#practice post etiquette man

[amethystsoda]

(Hey… hey. If you don’t want to read a long post, just skip it and scroll past… or save for later in drafts … don’t reblog it with “I ain’t reading all that”)

[csuitebitches]

Why Practicing Your Dream Self Privately is so Important

We all have versions of ourselves we want to be. Let’s call her “She.” 

She may be smart, beautiful, oh-so-sophisticated, knows exactly what She’s doing when walks into a room full of unknown people, accomplished…everything you’re aching to be. 

You’re struggling to achieve Her because you’re not used to being Her. You keep that version 2.0 of yourself in your thoughts but you don’t practice it irl. 

Not practicing it means that when you suddenly have to turn on your charm or have to remember etiquette in the presence of company, you can’t seem to recall those practices. Perhaps you might even feel uncomfortable, shy or awkward trying to remember all those talking points you had noted down, the “elegant gestures” that one tiktoker talks about constantly… suddenly you’re wondering how on Earth you can leave this godawful event without seeming rude. 

The problem is lack of practice. You’re so used to sitting on your couch at home with your legs spread wider than a man on a metro seat that it feels uncomfortable to now sit in a mannered way at the office dinner with the important employees. Your stomach is so used to gobbling down food without patience that you look longingly at the bread basket longer than the person seated in front of you. 

So therefore, if at home you’re not used to being even half of your best self, how are you going to feel fully confident when you’re supposed to bring “Her” out?

Obviously being fully dolled up at home makes little sense. But if you don’t practice the manners, the behaviour, the etiquette of Her - how will you comfortably transition into Her?

Do you expect to just wake up someday and become Her? Do you not think that it will take time, energy, practice to get what you want?

No amount of senseless manifesting or daydreaming is going to make your dreams come true. 

Certain habits, gestures, expressions will only come naturally to you when you make them natural to yourself by way of practice. 

You’ve read enough, saved and liked enough posts, you’ve learned all the mumbo jumbo theory to getting your life together but it’s all useless if you don’t put your learnings to practice irl.  

[officialundertakersmoocher]

Hi, I was so excited when I saw there is still someone writing for Kuroshitsuji and, more specifically, for Undertaker (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡ since your fixed post said you're accepting requests, I hope you don't mind if I send one. @yaboisbullshit wrote something that won't leave my mind (I hope they don't mind that I have tagged them, I'm new on Tumblr and don't know the proper etiquette ╥⁠﹏⁠╥). Anyway they wrote about a scene in "Who framed Roger Rabbit" in which we have, basically, Jessica Rabbit simping over Roger Rabbit and I would love to see Undertaker, Sebastian and Ciel's reaction to some girl who is basically a Mary Sue (beautiful, smart, maybe a noble) who's Undertaker's partner and a total simp (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠) like, he's just eating his biscuits and she's giving him heart eyes lol. Anyway, sorry for the long ask and thanks a lot for your writing, whether you do my request or not (⁠✿⁠^⁠‿⁠^⁠)

and i would love to write it!

Undertaker's Not so Secret Admirer

Synopsis: The Undertaker's shop is filled with odd visits, but he never expected one such as this.

It started as a normal day in the Undertakers shop, slow as usual for the small funeral parlor.

A certain earl makes his way down the streets of the late 18th-century England, a black clad butler by his side and a mission underway. The earl strides himself with purposeful intent and a will that cannot be stopped by many, but as Ciel entered the familiar establishment that day-he stops in his tracks at the sight that he catches before his eyes.

A young woman with a bright aura sits by herself at the center of the parlor on a plush couch in the center of the parlor, giving a giddy wave to the Phantomhive boy.

Not only had Ciel never seen anyone besides his own company adorning the parlor, he also had never seen the parlor fit for human company in such a way.

Ciel gives his butler companion a puzzled look, though receiving nothing but silence from the female counterpart.

The two boys stand in the doorway in stunned silence before the younger boy decides to take charge, yelling into the darkness, "Undertaker...!"

The man in question bursts through the side door, holding a platter of tea and cookies which was obviously prepared in advance.

"Phantomhive, perfect timin', make 'rself at home." He states with a mischievous grin glittering his lips.

The earl seats himself with his butler near and watching. Ciel notices that on the opposite side of the couch, the woman has now adorned a doding expression at the sight of the funeral parlors owner.

She sits with her legs crossed and her palms holding her chin, heart eyes practically bearing through her head. Meanwhile, The Undertaker giggles as he seats himself opposite to them. The young earl starts to feel as if he is witnessing a game that he was not invited to play.

The Undertaker, on the other hand, seems to be more than entertained by these ongoing events.

"I apologize for interrupting you while you have guests, however, I have some business to di-" Ciel starts, however he is quickly interrupted by the sounds of the seemingly love-struck young woman sitting across from him.

Practically squealing in her seat from excitement, the young woman seems to be giddy to speak to The Undertaker and at the notice of his silence, the mystery woman jumps up from her seat and slams her hands on the table.

"Oh gosh, i'm sorry! I've just been so excited to meet you...!" She is now leaning over the coffee table, practically soaking in the rest of personally space that Undertaker has to spare.

The Undertaker bursts into laughter at the sentiment.

"Oh god, I've just heard so much about you. They said you were good looking, but I could've never imagined how right they were," she continues, voice growing more and more smitten as she trails off.

The Undertaker cannot seem to stop his fit of laughter now.

"Actually, young master, I believe we shall leave The Undertaker to this company. It would simply be improper to do otherwise..." the butler spoke, silently guiding his master up from his seat. The earl mutters some very confused phrases on his way up out the door.

The Undertaker tilts his hat towards the earl on his way out and he watched as the young woman seats herself once again. She tries to hide her flushed expression, sipping from her tea cup once again.

The Undertaker clicks his tongue several times as he raises from his seat and heads towards the door which had been left agape. "Ahaha.. Oh dear," He says, wiping a stray tear from his eye from giggling too much.

The Undertaker leans his back against the door, closing the remaining gap between you and the outside world.

"Now, if you planned on coming here to present such a hilarious show such as that one in hopes that I would tell you about myself.. you could have just asked." His voice lowers more and more as he goes on and begins to slowly creep towards where you stay seated.

The sudden realization that all of his attention was now placed on you had you blushing profusely. You attempted to cover your face with your gloved hands, however your sense told you that he already knew how flustered you were.

You let out a nervous giggle as The Undertaker approaches you, placing one hand behind you on the back of the couch and the other on the arm of it- you were essentially trapped.

"So, my dear, what is it that you wanted to know...?"

[my-my-my]

KINKTOBER DAY 8 - Masturbation: Jugram Haschwalth x Female Reader

By popular vote, this is posted today!

Summary: The seasons come and go. Summer, spring, autumn, and winter leave memories of you, your piano and knight Jugram Haschwalth, haunting your mind.

TW: MDNI! This is a historical AU (the time period is purposefully unclear), where you are Yhwach’s niece. Classism, implied gender and class roles, unrequited feelings, infidelity, arranged marriage. Mutual masturbation. This is kind of melancholic for the most part.

Word count: (the longest so far!) 4548

Read on AO3 here.

It’s autumn and you’re standing on the tips of your toes to watch the new pages practice with wooden swords.

They look small, like you, with childlike wonder as they hold their makeshift swords. Their eyes are filled with wonder and excitement. Except for one.

One of the shortest of the bunch, a boy with brilliant blonde hair, looks at his sword with concern and hesitation. He gives it a weak swing; you swear he looks like he’s trembling. Another boy, with dark red hair, yells at him, scaring the blonde boy, forcing his head up. You press your face against the window for a better look.

“He’s so pretty.” You said out loud, when one of your maids tugs your hand away from the scene.

“Mistress! Remove your face from the window this instance!” Your caretaker rushes to you, pulling you away from the view below. “You must attend your piano lessons. Don’t mind those boys.” Your caretaker scolds you, holding your hand firmly as you’re led away from the window. As you move away, you see the little blonde boy look up and you give him a wave as you’re pulled away.

It's autumn and you rather be playing outside in the fallen leaves with the blonde boy who doesn’t want to hold his sword.

Your piano teacher waits for you in the music room, where your black, grand piano awaits. It’s massive compared to your piano teacher, it’s even bigger compared to you. The piano is near another window, one that is open. The light breeze fills the room with a faint scent of fallen leaves and the grunts and yelps of the pages practicing outside. Your piano teacher, a lean, young man with blonde hair but not as pretty as the blonde boy outside you thought, approaches you. He gave you a grin, “little lady, you’ve kept me waitin’!” His voice has a bit of an accent, you were told he came from lands “far, far away.”

Your caretaker taps your shoulder, reminding you of your manners, “I’m sorry Mr. Hirako. Please excuse my tardiness.” You recite, your tone monotonous. Words repeated and echoed through your etiquette training.

Mr. Hirako lets out a snicker, “don’t worry about it, miss. Let’s get you warmed up with some scales.”

You watch your caretaker leave the room once Mr. Hirako ushers you to your seat. The notes glide off your fingertips, as Mr. Hirako watches you with intensity. Scale after scale, note after note, your music fills the room, echoing nearby.

The pages, who were done for the day, walk away from their practice session. But the little blonde boy hears the distant sound of piano playing and walks closer. He watches you, the little girl from the window. He stares at you in awe and envy, as he listens to your music playing. “Jugo! Whatcha doin’?! We gotta hurry back, Sister Retsu will get angry at us if we’re late!” The red-haired boy from earlier yells, slapping “Jugo’s” back. He pulls at the blonde boy’s sleeves, dragging him away from the window, while the blonde boy just stares until you’re out of his view.

It’s winter and beautiful. Fresh snow covers your manor in a haunting shade of white. It leaves your manor in absolute silence. There is no one around, and so you open the window in your piano room. There’s a slight chill in the air, but you love it nonetheless. The atmosphere helps you with your concentration.

Your recital approaches and you stare at your music sheets. You read over Mr. Hirako’s instructions and tips to steel yourself for your first recital. Little slips of paper stick out of your music books, while notes and coloured markings fill sections on what you need to practice, reminders to yourself of mistakes you have made.

You warm up with selections from Hanon’s Virtuoso Pianist. Scales, arpeggios and everything in between fly from your fingers. It feels effortless, your mind is focused and clear. You begin the first piece of your recital’s repertoire, Bach’s Fugue No. 16 from the second book of his Well-Tempered Clavier. The notes start heavy, with your fingers increasing in speed as bars fly from your vision.

Snap.

You stop playing, the loud snap shaking you out of your concentration. An animal wouldn’t have made such loud noises, it sounded like footsteps, you thought. You peer down the window and see the blonde boy of your youth, now a squire. His blonde hair is past his ears now, and he dons a black, long-sleeved tunic with your uncle’s family crest above his chest with white pants. He looks startled to see you, as you are of him.

You give him a polite smile and wave to him, but he doesn’t respond. It wasn’t just his hair that grew, you realized. The pages who trained endlessly, day after day, in sunshine, rain or snow, have now became squires. The changing of seasons and time reflected their physical growth as well. The blonde boy was now a teen, and he was tall, taller than you are now.

“Wait!” You yell at him, as he begins to walk away. You run through your manor, pushing past servants until you see him outside.

It’s winter and terribly cold, but you don’t care. The blonde teen looks startled to see you, and you were right, he was taller than you.

“Mistress, you shouldn’t be out here.” His voice is shaky as he tries step away from you.

“I’m fine!” You shout. He smiles weakly at you.

“How can I be of service to you, Mistress?” The teen asks, bowing his head at you.

You click your tongue disapprovingly, “we’re the same age, right?” You say, introducing yourself and extending your hand. The teen avoids your gaze and open palm as he whispers your name.

He ignores your question, “I’m Jugram Haschwalth, Lord Yhwach’s squire.” He says, finally looking at you. Hesitation and anxiousness fill his voice.

His eyes are a brilliant shade of green, reminding you of the meadows in springtime. You repeated his name over and over again, “I’ll definitely be able to remember that! And besides, I knew you were one of my uncle’s squires.” You laughed, “I just didn’t know your name.”

“Oh, right…” Jugram said softly.

The winter chill is creeping up through your clothes, as the two of you stand awkwardly.

“You’ll do anything I say, Jugram?” You ask, as you stare at him, you notice his posture, the way he slouches, and how he holds his arm behind his back.

He looks at you briefly, then looks away, “yes.”

“Then come listen to me practice!” You exclaim, “I need an audience anyways. I have my first recital coming.” You beamed at him, trying to get Jugram to relax a little.

He looks at you and then back to his feet, “I can’t –” and he immediately regrets his words, as disappoint washes over your face, “I mean, I can stay for one song.” He offers.

You give him a grin and bring him inside.

Music fills the room as Jugram watches you play. His back is straight as an arrow, but not out of confidence, but out of nerves. I don’t belong here, he thinks to himself.

But your music snaps him out of his thoughts as you continue to play your pieces. Before he even realizes, he’s smiling as he watches you play. You beamed at him from your seat, as you continued to play. You look back to your music sheets and close your eyes, your fingers having memorized every note and crescendo.

You come to a stop. Without looking up, you ask “Will you come to my recital, Jugram?” But he was gone. The room empty once again.

It’s spring, and you’re struggling to breathe. Your caretaker watches you as the seamstress tightens your corset. Your débutante ball is tonight and all your etiquette training, tutoring and classes prepared you for this night. You were to be presented as a young woman of upper society.

You looked at yourself in the mirror: rosy lips, lashes long and thick, hair styled tastefully, with an exceptionally beautiful silk ball gown. An elegant necklace drapes over your décolletage, with matching earrings already in place. You were to be a vision to guests and suitors alike.

It’s spring and you were dreading nightfall. Upper society was so stiff with its rules and mannerisms. Your one solace was your piano. As the seamstress continues her tightening, you stare at your hands, covered in matching silk gloves as your dress. Long and thin, evidence of the years of piano playing etched on every single finger. You chuckled to yourself as the memories of Mr. Hirako’s tutelage floods your mind.

You rather prepare for another recital than for a ball. Sighing, you turned your head and looked out the window, the setting sun in the distance. It fills your room and the nearby meadows with a golden glow.

You wonder if Jugram will be there tonight. It had been a few years since that day in the music room. He never came to your recital, but he was always around the manor, practicing, training, preparing with the other squires.

Well, you gave a quiet laugh, he wasn’t a squire anymore. The once shy boy and nervous teen was now a calm, talented and confident knight. A faint blush spreads your face at the thought of him. He would politely engage with you if you were nearby, asking you about your music, how you were, and what was occupying your time, but he would never acknowledge your first recital, or any recitals you invited to him after that. On the rare occasion he would sit and listen to you to play, maybe that’s a recital in it of itself, you mused. He would applaud you once you were finished but spoke only a few words about your music and talent.

You two would be in the same room, but sometimes it felt like you were distances apart. A wall between him and you that your only your music would lower.

You weren’t sure if he was a friend or not. You would watch him from afar, how he commanded his small troop with a cool confidence. His once bruise-covered, shaking arms, held his sword and shield with grace and poise, while he was distant and cold with his men, there was a soft, respectful and caring tone with you.

The seamstress stepped away from you, finished with your dress and admiring her work, “she’s ready.”

Your caretaker eyes are filled with love and awe, “you look magnificent, Mistress! You’ll be the talk of the ball tonight.” You gave her a wry smile, “thank you.”

It’s spring and you were wistful, looking out your carriage. Your manor grows smaller in the distance as the night grows darker.

The carriage comes to a halt in front of the castle. The castle was large and imposing, made of bright white stone. Women and men dressed in exquisite silk, satin and velvet, as they mingled, chatted and drank through the halls.

You were immediately escorted to another room, with other ladies who were preparing for their debut as well. You recognized some of them – classmates and acquaintances from your lessons. You politely nodded your head at them, but kept your distance, rather looking out the window instead.

“Ugh, he’s so boring.” You heard one woman say, loudly. Her brown, almost black hair was styled in a French twist with a thin tiara on top of her head. Her dress was red, it almost reminded you of blood.

“Bambietta, he’s your fiancé!” Another woman with blonde hair in loose curls and a seafoam-coloured gown, whispered harshly. You pretended not to pay attention to them but watched them through the faint reflection of the window.

Bambietta Basterbine, you recalled. The daughter of a weapons manufacturer who was close to your uncle. You had only met her a handful of times but found her quite rude with how she treated servants and those of lower rank.

“No, it’s insulting!” Bambietta scoffed, “if he weren’t one of Lord Yhwach’s most trusted knights, he wouldn’t even be here. He is a peasant in knight’s armour.” She sneered. Your ears twitched, one of your uncle’s knights?

“But at least he’s handsome… Lord Yhwach has some pretty ugly soldiers in his army.” Her blonde friend quipped, trying to diffuse the situation.

You could see Bambietta roll her eyes, “and he’s probably terrible in bed. His friend, you know the one with the black hair. Hubert?” Bambietta grinned, licking her lips, “he was fun. And besides, I’ll have my pick of the litter if he doesn’t satisfy me.” Bambietta said with a dismissive tone.

Your eyes widened from hearing their conversation, but you kept your cool. This was between her and her fiancé. Although... Hubert… you knew vaguely of him within your uncle’s army… he was Jugram’s second-in-command.

You felt your body churn out of anxiety, but your heart felt like it was crumbling.

An older madame entered the room and ushered all the ladies together, including you. You were each to be escorted by a knight as you descended the royal steps. Your stomach was in knots with anxiety creeping up your body.

Bambietta was to be in front of you and you could tell she was in a foul mood with the way she was pouting and glaring at you and everyone in the room.

And soon, the knights entered. You recognized Jugram immediately, one of the taller knights. You thought you saw his eyes widen as he saw you, but his gaze diverted to Bambietta. He was decorated in a fine white uniform, reminding you of snow, with a turquoise fur trim running along his jacket and gold fixtures. His sword fastened at his hip, and long blonde hair tied in a loose ponytail. “Bambietta” Jugram said, a bit coldly you thought. He held his hand to Bambietta, who scoffed and begrudgingly held it.

You were one of the few without a fiancé and were to be assigned a knight to escort you tonight. Hubert, the man in your uncle’s army, the second-in-command to Jugram, and Bambietta’s bed partner, gave you a small smile and bowed, taking your hand, “it’ll be my honor to escort you tonight, milady.”

You gave a sad smile and extended your hand. He kissed the back of your hand, and you wanted to wince. But you recalled your etiquette training and remained polite.

The train of knights and ladies descended the steps as orchestral music filled the hall. You looked ahead of you, to Jugram’s back, as he confidently escorted Bambietta down the steps.

“Announcing Lady Bambietta of the Basterbine family, escorted by her fiancé, Grandmaster Jugram Haschwalth.”

Then it was you and Hubert, stepping down to the marble floor. Once all the pairs were called upon, the first dance commenced. You smiled politely as Hubert held you. His grip was too tight on your hip and arm, as you winced while you danced. Eventually the song came to an end, and you parted ways.

The elites of the upper society began to swarm you, prodding you on to take Hubert as a fiancé, how your uncle would support you on the endeavour, but you politely declined. Stepping away from the crowd, you found a balcony to decompress, and people watch.

Some couples were dancing still, including Jugram and Bambietta. Their movements were fluid and graceful. You could hear in the distance guests gossiping about them, how beautiful their family would be.

Once the song ended you followed Jugram to another balcony outside. He was shocked to see you, eyes wide as you tried to gather courage for what you were about to say.

“Bambietta isn’t good for you!” You yelled, as sadness enveloped you, “she’s been sleeping with Hubert, and has no issues with seeing other men besides you.”

The look Jugram gave you scared you. Cold, lifeless green eyes staring into your soul. “It’s my duty to Lord Yhwach to marry who he sees fit.” He stared at you, his voice devoid of its usual warmth for you, “it doesn’t matter to me, as long as she’s happy.” He pushed you aside, walking back to the hall, leaving you alone on the balcony.

It was spring and you wanted to cry.

It’s summer and you’re visiting your uncle’s manor. Nothing has changed from what you can see. The gardens are beautiful as ever, with your favourite flowers in full bloom. You’re greeted by familiar servants and staff, welcoming you back into your home as they take your belongings to your room.

You walked through the halls towards your music room. Passing by the window, you see a familiar scene of young pages training to become knights, of wooden swords and childish laughter. How nostalgic you thought.

Lord Yhwach is away but promised to visit in the coming days. Your uncle wanted you to enjoy your stay in his home for the time being, taking a break from “the disgusting air of the city” as he described it. He didn’t like you living in the city, but you preferred it, playing recitals and teaching students music.

He also didn’t like that you remained unmarried. Neither did the rest of your family and your caretaker. Suitors would visit you from afar, and past visits back home would have a man waiting for your return, but you would dismiss each one.

Now you were reaching the “ineligible” age. An age where the annoying, nosy and rude ladies of upper society turned their noses at unmarried women. Sighing, you entered your music room. A song would distract you from those thoughts.

Your piano room was clean, albeit a bit stuffy. You opened the large windows by them to air out the room. The faint sound of children laughing can be heard, followed by the buzzing of cicadas, bringing a smile to your lips.

It’s summer and you deserve to enjoy yourself at your own pace.

You lift the cover of your piano to find clean and polished keys. You run your fingers gently across them, no sound being made. You settle yourself and decide on what piece to play. Your mind flashes to one of your first concerts in the city, where you received a standing ovation, and a large bouquet of your favourite flowers awaited your waiting room. There was no name attached to the bouquet, other than the note of “Congratulations.” Signed with your uncle’s crest. To this day you figured it was him. Recital after recital, you would find beautiful bouquets awaiting you with a note from your uncle.

Your fingers glided over the keys as you played the first piece from your first ever recital. The one where you had dragged Jugram to listen to that one winter’s day. You smiled to yourself as you closed your eyes, letting your fingers play the song from memory. You mind wandered as you continued to play, thinking of Jugram.

In the coming days after the ball, to save face, you had congratulated him on his engagement. You were a witness to his coronation as Imperial Advisor to your uncle. You had attended his wedding to Bambietta. And then you ran to the city.

Your hands were moving on their own as you recalled all of it, as tears started to prick your eyes. As the piece was nearing its end, you felt your hands grow heavy and you stopped.

“That was an old piece you played.” Jugram’s voice startled you.

“Jugram! I didn’t notice you were here.” You exclaimed, jumping out of your seat. You bowed to him as he did to you. “Did you just come in?” You asked, wondering when he entered the room.

“The servants told me you had arrived. I knew I would find you here.” He said, his voice even and calm. His uniform was stark white, he looked even taller than before.

But his green eyes were soft today, unlike the time at the ball. This was the Jugram you wanted to remember.

“Please excuse my intrusion,” a maid servant announced, as she brought tea and snacks for you.

“Oh thank you, but could you bring these outside? I’d like to enjoy them with Advisor Haschwalth.” You smiled, as the three of you were led outside.

The two of you sat in the gazebo in silence, as the wind tickled your hair. The sun was slowly beginning its descent into the horizon.

“How have you been, Jugram? How is Bambietta?”

Jugram sipped on his water, as his eyes lingered to the flowers nearby. “She’s fine.” He murmured.

“And you?” You asked again.

“Fine.” He said, always a man with few words. The air was warm, but comforting, but you noticed him unbutton his jacket.

“I’m always surprised to see you wearing your uniform during this heat.” You laughed, to which Jugram gave a slight smile.

“The fabric is suitable for all seasons, but it’s quite warm today.” He mused, taking another sip of water.

Silence grew again, as the two of you stared out in the distance.

“I –”

“You –”

The two of you spoke at the same time. Jugram ushered you to go first.

“I’m sorry about the ball. I know it’s been so many years, but I’m sorry for how I acted. It wasn’t my place.” You apologized, looking at him. Jugram’s face was expressionless.

“Bambietta and I are separating for now.” He murmured, still staring at the garden. Was he… disappointed? Relieved? You couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Jugram. That must have been difficult for you both to agree on.” You sighed.

Jugram gave you a sad smile. “She was upset with the bouquets I was having delivered.”

Your eyes widened in surprised, “isn’t that a bit hypocritical of her? But I’m surprised, you had someone else?”

Jugram gave a dry chuckle, “no, I never bedded them, but I suppose it was unfair to her that I would gift flowers to someone and visit the city every now and then.” Your heart panged again, sadness washing over you that Jugram’s affections laid with someone else... again.

“Are you going to be with this person once your separation is finalized?” You asked, unsure if you could handle his answer.

“I want to.” He said calmly, his face again, remained expressionless, “but that depends on her.” He mused, his lips forming to a wistful smile.

“Do you regret what happened?” You asked softly, trying to remain composed for whatever Jugram may say.

“I have no regrets.” He murmured, “I made my own choice to marry her, and it’s now my choice to separate from her and be with someone else.”

“But what about my uncle?” You asked, worried that Jugram may have been on the receiving end of your uncle’s ruthlessness.

“He signed off on it. I suppose whatever deal he had with the Basterbine family was fulfilled.” Jugram said, wistfully.

The silence between you two grew again as the sun began to set.

“Did you like the bouquets?” He asked, staring at you.

“The bouquets?” You asked in confusion. “Wait, that… that was from you?”

Jugram nodded. “I attended some of your recitals.” He said calmly, finishing his glass of water. “You are truly a gift from God.” He quietly said.

“I thought they were from Lord Yhwach all this time…” You said, your voice wavering. Your heart was beating so loudly. You began to feel felt faint.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were there? I—” You asked, trying to calm yourself.

Jugram remained silent, as he continued to stare into the gardens.

“If I didn’t see you play at least once in my life,” Jugram said, “I would die with that regret.” He whispered, looking at the distance with a longing in eyes. “And then one recital, became multiple.”

Jugram got up from his seat and stood in front of you, extending his hand. You gave him yours, to which he bowed and kissed the back of your hand. “Please allow me to escort you to dinner tonight, your highness.” Jugram asked.

The days are long, and the nights are warm. Your body aches and your pussy is sore, sticky remnants covering your thigh. You had consummated your marriage to Jugram.

Your nipples are sensitive from Jugram’s teeth marks. Your lips are puffy and swollen from the kisses he stole from you.

Although everything hurt, you ached for more of him.

His cheeks were slightly flushed for the evening’s earlier activities, but now he laid asleep next you, his broad chest moving to every hitch of breath he was taking. His face was relaxed, his lips weren’t frowning, his eyebrows weren’t crossed. He looked at peace. You gently placed your hand over his heart, your long fingers gently tapping to the song from your youth.

Yet like everything Jugram does, he surprises you as his hand interlocks with yours.

“I’m sorry to wake you, Jugo.” You whispered, kissing him softly on the lips. “I couldn’t help myself.” You murmured, kissing him again, “you just looked so content.”

Jugram cupped your face in his hand as the two of you laid side-by-side. “You must be sore from tonight.” He said, kissing your forehead.

You felt heat rise below and peered down below the blanket. Jugram’s cock was growing stiff. You bit your lip in anticipation, reaching your hand down below, but Jugram stopped you.

“Rest, my highness.” Jugram murmured, “I can wait.”

You pouted at him, “can I watch at least?” You politely asked, giving him an innocent look. Jugram looked at you, eyes wide at the question. Your hand reached down and gently grabbed his growing erection, sliding your hand up and down.

Jugram grunted at the feeling, and pulled your arm away from his cock, replacing it with his own. “What her majesty wants, her majesty will get.” He whispered into your ear, as you watched Jugram slide his hand over his stiff cock. Precum leaked from the tip as Jugram watched you. He pinched your nipple and stole another kiss from you.

You moaned into him, throwing your arms around his neck, but he pulled away, continuing to pump his cock.

Watching him left a familiar ache of your own, as your hand darted to your pussy, rubbing your clit gently watching Jugram masturbate on top of you. You slipped one of your fingers inside, whimpering as you thought of Jugram’s cock inside you instead.

Jugram’s movements grew more erratic, and his breath more laboured as he watched you play with yourself, moaning his name. He watched you insert a second finger inside you, arching your back at the feeling, another moan of his name escaping his lips.

It was too much for him, as Jugram closed his eyes and groaned your name, his cum thick on your stomach. You slipped your fingers out from your pussy, using them to scoop his cooling cum of your body and tasting it. “Delicious.” You teased, licking your fingers clean.

Jugram panted, but gave you a wry smile, “you will be the death of me, your majesty.”

THANKS FOR READING!! This was originally planned to be super angst heavy, but my brain went another way haha! Here are some notes for this fic:

The title of the song on AO3 is from Duran Duran's "The Chauffeur" (one of my top favourite songs of all time), but I was specifically listening to Sneaker Pimps' cover of it.

Hanon's Virtuoso Pianist, is actually a great tool to build your finger strength and helps with scales and technical studies for piano playing.

The Bach piece that reader plays with Jugram in the room is Bach's Fugue No. 16 in G Minor from Book 2 of The Well-Tempered Clavier.

For the reason I chose Bambietta is based off this goofy omake between her and Jugram lmao

I really enjoyed writing this fic, so I hope you all enjoy it as well!!

[myokk]

before it felt like a sin, ch. 1

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 3000

summary: Eloise never wanted to be different.

And yet, her differences are what have defined her life up until this point: growing up as a squib in one of the most prominent wizarding families, being exiled to muggle society, and then attending Hogwarts at the age of sixteen.

She finds herself thrust into the life she should have been prepared for from birth but was denied. As she navigates this new life and her new precarious position in her family, she must come to terms with the fact that maybe what she dreamed of her whole life isn't turning out how she ever expected it would.

a/n: Hi everyone!! I decided to post this here too...I'm slowly going through everything I've written so far, and I want to post each chapter here as I edit them. I'm hoping that this can be a way to a) get back in to writing more, and b) get better at my art as I make full illustrations for each chapter. Let me know what you think!! :)

There is nothing quite as horrible as being a muggle, Eloise thought savagely as she ripped out yet another stitch in the landscape she was embroidering. At least, it was supposed to be a landscape. Maybe with her head tilted to the left and with her eyes almost closed so everything blurred together, it might resemble one. She did just that, trying her hardest to make out some recognizable shape and blast the stupid practice of manually pushing colored thread through a fabric in some sort of -

“And what is this, Miss Babbit?”

Eloise jumped at the sound and looked up at the scowling face of her teacher, and then quickly back down at the tangled thread in her lap. Behind her, she could hear the hushed giggles of the other girls in her class.

“Oh! Er…it’s -”

“How long have you been here?” the woman interrupted.

“One hour…I just -”

“Don’t be smart with me. I mean, at this institute.”

“Five years.” Eloise glared down at her embroidery as if it had personally offended her. It wasn’t like she was actively trying to be bad at everything, but she had the distinct disadvantage - how had it ever come to be that she would be at a disadvantage to muggles? - of not having spent a lifetime being prepared for muggle society and all that it entailed. The last five years had been a monotonous, endless cycle of lessons designed to turn her into the perfect lady: French (a waste of time as Eloise was already fluent), embroidery (a waste of time as the things she embroidered weren’t actually useful), dancing (a waste of time as she was already engaged to be married - why would she bother trying to woo another silly man?), and her most dreaded class of all: etiquette. No matter how many years had been spent trying to assimilate into muggle culture, her thoughts still got muddled when she tried to remember the steps to a dance, or how to properly address the son of a duke.

Did it really matter, anyways, what the other girls thought? She had pretended her whole life to be the daughter she thought her parents had wanted - now she was simply pretending that she hadn’t been thrown into the muggle world without a second thought. What was a bit more pretending - that she didn’t care? That she hadn’t been tossed aside without a second thought?

“Exactly. Five years. And yet, you have shown no progress whatsoever. This -” a finger jabbed accusingly at the embroidery - “is absolutely horrendous. If your parents hadn’t continued to make such a sizeable donation every year, I would have deemed you a lost cause and sent you packing when you first arrived. How your family ever managed your betrothal to the son of an earl is beyond me.”

Eloise grimaced at the mention of her fiance as her teacher clapped her hands together to get the attention of the class - a wholly unnecessary action due to the fact that it was already being given. “Class is dismissed. Please collect your belongings and put them in the correct place. Remember, as future wives and mothers, you must be organized in all aspects of your life. Many of you will be managing important households and the slightest misstep -“ a slight glance to Eloise out of the corner of her eye - “can cause the biggest of scandals.”

Eloise raced to gather her things and leave the classroom before everyone else. No matter how many years had been spent at the school, she couldn’t help but hate sitting through the classes amongst the judgmental stares and snide remarks. Although things had started out shaky at the finishing school - to be expected, really, when you’ve grown up in wizarding society and then are then forced to live as a muggle - it still stung that after all these years, she still hadn’t found a friendly face. She was treated as if she were a pariah: it was as if the other girls just knew that something was different about her. But…wasn’t that the great irony of it all? She wasn’t different than them. She was a filthy squib.

When she first arrived at the school, she was an anomaly. A twelve-year-old girl who didn’t know how to play the piano or who the queen was. It was clear to everyone that Eloise wasn’t the charity case of the school - her parents were obviously quite wealthy - and yet they seemingly wanted nothing to do with her. Whereas the others got regular letters and visits from their family, it was as if Eloise were an orphan. Nothing new to her of course, but to her peers this otherness aided them in her ostracization.

Upon entering her room, she was abruptly pulled out of her thoughts. Something wasn’t right. Everything seemed the same: a twin bed perfectly made opposite a small wardrobe, a plain wooden desk placed between them. The weak afternoon sunlight shone through the window, illuminating her desk. But…there.

That…

Placed on her bed, resting on the pillow, was a letter.

She never received letters.

Eloise shoved her embroidery under her bed and hungrily grabbed at it, pausing when she saw the address. Miss E. Babbit. The Third Bedroom on the Left… It seemed vaguely familiar to her in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

As she read the letter, though, it became apparent to her exactly why this was. Although not exactly the same as the one her brother had received six years earlier, it quickly became apparent that this was a Hogwarts letter. For her. For Miss E. Babbit.

Hands shaking, she set the letter down on her desk and sat on the edge of her bed. She smoothed her hands over her skirt over and over, taking comfort in the familiar softness as she tried to even her breathing.

How was this possible? She had all but accepted the fact that she was a squib. The shame of her family, a dirty secret to be hidden away and never talked about or mentioned again. Her parents had suspected as much by the time she had turned seven without any signs of magic whatsoever manifesting around her - not even a basic transformation of brussel sprouts to sweets during dinner. It was ultimately confirmed, however, when her own Hogwarts acceptance letter never arrived. She had spent the whole year before her banishment daydreaming about her life at Hogwarts, still optimistic that there could be something magical inside of her. Her brother, Leo, came home every holiday with wonderful stories of his new friends and teachers, and the subjects he was learning at school. Even back then, at twelve years old, Eloise hadn’t been sure if he was actually hopeful she wasn’t a squib, or if he had been trying to prolong the fantasy for her before it all came crashing down.

Although she had had five years to come to terms with her new life, there was still a small part of her that hoped. A small “what if…”. She had tried time and time again to squash that tiny ray of optimism that would escape every so often, tried so very hard to cultivate a hard exterior that wouldn’t let any sort of vulnerability shine through. And that optimism was a vulnerability, after all. It was that vulnerability that had made it absolutely impossible for her to fit in the muggle world, and made it so that she didn’t really want to try.

Five years to come to terms with the fact that she needed a new purpose for her life and…

…not anymore?

Eloise grabbed the letter and greedily read through it again, drinking in all of the words. She paused at the end, thinking. Was this a forgery? Some sort of awful joke orchestrated by her brother? Leo had never been cruel to her in the past; in fact, he was the one who always encouraged her and was the most probable source of the small optimism that remained within her. However, she had no way of knowing how he had changed since she had last seen him. It had been, after all, five very long years. And not once had she heard from him, even though he had promised her through huge sobbing gulps that he would never abandon her. Maybe their parents had slowly poisoned him against her. It would be right on the nose for them, after all.

Looking at the envelope again, however…Third Bedroom on the Left…no. It was too specific. Nobody in her previous life had any reason to even want to contact her again, and nobody in her current life even knew what Hogwarts was, let alone have the ability to convincingly forge a letter just to have some fun at her expense.

A light, bubbly feeling began to spread throughout her body as it sunk in that this was real. She was going to Hogwarts. Soon, a - squinting at the letter again - a Professor Fig would be contacting her and giving her things to study. A huge grin slowly spread across her face and she hugged the letter to her chest as she fell back on her bed. She read through it again. Was it the fifth time already? It felt as though no amount of times rereading the letter would ever be enough.

Eloise got up and walked over to look at the calendar on her desk. She was surprised to see that September 1st was in only two days. The days at the finishing school moved in such a strange, sluggish way. They all felt the same. Monotonous. French and Latin and embroidery and household management and Merlin even knows what else all blending into each other in an endless parade of dusty classrooms and gossip and boredom.

The light feeling left her in an instant as, after years of practice, the optimism was squashed back down. But how will you even get to London? And, her brain added sneakily, you haven’t even shown any signs of magic. Maybe you’ll just be returned back here after they realize their mistake.

No, she thought fiercely, gripping the letter. Until -

A tapping came from the window. A tentative smile returned at the sight of a tawny brown owl with another envelope in its beak. She ripped it open as soon as it was in her hands (again addressed to Miss E. Babbit) and along with the letter a small, purple pouch fell out of the envelope and onto her bed.

Miss Eloise Babbit,

I am pleased to be the wizard charged with such an important task as escorting you to Hogwarts in two days’ time. It is something extraordinary to be accepted in your fifth-year, and as such, I expect extraordinary things from you. I have enclosed a small pouch along with this envelope, and in it are some items that will be vital to you in the upcoming days. I have included books for you to study at your leisure, and a small gobstone that will bring you to our rendezvous point in London. All you have to do is touch it at noon on the 1st and you will be transported instantly.

Your family has not been informed of your acceptance. I am sure you understand why - at this, Eloise scoffed quietly to herself - which is why I will personally be your escort.

I am looking forward to meeting you and bringing you to the sorting ceremony in two days’ time.

Yours,

Eleazar Fig

The handwriting was tiny and spidery and cramped, but it didn’t stop Eloise from reading it with the same vigor as the previous letter and as many times. Finally, she turned to the small pouch that had fallen onto her bed when she opened the second envelope. It must have had an invisible extension charm, because it was filled to the brim with books on basic spellwork and general wizarding history. Professor Fig had no way of knowing, but Eloise had already read many of these books and many more during the year her brother had started Hogwarts, as she had needed to know absolutely everything about what would be awaiting her. A few years may have passed since she had stepped foot in her family’s library, but she couldn’t get the books or their contents out of her brain even if she had wanted to. She had really wanted to forget everything she knew about the magical world when it was confirmed she was a squib but it was a futile effort. As she zoned out during her piano lessons, she would find herself mentally going through the movements to cast different charms.

It was painful to be thinking about things from the life that had been ripped away from her, to know that what she was thinking about would never come to pass, that she would never be able to wield magic - and yet she couldn’t find herself able to stop.

As Eloise picked out one of the books and settled into her armchair, a steely resolve overcame her.

She would prove that she deserved to be there, and was just as capable as any of they were. She would make her parents regret ever discarding her like she was nothing.

She was worthy. She was capable. And she would prove it.

The morning of September 1st dawned cold and rainy. Absolutely perfect.

Eloise had pretended to be sick the night before, and no one had suspected a thing when she stayed in bed long after all of the other girls had gotten ready and headed to breakfast. As the last of the chattering faded away down the hallway, Eloise finally got out of bed and prepared herself for the day. It was difficult to sit still long enough to braid her hair. Her fingers wouldn’t stop trembling and she had to restart countless times. Finally, she tied the black ribbon at the end into a neat bow and turned to the drawer of her desk to retrieve the small purple pouch she had hidden away.

Everything she deemed important enough to come along with her had already been placed inside: the books from Professor Fig, the hair ribbons gifted to her by her brother many years ago, and some clothing. Nothing else was coming with. She needed the fresh start. Besides, anything else she might need would be supplied, as her acceptance letter had specifically stated that any school supplies would be provided to her.

Waiting the hours before noon came along proved to be more difficult than Eloise had imagined. Time seemed to be moving slower than the molasses that had come with the breakfast sent up to her, the steady patter of the rain becoming a sort of metronome keeping time as she paced back and forth. Wasn’t there anything that could distract her, even for a bit? She glanced at the clock. Only five minutes had passed since the last time. 10.35.

The second hand ticking away in tandem with the sound of rain splashing against her window.

What if this was all a trick? What if she arrived at Hogwarts, and they turned her away because they realized they had made a mistake? After all, why would they admit a sixteen-year-old? Surely she was too old; every other student had started Hogwarts at the age of twelve and had shown signs of magic much earlier than that. She still hadn’t shown any signs of magical capability whatsoever, and didn’t feel any different than she had before receiving the letter. It had to be a fluke.

As her thoughts started veering into the melancholy she was prone to, she shook her head. No. Today was a happy, exciting day. She wasn’t going to squash the optimism down today, not when she needed it most. All of these thoughts she was having were simply that: thoughts. Not reality. Hogwarts never made a mistake, and in all of the history books she had read, she couldn’t recall an instance of someone being turned away at the door. Granted, she had also never heard of someone being admitted so late. But, better to focus on what she did know, which was that she had gotten the letter. It must be right in its assumption that she had magic.

Trying to pass the time was easier said than done. She ended up quizzing herself on all of the charms she had memorized in the books sent by Professor Fig, moving an imaginary wand in the precise movements needed to successfully cast and focusing on her pronunciation. She had studied all of these forms late into both nights she had had the books, and when she would eventually close her eyes to sleep, the wand movements were all she saw.

Eloise was determined that she would receive pity from nobody. Nobody was going to look at her like she was lacking. She had gotten enough of that to last a lifetime, and now that she was given this opportunity she wasn’t about to waste it.

When noon finally struck, Eloise was ready and waiting. She eagerly grabbed the gobstone that was sitting on her desk and felt the familiar tugging sensation in her navel as she was whisked away to London and the beginning of her new life.

next chapter

[rainhadaenerys]

People in this fandom will constantly complain that Dany "never shuts up about her long list of names and titles". So I decided to actually count the times Dany does this. I searched for "Stormborn" in a Search of Ice and Fire, so it's possible that there's one or two instances missing if that word isn't included, but probably not a lot. In this post, I'm not including instances of a herald saying Dany's titles before a former introduction like an audience or a party (because that isn't an instance of Dany "not shutting up about her titles", that's Dany following the etiquette rules of her world). I'm also not including when other people say Dany's titles spontaneously, without Dany's command. So here are the instances of Dany herself talking about her titles to other people:

The Dothraki exchanged uncertain glances. "Khaleesi," the handmaid Irri explained, as if to a child, "Jhaqo is a khal now, with twenty thousand riders at his back." She lifted her head. "And I am Daenerys Stormborn, Daenerys of House Targaryen, of the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel and old Valyria before them. I am the dragon's daughter, and I swear to you, these men will die screaming. Now bring me to Khal Drogo." - Daenerys IX AGOT

~

ons . . . dragons . . . other voices echoed in the gloom. Some were male and some female. One spoke with the timbre of a child. The floating heart pulsed from dimness to darkness. It was hard to summon the will to speak, to recall the words she had practiced so assiduously. "I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros." Do they hear me? Why don't they move? She sat, folding her hands in her lap. "Grant me your counsel, and speak to me with the wisdom of those who have conquered death." - Daenerys IV ACOK

~

"You require passage for a hundred Dothraki, all their horses, yourself and this knight, and three dragons?" said the captain of the great cog Ardent Friend before he walked away laughing. When she told a Lyseni on the Trumpeteer that she was Daenerys Stormborn, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, he gave her a deadface look and said, "Aye, and I'm Lord Tywin Lannister and shit gold every night." - Daenerys V ACOK

~

"The corsair wanted only a hundred, your worship," Dany heard the slave girl say. He poked her with the end of the whip. "Consairs are all liars. He'll buy them all. Tell her that, girl." Dany knew she would take more than a hundred, if she took any at all. "Remind your Good Master of who I am. Remind him that I am Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt, trueborn queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. My blood is the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, and of old Valyria before him." - Daenerys II ASOS

~

"Woman, you bray like an ass, and make no more sense." "Woman?" She chuckled. "Is that meant to insult me? I would return the slap, if I took you for a man." Dany met his stare. "I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, khaleesi to Drogo's riders, and queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros." - Daenerys IV ASOS

And that's it. In the four books Dany appears, she says her titles to other people five times. In two of these times (Dany IX AGOT and Dany IV ASOS), Dany uses her titles to sound more intimidating against her opponents (Khal Jhaqo and the slaver envoy). Twice, she uses her titles as a way to try and convince people to let her buy something (the Unsullied in Astapor and the passage to Westeros), which makes sense, given that she is trying to convince others that she has power/money/influence, so it makes sense to try using her titles. And then there's the one time in the House of the Undying in which she uses her titles as a proper introduction that she was instructed to practice and say when she met the Undying. None of these moments are about Dany being overly prideful or arrogant. For a fandom that keeps complaining about Dany "never shutting up" about her titles, she doesn't say them all that much.

[noosayog]

[a midsummer night's dream] - ft. knight! iwaizumi hajime

warnings/content: princess! reader x knight/personal guard! iwa. fluff mostly, minimal angst. an outtake of it's always been you and inspired by the webtoon series I'm Stanning the Prince!

wc: 1k

--

This is a story about a time long before you married your knight. 

It’s a fond memory you have of your coming of age ball, the morning when you spent hours grooming, primiping, fasting, preparing for the one night of your life when you could finally be seen as a woman. In your mind, there’s only one person you want to notice you tonight and all your efforts would have been worth it if you get even one glance from him. 

And so as your mother announces you to the guests and you descend the staircase with all the grace that the years of etiquette training instilled in you, you’re delighted to see that your knight does indeed have his eyes fully trained on you. 

As is his duty, he awaits you at the bottom, one arm crooked behind his back and one proffered to escort you as you make your rounds to greet those who have come to wish you a happy birthday. 

You think that his simple, “you look beautiful, Princess,” could fuel you all night. You dutifully make your rounds to greet the nobles, moving through the greetings quickly and efficiently, itching to dance your first dance with Hajime.

However, when the dances start, Hajime offers your hand to the first suitor that comes your way.

“Have a wonderful night, princess,” he bows. 

And while it would be a lie to say that your naive heart did not feel betrayed, you have loved Hajime onesidedly for long enough that this does not break you. 

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, but luckily the gentleman who has led you into the first waltz is polite and funny. His easy banter and teasing make for an enjoyable dance and when he asks to continue through the second and third dances, you think it a favorable alternative to chancing on another partner who is leery for an engagement to the royal family. 

And as you meet the eyes of your knight who stands in a corner, watching over you should you need assistance, you know he has no intention of leaving his post tonight to dance with you. When Hajime reads your gaze as a cry for help, he pushes off the wall to come for you but you simply shake your head and offer him a weak smile, falling back into step with your partner and waltzing the steps of the next song. 

–

You look beautiful tonight. Iwaizumi means it when he tells you. He’s not pleased at the attention you garner from the men at tonight’s gathering and even more so when he thinks about the fact that all men here tonight at your coming-of-age ball are predatory for an opportunity to win your favor and later, your hand in marriage. 

Purely as a knight who has protected you since your adolescence. 

There could be no other reason for the tautness that takes over his body when he hands you off to the first decent partner for the dances. 

As the first dance comes to a close, he awaits the glance he knows you will give him – to come save you from a full dance card of pesky suitors and small talk. As expected, your signal comes and he begins to stride towards you, intent to offer his hand for the second dance. 

So it’s a surprise when you shake your head and glide back on the dance floor – with the same partner no less. Iwaizumi leans back against the wall, face clouding over as he watches you dance with the same man for the second dance. 

And the third. 

And the fourth. 

There are only five dances. Will he really not get a chance to dance with you tonight? 

The final dance comes on, one he knows you favor and he would be damned if another man got to share your favorite dance when he himself has only practiced with you in private.

Iwaizumi gruffly cuts in, offering a quiet “excuse me,” to your partner and taking your hands without leaving any room for protest. He’s grateful when your partner graciously excuses himself. 

Your steps are perfectly aligned to his, no doubt a result of the hours of being your practice partner. He wants to make a gentle jab at the days you were still stepping on his feet, but you refuse to meet his eyes. 

Instead, he quietly dances, watching your expressions with each turn. 

A minute goes by and you still say nothing. Tiring of your silence, he makes an unpracticed move, picking you up by the hips and twirling you midair.

He’s rewarded with a little yelp wrenched from your throat. 

When he returns you to the ground, your lips pull into a pout and he grins. It’s the expression you make when you are suppressing a smile. 

“Finally ready to talk to me, Princess?” 

You harrumph and turn your head away childishly. Iwaizumi takes that as a win, grinning while the dance continues. 

He is content to finish the night like this until he sees your eyes stray to your previous dance partner, who is now dancing with another. Iwaizumi follows your line of sight to see the other man mouthing something he can’t make out. To Iwaizumi’s dismay, you temporarily pause your pout to giggle.

Frustration and something else he dare not name rears its head. In an impulsive show of possessiveness, the hand resting lightly on your hips winds further around your lower back to push your body flush against his. With his other hand holding yours, his pointer finger forces itself into the space between your pinky and ring finger, not quite a full lovers hold but not as estranged as the hold dance partners are meant to have. 

The immense satisfaction is well worth it as your eyes, wide as saucers, are returned to him. 

A brief thought crosses his mind at the thought of the king and queen seeing the current state of the two of you: fingers improperly intertwined and chest inappropriately to chest. 

But the night is glowing so brightly and the apple of your cheeks are flushed so beautifully and your body against his feels so right that he allows you to interpret the smugness pulling at his lips however you please.

Just for tonight.

[timetodecidedjo]

hi saw your post about prompts for Logan and wade! would you write about them getting caught in the act tehe 🙈

Yes!! This one was SO much fun to write!! I’m going to post it to AO3 as well under my username xuaerduobb. I haven’t written and put anything out in quite some time, so if it’s not the best, I’m sorry!

I hope you love it ❤️💛

“Happy birthday, Al!!”

Don’t ask how Wade and Logan pulled it off (it was mostly a lot of help from Laura). It was Althea’s 80th birthday and Wade really wanted to throw her a party with all of their closest friends to remind her of how much they all really loved her. You only turn 80 once, right?

Everyone scrounged up enough money to rent out a small party room inside of a restaurant, one of Al’s favorites, and decorated it just for her. Wade would argue that the need for decorations seemed unnecessary because well… she’s blind. Nevertheless, it came together perfectly, and she was totally surprised.

“Motherfuck!!” She yelled out before backing into Laura who had brought her down to the restaurant from their apartment. She went to grab her small pistol from her pocket, but Logan stopped her before she could.

“Althea, it’s just us. We threw you a birthday party.”

“Oh my sweet Logan!” The elderly woman chimed, pulling him in for a tight hug. Wade’s mouth dropped open like he felt overlooked causing Logan to smirk and laugh.

“You and Laura put this all together for me?” She asked while Logan walked her over to her seat so she could rest from their long walk there.

“Wade helped. Kinda,” he teased before placing a kiss on her cheek.

“It was my idea in the first place!” The merc with a mouth argued while everyone else had already moved on.

Everyone who was able to come to the party were taking their seats, including Dopinder, Ellie (Negasonic Teenage Warhead) and Yukio, Colossus, Vanessa, and Peter. It made Wade’s heart swell to see all of his friends together to celebrate Al, who had truly been like a mother to him. They really were one big, kinda freaky, happy family.

Wade sat down at the table next to his boyfriend and took his free hand on the table. Logan looked over at the merc and smiled, finally getting more comfortable with the idea of PDA. He was never really a big fan of being affectionate in public with anyone, but Wade LOVED showing Logan off to everyone, and LOVED being touchy feely as always. It took some time, but after a while holding Wade’s hand in public was easy. It was a comfort.

“Everything sounds so good!” Vanessa mentioned as everyone looked over the menu in front of them. Laura mentioned something about a sandwich and Peter noted that the steak was ‘just incredible’ there.

“I’m getting the steak too, Peter,” Logan seconded, now turning over to Wade for his decision on dinner.

“What about you, bub?”

“Nothing on this menu entices me the way you do in that sexy flannel button down,” Wade answered, his eyes glancing up and down at his lover. He practically had cartoon heart eyes popping out of his head watching Logan just sit there.

“I’m just going to order for you,” Logan informed as the waitress had gotten to their drink orders.

“I just love a man who takes charge.”

After dinner, it was time for Al to open her birthday gifts. Colossus picked up the table and put it to the side so that everyone could sit comfortably in their chairs to watch the birthday girl open her presents.

“Jesus, do you have to show off like that all the fucking time? Who are you even trying to impress?” Wade asked, mostly to annoy the steel hero.

Colossus just took it in stride and shook his head at the merc.

“Behave yourself, Wade. It’s Althea’s birthday.”

“Who invited the birthday etiquette police?” He quipped back as Logan pulled him down to take his seat. Their seats were at the back of the room, behind everyone else, while Laura helped Al into her seat at the front facing them. She would hand each card and gift to Al and help her open it. They had become very close in the 6 months they had all lived together at their new apartment. When Wade offered Logan a place to stay, and Laura was now with them in their timeline, it only seemed fair to let her stay with them as well. She had just made 19, but needed time to get on her feet, and Logan felt like maybe this was his chance to do right by someone. After all, she was technically his daughter, and they did share a certain connection that Logan felt was important to explore.

Al opened up her first gift bag, this gift from Dopinder, and tried to feel around it to figure out what it was.

“It’s an audiobook for you to listen to when you ride in the cab,” Dopinder beamed, very proud of his thoughtful gift.

“That’s so sweet,” Yukio said as she looked up from her phone, probably tweeting.

Logan watched along with everyone else before he was interrupted by his boyfriend beside him.

“Lo?” Wade said in a hushed tone.

“Wade?” The Wolverine replied without peeling his eyes away from Al.

“I have a proposition for you.”

“This oughta be good. Let’s hear it.”

“I started scoping out the bathroom in this place as soon as we walked in. It’s right down the hall, maybe 10 feet away.”

“Get to it,” Logan replied, sensing Wade’s body shifting closer to his own.

“You look absolutely ravishing this evening and I want — no I need to have you. Right now. In the bathroom.”

Logan hesitated. Was he enjoying himself at the party with all of their friends? Yes. Would he enjoy himself a hell of a lot more in the privacy of the bathroom with Wade? Hell yes.

“Meet me there in 3 minutes.”

Without drawing attention to himself or bothering anyone else, Logan stood up from his seat and began to make his way towards the hall and into the bathroom Wade whispers “go go go go” to his boyfriend as he passed his chair, counting down the seconds before he feels he's in the clear to make his getaway.

Once he believed 3 minutes had passed and Al had opened 2 more gifts, Wade got up to sneak into the bathroom to do ungodly things to the love of his life.

There was only one single private bathroom, no stalls, so thankfully there had been a lock for the door. When Wade opened the door, Logan had been standing there waiting for him with lust filled eyes. He grabbed the merc by the shirt and pulled him close, just to push him up against the door and kiss him.

As much as Wade wanted a 20 minute makeout session, complete with foreplay, they knew they probably didn’t have much time, so if they wanted to make each other come in this public bathroom, it needed to be soon.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Wade mumbled between kisses, his fingers tied up in Logan’s brown locks. “I still can't believe I get to tap that ass whenever I please.”

With one final sloppy kiss, Logan pulled back and gave his lover a smug grin.

“How ‘bout right now?”

Wade threw his head back in disbelief and utter joy while Logan was already undoing his belt and pulling down his jeans, the buckle of his belt rattling loudly in the echoes inside of the bathroom. Wade began doing the same as quickly as he could, and before he knew it, Logan was leaning over the sink counter, bent over and ready.

“Aren’t we an eager beaver? What should we use for lube?”

“Just…” Logan started, already getting impatient. “Just spit in your hand or something, I dont give a fuck. Just get over here and fuck me.”

“God, it’s like you just really get me,” the merc cooed, in utter awe of his partner.

“Now, Wade!” The Wolverine fussed one final time, giving his boyfriend a look of utter grouchiness.

Wade walked up behind Logan, took his aching dick into his hand and spit to give himself some sort of lubrication. He didn’t want to risk taking the time to stretch Logan out due to raising suspicion between their friends, but Logan had asked him before to skip the prep because the guy really didn’t mind the pain.

Slowly, Wade eased himself into Logan’s entrance and groaned at just how good it felt. Logan wasn’t being quiet either, a growl escaping his mouth, as Wade filled him up. It was a little painful, but nothing he couldnt handle, and truthfully, it felt really good anyway. Once the merc found a good rhythm, he gripped one hand around Logan’s neck and the other on his hip. Logan looked back at his lover, begging for a kiss, and Wade happily obliged.

“I love you so fuckin’ much,” Wade mumbled as he lost himself in their love making. It was always like this for the two of them. Every time felt like the first time– exciting and fun and sexy as hell.

Just as Wade could feel himself about to climax, he heard the door to the bathroom push open.

“WHAT. THE. FUCK!” Negasonic Teenage Warhead screeched, immediately letting the door close behind them. Both men hurriedly pulled their clothes back on and tried to catch Ellie before she could get back to the rest of their friends.

“I thought you locked the damn door!” Logan hollered, feeling beyond embarrassed that they had been caught in the act, especially by a friend.

“There was a lock on that door?” Wade questioned back.

When they made it back to the party room, everyone had their heads turned to watch their embarrassing arrival. Both disheveled and out of breath, they stood there and waited for the other to say something.

There was a small silence and then…

“This party was my idea!”

[mahs-dumpster]

a/n: idk what I'm doing with my life tbh I'm just like. Writing tons of scenarios without stopping. Anyways this was like made ages ago and I just decided to give it a proper ending... Anyways once again posting this and running away

🏷���: @viilpstick @justm3di0cr3

cw: oc x canon (Leona x Isabelle), banter, uhhh idk man denial of feelings?

words: 2300+

Dividers.

Obsession.

“I hope you do realize you're absolutely obsessed with her.” Ruggie stated as he finished folding Leona's clothes and putting them in their rightful drawer. The man in question laid in bed with a raised eyebrow completely confused.

“What?”

“With Isabelle-san. You’ve been talking about her for the last hour I’ve been here folding your clothes.” Ruggie got up, grabbing the basket filled with dirty clothes from both him and Leona — he wasn't gonna complain if Leona let him wash his clothes with his. “Actually, you’ve been talking about her during Spelldrive practice as well.”

“I wasn't talking about her, I was complaining.” The prince huffed as he crossed his arms, looking at the smaller one. 

“Excessively. I'm so tired of hearing about her I think I'll physically cringe next time I see her. Which is bad… she likes me enough to give me special treatment…” Ruggie sighed as Leona sat down to look at him incredulously.

“Because she always has a bone to pick with me. She's always on my case.”

“I'm always on your case and you don't talk about me nearly as much, do you?”

“You do stuff for me. She just irritates me.”

“Well, ok. Vil-san irritates you and is always on your case, do you talk as much about him as you do with Isabelle-san?” Leona shut his mouth, rolling his eyes and rolling to the other side of the bed, his back facing Ruggie as the hyena beastman sighed. “One way or another you’ll have to accept it. It ain't that bad, really, at least you know you’ll stay together regardless, while I– nevermind. ‘night, boss.” and the boy left before any melancholic thoughts could’ve been voiced, while Leona stayed there on his bed, eyebrows furrowed as he clicked his tongue.

Let's say, in the imaginary scenario that Ruggie created, that Leona was, in fact, a bit obsessed with his fiancée. What would happen then? Sure, they were getting married in 3 year's time, but that wouldn't change how Isabelle felt, and she despised him. And he despised her as well. Obviously. Surely. 

Leona groaned in annoyance and covered his face with his pillow, trying to force himself to go to sleep and ignore the annoying questions Ruggie planted in his head.

“Sit up straight, has your father taught you no proper etiquette?” 

“Oh shut it.” Leona basically growled but his fiancée showed no fear, in actuality, she seemed even more fierce, glaring at him as if demanding an apology. He didn't give it to her through words, but he rolled his eyes and waved his hand, and she nodded, not entirely pleased but it would do. 

After that day Leona didn't want to see Isabelle, in fact, he’s made it his life mission to avoid her when they had joint school activities, and ignored her calls — more than usual. But sitting in a limousine? With her? All the way from the mirror to the palace at Sunset Savannah? He simply couldn't avoid her.

“So.” Isabelle began, and he got ready for a scolding. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“I'm not.”

“You barely spoke to me the last time our schools had an event.”

“I was busy.”

“You ignored all of my calls, even the ones from the viewglasses.”

“I probably didn't see it. Can we get it over with?”

“No.” She insisted, a frown prevalent in her pretty face. “What's up with you all of a sudden? If I said something to upset you, you must tell me.”

“You upset me just by looking in my direction.” He glared back and Isabelle stared at him for a moment. She sighed and looked outside the window.

“I see.” She merely said. “I shall not look at you today if it upsets you this much.”

…Did he go too far?

He watched as her small hands were locked together, one of them kept making motions on the other one, like pulling the sleeve of her dress, pinching her skin lightly and scratching it as well. Leona moved his gaze upwards to the back of her head, unable to see her expression. 

Maybe he did go a bit too far.

Isabelle said stuff like this constantly to him tho! Like, come on now, he had way more right to be upset, she was usually the one starting fights! In fact, this whole thing started because he couldn't stop complaining about a fight she initiated!! 

Leona clicked his tongue, his demeanor shifted from being uncomfortable in her presence for being annoyed with himself. Why did he even say that? It wasn't even true. Maybe it was in the beginning, but not anymore. Isabelle was irritating, always bossing him around and testing his patience, but she didn't pry when he closed off when the subject of his family showed up, she cheered for him during Spelldrive matches, — well, more like threatened him because she didn't want to be engaged to a loser — and defended him to people who dared to bad mouth him. 

The issue of being or not obsessed with her didn't matter any longer. He needed to fix the situation.

Gently, Leona grabbed one of her hands and held it tight, and the girl looked at it in confusion, especially because Leona refused to make eye contact and just looked outside. 

“I lied.” Leona simply said, and he felt Isabelle relax next to him. “I'm dealing with some issues. Just let me be for a while.”

Isabelle huffed as she intertwined their fingers. “You could’ve said so from the start, moron. Take your time, just know I'm here to listen if you need me.”

“‘kay.” He whispered, his thumb caressing her hand, as the girl got a bit closer to him, deciding to hold his hand with both of hers. 

He wondered if she truly meant it, if he were to say what he truly thought of her, if she should accept him. In moments like this, Leona would let his ego aside, and pretend that they were truly in a real, loving relationship.

The guards were ordered to guide Isabelle to her room for the time they stayed there, while Leona refused his — it was his home, why would he need a bunch of guards to show him where his room was?

Almost as soon as he arrived at his room, he flopped himself onto his bed, only taking off his shirt to feel a bit more free and comfortable. Back at the same place he ran away from… he resented everytime he had to go back home. He was proud of his country, yes, but the palace carried too many memories, painful ones in fact… every hallway made him remember the servants talking about how useless he was, every dinner was a display of uplifting his brother while putting him down, every smile from Cheka showed Leona he could never be number one.

He was tired already. He just wanted to sleep. Maybe if he slept now, his brother would think he was actually tired, and let him skip dinner. It wasn't likely, but it was worth trying.

And so he did. Leona slept for hours in his room, a few servants tried to wake him up while knocking at his door but to no avail. Until, of course, Isabelle.

“Leona, wake–” She said, not caring to knock on the door but stopping midway and turning her head away from his form. “Put on a shirt, will you?”

“As far as I'm aware, this is my room.” Leona mumbled, his voice tired as he stirred in bed, his tail getting closer to him. “Could’ve knocked.”

“If I knocked you wouldn't have let me in.” She made a point and sighed, deciding to turn to him again despite her embarrassment. She walked close to him, hands on her hips. “Come on, dinner’s about to be served.”

“Then tell them I was too tired to show up.” He frowned slightly, his eyes still closed as he turned away from her. “Let me be.”

Isabelle sighed, scratching her head, unsure of what to do. “Cheka will miss you, he’s been talking about you all day.”

No response.

“Come on now, I can't show up without you and you know that! Stop being like this.”

Once again, no response.

Isabelle puffed out her cheeks in annoyance as she decided to take a look around his room. It was cleaner than she thought, but then again, of course it would be, the servants had time to clean his room without the giant cat to mess everything up. The bookshelf caught her attention, as she walked towards it she saw a few books she had never read before, a lot of them weren't fiction, but rather about topics too advanced even for NRC or RSA. She reached out for one book, opening it with curiosity.

“I had no idea you had an interest in geology.” Isabelle said, sitting at the end of his bed as she continued to read. “I guess there's a lot of stuff I still don't know about you.”

Leona sighed, finally sitting up as he scratched his head. Isabelle kept her eyes on the book, scared her gaze would betray her once she looked at him. “I guess."

He finally opened his eyes, and blinked a few times to be sure he wasn't seeing things. Right there in front of him, was Isabelle, half of her hair tied up in a bun as the rest was free, her clothes were from Sunset Savannah, no doubt, and they seemed to fit her perfectly, almost as if they belonged to her. His quietness made Isabelle curious, so despite her embarrassment, she looked up to him, lifting an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Where’d you get that?"

“Oh.” She looked at herself, her face pink as she let out a small smile, happy he noticed. “Your sister-in-law, she said she bought this for me a while ago, had it custom made too.” She closed the book, touching the fabric of her dress. “It's beautiful and very well made. She's incredibly kind.” Leona just hummed, unable to keep from staring at her. He rested his head on his hand as he looked, his eyes going all the way from her toes to her head, making Isabelle even more embarrassed. “Why are you staring? Does it look weird?”

“In a way.” He watched amused as Isabelle made a pout, a sigh escaping her as she looked at the ground with disappointment. “But it suits you.”

Isabelle looked at him, unsure if she should take it as a compliment, but his reaction didn't seem to express anything other than intrigue. He kept looking at her, his eyes couldn't drift away from her as his irises got bigger, reminding her slightly of a cat. His tail moving a bit as he watched her, a smile slowly creeping on his face. She was beautiful. And she was wearing his country’s clothes.

Fine. Maybe Ruggie was right… he was a bit obsessed with his own fiancée.

Leona heard steps outside his room and groaned in annoyance. He knew it was probably a servant trying to call him for dinner since Isabelle didn't seem to have success– wait.

Isabelle was in his room. For a longer time than it was expected. He was shirtless.

He smirked, an idea popping in his head.

“Why do you have that weird smile on your face?” Isabelle asked, looking at him suspiciously. Leona simply let out a chuckle, getting up and standing in front of her, the girl look even more confused. “What are y–”

Before she could continue, her back was already resting on his bed, Leona on top of her as he watched her face grow red and her eyebrows furrow. He couldn't help but chuckle as he nuzzled his face in her neck and Isabelle complained, but still made no effort to try and get him off of her.

Then, the door was opened.

“Your highness, dinner is– oh goodness!” The servant quickly closed the door as Leona laughed against Isabelle's skin, the girl getting unbelievably red and perplexed upon realizing his plan. “I-I’ll tell His Majesty that you're busy at the moment. Forgive my intrusion.”

Leona finally relaxed, the weight of his entire body falling onto Isabelle who complained once more. Upon realizing he wasn't moving she simply sighed.

“So you were just using me to run away from dinner huh?”

“What? Are you disappointed?” He asked, his breath on her neck as she shivered and moved her face away from his.

“Not exactly. Just annoyed you used me for your own personal gain.” She tried to explain, where Leona was laying down he could feel her heartbeat, and it was increasing with every passing second. He smiled.

She was nervous.

“If you wanted me to lay you in bed–”

“Don't you dare finish that sentence.” She finally looked at him, a glare on her face and he laughed. Leona's hand moved to Isabella's face, his thumb making circular motions as her cheeks went pink. It was then that he realized how unbelievably close she was.

“Hey, mouse.” He started, eyes never looking away from hers. “I'm gonna do something, and if you don't want me to, I'm giving you the freedom to push me away.” he quickly looked at her lips, enchanted by her, and she seemed to freeze upon realizing what he meant.

He got closer to her, his nose brushing against hers and his lips hovering just above hers. He was about to do it, to kiss her right there without a care for what this meant about his own feelings for her and–

Her phone rang. She pushed him away and got up.

“I-I’m– there's– I-I have to answer it– you know, my father he– I-I’ll go.” With that, Isabelle quickly walked out of his room, leaving Leona by himself, his back laying on his own bed.

And he laughed.

Her eyes… Leona might be a predator, based on his lion features, but he was so sure that Isabelle was the one fitting that role at that moment. Bewitching him and making him do crazy things. Making him quite obsessed with her and her presence.

He couldn't help but want more.

[ghoulangerlee]

rain and aether thing somewhat takes place after the other one I posted. this one is just biting? a lot of biting and hints that rain ghoul is making his rounds among the others and partaking in freaky sex as well

i will eventually get to writing the actual sex between these two and not just rain being a smug asshole and flashing his bitey teeth at aether

im not too happy with it and it was going to be something totally different but it grew into aether thirsting after rain's freaky teeth

minor cw for the end where it's alluded to that rain's drinking blood

its not been read over im yeeting this to to public bc if i have it in my drafts any longer im gonna be even more discouraged

-

Rain's teeth are, arguably the most terrifying part of him—next to his eyes and the strange mimic voice he projects into Aether's mind when he wants to be heard.

Two rows of sharp, serrated teeth, the inner row situated just behind the first—even more terrifying when Rain chooses not to glamour (which is all the time usually, unless he's out with the band, and then he uses the barest minimum of glamour—his claws, skin color, his strange inhuman eyes, all hidden; he doesn't dull his senses, he doesn't hide his aura, just physical changes to fit in), he hasn't properly bedded Rain just yet, but he does wonder about the teeth, if Rain's careful with them.

He's of course seen the mouth shaped marks on the others, half formed teeth marks across Dew's throat, or the neat double row on Mountain's inner thigh, bruised and scabbed over—even Copia carried a mark, one that Aether had accidentally seen on his side while he'd been changing.

Each one, similar in a way but also different—two rows of teeth, four neat lines of marks showing that something, or someone had been there.

(Aether tries not to think too hard about teeth catching on too sensitive skin, painful and not at all arousing.)

Not that bedding Rain was the only thing on his mind of course, helping the water ghoul acclimate to life on the surface, giving him a crash course in human ways so Copia didn't inexplicably insult Rain without knowing—etiquette and language (though Rain didn't vocalize), teaching him how to build and hold a proper glamour that couldn't be seen through by just anyone, even pop culture and human food, those were the things that Aether had mostly been concerned about.

The tour was coming up fast and Copia would be summoning another ghoul sooner than later—the faster he had Rain acclimated meant that when the new ghoul was on the surface, Aether wouldn't be in charge of two otherworldly beings.

Rain, by himself, was a handful.

He was absolutely perfect during band practice, sticking by Dew's side and learning the cues from both Copia and Mountain, studious and eager to play. He used his voice more during these moments, his mimicry of a vocalization projected into all of their minds at once so they could all discuss as one.

It was when it was just the two of them that things were...different.

He was intense, always watching Aether with his dark eyes, so dark that he couldn't tell where the pupil ended and the iris began—the dark maybe blue almost black blending into one color.

Of course, Aether knew that from the set of his eyes, the sharpness of his teeth and claws, Rain was a predator, through and through. It wasn't that difficult to figure out, how he'd track movement and his affinity to blood—the one time Copia had accidentally cut himself on the edge of a small stack of paperwork, Aether had seen the way Rain's nostrils flared, his gaze snapping from the book he'd been reading to Copia across the room, muttering to himself as he shoved his sluggishly bleeding finger into his mouth.

The control he held, the way he'd kept his eyes on Copia the whole time until the man had left the room, carrying the stack of papers now safely on a clipboard.

When Aether finally managed to catch Rain's gaze, he had noticed the glazed look in his eyes, the impatience radiating off of him as the book in his lap had been forgotten.

If he had to place a name to the expression on Rain's face, it'd probably be something like ravenous, hungry, a caged animal waiting to pounce.

And when Rain had stood up, closing his book with a firmness, he'd briefly caught Aether's eyes again, a sharp grin on his lips before he'd left the room as well.

While alone, he pondered what it'd be like to be on the receiving end of Rain's gaze—to be the one who caused that reaction in him, to be the one who'd be at Rain's mercy...

He quickly banished the thought and quietly thanked every prince of hell that today had been the one day he'd decided to go without genitalia—the only clue to his tumultuous thoughts being a quick spike in his scent and an uptick in his pulse that he could easily explain away.

And then one day, one day, Rain had cornered him, they weren't much different in height, with Aether being slightly taller than the water ghoul, but something about the squareness of his shoulders, the way he carried himself, the confidence in which he'd rested his hands on Aether's hips, guiding him back against the wall had Aether feeling small.

He shivered, heat immediately pooling between his legs as Rain pressed against him, his body warm and firm as he hooks his fingers into the hem of Rain's shirt, keeping him close.

Aether.

The vocalization is warm and amused, and when Aether glances down at Rain, he's smiling, somewhat fond.

You're the only one who hasn't come to bed with me.

Aether snorts softly, feeling the tension bleed out of him at Rain's words—the phrase so reminiscent of something that Copia would say, "I didn't know you were trying to collect us," he says, feeling Rain shake against him with laughter as the water ghoul noses along his jaw.

I like a full set

Aether feels teeth graze lightly against his skin, the sharp points drawing a full body shudder from him as he grips Rain's shirt tighter.

You think so loudly about me, Rain's voice cuts through his frenzied thoughts, When you look at me, you look like you're contemplating jumping me.

A flush spreads across Aether's cheeks, the pink of it so obvious on his pale, human skin and he's glad that Rain's more occupied with mouthing at his jaw and throat, not focused on his face.

"S'why you have me here now, right?" he asks, tipping his head back against the wall as Rain's mouth continues its way across his throat, "Because I keep lookin' at you."

Rain laughs again and it's very odd, to not hear the laughter, to only feel it where Rain's shaking against him, usually, there's a projection even if the laughter sometimes doesn't come out right.

You're always looking at my mouth, figured it was time I finally took a bite and let you see what all of this is about.

As the words echo in Aether's mind, Rain's teeth bite down, not hard enough to maim but definitely hard enough that Aether feels them sink into his skin, sharp and painful in a way that has Aether pushing up onto his toes as if he's trying to get away from Rain.

He vocalizes something, the pain shooting through his body as hot as molten lava—a hand, Rain's hand, pets against his side, now under his shirt and warm against his skin, petting claw tipped fingers gently over him.

Too much?

Aether goes to respond, to tell him yes, let me go and no please don't stop but before he can, the words die in his throat as Rain pulls his mouth away, soothing his tongue over the bite marks.

Now you match with your pretty fire ghoul

Aether shivers, remembering the teeth marks across Dew's throat, the dopey look on his face whenever he'd leave Rain's room and he feels Rain smile against his skin as if he also knows what Aether's thinking about.

Prey are usually scared of the teeth, not aroused by them.

There's an amused tone to Rain's words and the barest hint of sharp teeth against Aether's earlobe, making the quintessence ghoul shiver again, pulling at Rain's shirt, his hands fisted tightly in the material.

Too much?

It's an out, an offer to step back and regroup, try something else, try again at a later time and if Aether were smart, he'd do that, he'd let them regroup, talk about it with Rain first to make sure no boundaries were being crossed—but Hell below, Aether is tired of thinking things through rationally, of talking things out before diving head first into something.

The others have had a chance with Rain, have tumbled into bed with him multiple times, have the marks to show for it and Aether's just feeling a bit like he can be selfish this once.

"No," he says, untangling his fingers from Rain's shirt, feeling the water ghoul perk up a bit at his words, "Not enough," he offers, sliding his fingers into Rain's hair, guiding him easily to the other side of his neck, "I heal pretty fast," he says, "Within a few hours the mark'll be gone if you're not fastidious enough about it," he tilts his head back against the wall, guiding Rain up into the perfect spot; the stretch of skin just below his ear, something that'll be hard to cover up when he's not wearing his full uniform.

He feels Rain's fingers flex slightly, his nails catching against his skin briefly before he seems to settle down.

There's a pause, a moment where Aether worries he's read the whole situation wrong, but then there's a piercing pain that melts into something that sends molten heat to his core, warming him up from the inside out as his fingers hold a bit too tight in Rain's hair, keeping him exactly where he needs him.

He feels Rain's jaw work against his skin, the loud exhale of air from his nose as he presses Aether harder against the wall, shoving his leg between Aether's, hot and hard and perfect.

[lafcadiosadventures]

Madame Putiphar Groupread. Book Two, Chapter XXXVI

ℑ𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔩 ℜ𝔬𝔶𝔞𝔩𝔢

Jean-Dominique Ingres, le bain turc + study for the bain turc, source, wikipedia

{fellow readers: @sainteverge @counterwiddershins }

Borel puts into practice his theory of parallels between despots of different nations. As I said before, his thesis is not without huge etnocentrism problems, mostly for how he formulated it, but there is something to it imo. It is licit to seek similarities between despotic/oppressive systems, the problem was that Borel made it about a foreign Race corrupting the virile primitive monarchies with its luxurious ways :d

So, here he ellaborates a complex comparison between the serails (his sources, according to my edition are: Six Voyages en Turquie, en Perse et aux Indes, and my editor adds, exceptionally volume VI, Nouvelle Relation de l’interieur du serail (1713), by Jean-Baptiste Tavernier.)and the parc-aux-cerfs. Some parallels, (like the green livery) we are to understand, are made by the King himself who has tried to fashion his brothel after a fantasy harem. Others are parallels (like the selams) cannot be literal, but drawn by the narrator himself.

I don't think the rational explanation for the green annuls the connection I made between the other green wearers of the novel and the guards. However, on an literal level we learn that the green here is taken from the codes of the serails that inflamed the libidos and imaginations of white men all over. Green equals servants of the high born concubines. While the baltagis (literally "man with the axe," the guards of the serail) wore grey. Agiam-oglams were children between the ages of nine and ten, “selected for their physical strength” according to my translator. The Kislar-aga was the chief of the eunuchs, his main role was leading the concubines to the bedchamber, and there also was the Kutzlir-agasi, the chief of the black eunuchs. Then we return to french, to nominate he who was jokingly called monsieur de Cervière, the guardian of the virgins, like a loup-cervier, the wolf that attacks the does in this case. De Cervière (a retired army major) is the boss of the Parc, he rules over everyone else. His task is to punish and thwart any exterior attempts made to rescue the women. He also had to capture any possible “selams”-> in the actual serail, flower arrangements with codes and secret meanings, so, he will frustrate and punish any attempt to hide hidden secret messages by the women to the exterior or vice-versa. He had the authority to summon the sphahis, a regimient of mounted soldiers in post conquest of Algeria France, selected from the arab and bereber population. [This word came to france from ottoman turkish, the original word is sipahi, which is turkish merely means horsemen, but that aquired a super insulting meaning in spanish, still in use (the word cipayo, literally a mercenary, figuratively a person from the periphery who defends the interests of the imperial metropolis against his own nation)(not only they force draft colonial soldiers, they also transform their words into insults)]

We learn that the Madame functions as a female kutzlir-agasi, she has to prevent contact between the odalisks, she is, as it had been hinted, a low born, “vulgar” woman, who thanks to her extreme organized nature has earned the confidence of Pharao, who joking with her sexuality implies she will one day transform into a man and then he will make her his CHASNATARBASSI

Under the Madame operated two chambermaids who educated the wards/pupils in etiquette, manners, music,dance, literature and painting (not very different from the regular femenine education of the day, they had to know these basic things to be agreeable to the king in case they were not highborn) below the two chambermaids were the dueñas, who fulfilled "any task or service", and had to spy on the pupils. The vile and harsh jobs were done by servants + the horrid and old baltagis. They were very well payed but any minor failing they could be sent to the dungeons. (a terror regime, well payed but very high risk for those enforcing order as well)

“There were odalisques of all age, from nine or ten to twenty years old. When they reached their fifteenth year the town they were living in was no longer kept hidden from them; but they were diverted from believing that they were destined to Pharaoh’s bed. When they were suspected of knowing their destination, which they had learned, either by chance or through confiding, they were sent away and put in a cloister or a chapterhouse, or, when they were pregnant, were married off.”

(tr. Sainteverge)

we know that about the ages to be true, sadly. After reading this we can be hopeful for Maria degli Angeli to have made it alive after all.

Then Borel details the monetary cost of the serail, which is not irrelevant, while the people starved, as corresponds to a monarch, the king spent large fortunes in his idle pleasures. Its also interested to note his dispassionate tone here, no rage, just numbers. It is a well oiled machine after all, a perfect system of sale and purchase of women and a whole system of payed servants and jailkeepers, recruiters and bribers meant to keep the whole thing working. A perfectly rational and dare I say Enlightened enterprise, nothing random or capricious here, not very different from japan's comfort women or the joy divison in nazi germany. Sex is a right of the monarch, but also, these are people being terrified having their lives stolen from them. This creates a rethoric of power and an aura of terror. I would not be surprised if people constructed the parc into a fairy taleesque opportunity for the women (a bit like Maria reconstructs her experience) but historians try to claim a bit of a black legend surrounding it, which implies a general popular rejection of it. 8however we know much of the horrors to be true)

Borel states: the royal brothel with its comerce of nubile flesh lasted 34 years. 34 years and no one ever payed for the various crimes commited within it.

Borel also remarks, drawing one last paralel with the convents: the last superintendent who succeded mme Putiphar had been a canoness

[llycaons]

I’ll make this my last message since I don’t want you having to spend all day on another 15-paragraph essay because that’s just sad. I’d just like to state a point that apparently didn’t come across in my original message—one I didn’t think I *had* to state—which is that fanfiction *isn’t* published fiction. It’s amateur, free content on the internet and shouldn’t be held to the same critical standards and practices as critiquing trad pub fiction. That’s why it’s bad etiquette to, say, put fic on Goodreads, for example. Again, didn’t think I’d have to say that to someone who obviously spends so much time (so, *so* much time) reading fanfic, but here we are!

And just a note: if it’s ableist to say the word “weird” to you specifically and insinuate you, specifically, should go outside—which I *know* you do, I literally used to follow you lmao—then I sincerely apologize. That being said, I *know* you go outside, so I fail to see how that’s a broader shot at the housebound when… you are not. And I know that. And it’s shitty that you’d turn around and banter with your mutual who’s calling me a cunt. That’s fair game somehow, but “weird” is too far? Ok lol. Guess your pearl-clutching over what’s problematic only goes one way. Good to know 👍 Will hard block then! Cheers

it's a good thing that this is their last message but since they're hard-blocking it feels like a waste to even answer this one. I don't even have any other arguments since I was so thorough and said everything I wanted and ig they have no actual rebuttals so I'm taking this win. 'don't want me to spend all day writing 15 paragraphs' yeah right, they just don't want their argument to be DEMOLISHED again lmao and I don't think it's sad, I like covering all my bases. man I smoked that one. and I didn't spend all day on it, it took like half an hour? I was at work all day man lmao. and now I'm being held responsible for things other ppl have said? I mean I stand with my mutuals, but I literally never said that stuff in the actual reply

like I never said fanfic was just like real books, I just said you need to be held responsible for what media you create? did anon even READ my carefully crafted responses? friends. I am bereft. they're asking like this was an obvious oversight on my part but it's just inane to act like not being published equates to freedom from all criticism, which is what I SAID. it's not formal criticism, it's just what I think. you remember thinking? I can't turn it off! and since when was my SINGLE page a goodreads account?

as soon as they pull out the term 'pearl-clutching'...man how did this cunt used to follow me. that's right. I didn't even call then a cunt earlier when kiera did (WHAT bantering??? I posted my response AFTER I got this message) but now I WILL. you gotta be careful about who you tell to go outside, anon. and calling ppl a cunt isn't ableist lmao and I think it's perfectly reasonable in this situation. also if they used to follow me wouldn't they know my views already? what did they think would happen??? and since WHEN was saying cunt problematic???

and furthermore I appreciate the apology bc the comment about my tagging WAS out of line but irrelevant. my bigger complaint was more that 'weird' was a really vague criticism of my behavior. like nothing in ANY of those messages was compelling arguments that I should feel bad about what I was doing they just kept leaning on the morality of the words 'weird' and 'strange'. also just because you used to follow doesn't me you know me as a person?? ugh I just have to call them a presumptuous cunt again I'm afraid.

however this is bar none THE stupidest person I've ever argued on anon with so I will be sorry to see them go. it was so easy to win their weak, unsubstantial, shame-and-normalcy-based but somehow unapologetically amoral arguments...well it looks like I've written another lengthy response but that's fine, I like to chat on my blog to my neighbors and friends and anon shan't shame me out of that one either. how are we all this morning.

[cheriihoney]

got an ask about more info on my ocs harp and declan ^^ it was a sent a long time ago and now that i have time i decided to answer it! More info on Harp and Declan under the cut

📱 as i said government assigned agent to keep tabs on you on what you do on the internet and stuff. you aren't the first one he was assigned to watch but something about you seems different.

 📱he started this gig because of life circumstances that lead him to take some not so ethical and moral choices, so him taking on this job to watch a cute lil guy like you wouldnt be the worst thing

📱the cash is pretty good, he doesn't do much on the job really as he just watches well you. which definitely beats he's previous active life style where he had to take care of some people

📱now he's looking to settle down and there you were! being all cute for him! atleast that's what he believes because you are so darn cute when you don't realize you're being watched by him

📱harp isn't his real name, that's just his code name. he left his old life behind to start a new one. He doesn't want anyone to know his real name. Despite wanting to be closer to you he would still want some distance between you and him since he's never had anyone to be close to emotionally.

📱His descent to obsession with you is a slow one. Like real slow but undoubtedly its a slow but sure process. He started personally going through your accounts, photos and the like on his off time. Even at some point convincing the boss to let him have access to your webcam more to observe any 'suspicious' activity. not because he wanted to see you more.

📱it's similar to liking someone you just know based from what they post online and ideally harp shouldn't have been obsessed with you but since he has access to everything and anything that pertains to you. he feels he knows you the most - like a husband would :))

📱after he's come to terms that he's obsessed with you he starts craving the domestic life you seem to lead.

📱now he's picturing himself having a domestic life, something he never considered before but now he would love it as long as you were his wife (gender neutral)

💐his first life was set in those isekai manwha versions of europe with all those fancy balls and etiquette. thats when he first fell in love with you.

💐he met you, you got to know one another and eventually fell in love with you

  💐cant say the same for you lol you just thought he was just a really good friend!

💐anyways at any point where hes close to confessing his feelings for you, you would always be out of reach somehow. things like falling in love with another person or dying

💐over the course of a few lives later, his patience grew thin as in each life time you guys were in Declan still never had a chance to be with you himself.

💐he's always told himself to be patient and that eventually his time will come when he gets to be with you fr fr

💐yk he says like a very impatient and exhausted man practically waiting for centuries to finally be with you

💐he doesn't exactly remember each life clearly but he does know you and that he has to be with you no matter the cost

💐used to let fate guide his to lead him to you but now he's reconsidering if he should man handle fate

💐current day Declan is from old money who spares no expense to woo you the minute he found you again

💐just straights up introduces himself as your fiance. Because he wanted to atleast take things slowly, atleast he didn't introduce himself as your husband

💐he rizzes up your parents to atleast let him court you like ye olden days. old habits die hard

💐would rather be in a very very very long engagement as opposed to be being your friend first

💐somehow you do agree to atleast know him alittle

💐thus starts Declan's plan of being with you in this life. This poor man is desperate and tired of not being with you in any of his previous lives

💐let him have this one?

[starleska]

okay i know some Mad Mod fans are divided on his ‘Blue Meanie’ look but i just want to talk about it for a sec because i think it’s so interesting for his character!!! so here, Mad Mod is his real, physical self, de-aged using youth stolen from Robin. he’s either capable of projecting imagery onto himself in the form of hologrammatic clothing, or this was a very quick costume change. either way, Mad Mod has consciously chosen to emulate the form of Venuz B. Meanie, the ‘Chief’ Blue Meanie and antagonist of Yellow Submarine, a fictional musical about The Beatles. the Blue Meanies are the bad guys because they hate all music and are just generally hateful people. now, isn’t it fascinating that Mad Mod, a clear Anglophile, aligns himself not with The Beatles - one of the most successful English bands of all time - but with the enemies of The Beatles? i wonder if this has anything to do with Mad Mod’s clear association with Mod culture, and the fact that The Beatles fell into neither the Mod or Rocker category despite being inspired by both; as Paul McCartney said, “Mockers, I like. I think they’re the best. No real preferences.” 

of course this decision is externally made by the writers/artists paying a great homage to various facets of British culture, but i love the idea of trying to reconcile this within Mad Mod’s deeply weird relationship with British culture as a whole. consider Mad Mod as exactly that: an actual member of the ‘60s Mod subculture who has refused to let his identity go, and despises the blending and homogenisation of this subculture that came with the rise of The Beatles. perhaps Mad Mod - so obsessed with the ‘proper’ behaviour and etiquette and with a hatred of the American stylings common with Rockers - came to intensely dislike this facet of British culture, while struggling to reconcile it with his love for his country and everything from its music to its style. for a man like him, it must’ve been extraordinarily strange to see a band using parts of his subculture whilst not identifying with it wholly, and for them to become internationally famous. perhaps he enjoys The Beatles’ music, and their slick, Mod-styled fashion, but hates that they become a worldwide success and gave any credence to Rockers or any other subculture he deems ‘inappropriate’. i just find the idea of old man Mad Mod being so furious about this decades later that he either digitally creates his own Blue Meanie outfit just for his hologrammatic takeover of Jump City, or sews his own damn costume and practices a quick-change sequence despite his aching bones purely to make a point, hysterical. either way he’s deranged and i love it 🙈💖 [EDIT] as the lovely @exquisitebat has helpfully pointed out, this interpretation doesn’t align with the way Mad Mod presents himself throughout the whole show!! there’s a great moment during a chase sequence where he remodels Mount Rushmore to resemble both himself and The Beatles. with a character like Mad Mod, it’s a give-and-take of how far you want to take a character’s apparent ideals...i hardly think a man who appears to be wearing a reference to Angus Young’s school uniform in Revolution has wholly barred himself from non-Mod music and culture! this post is just fun speculation and headcanon, nothing more 😉

[doukeshi-kun]

one reason i disabled comment on my writing blog is because—i know what contents i'll post and what fandom i'm gonna appear in. i know the risk already (god i have seen enough for the past two years) so i got rid of the source: comment.

also, back in the day (grandma's voice), i rarely get comments/feedbacks on my old blog during a certain period of time. so i was a bit petty and i'm like "yuh if no one's gonna comment, nobody gets to comment forever😤"

will i ever open comment in the writing blog? no. i won't. although it seems very unlikely that people gonna come at me for things... because i'm mostly in my nikolai corner, i don't wanna risk it.

also, i used to get a lot of "part 2?? next part??" type of comments—which, i totally understand the eagerness. but i no longer take requests, so those comments are categorised as requests for me. and as i said before, all of my fics are planned to be one-shot/standalone. so there's definitely no part 2 in planning unless stated.

speaking of requests, i still get some asks about it. and yes, i have to ignore it because i'm simply not doing it😭 i'm really sorry tho. i'm quite done taking requests lmao it's not like i do a lot back in my old blog. i get burnt out easily so yeh :( this is also why i hesitate a lot to start commission bcs my ass can't handle having a paid job. i am supposed to be a bean in the soil, waiting for myself to grow into a tree and bring down the giants from the sky.

though, i do heavily encourage you people to contribute your ideas or requests to other accepting writers. there are a lot of new writing blogs that write for bsd these days and guess what, a lot of them also accepting requests. just make sure to read and follow their rules before you send an ask. also, if their works aren't your cup of tea, just scroll away and move on alright. let's practice don't like don't read as our basic etiquette.

also why do i feel the strong urge to accept only request for alt gabriel x reader??? istg when i see a man with long hair, i start acting like a damn dog awooooooga

[godseyeinthecloset]

I can’t find it to repost it but earlier today I saw a post about someone talking about their eccentric anthro professor who spent his first lecture talking about his specialty: cultural piss etiquette and it made me think of my old anthro professor.

Okay so, this man retired last year and literally founded the program at my school. Everyday he wore a button up shirt, brown slacks, and fire printed suspenders (thing Guy Fieri fire printed shirts).

His class was my first ever true college lecture. I sat down, he came in, discussed the general idea of the syllabus, then spent the rest of the class time talking about the many and varied types of drugs prehistoric people used recreationally and the effects each one had. He especially was enthusiastic about the recreational drugs that acted as aphrodisiacs.

He didn't do this on the first lecture but later into the course he spent about two class periods discussing and describing the various sex rituals and practices of many societies both prehistoric and non prehistoric.

I had the honor of having this man for three of my anthropology courses before he retired and I miss him dearly every day.