the role of the mature sibling alongside Jacaerys, helping raise your brothers.

Jacaerys. You hoped that wherever he was, he was suffering. You despised this place, and he had dared plot with your mother behind your back to get you here. With your beast of a husband, and this child of a previous marriage, whose existence would forever ensure your future children would inherit nothing.

You weren’t going to have children. Despite loving children, you despise your husband too much to ever lay with him. But most of all, you are beginning to fear you will become a damn Hightower. You feared that if you had children and faced the prospect of them only being second sons, you might be tempted to start a war too.

“He will, Princess.” The Maester, unaware of your inner turmoil, places a reassuring hand on your arm. He surely believes in the gentle hearts of women, or some nonsense like that. “The fever will lower with the tea we gave him, and the cool cloth on his forehead. His lungs are strong. He will breathe normally soon.”

The boy’s chest flutters oddly. His ribs show with each inhale, depicting his trouble breathing. You cast a dubious look at the cool cloth. If this was all they could do, it was no wonder your grandfather had been rotting alive.

“Is that all you have to say? Why do his ribs show?” You do your best to channel your mother, tone imperious. “If this is truly…” Before you can insult him by calling him the worst the Citadel has to offer, a boy comes in. You let out a sigh of relief, your desire to berate the Maester subsiding. It’s the same boy you had sent to Castle Cerwyn to retrieve your husband.

“Princess!” He says, extending a hand to you. Much to your astonishment, he hands back the message you had sent to Lord Cregan. “I have grievous news. The road to Castle Cerwyn is fully blocked. I couldn’t get past the river. I cannot go over it either and avoid the forest, for it is not fully frozen.”

“This cannot be!” You say, crossing your arms over your chest. Cursed your husband, and his plans to visit the Cerwyns’ tenants today, of all days. “You have to get Lord Cregan. Send a more experienced rider.”

“My lady, I would advise not to.” The Maester says, meekly. “Even if the rider does manage to get past, it is very likely Lord Stark is in the village, snowed in.”

“Well, then send a damn search party!” You yell, uncaring your language is unbecoming of a Princess. You cannot be here while the child… While Rickon dies. The child has a parent, and it is your husband, you do not even care for him!

“It is not as simple.” The Maester cringes when you turn on him.

“Of course it isn’t. The only simple thing is the cure for the child’s malady, isn’t it?” You growl. “Do something useful, if you think a rider cannot reach my husband. Get me someone who can, and fix the boy.”

It would be easier for you if the boy died. You could have the children you so craved. The obstacle would have removed itself. Relationships between half brothers are never as strong as between full ones. At the very least, this child could cast out you and any children you birth when Lord Cregan passes. At the very worst, he might have them killed, as your mother intended with her usurper brother.

But you are not so craven as to let an innocent die. He is still a boy, no older than three namedays. He is vulnerable, and his father is not here.

You sit next to the bed, eyes fixed on his chest. Rickon will not die on your watch.

THE SOUND OF a door opening jerks you awake. Disoriented, you sit up on your chair, and check that Rickon still breathes.

He does. He has awakened with the sound of the door opening, just as you did. But unlike you, he has begun wailing. You get him. You would like to cry too.

“What is it?” You snarl at the serving girl who dared enter in such a manner. The sound of Rickon’s cries grate in your ears, shrill and loud, awakening you fully. You try to coax him into laying back down to no avail.

“Milady…” She stammers, holding a breakfast tray. The reason for her interruption becomes clear. Had it been so long already? You remembered standing vigil over Rickon until sundown, and changing the cool compress a few times after, but no further. By the Seven, you were a terrible caretaker. “I… There are…”

Rickon wails harder.

“Father! Father, want father!” He cries. He then attempts to remove the cool cloth from his forehead, and get up, escaping the furs laid over him.

The serving girl stares at the boy. You stare at her. Rickon continues to squirm. When it is clear she is expecting you to soothe him, you sigh and turn to the child.

“Rickon, you have to lay down again.”

“Father! Father!” He wails, face beginning to turn red, his breathing labored. You are unsure if it is his distress or the sickness, but it worries you nonetheless. The child cannot die. You are not prepared to deal with it.

“Shh, Rickon, I know you are hurting.” You tell him, as you pick him up. “Father is not here. He is trapped by the snow.”

At this, he cries harder. You can hear him gasping for air as he squirms in your arms and kicks at you. His snot is getting everywhere. Good Gods, what if he dies? Would your husband actually force you consummate the marriage if he loses his heir? The thought alone is enough to force you into action.

“He is not trapped. He is snowed in, just as when you cannot go out and play. Happens all the time.” You reassure him, rubbing his back. You know your words to be a lie, but the boy doesn’t. The weather has been especially rough this season. The snow storm is unusual in its fierceness. “He will be back soon.”

Rickon perks up at that.

“He will?”

“As soon as he can.” You promise, hoping it is the case. In truth, you do not know. Your husband is unaware Rickon is ill, and holds no fondness for you. You doubt he will be rushing once the road clears. In fact, you think he might be celebrating the weather and praising his northern gods for the excuse to get a respite from you.

Well, too bad. You would send men each hour to check if the storm waned and the road was accessible once more. He would have to come and tend to his child.

“Where is father?” Rickon asks you, a suspicious look in his little face. He is eerily similar to your husband. His sobs have turned more subdued.

“With Lord Cerwyn.”

“Why? Hurts! Father!” The boy demands, petulantly. He is clearly feeling better if his lungs allow him to shriek like that. You are no healer, but his agitation is worrying you. What if he has a fit because he overexerted himself and then dies?

“I want your father too.” You mutter under your breath. “You do not see me wailing.”

“I love father.” He sobs. “Want him.”

And you are not made of stone. You have never been, no matter how hard you pretend. He is still a babe, hands chubby, face round. He still smells like one, a mix of the nursery, and sweet innocence.

Without even realizing it, you have cradled him into your arms and begun rocking the two of you. He keeps wailing, so you begin singing.

“I loved a maid…” There is no need to be a good singer to soothe babies. You are unsure of what they like about it, but you know it works. It had worked for Aegon and Viserys, why not for Rickon? “As fair as summer, who had sunlight in her hair….”

You begin to rock him as you pace through the room. As his tears begin to subside, and he begins to grow curious about the soft song, you realize he is not the threat to your future children you had envisioned. Rickon is beautiful in the manner all babes are, soft and sweet. His little fists cling to your wool cloak, gray eyes meeting yours with fascination.

Charmed by him, you keep singing. Seasons of my love is enlarged and repeated ten times over, and now includes verses about northern babies who look exactly like their father.

“I loved a boy…” You hum, softly. It feels like hours have passed when Rickon’s eyes finally begin to drop. Of course he would enjoy the verses about winter the most. “As white as winter, with moonglow in his hair.”

The door opens, slowly. You hear the wood groan as it does, but Rickon takes no notice. He burrows his head next to your heart, yawning.

You turn to look at the newcomer, pleased that having put the fear of the gods into the maid who had dared enter before had proven fruitful. The pleased smile drops from your face when you realize it is your husband.

Lord Stark is drenched to the bone. His hair is stuck to his head and shoulders, dripping water onto his furs. The cloak he had worn is wet, and he is quick to remove it, leaving him in simple breeches and a jerkin. His face is the picture of worry.

“I rode as hard as I dared.” His voice is low, pleasantly so. You had never considered the northern accent he sported attractive, but when his voice is gruff, and pitched low, you might see the appeal. “How is he?”

He shouldn’t have bothered with the low tone. Rickon would recognize his voice everywhere because he perks up considerably.

“Father! Father!” Rickon claps. He attempts turning in your grip to look at your husband, which makes you fear he might fall, so you perch him on your hip so he can do so.

“The fever has broken.” You hand Rickon back to him, feeling a hint of embarrassment when his eyes linger on the way you had been holding him. “He’ll live.”

“Thank you.” And his voice is earnest and soft, and it makes you wonder what he sees when he looks at you. Is it her still? Does Arra Norrey stand in this room with you, too?

The embarrassment from earlier, and the anger at the thought of your husband being soft because you remind him of her make you snap at him.

“It’s fine. I missed my siblings.” You cross your arms over your chest, awkward. Why does he keep staring at you? Is he… Oh, by the Seven, he is smiling at you? So softly? You cannot stand it. “I will send for a bath for you and Rickon, after washing myself. Less I catch a cold too.”

Look, princesses do not flee. They simply walk hurriedly. Very hurriedly.

[silvers-not-home]

tw for racism

i hate white people. so fucking much.

i'm just trying to mind my business and then this old white lady walks up to the (city) bus stop (my family can't afford the school bus at my district)

and so me trying to be polite i get up and offer her my seat, to which she declines and begins talking to me. which like. okay that's fine i like listening to people

until she starts going on about race and i'm like ???? okayyy??? and she talks about how her kids were adopted from her by a black man and she like "thank god it was a black man, black people are rich and prosperous i want my kids to succeed" i think to myself "oh okay maybe she's not racist just overly specific, that fine"

UNTIL SHES LIKE "thank god it wasn't a mexican man!"

and she goes on and on and on about how mexicans stole her land and shit and i'm sitting here, trying my hardest to not start yelling at her because i'm in public and there's like five other people around us

and so i tell her "hey can i tell you something really funny? i'm mexican" (which, yeah mistake on my part but she could kind of already tell) and then i walk away because she's drunk, and idk if she has a weapon on her or not

and then for the next fifteen-twenty minutes she is just absolutely ruthless.

i'm talking slurs, telling me to go back to my country, the whole shebang

and i'm not writing all this down just to get this off my chest and vent or whatever

i'm writing all this down because out of the five or six people there not a single person stepped in.

nobody stood in and told her to stop, nobody asked me if i was okay after i tried getting away from her multiple times

not a single person.

and that's the type of shit that baffles me even more then the actual racism itself

and most of them were poc and i would understand if they didn't wanna get attacked either but she vocalized her specific and distinct hatred to me and my race

it was such a frustrating and traumatic experience that i'm still trying to process the only thing i can think about right now is how the other people there that i know have gone through discrimination before stood and didn't even bat an eye

not to say that they're obligated too or supposed too, no they can do whatever they want it's not my life i can't control them

but it would've been nice if someone just gave me a little look or something

idk just needed to let that all out because i'm really loosing hope for humanity atp and i'm just tired and trying to cope

[shaingles]

Meanwhile, on the Vultures' Estate

Characters involved: 🍀 (Isa), 👑 (Boss)

The sun dawns on the Black Vulture compound, beaming down on the treasure hoarders training vigorously in the courtyard. They're persistent with their exercises, exhibiting their resilience and strength. Isa sits in her office, a few men lounging along her couches. She drinks her black coffee while reading the local newspaper. The headlines read: "Turmoil Arises in Liyue," "Vandalism Tarnishes Local Wearhouses, Millelith Suspects Treasure Hoarder Involvement," "Treasure Hoarders Activity Spikes, Many Left Fearful."

She sighs, shaking her head before placing her cup down. She's disappointed by the state of the treasure hoarder atmosphere, but she's not surprised. All she can do is sit idly until the right moment arrives.

Soon after she sits up in her seat, Boss busts into her office, one of her hoarders following behind him.

"L-Lady Isa—" the timid hoarder utters, trying to keep up with him.

"ISA," Boss roars, slamming his hands onto her desk. The reverb causes her mug to almost tip over. The men around her perk up from the commotion, the tension in their muscles visible as if they were ready to attack.

"MacQuoid." Isa's voice is calm and collected as her silver eyes lock into Boss's.

"Where the fuck is Midas. I know you have something to do with this." His nails claw into the wooden furniture as he glares at her, his face red as a jueyun chili.

Her playful gasp is followed by a chuckle as she leans back. "Now, now. Why would I have something to do with the baby's disappearance—"

"Because you're always at the forefront of shit like this. You're always there stirring the pot, taking things that don't belong to you. Now, where is he?! What did you plant in his dumb brain this time?!" His voice grows louder as he speaks, and he bears his teeth like an agitated dog.

The reaction makes her burst out laughing, making Boss's face redder. "This isn't a fucking joke, you bitch!! Where is he?!" He barks, making Isa laugh more.

"You're so cute when you're angry," She chuckles, coming down from her laughter.

Boss huffs loudly, ready to tear into Isa until she adds, "I promise you, I don't know where young Midas is. The last time I saw him was when he apologized to me and my men."

"And why should I believe you?" His eyes narrow, his voice low and gravelly.

"Use your brain, MacQuiod," She starts, crossing her legs. "What would I gain from taking Midas from you? Besides a comedic display of your immaturity."

"You—"

"I'm not done," She interrupts, raising her hand sternly. "Midas, though a strong soldier and crafty collector, wouldn't last a day on Vulture territory or with my men. They're ruthless and harsh. Young Midas would crack easily under the pressure."

"... Are you saying my boy is soft," Boss growls, his knuckles turning white as he clutches his fists tight.

"Don't be so prickly. I never said that," She sighs, rolling her eyes. "My point is, if he came here, he would've crawled back to you days ago."

Boss lets the information sit, trying to rationalize it in his head. He knows Isa is right but doesn't want to admit it verbally. A chuckle leaves her as she stands from her desk.

"Speaking of softness, have you considered your version of "tough love," may have pushed him to run away?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Boss scoffs, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. "You think I ran away anytime my old man taught me a lesson? No. I took it like a man and lived with it."

"Well, Midas isn't like you. To be frank, he only acts hard to please you, anyway. In actuality, he's much more gentler and considerate..." She pauses, peering at the storm clouds rolling in, slowly blanketing the sun. "Maybe he wouldn't have disappeared if you were a little more tender with him."

Boss scoffs again, but he doesn't have a rebuttal. His eyes glaze over at the men occupying the couches, noticing their tense expressions as if they're ready to pounce at the slightest move. He acts unfazed, but the sight alone terrifies him. Lightning flashes before a rumble of distant thunder fills the silence. Where Isa stands she can see her hoarders end their training and return indoors.

"... How do you suggest I be softer with Midas?" He sighs defeatedly.

"For starters, try sitting down with him and talking. If he's your son, you shouldn't have a problem having a man-to-man conversation, right?"

"... I'll see what I can do," Boss murmurs, turning to leave. He feels eyes follow him as he walks out the door. The moment the door closed the men murmured to themselves about the ordeal.

The timid hoarder, who stood idly watching the altercation, approaches Isa. "Is everything alright, Lady Isa? Are you okay?"

"Don't worry, honey," she reassures, returning to her seat. "Everything is going to be alright." She looks at the door, smiling softly before returning her attention to the newspaper.

[sophiamcdougall]

The Teams call had been just as gruelling as Julia had expected. At least it was over, and she was working from home today. Deciding she’d earned a snack and some ibuprofen, she rose from her desk, rubbing her forehead and willing away the oncoming migraine. Before she made it to the kitchen, the doorbell rang.

"Julia, we want to talk to you. And first of all we want you to know that we're here for you and we love you."

Julia stared at her two neighbours, her shoulders tensing. What on earth had she done? She'd come home a little the worse for wear after the office Christmas party, but God, it had been months now. Wasn't she ever going to be allowed to live it down?

"Um… OK? What is this?"

"It's … it's your boyfriend,” said Emma. “Greg."

Her stomach dropped. Fuck, had he done something? Hit on one of them? It had been so hard, getting back into dating after the divorce. But being around Greg felt natural. And they shared so many hobbies, like hiking and sourdough baking and bickering about bands from the nineties. It was still too early to introduce him to her daughter, but she'd been starting to think in terms of when rather than if. She thought Cassie would like him. Damn it, she wasn’t ready to be let down again!

“What about him?” she asked, her voice strangled.

Heather said, "We just found out he’s … he's forty-six."

"Yes," said Julia, bracing herself for more.

"Forty-six," repeated Heather.

"I don't understand."

"He's groomed you, Julia! And you’re too young to see it! You're only forty-one years old! A babe! A suckling! Innocent and trusting! Easy prey to a ruthless cradle-snatcher five long and harrowing years your senior!"

Julia blinked.

"I just fired the Head of Internal Communications for creating a hostile work environment in his department," she said. "And Greg is a part-time graphic designer who runs a podcast about microbreweries."

"A forty-six year old graphic designer," said Heather.

"The worst kind," said Emma knowledgeably.

"Ladies. Come on. Are you seriously saying that Greg is too old for me?" Julia asked. "Adam was my exact age and look how that turned out!"

She should never have trusted a man who still thought Oasis had been a better band than Blur.

"Forty-six really isn't that old," she went on. "Do you know who else is forty-six? Tom Hardy. Jensen Ackles. Liv Tyler. You're not going to tell me you wouldn't with any of them."

"I would never lay a finger on Tom Hardy," insisted Heather virtuously. "I am forty-nine-and-three-quarters and he would be incapable of consent."

"But this makes no sense!" protested Julia. "I am the same age as the Supreme Leader of North Korea. Also, back in 1999, Greg took 'Everyone's Free to Wear Sunscreen' particularly seriously, so honestly he could pass for younger than me."

"Oh God," quavered Heather. "In 1999, Greg would have been twenty-one, and you were only sixteen."

Emma looked as if she might be sick.

"But we didn't know each other then. And it's not 1999 any more," Julia pointed out, feeling slightly insane. "It hasn't been for a while. God, if only. "

"It doesn't matter! You can't date someone five years older or younger than you! If someone’s ever too young for you they’re always too young for you! Forever!"

"According to who?" Julia demanded.

"Kids on the internet!"

Julia began to wonder if she was, despite her tender years, having a stroke.

"What's happened to you?" she asked. "Since when do we answer to anyone about who we date? We were latchkey kids. We didn't listen to the opinions of forty-year-olds when we were teenagers. Why would we listen to the opinions of teenagers now that we're forty-year-olds?"

"You're not forty-year-olds!" cried Emma. "That's the whole point! You're a forty-one-year-old and a forty-six-year-old, respectively! Exact precision in ages is incredibly important!"

Julia sighed.

"You know, I actually pretended to be thirty-nine on my OKCupid profile," she admitted.

She wasn't proud of it, but she'd felt really down that day and she hadn't been able to stop her mind straying to that old line about a woman being more likely to be struck by lightning than married after forty. Stupid, misogynist nonsense. She'd first heard it … what, on Sex and the City? Twenty years ago? Insane how this stuff stuck with you.

"He clicked on your profile thinking you were seven years younger than him?" Heather screeched.

"I guess.”

Emma fainted.

Note from Anon:

“Please say your opinion in the tags! I’m asking cuz I have two oc ships and I’m afraid that the age differences might be a problem, the first is a 28 year old x a 31 year old the other is a 41 year old x a 46 year old.”

-submit your poll!-

[runthepockets]

Getting into Hellsing proper as an adult is really funny. All my friends read it in middle school, and I kinda didn't understand the hype cus the art style gave me "hentai artist turned serious writer" vibes, which very rarely turns out well narratively, and all I knew about it was that Alucard was depressed and horny and all my female friends had a crush on him, which was not something I cared about as a 13 year old boy. I find Alucard a lot more interesting as an adult (and goddamn if his role as the male Trump Card of this ruthless vampire hunting organization and his contrast with his more...submissive and vulnerable side around Integra isn't the coolest shit ever), but I still stand by the belief that he's not even the most interesting character, he's absurdly powerful, charismatic, and fun to watch in random settings cus you always know he's gonna turn someone into a cherry smoothie by the end of the interaction, but not my favorite character by a longshot.

By the end of my watch, my favorite characters were hands down, Anderson, Integra, Maxwell, and Walter. Their backstories and positions in the drawn out war were the most interesting to me, and I especially thought the Iscariot branch of the church was the most fascinating organization in the show. Anderson sacrificing his humanity for one more chance at taking down a vampire, just cus his faith in god and purpose were that intense, watching the guy get really solemn and emotional after basically having to put down his own son for rising to fascism (imagine raising a little boy who's clearly very ambitious and power hungry from the jump and just having to sit there stony faced while he gets eaten alive by ghouls yelling out "ANDERSON PLEASE HELP ME I DON'T DESERVE THIS", like holy fucking shit. It's like watching the parent of a school shooter sit there while their kid has to pay for his crimes against humanity) gently carrassing his head in his lap and shutting his eyes and murmuring about how stupid he was to try to carry out a fuckin. 1500s esque Catholic crusade in 1999, dropping an "I wish I'd been born a force of nature so I never had to feel anything like this." Like fuck. The whole time you think the guy is just your standard raving Catholic old guy with cool weapons and cool hair and a badass coat, then you realize he's kinda spent the last 30 years raising these people he's fighting alongside as if they were his own children, and then sending them off to war. I'd be fucking crazy and bloodthirsty too, after all that.

Then you have Integra, whose position as the only female with a knight title in an organization full of old white dudes is pretty much the entire core of her character. But she carries herself with such confidence and toughness that you wouldn't guess it bothered her at all. She kicks a lot of ass and barks orders with no hesitation and takes very good care of her men while else holding them to realistic standards and not tolerating any slack or backtalk, and deals with most problems that would make even the biggest strongest dudes shit their pants with total apathy and control. It's so cool and incredibly attractive inspiring. I guess there's little else to be expected from a lady who lost her dad and almost got killed by her uncle within a 24 hour span when she was like, 9 or 10, an experience like that will definitely put hair on your chest. And the twist at the end with Walter brought me from "oh, cool old guy" to "INSANELY cool old guy". The whole time the guy was just as crazy-- if not more crazy by virtue of betraying queen and country and holding all of that fury in for as long as he did-- as anyone else who worked for that organization, he was just way better at hiding it. And it's not like his motives were unjustified; I mean, everyone is scared of being old and useless and forgotten a little bit, everyone always feels like they have something to prove, he just actually had the balls to act on it. Hellsing takes a lot of questions and aspects of humanity's biggest flaws and the human condition and kinda just. Leaves you to your own devices to decipher what it all means. It's so dope.

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 257

Keep Calm and Carry On/Sleep No More

“Keep Calm and Carry On”

Plot Description: as Crowley conducts a desperate search for Lucifer’s vessel, Dean must come to grips with an unbelievable sight: the return of his mother

Oh. So NOW we’re getting a “the road so far”??? But not to carry on wayward son…feels wrong

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: No, but not for the normal reasons. We picked right back up with Dean and Mary

Omg Dean’s right around my age now, too??? I can’t

Oh right. Castiel got super banished from the bunker at the end of last episode

Everything that Mary’s saying about how many times she and Dean have met over the course of the series sounds so fake, but it all really happened

This lady just bribed a veterinarian with like…$200k maybe? To dig the bullet out of Sam. Ohhhhhh, she’d shot him in the leg!

This interrogation is going super well for London Lady (maybe one day I’ll learn her name). That. Um. That was sarcastic.

Omg Mary almost shot her son’s boyfriend

Two things: Cas initiating a hug!!!! And two, when you see your boyfriend who you thought died when you sent him to go blow up god’s sister

Castiel and Mary are kind of funny together. Dean, on a normal laptop

Mary: is that a computer?

Cas: Yes. I don’t trust them

(But like….he’s and angel and she’s from 1983)

The face of a man who just realized his mom is remembering the times his parents fucked in the car that would eventually be his….and his confused boyfriend he looks to directly afterward

Lady. No. It’s just that your country is so much smaller. It’s easier to control monster populations.

Wait, are the writers trying to make supernatural beings a metaphor for guns? Because she was just saying there hasn’t been a monster related death in the UK since 1965…guess I’ll have to watch this season to find out

We must stay strong. I love when Cas gets to show his ruthless side. That was almost season 4 Cas levels. They soften him so much, which I also love..:but every so often, the old Castiel comes out. It’s just nice to see he’s still got it

I wanna go to a fruit stand slash outdoor cafe!! Why do Mary, her son, and her son’s boyfriend get to and I don’t??

Mmmmm, it was only 100k. But man…it’s hard to say no to that when you’ve got doctor student loans

Did you really think they wouldn’t lock the cellar they’re keeping you in, Sam???

Do angel abilities stop at consciousness? Like Cas can heal just about anything but waking up someone who was knocked unconscious?

Does this other UK men of letters woman have some sort of angel warding that keeps her safe from whatever Cas can do??? Guess it doesn’t matter, Mary just stabbed her

Oh, you fucked up BIG TIME, lady. And maybe I should have had just a little more faith in Sam. I mean, he’s lived through all those things before, and every hurtful thing Dean’s said to him…

I can’t believe he said the “saving people, hunting things” line now, here in season 12

(The Crowley subplot was super small and almost unimportant. He was literally just jumping around to where Lucifer HAD been, all the people he’s burnt out by needing them as a vessel)

“Sleep No More”

Plot Description: this terrifying story is assembled from footage discovered in the wreckage of Le Verrier Space Station

*fingers crossed I don’t see “to be continued…” at the end of this episode*

*google translates “le verrier” from French to English ahead of time just in case that’s an important derail* it means glassmaker

I can’t tell if the video’s stalled or if they made this part intentionally ACTUALLY pitch black. Just blank screen. Feeling like I’m watching Season 8 Episode 3 of game of thrones

It’s really been a few minutes of a blank screen…i signed up for doctor who not a scripted drama podcast. It’s giving Wolf 359 but I’m annoyed

They’re orbiting Neptune…I’m literally absorbing NOTHING ELSE. Except Clara thinks this place looks like a Japanese restaurant in space

…I watched like 8-10 minute just like this…I just fixed it. There was supposed to be picture this WHOLE TIME. I thought it was a weird style choice. I hate this

You know…we DO need more multi-season Doctor and companion pairings with no romantic tension. This is no hate to Nine/TenRose (a little ick to Eleven and Amy), but you wouldn’t get these dumbass conversations about how people don’t call things that look high tech and whatnot “space [noun (restaurant, champagne, and hat were used in the show)]”. There’s a big difference between how you act around your crush and how you act around your bff, and unfortunately Donna was robbed of a good deal of her time due to Ten’s time being nearly up. But Twelve and Clara? Have had a LOT of time together to get to be dumb together as friends, and we get it on screen

Ok ok ok. So there’s some kind of creature made of sand aboard this space laboratory that’s named glassmaker where this rescue mission is taking place. I’m connecting the two dots

Why’d that one guy not go with LITERALLY EVERYONE ELSE?? They were all in a group and he just split off for no reason while they were running

I’m having less and less faith that this is a one part episode. They’re spending entirely too much time trying to get in touch with their missing teammate

Why would you put a hologram of a 1960s-ish girl group singing Mr Sandman on a 38th century dohickey you’ve called Morpheus but refuse to explain? I’m saying, the thing shuts with a person inside, the small hologram appears singing Mr Sandman. I’m just saying, would we be putting 4th century music on a space station today?

Ewwwwwww, why’d they put turbo capitalism on Neptune??? Morpheus gives you the energy to work for a month straight in, like, five minute time. Thanks! I hate it!

I did not connect the dots. These sand creatures are potentially made of sleep dust…sure

I hate this dude. He’s trying to shorten the amount of time people sleep even MORE

The original crew of this space station sucks too. Why would you make the password to open all doors singing Mr Sandman (my phone tried to autofill Saxon…awww John Simms Master)

PREACH, Doctor! Sleep IS important and blessed! Please ignore how late I’ll be up tonight for the mha leaks…I’m sorry, Doctor

WHAT. The sleep dust is collecting the footage from all this?? That…feels like a step too far for my suspension of disbelief

What the fuuuuuuuck. Horrible Turbo Capitalist is trying to make these sandmen the new human because…..they’re more efficient workers? I don’t know. All I’ve seen them do is near mindlessly attack.

Ok. So the whole premise is that they embedded the signal that turns you into a sandman into this video that you’re now watching, and they made it exciting but nonsensical with no real conclusion. This feels like they tried to make another Blink-esque episode but it didn’t work as well