#so this is probably not nearly eloquent enough

[nichigin]

I am having such a like. Emotional moment abt Lou using the story of Pinocchio from such a personal and new angle and intersecting it w his experience as a black man in a way that is so true to the character. Like if this is not an amazing example in favor of why playing w old tropes and narratives and making them diverse and inclusive is not only good for people but good for storytelling I don't know what is!!!

[another-lost-mc]

DIAVOLO x gn!Reader 1.2k Words | NSFW | Explicit | Making Out, Marking, Oral Sex (m!receiving) CW: Mentions of alcohol. -> Prompt: Kissing in an Alley Behind a Bar [ Obey Me! Masterlist ]

Diavolo makes every date with you an adventure. He loves exploring all the things in the human world that you used to take for granted; everything excites him, and it’s difficult not to be excited too.

Tonight he asked you to join him on a date at a human world bar. Bars aren’t really your thing, and you don’t drink much at the best of times, but you agreed anyway. It’s hard to say ‘no’ to the demon prince that asks you for so little, while the love in his eyes promises you the whole world just for being by his side.

Most of the time when you go on human world excursions, Diavolo is overdressed for the occasion. He looks handsome, sure, but his large stature and expensive, perfectly-tailored suits draw a lot of attention.

(You try not to grumble too much when other people blatantly stare at him, or try to flirt with him even though you’re standing right there, your arm obviously linked with his. Even though he doesn’t say anything, he knows you get a little jealous—and he makes it up to you later in the privacy of his bedroom and shows you why you have nothing to be jealous of.)

You wait patiently for Diavolo in the main foyer of the Demon Lord’s Castle while he finishes getting ready. You grin and ask Barbatos which suit Diavolo plans to wear tonight, but he looks far too smug when he hints that you might be disappointed. 

Diavolo’s voice echoes when he greets you from the top of the staircase nearby. You turn towards the staircase and wave, but your own greeting dies in your throat. You expect him to come bouncing down the steps in one of his three-piece suits. You didn’t expect him to wear a black leather jacket you’ve never seen before, or the slim-fitted white t-shirt underneath, or the dark wash jeans that hang low on his hips and cling to his muscular thighs. 

His joyful smile sharpens when he’s close enough to slip his hand in yours, and you realize you’ve been staring (and probably drooling). Your mouth opens and closes a few times while you try to think of something to say.

I want to climb you like a fucking tree doesn’t seem appropriate in present company, even though Barbatos has caught you both in compromising positions before.

“You look nice,” is the most eloquent reply you can manage in that moment; your voice is a bit higher than usual, and you want to die when your voice cracks.

Also, when did it get so hot in here?

Diavolo beams at your compliment (and very obvious once-over). “I thought I would try a different look today, considering the very casual nature of our date location.” He escorts you to the portal Barbatos conjures for you, and he leads you in the direction of a local pub his butler located for you in advance.

The demon prince grunts when his back slams against the bar’s rough brick exterior, but his eyes glitter with anticipation under the flickering street lamp overhead. His devilish smile is wide and full of teeth, and he traces his fangs with the tip of his tongue while he drinks in your needy expression.

“If I’d known bringing you to such a place would have this result, I would’ve done so much sooner,” he chuckles as he tilts his head back to give you access. You moan against his neck and scrape your teeth along the skin of his throat; he exhales a shuddered sigh grips your waist to drag you even closer to him.

“It’s those fucking jeans, and that shirt, and it’s—it’s everything about you,” you nearly whine against his collarbone between clumsy, open-mouthed kisses against his skin. Your hands slide under the thin material of his shirt, and he twitches when you graze the ticklish skin of his belly. 

“I’m yours,” he promises in a rough voice, and his hand cradles your nape and forces you to look at him. “All yours, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“You big sap,” you scold him half-heartedly, but your breathy voice lacks any real heat. You push yourself against the firm, muscular planes of his chest and slot your mouth against his in a desperate kiss. You can taste the alcohol on his tongue when you lick into his mouth, and you chase the bittersweet taste with your own

He swallows your breathy sounds as he moves against you in a frenzied kiss. His own deep growls punctuate the wet sounds of his lips and tongue caressing yours. He jerks his hips when you run your hands over his chest and tweak his nipples between your fingers.

He’s hard and straining in these jeans he bought specially for you, and his body burns so hot he feels like you're consuming him. He's not going to last long no matter how you touch him. The only thing he knows is that he doesn't want to paint the inside of his pants when he can be inside you somehow instead.

“I want you,” he pants as you kiss a sloppy trail across his jaw and down his neck. Your muffled uh-huh tickles his skin and he pulls your hips flush against his. He grinds himself harder against you while you suck a mark below his ear.

(Diavolo knows Barbatos will disapprove of the mark and insist he cover it up later. He doesn’t want to, though—he would wear all your bruises and bitemarks proudly. He wants everyone in the Devildom and all the realms beyond to know that it's his bed you warm each night.)

The alley is dark and grimy and off-putting, but Diavolo still wonders how he can fuck you against the cold brick wall without roughing up the soft skin of your back. His train of thought breaks when you suddenly drop to your knees; the desire radiating from you in waves overwhelms him.

When he scents the air, he can smell your soap and your sweat, and below that, he can pick up the faint traces of the arousal that's dampening the inside of your pants. It makes his mouth water and he has to remind himself to be patient.

He throws his head back with a moan as his large hands stroke the sides of your face. “You’re so perfect for me,” he grits out. “I'm going to fuck you against this wall before I take you home.” He knows you're both desperate, and his dirty promises make you whine, a high-pitched noise that makes his cock ache. He tries not to buck his hips against your face when you rub your cheek against the rough denim covering his aching cock. He hears the soft sounds of metal clinking together when your nimble fingers loosen his belt.

“You'd better,” you mutter against him, tongue flicking against the wet spot of his boxer briefs before you pull them down.

You should've guessed all along what he wanted when he brought you here of all places. You wait until he looks at you properly—

—with his tousled hair and dark, lustful gaze blown-black, and his spit-slicked and swollen lips, and his chest heaving with anticipation and the control it takes for him not to push you against the rough brick behind him and impale you on his cock—

—and then you finally swallow him down.

[whichwitchami]

This is a Sigyn appreciation post

per a conversation with @hiddenhearthwitch yesterday, I felt there needed to be more Sigyn appreciation here on Tumblr (within the Norse Pagan community as a whole)

There's so much talk of Loki and his confinement, his role in the bringing of Ragnarok etc. Loki deserves the spotlight.

But there's not enough talk of Sigyn. About how we know little to nothing of her except her devotion and dedication to her family. Can we please appreciate the heartbreak and physical pain she must be experiencing?

To recap: Loki's punishment for killing Baldur is to be bound by a chain made from the entrails of his son with a snake above his head dripping poison onto him. Sigyn then dutifully stands there, holding a bowl to catch the poison, only leaving to empty the bowl and return to her husbands side.

Her arms have to be killing her. Her legs must want to give out at some point. She's enduring so much physical discomfort to give Loki a scrap of comfort in his torment. Not to mention the emotional/ mental trauma of having her own child's entrails be what binds her husband, and having to hear Loki's screams when she has no choice but to leave his side for a moment.

Some would probably say Sigyn is doing this because she's 'traditional' where a wife has to stay by her husband's side no matter what. I think its more about her own love though. In my experience working with the Norse Pantheon, there's a ton of agency and advocacy for setting boundaries from the Gods, which leads me to believe Sigyn absolutely could walk away if she wanted to. She's not held down by 'tradition'.

I think she stays out of love, out of a devotion so deep it's painful, and nearly impossible to understand. Who can fathom putting yourself through such physical and emotional pain to protect your loved ones? She's choosing to stand there, to save Loki from as much pain as she can spare him from, because every drop she collects is a moment of reprieve in his torment.

I think the only way she endures is through nostalgia, as Faye eloquently put it "the kid you get enraptured in and it feels so beautiful and then suddenly there's a pang in your chest and you're at a loss for words"

How can Sigyn endure the physical and emotional pain? She dissociates. She has to. In my belief she handles everything by disappearing in her mind to simpler times, to remembering the beauty of her life with her loved ones before everything went to shit. It doesn't matter to her why things went to shit, or whose to blame for it. What matters is things suck, her husband is in pain, and she loves him so much she'll do anything she can to help him.

Maybe she should walk away, but at the end of the day its her choice, and I think there's something hauntingly beautiful about making the choice to stay.

If you want to understand the kind of nostalgia, listen to this song and picture Sigyn holding the bowl, trying not to show her own pain while she remembers lying in a warm sunny field, enjoying a simple, peaceful moment in a different time.

Just, show her some love, because she's giving everything she has to Loki, and she's doing it because she loves him.

[paradlselost]

CRIMSON.

JOHN SEED X FEMALE DEPUTY

Sort of a dump, I was really debating on just publishing this as a WIP but I was halfway through the smut and decided to just finish it. Not my best, but I tried to go for a more canon accurate John, which means he’s a major freak in this sorry :/

I mentioned it in the fic but didn’t go too deep, I kinda love toying with the idea of a more selfish deputy - humanizing them. If I were to ever write a longer fic with more of an oc-ized version of the deputy would anyone read? Let me know.

I probably won’t post about John Seed or FC5 for a little while after this. I have ideas for a Black Noir (my bbg) fic and then a Father Paul Hill one from Midnight Mass cause I love religious trauma as y’all can tell. I do also like indoctrinated!deputy so maybe maybe eventually I write about that.

2.7k words

content warnings: mentions of cutting into flesh. smut — dubcon, choking, blood play (John being a freak sorry), dryhumping, oral (m receiving), fingering, debauchery in a house of God.

She should’ve known from the start, when the crackle of her radio sounded, interjecting her music with his voice; that this request was nothing but trouble. But rage had blinded her, wrath seeped into every pore in her body, selfishness.

It was never the Deputy’s plan to become the symbol for the resistance, even after the blades of the helicopter stopped, and smoke and fire billowed out from the engine. Even after Dutch saved her and enlisted her help, and despite the stories from countless other resistance members, she only really had one prerogative; save her friends. 

Hudson, Pratt, Whitehorse. Trapped in the claws of the cult, it was her duty to get them back, and despite the help she had been giving to the resistance, those were the only three people she cared about.

He knew this, stalking her like a cat preparing to pounce, he watched every facet of her life from the moment she ventured into Holland Valley that he could. A selfish little thing, ripe for his obsession.

John Seed was a proud man, bold and brave as he had so eloquently begged Jacob to put in his song. His pedestal as a Herald inflated his ego, the knowledge that without him Eden’s Gate wouldn’t have prospered nearly as much fueled his narcissism, which is why he surrounded himself with only the peggies who would do anything for him.

He isn’t sure whether new members are supposed to pledge their lives to him and the cult, but it sounds so sweet when the floor pools with the blood of their atonement and he coaxes those little words from his new followers' lips. His tongue is coated in silver, he loves this new power, and she threatens to take that from him.

He knew she wouldn’t be as proactive if he crooned to her that he had a resistance member or two, and she would swing in guns blazing if he claimed to have Hudson right beside him. So, instead he played on her curiosity, that little nudge in the back of her mind that forced her to seek him out whenever he called. Like a moth to a flame.

“Fuck you, Seed!” Voice so filled with venom it might’ve burned a hole in the floor, he tilted his head at her profanity, a sadistic grin playing on his face.

Hope County was filled with little white churches, chapels with steeples that attempted to reach to the heavens above. She assumed they were much more lively before, now most were barren except on Sundays, when the peggies who could not fit onto Joseph’s compound would listen to him under random roofs of God.

This. He chose to be under the white ceiling specifically, to call her into the thing she had been fighting against. To hear her screams echo against the chipped painting that decorated the walls, for her blood to be stained on the old wooden floorboards.

Curiosity killed the cat. She was stupid enough to venture into his trap, falling to the ground when hit hard enough over the head, and now she was stupid enough to attempt to fight off the peggies that held either arm.

“Such profanity. You’re in a house of God, Deputy, mind your tongue.” He scolded her as if she was a misbehaving child, as if everything she had ever done could be chalked up to that. A spoiled rotten brat.

His fingers danced over the tools he had brought with him, his trusty tattoo gun being at the top, but an assortment of knives he also deemed fit for this occasion. Oh, the blood she would spill for him, he became giddy at the thought.

“Get off of me-! Woah woah woah- hey stop!” Yelping, she still attempted to fight off the peggies that held her arms, she shied away when he advanced toward her, tattoo gun in his hands. He had tried this before, she knew what he was doing.

“No one here to help you now, Wrath. Don’t try and fight, your atonement will hurt much less if you cooperate.” He was too calm for this situation, a practiced art he had been through hundreds of times. It was a skill, making people spill their most intimate secrets, a skill he had perfected.

The Deputy was a fighter, through and through, though John could understand Jacobs words. She was weak without her companions, without pastor Jerome stealing her from her atonement, or Nick Rye strafing his armed convoy, she was nothing now - and it was almost endearing to him.

With her hands bound, she resorted to spitting that same venom that she held in her words, marking his perfect face with her saliva. He grimaced, wiping it off his cheek before it trailed down to his beard, pretty blue eyes flashing with that same bloodlust that dictated his every waking moment.

It was shocking to even the peggies that held her when he grabbed her by her throat, pinning her to the ground and straddling her hips. His hands shook with anger - the same wrath that he deemed consumed her now making an appearance in himself. Two sides of the same coin, two heads of a snake.

Her head ached now, body feeling as though it was echoing. A second blow to the back of her head that surely would’ve knocked her out if the pain of his tattoo gun wasn’t keeping her grounded. She didn’t know how fast he had ripped her shirt, or how long it would take for him to carve her skin, but she was reduced to pained whines and pleas for him to stop.

And he relished in the noises she made. The blood that covered his hands and trickled down her chest wasn’t an unusual sight for the herald - but her being the one under him made it all the more exciting. His Deputy, his wrath, his perfect rival. The peggies that stood above him now didn’t matter, and what are they to him anyways? Expendable followers he could use, the Deputy was everything.

“Yes yes, c’mon, keep pleading…” How could he help it? Her eyes half lidded as she looked up at him, hands no longer bound by the peggies now loosely grabbing the wrist that held the tattoo gun in an attempt to stop him. She looked so pathetic under him, so why shouldn’t he grind himself against her when his pants were so uncomfortably tight?

Her words didn’t quite reach his ears, not as he waved his followers out - who hurriedly scrambled in embarrassment. The old church was silent, save for her soft sobs and his intense breathing. His hand still placed over her neck made her choke on her words, which only fueled his desire. He could crush her windpipe, her life rested in his hands, and maybe he would’ve if the nagging reminder that she was the only way he was getting into New Eden wasn’t playing in the back of his head.

His ticket, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun with her.

He removed his hand from her neck as he finished carving into her pretty skin. WRATH, her own personal scarlet letters. He hummed, looking down at her with lustful eyes, fluttering between hers and the blood that pooled on her chest and trickled down her body to the wooden floor below.

She hated the feeling that bubbled in her chest as the pain subsided, now only a dull ache danced with the look he gave her, how he rubbed the tent made in his pants against her. No doubt, a mark had been left on her neck - his handprint, a reminder. The world felt silent at this moment, when she should've pushed him off.

Selfishness. Prioritizing that small ache he gave her over what she should be doing. Finding anything to act as a weapon against him.

But she didn’t, not as his head lowered and she was greeted with his perfectly slicked back hair, shaking hands reaching to play with a strand. A soft grumble came from his throat, tongue lapping at the blood that trickled down the valley of her chest, tasting what he had drawn out of her.

“What are you doing-?” Her voice was soft, he barely heard it over the ringing in his ears. Too long had he been subjected to resorting to his hand when he thought about her, or messing up his silk pillowcases with his pretty ropes when she teased him over the radio. He had her under him, he wasn’t going to let her go now.

“Shh.” His voice was more scolding then he meant it to be, his tongue traveling from the blood he lapped at down to her budding nipple. He wasn’t gentle, and why should he be? After everything she had messed up for him, he felt it justified to bite down on her pretty flesh, pulling at the bud as much as he wanted.

He relished in the pretty, pained moans that fell from her lips, how her back arched into it. Two sides of the same coin, both reveling in whatever pain was brought to them.

The Deputy’s head tilted back, allowing him a chance to latch onto her neck as a vampire would, smearing the blood on his lips all over her pretty skin. He bit, marking her with his teeth over the forming bruises from his handprint. His hands, decorated in the crimson from his hold on the tattoo gun traveled down her body, painting her in her own red.

He slipped his hand below the rough fabric of her jeans, being met with a contrast, soft and delicate and slightly damp. A soft grumble left his lips at the feeling; which were still pressed against her pretty neck. He felt the way her breath hitched as he ran digits over her most delicate areas. Being so close to her neck, he felt how her muscles tightened and how her breath hitched in her throat.

Lifting her hips to meet his tattooed fingers, a small admission of need. She bit her bottom lip to suppress the noises that tempted to fall from her lips - not wanting to give him the satisfaction. They were still enemies, still rivals, at least to her. 

John on the other hand seemed to be on cloud nine, relishing in how she moved against his hand, grinding herself through the fabric of her underwear. He bit down once more, slipping her out of her jeans and grabbing her hips, sitting up and pressing his pelvis against hers.

“John- John cmon…” Head thrown back, panting as she grabbed at the blue silk of his top. He tilted his head down at her, a sadistic smirk playing on his features.

He always took what he wanted, no matter who it was, and the Deputy was no exception to this. To him, it was God's Grace that placed them both here, that gave him the opportunity to rut his hips against hers.

The bulge in his covered jeans met her underwear, fucking himself against her covered cunt. He leaned down overtop of her, panting against her ear. Hot breath on her neck, the sounds of his soft moans mixing with his heavy breaths, and of course his restricted cock grazing just over her clit every couple of thrusts, it was enough to make any girl's eyes roll back.

He stopped, only for a moment, but long enough for her to let out a needy whine, lifting her head to see what he was doing. Tattooed fingers worked the EG belt off, letting his pants pool at his ankles. He wasted no time once they were off, underwear meeting underwear as the outline of his dick was much more pronounced.

“Fuck fuck, put your head back. Fucking-… good girl.” He groaned out, one hand leaving her hips and grabbing at her pretty hair, pulling her head back against the cold wooden floor of the church. She ached, head pounding and echoing from the injuries earlier - but the feeling of him fucking himself against her needy cunt kept her grounded.

In this moment, she needed him, needed this feeling to not pass out.

He tilted his own head back, sweat casting a slick sheen over his skin. A hand dipped against the drying blood on her chest, gathering what he could over his fingertips before bringing them to his lips, sucking on the bloodied digits. He groaned around his fingers, muffling the moans that threatened to fall.

The head of his cock strained against the blue fabric of his boxers, hips thrusting sloppily against her as his hand tightened on her hips, leaving pretty marks in his wake. One thrust, another thrust, and finally another before white pooled at the head, spurting out of the tiny holes in his underwear.

Panting, he finally moved his fingers out of his mouth, cleaned off the blood and tilted his head down at her almost mockingly; he got to finish, the cum that leaked from his underwear dripping down onto hers, and she didn’t get to. He relished in that, that power he had over her.

“H-hey! Not fair!”

“Oh, Deputy. Come here, maybe I’ll let you get off.”

He grinned as he stood up, fixing himself before moving back onto one of the pews, watching her scramble over to him. He had her eating out of the palm of his hand as she kneeled in front of him. Her head pounded harder, eyes a little woozy.

“Poor baby, rest your head, sweetheart.” He teased, a sadistic grin on his face as she nodded and rested against his thigh, looking up at him with those pretty eyes of hers. He couldn’t help himself, not if she looked so pretty right there in his grasp. 

He tangled his fingers in her hair, watching her confused expression as he moved the blue fabric off of his legs, dick springing up as it was freed from the confinement of his underwear. Guiding her head over it, watching her part her pretty lips to suck on his leaking tip.

Milking his cock, swallowing the spurts of salty seed that spilled onto her tongue. She drained him for all he’s worth, looking up at him as he ran his fingers through her hair. He was soft and gentle in this moment, noises falling from his lips that told her how good she was doing. She shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be sucking off John Seed of all people.

He grinned as he watched her, once he was satisfied with the way she suckled on him, he grabbed her chin and pulled her off of him. Guiding her up to her feet, he let her loom over him. She wasn’t intimidating like this, he didn’t know if it was because he had just fucked her over their clothes or because she was relying on him for an orgasm, but she seemed almost adorable.

His lips found her neck once more as she leaned against him, nuzzling her head into his shoulder. He forced her to stand, to spread her legs to allow his fingers to feel the now wet fabric of her panties. He hummed in satisfaction, moving them aside and tracing a finger over her slick folds.

A soft gasp left her lips, grabbing onto his shoulder and attempting to move back to look him in the eye. He grumbled, forcing her in that same position as he bit down on her neck, pushing a finger inside of her at the same time. He loved the moans that fell from her lips as he pumped a digit deeper inside of her.

Another finger stretched her out, deep enough to hit those nerves that made her legs tremble. She whined, shaking against him and propping herself up as he continued to pump in and out of her. He pulled away from her neck for only a moment, watching the way she buried her face against him and laughing softly.

He added one more finger before her legs fully began to tremble, grabbing onto his shoulder. Pumping more, fully reaching those nerves, which caused her to spasm around him, her orgasm flooding around his fingers. She rocked against him once or twice, chasing her high.

“Look at you, Deputy, needing me. Did I make you feel good? Use your words.”

[crystalbeastsquidney]

Wish I was more eloquent to make this post, but It continues to infuriate me how mortal kombat as a franchise has completely fumbled the bag on recognizing Bi-Han as the immense, gut wrenching point of tragedy that he should be. 

By all accounts, he’s someone who's been denied any real semblance of meaningful choice throughout his entire life. He’s someone that was kidnapped as a child by what is ostensibly a cult, and made to do their bidding lest he be killed or worse. Then he’s murdered only to be denied freedom in death.

I think it’s in the original game’s endings where he mentions intending to leave, but then that brings to mind the question of why hasn't he done so sooner? He’s certainly capable enough to do so, even with the threat of being hunted down by the Lin Kuei for abandoning them. Did he stay for Kuai Liang? Could he even stomach the mere idea of leaving him behind? Was he afraid to risk his safety in either case; that he would die too if they left together, or that he’d be used as a bargaining chip to claw Bi-Han back if he went alone.

Do you think it ate at him knowing he was the only thing standing between Kuai Liang and the full brunt of the Lin Kuei’s manipulation and coercion? That for the longest time he was one of the only sources of genuine love and kindness in his life? 

Do you think the Grandmaster held that over his head? 

Maybe that’s why it was him chosen to retrieve the map of elements and later Shinnok’s amulet, he was the best they had because he couldn’t afford to not be.

And even then, when he did get a chance, and chose to do the right thing by stopping Shinnok and Quan Chi, he’s punished for it. A man already denied so much of his autonomy has it stripped further away until he’s nothing more than a mindless pawn. Further still, I have to wonder, was his line to Kuai Liang in mk9; that they share blood, but are not brothers, another layer of Quan Chi’s twisting of his mind to his own means—to drive a wedge between him the brother he held on for, the one person he knew truly cared—to twist the knife further for daring to delay his and Shinnok’s plans? Noob Saibot’s too cartoonish, often too over the top, practically intoxicated in how evil he is (or at least that's how his writing comes off) to be a genuine expression of Bi-Han. I wonder if some semblance of him remains trapped and vaguely conscious under that dark veneer, forced to watch himself lose what little he had left.

And even if he had survived, then what? He likely would’ve been cyberized as well, probably even killed like nearly everyone else in mk9, and turned into one of Quan Chi’s undead lackeys anyhow. It’s as if fate (doylist: I know it’s the writers…) won’t let him simply be… him.

I’d bet that when Kuai Liang remade the Lin Kuei after destroying the cyber initiative, he wanted it to be something that—if he could be so fortunate as to have his brother back—was kind enough for Bi-Han to truly call home.

[pavlovianfuckery]

the mental reset button is in the ass, right?

MASTERLIST

A while back I made a post saying that a good hard cry and a thorough fuck while being told he's the most special, cleverest, prettiest boy, yes he is, would, if not fix him, at least do him some good, and someone was stupid enough to actually agree with me, so here we are. Didn't quite get all the way there but it is what it is. Clearly I should never be encouraged because this is saccharine as fuck, and got longer than I had planned, sorry about that. Especially fond of how you can tell at exactly what point the wheels fell off the wagon with this one

linky for those more ao3-ly inclined: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59115091

7.6k of pegging, banter and general buttstuff under the cut

Can I come over?

You frown at the screen. The text is, for lack of a better word, strange. Maybe not in itself, but he always prefers you coming to him, both for what you presume are egotistical reasons and because he's made his thoughts on your shitty little apartment pretty clear. Since you'd perhaps foolishly offered him a key, it's not like he really has to ask, and even if he didn't have it he'd no doubt manage to get in anyway if he wanted to. Yet there it is, and you're not quite sure how to respond. It's pretty early yet, only afternoon, but you suppose it'd give you something to look forward to.

Tonight?

His reply is nearly instant.

Right now.

That's new. You end up typing and erasing a few different things before settling on a simple:

Sure

Perhaps not the most eloquent, but it's not like you're going to tell him 'no', not when he's got your curiosity piqued.

⁂

Something is…off. You can't quite put your finger on what's going on just yet, but it's there. He's not in a bad mood, not precisely, but there's something. For starters, you suspect that he's a bit tipsy. A few months ago you probably wouldn't have noticed it but by now you know him well enough to be able to tell, and he's definitely had a drink or two. And then there's the fidgeting. Of course he's acting as flirtatious as usual but it's almost a bit over the top today, and he's clearly banking on you not commenting on it, but you notice that, too. For a while you play along, but eventually you can't do it anymore.

"Alright, spill."

He frowns at you from the corner of the couch, distractedly spinning one of his bracelets around on his wrist.

"What exactly am I supposed to," he takes a break from fiddling to do little air quotes, "'spill'?"

"Don't get cute with me, it's not going to work." You give him an annoyed look, because this is already getting old. "There's clearly something going on with you today, I can tell."

"You really think I'm cute?" When that little quip doesn't work, he has the gall to roll his eyes at you. "Nothing's going on."

"Are you high or something?"

"Not on drugs, doll, so you can relax." he wraps his arms around himself and shakes his head, not quite meeting your eyes. "Got to say, love how that's where your mind goes."

"So what, then?" As he opens his mouth to respond, you cut him off. "And don't say 'nothing' again, I'm not dumb."

"Even if it's got nothing to do with you?" Why is he so defensive?

"And if it does?" You shoot back, starting to get a bit ticked off. Why does this feel as if it's turning into a fight? Shit. "Look, if it's something you don't want to tell me, I'm not going to fucking argue with you. Just..." you sigh, hesitating as you bite your lip, "you're kind of freaking me out a little right now."

"Aw, don't tell me you're worried about little old me?" He's so quick with it, always deflecting, hiding behind that smart mouth of his. You can't deny that it stings a bit that he evidently still thinks that he has to do that with you. Even though he obviously doesn't return your feelings, you wish he'd at least know that he doesn't need to. He shrugs, tapping his fingers against his side. "Fine. Let's just say that my dinner doesn't quite agree with me."

"You're not going to puke, are you?" You wrinkle your nose at him. It's silly and definitely childish, but the incredulous expression on his face is worth it.

"What kind of question-" For a moment you worry that maybe you've pissed him off, but then some of the tension drains from his shoulders and he shakes his head, barest hint of a smile on his lips. "No, nothing like that." He shrugs and rather than volunteering anything else he flicks his eyes away. When the penny drops, you can't help but feel a little stupid. Right. That kind of 'doesn't agree with'.

"So..." Shimmying across the couch with a grin you lean in and close some of the distance, but not quite invading his personal space yet. "Is it something terribly embarrassing?"

"...No. Just drop it, will you?" And that doesn't sound anywhere near as convincing as he was probably going for.

"You're no fun." With a small pout you run your toes up the back of his calf, making him uncross his legs. "Can't you be a good boy for once and just tell me?"

"What makes you think it's any of your damn business?" There's no real heat there though, so he's definitely more embarrassed than pissed off.

"Well, you're here, aren't you? Kind of makes it look as if you want it to be." When he doesn't deny it, you move a fraction closer. "I'm not going to kiss and tell." You watch as he blinks slowly, once, then twice. So he's at least considering it. Besides, he hasn't got up and left, so it can't be that bad. Keeping your touch gentle, you slide a hand up over his shoulder. Instead of pushing you away he leans into it as you ruffle the soft curls at the back of his neck, letting his eyes slide shut for a few seconds.

"You're adorable when you're all shy."

"Not shy, doll." But his eyes remain stubbornly closed, so you're not sure who he's trying to convince, here.

"Oh, so you just really felt like playing twenty questions today, then?" Maybe you shouldn't tease him like this, but it's hardly your fault that he's making it so easy. "Or is this your idea of foreplay?"

"You're not letting this go, are you?" His voice is a bit gruff and he's still not looking at you, but with the way he's slowly relaxing under your hand, it doesn't feel as if he really wants you to.

"Tell me to stop, then." And then you wait. And wait. The moment stretches on for what feels like forever before he sighs, tenses up.

"I keep thinking about..." He trails off, then takes a few deep breaths, fidgeting again. And then, quietly, in a quick little rush of air; "I want you to fuck me."

"That's it?" Despite the words making want pool like hot lead in the pit of your stomach, you can't keep from letting out a little giggle. "I'm almost disappointed." He frowns, shrugging you off as he pulls away.

"Hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Guess I was expecting something a bit more off the wall than, well…that." That doesn't really seem to help. "Just saying, since getting it out of you was a bit like pulling teeth, I was half expecting it to be, I don't know, you wanting to dress up like a cow and have me play milkmaid, or something." That gets a choked noise from him that's very nearly a laugh. He shakes his head in response, but now he's finally smiling, albeit reluctant. "Oh I'm sorry, were you getting me mixed up with someone else?" At his puzzled look, you gesture vaguely to yourself. "Pervert, remember? Pretty sure you've said so, yourself. Besides," you shrug, "I'm just glad it's something I actually want to do, because if it had been the cow thing I'm not sure if I could've hacked it, honestly."

"Noted." His tone is dry but he seems a bit less on edge, so you consider that little segue to have served its purpose successfully. "So you want to?"

"Mm. Just one thing, though. I get that you're on a bit of a brain right now, but if that's all this is, just leave me out of it, okay?" You very nearly cross your fingers. Now that it's been put on the table, having it get taken right off again would be no fun at all.

"Why?"

"Not sure if this is news to you, but I actually give a shit about you. Against my better judgment, I might add." You pinch the bridge of your nose with a sigh. Why are you even having to explain this? You know that he's not stupid, so what part isn't clicking, here? "If you're going to feel like crap once it wears off, I don't want to be the reason for that. So just..." You trail off, not sure how to put this in a way that doesn't sound like you're telling him 'no'. "Just tell me that you actually want it, that it's not just someone else living in your head right now."

And that's the rub, isn't it? Because as much as he takes and takes, him asking for something, leaving himself vulnerable like this, is not something he does. It just isn't. As the silence stretches out, you expect him to get up and leave. When he eventually moves, your heart lurches in your chest. But he's not turning away but moving closer, his face all wry amusement.

"While I appreciate the sentiment, this is me." He does a crooked little nod, hitching one shoulder. "Sure, it's not all me, but if it was none, I'd still be back at my place. Probably be white-knuckling it and drinking while I wait for it to wear off. So if it's all the same to you..." Now he's the one leaning closer, until his breath ghosts your cheek, "I'd rather you take care of me, hm?" And it's obvious he's trying to act casual about it, but you can see the way his brows knit together, and despite the airy way he says it, it still lands like a punch to the gut. Even if he doesn't mean it that way, it's still an admission of trust, small as it may be. It sets a heady mix of desire, pride and something dangerously close to love cascading through you and just like that, your hands are shaking. It's almost funny how fast it gets to you, how intensely, because it's not as if you haven't done it before.

"Fuck, you just scrambled my brain a little, I think," you breathe, suddenly not sure where to look. "I feel like I'm going to have to apologize in advance, here."

"Why? Change your mind already?"

"No, but," you let out a shaky little laugh, holding a hand up so he can see. "I might end up touching you like a diabetic middle schooler handling a candy bar."

"Not exactly inspiring confidence there, doll." He's teasing again, and in a weird way it actually helps, comforting in its familiarity. "You sure you're up for it?"

"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing." You plant a quick peck at the corner of his mouth. "I'll take care of you, if you'll let me."

"That a promise?" Even though he's trying to sound flippant, it's a bit more brittle than usual.

"You nervous?" If he is, it doesn't show in the way he kisses you, slow and sure. Still, maybe you should pump the breaks for a second. "Hold on, just, wait." With a sigh, he lets you push him gently away. "Where are you even, um...at, with this stuff? Really don't want to end up hurting you by accident."

"Not sure if I should be flattered or insulted, here." Shaking his head, he lets out a quick little huff. "You're not going to hurt me. Let's just call it dealer's choice, and if I change my mind, I'll tell you."

"That's fine." It's probably as much as you're going to get, but at least you can work with that. "Can I put my mouth on you?"

"You want to-" He splutters, then clears his throat. If he could blush, it looks like that's exactly what he'd be doing right about now. "Why?"

"Because I want to." Because you're beautiful. Because I want to see what noises you'll make. If he thought that you were going to try and get this over with as quickly as possible, he's got another thing coming. Since you're not sure if this will ever happen again, you plan to make a meal out of it, so to speak. "Besides, it's as good a start as any. It'll be good, I promise."

"You're so fucking…" Trailing off, he shifts in his seat, then lets out a shaky sigh. "If you really want to."

"Yeah, I do." Reaching for his hand you give it a squeeze, then press a kiss to the back of it, though you can't help but tease him just a little bit more. "Now, I know how you feel about my shower, but can you please be a good boy and get yourself nice and clean for me?"

"Alright, but only because you're asking so nicely," he grumbles, and while he looks incredibly put upon the whole way, he does go.

As the shower hisses to life, you busy yourself with getting things ready. The harness and the lube turns out to be the easy part, picking a dildo not so much. For a second you think about making him pick just to see what he'd do, but decide against it. In the end you settle for something brightly colored with a good curve and a nicely shaped head, a bit on the bigger side but with enough give that it shouldn't be too much. There's just enough time to lay everything out on the bedside table before the shower turns off.

The first thing that strikes you is how soft he looks like this, hair damp and one of your towels wrapped around his waist. The second is that he smells like your soap, and something about that makes some primal part of your brain almost purr. It's entirely nonsensical but you still can't push the thought down; yours, he's yours.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"For you, maybe," While he's clearly going for nonchalant, the set of his shoulders tell a different story. Despite trying to pretend otherwise, he's nervous, even if it's just a little bit.

"I better try to make it worth it, then. Come here." As you pat the covers next to you, he hesitates, but only for a split second. There's still a few stray droplets of water dotting his skin, making you ache to kiss each and every one away as he reclines next to you. The leisurely way he stretches out on his side is clearly aiming for casual, but not quite getting there. "Do you still want me to?"

"You don't need to keep asking." He frowns as you reach down to card your fingers through his already messy hair. "Are you going to get on with it or do I need to get a signed permission slip first?"

"Depends. Do you have one?" You grin, because this, you know. This is familiar and easy. "It'll have to be notarized and in trip-"

You hadn't been expecting him to let you finish, but you're still caught off guard by how impatient he is. Now that things are getting more real he seems more concerned with getting it over with than actually enjoying it, and the kiss is deep, almost urgent. Putting a hand on his shoulder, you push to give yourself some space and while he frowns at you, he doesn't fight it.

"You always take such good care of me, so just relax and let me take care of you for once," you press a quick, soft kiss to his lips, "there's no rush." This time around it's better as he simply lets himself be kissed but he still pulls at you, dragging you down. There's nothing nervous about his hands sliding up the back of your shirt though, or the way his hips lift as you pull the towel away, leaving him bare. Gliding a hand over the exposed skin, it never ceases to amaze you how someone so sharp can be so soft to touch. Even though he doesn't mark easily it's not that hard to imagine what that would look like as you drag your nails over the swell of his ass.

"Now who's rushing?" He murmurs as you grab at him, blunt fingernails digging in as you gently squeeze.

"I'm not," you sigh, giving him another squeeze just because you can, "I'm just…enjoying."

"Yeah?" Sliding a hand over your stomach he rucks the shirt up until he's cupping your breast, rubbing the pad of his thumb in teasing little circles around your nipple and making you shiver. The hint is obvious enough and as you pull the top off, he watches hungrily. When your hands go to the fly of your jeans next, he lets out a little relieved huff. "Was almost starting to feel a bit self-conscious, here."

"Sure you were." You can only barely keep from rolling your eyes at him. There are plenty of words that come to mind when you think of him, but self-consciousness is not one of them. When your jeans are finally kicked off and discarded over the side of the bed, they're quickly followed by your underwear.

"That's better," he hooks his leg over yours and pulls you close, grinding his half-hard cock against your thigh. Despite the crudeness of the gesture it still feels intimate, and it makes you wish that you could truly have him, that he'd be yours, for real and not just for the moment. Instead, you'll simply have to take what you can get. Pushing him onto his back is nearly effortless, he goes with it so easily. Sucking a lazy trail of kisses down the side of his throat has his eyes fluttering shut as he cranes his neck to give you better access.

"You're so beautiful…" You sigh, mouthing at the line of his clavicle, tracing the delicate bone with your teeth and dipping your tongue into the hollows before sucking the beginnings of a bruise into the sensitive skin at the join between his shoulder and neck. "It almost isn't fair."

"Careful, there," his voice is a soft rumble under your lips as you kiss your way down his chest, "keep talking like that and I might start to grow an ego."

"Mm, can't have that, can we?" You wish that you could see his face right now, because the noise he makes as you drag your tongue over one of his nipples is damn pretty, too. Enjoying the way his breath hitches, you can't help doing it a few more times before moving on.

While you do have an end point in mind, it's hard not to get sidetracked as you kiss your way down his body, briefly dipping your tongue into his navel as you go. Usually he's the one between your legs and not the other way around, but you don't mind the reversal. Not when he spreads them so readily, the soft hairs there tickling your lips as you kiss the insides of his thighs. For a second you're sorely tempted to bite him, to litter the creamy skin with bruises, but instead you nuzzle him gently, trailing kisses up to the crease of his thigh. Licking a fat stripe all the way up to his hip is messy and entirely self-indulgent, but you do it anyway. As you suck a bruise into the line of his hipbone he bucks underneath you, stiffening cock brushing your cheek. Even though you hadn't been planning to, you kiss him there too, running your tongue up the seam between his balls and up his shaft before wrapping your lips around the swollen tip.

"Fuck, doll," he rasps, chest hitching as he settles a hand over the back of your neck. The grip is gentle though, which is good since he'd just reminded you what you were actually supposed to be doing. Still, you give him a few slow sucks before pulling away, drawing a frustrated little sound from him. You press one last kiss to the tip of his cock before tapping his hip.

"This'll be easier if you turn over." He's quicker about it than you'd thought he'd be, rolling over onto his stomach without protest. The smooth lines of his back almost make your mouth water and for a moment all you want to do is kiss him again, every single inch, from the curve of his shoulder and down the dip of his spine. Instead, you grab his hips, gently directing him. "Up a little bit, sweetheart." For a moment you think that he might comment on your choice of words but in the end he doesn't, only hesitating for a second before getting on his hands and knees. Inwardly, you heave a sigh of relief. "For a minute I was worried you were going to make me say 'please'." Gliding a hand over his ass, you hum. "You're very pretty like this too, you know. How's that ego coming along?" That gets you a small huff and an eye roll in return.

"You don't have to," he licks his lips, then looks away. "It's not like I'll break if you don't, you could just-"

"I know." You press a quick kiss to one of his cheeks, giving the other one a squeeze. "Really want to, though. Think you can let me, just a little?" He's so tense that he's almost vibrating under your hands, but he lets you spread him open, shivering as your breath wafts over him. When you lap at him the sound he makes has you wishing all over again that you could see his face right now, but you only continue for a few moments more before pulling away, running a hand down his side. "Want me to keep going?"

"Yeah, that's…" he trails off, sighing as you lick at him again. Running the tip of your tongue around his rim has him letting out a low moan. For once there's no wisecracks, none of his little power plays, just the rustle of the sheets and him slowly relaxing into the intimate touch with hushed little noises you're pretty sure he doesn't mean to make. When you probe at his entrance with the tip of your tongue he swears quietly under his breath, back starting to arch as he leans into it with something that's almost a whine, and as you push in as far as you can, that 'almost' turns gossamer thin. The feeling of being the one that picks him apart for once is something that you can definitely see yourself becoming addicted to. Every little sound from his pretty mouth goes straight to your core, the heady feel of being the one doing that to him making you slick with want. By the time you press one last sloppy kiss to his asshole your jaw is getting sore, but seeing the mess you've made of him makes it worth it. He's trembling, cock dribbling pre-come, back tense and altogether too lovely.

"You…" he pants, almost sounding disappointed, "you're stopping?"

"Oh, so you liked that?" You mouth at his cheek before biting down on the soft flesh, just a little. "It was kind of hard to tell."

"Fuck you." The words are a bit too slow and shaky to be entirely convincing.

"Is that your way of saying you changed your mind?" You run a finger over his saliva-slick entrance, gently pressing against it. Rather than responding right away he presses back against you, but when that doesn't work to speed things along he hangs his head, his frustration palpable as he heaves a sigh.

"…No."

"Just checking." As you keep rubbing at him in soft little circles he shivers, and that's about as much of this as you can take. "Not to complain about the view, but can we move?" Planting a quick kiss at the small of his back, you gently press your fingertip against him, just teasing.

"You know the kid-glove treatment really isn't necessary, right?" Despite the huffy way he says it, he's not pulling away.

"I know." And you do know, but that doesn't mean you feel like skipping ahead either, not when he seems to be enjoying it, no matter how much he tries to pretend otherwise. "I just want to make sure you feel good, you deserve to. Besides, I'm enjoying the hell out of this." Bending back down you drop a kiss to his ass-cheek, sucking a bruise into the unmarked skin before poking the back of his thigh. "Now move, I want to play with you some more."

"Someone's bossy tonight." But he does move, stretching out on his back and giving you a salacious look as he spreads his legs. "This better?"

"A little. Still room for improvement, though." With that, you grab the discarded pillows at the end of the bed before tapping his side. "Up."

"See what I mean? Bossy." He lets you slide the pillows under his hips though, and while not perfect, it's an improvement as far as angles go. At least this way, you'll be able to see what you're doing. Ignoring his little quip, you kneel between his legs and lean forward, caging him in with your arms. It's not a position you're that used to being in, not this way around, but it's one you could definitely get used to.

"You good like this?"

"Will it make you get on with it faster if I say yes?" He shoots back with a lopsided grin, hooking his legs around your waist and grinding up against you.

"Pretty sure it wouldn't kill you to stow the attitude," you sigh, bending down to nuzzle the side of his neck, humming as you plant a few small kisses there. "Can you do that for me and maybe save the mouthing off for some other time?"

"And here I thought you liked my mou-" Before he can finish you bite down, hard enough to leave a bruise and make him let out a small laugh, legs dropping back down. "Alright, point fucking taken," he groans, the vibrations of his voice humming against your teeth. "I'll behave."

"Good." Dragging your tongue over the reddening skin, you give the spot one last hard suck before letting go and reaching for the bottle of lube on the bedside table. You half expect him to start right up again, but he doesn't. Instead he simply watches as you slick your fingers up, eyes heavy-lidded and hands twitching restlessly at his side. As you circle his entrance he shivers again, legs spreading a bit wider apart.

"This okay?" You flick your eyes to his face as you sink a finger into him, watching the way his throat moves as he swallows, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

"Not made of glass, doll," he murmurs as you gently thrust a few times, "don't have to be so damn careful." Rather than argue you add another finger, making him let out a small gasp. Despite his earlier protests, being thorough seems to have paid off because he's relaxed and pliant, taking the added digit easily. Pressing a third finger against him, you hesitate.

"A bit more?"

"Yeah," he quickly nods, brows knitting as he angles his hips up, "yeah, you can, it's fine…" Maybe it'd be better to slow down a bit, but then he's pushing against you, still so impatient. Stroking down his thigh with your free hand, you gently grab his hip as you slowly sink another finger into him, making him let out a quiet groan. There's a bit more resistance this time, but he doesn't tell you to stop. When you're finally pressed all the way inside you simply hold still, feeling the echo of his heartbeat around your fingers, faint and impossibly slow.

"God, I love touching you like this," you moan as you twist your fingers, dragging a choked little noise from him as you savor the way he feels wrapped around them, "you're so soft." Just watching the way they disappear into him has you aching, making your thighs go slick. Flexing a few times, you hook your fingers upwards slightly, his breath first stuttering and then becoming a drawn out moan when you find what you're looking for.

"Fuck," he groans, hands loosely gripping the sheets as his eyelids flutter shut, "do that again…" So you do, pressing upwards and sliding the pads of your fingers in massaging little circles, enjoying the way it makes his brows furrow and jaw go a bit slack.

"You're being so good for me right now." Giving his hip a little squeeze you rub your thumb over the line of his hip bone, "you're so lovely." And he is, the slow movement of your fingers making his cock twitch and leak, dragging breathy little sounds from his mouth with what feels like barely any effort at all. You wonder if this is what it must be like for him all the time, when he's the one making you unravel with just a touch. It's addictive and you half wish you could spend the rest of the evening just like this, with him wrapped around your fingers, letting you work him over until he's like putty in your hands, spent and messy.

"You gonna keep me waiting much longer?" It's still impatient, but it might have been a bit more convincing if he wasn't half moaning, the words coming out in uneven little fits and starts.

"Just a bit more, promise it won't be long." For a minute you consider trying to add another finger just to see if you can, but in the end you decide against it. "You really want it?" Still slowly thrusting right into the spot that keeps forcing those sweet noises out of him, you don't wait for a response before dipping your head down to lap at his half-hard cock, making him let out a low strangled sound. For a moment you're tempted to take him into your mouth properly, to bring him off like this and feel him spasm around your fingers as he fills your throat. It takes a fair bit of self control to keep from doing exactly that but you manage to pull yourself away, even though it almost hurts to do it. "Say yes, then."

"Fuck, yes." The response is a bit unsteady, but between patience starting to run low and your fingers thrusting into him, it's quick. For a moment you think about turning the tables, make him beg and say 'please' the way he likes to do to you, but in the end you dismiss the idea. It might be pressing your luck a step too far, you want to see this through properly, not piss him off.

"Alright," you drop a kiss to his belly, giving your fingers one last wiggle, "just give me a minute." As you withdraw, he lets his head fall back against the mattress with a low frustrated sound. It almost makes you feel a bit bad for making him wait for it, but only almost.

Assembling the harness and slipping it on is easy and if he has anything to say about your choice of dildo, he tactfully keeps it to himself. As you kneel between his legs again you can't keep from leaning in to give him a quick kiss but he doesn't seem to mind, responding eagerly as he pulls you down.

"You should…" He mumbles against your lips as your faux cock bumps against his real one.

"I will, just let me…" As you untangle yourself from his arms, he only reluctantly lets you go. Grabbing the lube again, you make sure to be as generous as possible as you slather the thick gel over the toy.

"There's easier ways of doing this, you know." It's more teasing than actual complaining on his part, though.

"Oh, I'm aware," you stroke his thigh, the soft hair there tickling your fingertips, "but I really want to look at your pretty face when I'm fucking you." The angle isn't quite right, so you grab the base of the dildo and push it down, dragging the tip of it over his entrance. "Just put your legs up for me and you can have it, love." For a moment you think he might not do it, but a gentle push is all it takes.

"This work?" This time, everything lines up much better. He's incredibly pretty like this, disheveled and spread out like a work of art, and for a moment the vulnerability of it almost makes you choke.

"It's perfect." Moving in closer, you grab hold of one of his raised legs and drop a kiss to the inside of one bent knee. "You're perfect." As you steady the toy with your hand and press against his opening he tenses up but it quickly passes, letting you start to push inside. It's slow, feeling like it's two steps forward and one step back, every movement making his breath hitch, but he doesn't tell you to stop. When his body finally yields and the head pops in, you almost moan right along with him. "You sound so damn good," you try to hold still, but it's not as easy as it perhaps should've been. "Not hurting you, am I?"

"No." Head falling back, he frowns, taking a few gasping breaths. "Shit, that's a lot."

"Too much?" Despite knowing how durable he is, you can't quite keep a note of worry out of your voice, "do you want me to stop?"

"Don't you fucking dare." Reaching up, he grabs for any part of you he can, which in this position isn't a whole lot. In the end, he wraps his fingers around your forearm, keeping you from pulling away. "I'll be fine, just…go slow."

"I will, just try to relax for me." You tighten the grip on his legs, steadying him as you slowly push deeper at what feels like a fraction of an inch at a time. Every sound tumbling from his mouth sends a jolt of pleasure through you until you're almost drunk off it, the thought that you're the one making him do that. That he trusts you enough to let you. Despite the almost glacial pace he's still trembling, breath coming in almost frantic little gasps, the grip on your arm verging on vicelike. "Just breathe," you give his knee a reassuring squeeze, "I've got you, you're doing so, so well, just a bit more…" Even though it ends up sounding mostly like nonsense it does seem to help, his grip loosening and legs going a bit less tense. You don't know where to look as you push the rest of the way in, eyes flicking between his face and his opening as you slide home. When you're finally pressed against him all the way inside, he swears under his breath. "You alright?"

"Yeah." Nodding a bit shakily, he lets his hands fall down to grip the sheets again, "still a hell of a lot, but it's…" You watch the way his stomach tenses and hips twitch as he tries to grind up against the toy with a sigh, brows furrowing, "it's fucking good, though…"

"Let me know when I can move." For a minute you just watch him, trying to stay still and give him time to adjust. Running your hands over his calves, you can't keep from smiling at the way his toes curl when you roll your hips slightly, just barely nudging him.

"I think…" He wets his lips, hesitating for a second before slipping a hand down to lightly stroke himself, "you can move a little, just…"

"Slow, I know." It takes a few tries to find a rhythm, only partly because you don't want to rush. Mostly it's because it's hard to look away from him touching himself, even though he's only half-hard and just lazily stroking, not even trying to get off. You're not sure if he relaxes into it so easily because of something you do or if it's the brain kicking in, but it doesn't feel anywhere near as important as the sound he makes when you start thrusting into him with longer, fuller strokes. And you know that you should probably shut up, but you're not sure how. Not when he's making the sweetest noises at every roll of your hips, all whispered filth and breathless little moans, not when he's gripping the sheets until his knuckles turn pale. Certainly not when you've got his thighs tensing under your hands as he lets you fold him almost in half. "You're so fucking beautiful like this."

He's already looking half a mess, gasping for breath that you know he doesn't really need, and as you slow down for a few seconds to give your legs a rest, he reaches for you again. Rather than fight it you let him pull you down, crashing his lips into yours with a desperate sound that goes straight to your aching, neglected core. He's holding on so tightly that it's difficult to move, his cock hard and leaking, rubbing against your belly as you rock into him. Something about the way he clings to you makes your heart swell until it feels as if it might crack your ribs and you know that it's stupid, but maybe it's alright, maybe you can say it just this once. It'll just be part of whatever this is and it'll be fine and-

"I love you." It's quiet, almost getting lost in the sound of your bodies sliding against each other, but you know he's heard it because for a second he tenses up, looking almost pained.

"You really fucking shouldn't." He's so quick with it even though his voice breaks and with the way his face contorts and eyes flutter shut, you know you've probably messed up, possibly badly. It's not enough to make you stop though because he's still holding onto you in any way that he can, not pushing you away.

"I know," you try to keep your voice steady, though it's not entirely successful, "I know, but let me anyway." Panting, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, hands fumbling at you as he bites down, making you flinch at the dull press of his teeth. It's more from surprise than pain but you can tell that it's going to bruise as he sucks at you, seemingly determined to leave a mark. As his shoulders hitch you're not sure what to do except softly pet his hair as you rock against him, letting him muffle his stuttering little moans against your skin. "Won't you please look at me?" When he doesn't respond, you go still. "Do you need me to stop?" That gets a reaction, making him reluctantly let you go, and for a second you're sure that you've ruined it.

"No, don't." It's a bit ragged around the edges and he quickly hooks a leg around your back to keep you from pulling away. "Don't stop." He doesn't quite look at you as you straighten back up, though. Why couldn't you just keep your mouth shut?

"Still good, then?" Your hand moves almost on its own and before you can stop you're reaching down and stroking his cheek, thumb rubbing over his cheekbone. When he leans into it with a soft sound it feels as if your heart might crumple like tissue-paper in your chest.

"Yeah, still good." His tone is flippant as he digs his heel into the small of your back to give you a little push but even though he quickly blinks and looks away, you can see that his eyes are a bit too bright. "Would be better if you moved, though."

It's surprisingly easy to fall back into it and find the rhythm again, and even though you're still not going very fast or even that hard, it doesn't take very long to have him trembling underneath you. You can't even bring yourself to feel offended that he's laying back and letting you do all the work even as your legs are starting to burn from the effort, not when every thrust has the most delicious noises spilling from his pretty mouth, making your cunt reflexively clench around nothing. It's like a perfectly lovely form of torture, to only be able to watch and listen to him slowly fall apart without any relief of your own. A slight change of angle has him almost melting into the mattress, legs quivering and drooping until you end up supporting most of their weight yourself, but you can't find it in you to mind. It's not like they're heavy and he looks so perfect like this, awash with pleasure.

"Like that, keep going…" There's an edge of urgency to his voice as his eyes slide shut, brow furrowing in concentration. "Don't fucking stop…" And you try, you do, watching the way he twists the sheets in his hands, desperation etched into every line of his body as he tenses up, then falls back down with a frustrated noise, mouth falling open as he pants. "Felt like I was going to fucking come, fuck," his voice is reedy with it as he almost squirms.

"I want you to," you rub a hand down the back of his thigh, watching the toy as you thrust more shallowly into him, teasing his entrance and making him nearly whimper as you almost pull out. "Tell me what you need." Leaning on his chest you can feel the thrum of his heart beating, so strong and fast under your hand that he almost seems alive. "Whatever you want, let me help you."

"You…" He takes a few frantic breaths, and you're not sure if he's hesitating or just doesn't want it anymore, but then he's pushing at you again, poking his heel into your back. In any other situation it would be hilarious that you've managed to mostly shut him up for once, but right now it seems almost cute. "Just…do that again." Before you can respond he grabs your wrist, pulling your hand up.

"This what you want?" As you trace the curve of his Adam's apple he nods and then swallows, and for a second you're tempted to hold it between your teeth like some sort of wild animal. Or possibly peel it and take a bite, you're not sure. You can't wrap your fingers around his neck properly so instead you simply cradle it in your hand, gently pressing down. Bracing yourself against one of his legs you do your best to replicate what you'd been doing before, every noise he makes vibrating against your palm. This time he doesn't leave it all to you though, quickly sliding a hand down to touch himself. Despite the lightness of his touch, every stroke pulls a desperate little noise from his throat as he's trapped between the thrusting of the toy and his own hand.

"Is that good, sweetheart?" He can't really talk and barely even nod as you push down on his neck, but the noise he makes certainly sounds like it is. Ignoring the burning in your thighs you try to keep the pace steady, watching the almost pained expression on his face and the way his jaw goes slack as he chases it. You can tell that he's getting close, his breath coming in unsteady bursts, catching and faltering as the pleasure ratchets higher until he's pressed right up against the edge, leaky and throbbing. "You're so pretty like this, just let go for me, I promise it'll be so, so good…"

When he comes it's with a sound that's nothing short of obscene. It has your cunt twitching in sympathy as his release spills from him in thick spurts, making you moan right along with him. It's messy, painting his stomach and spattering up his chest, some of it hitting your forearm. You do your best to fuck him through it, not stopping until he's spent, letting go of his flagging cock and collapsing bonelessly into the rumpled sheets with a contented little whimper, shivering from the aftershocks. For a minute you just watch him come down, giving him a moment before the less fun part.

"Need you to relax for a bit," you press a kiss to one wobbly leg before easing them down, watching the uneven rise and fall of his chest. He only hums in response so you do your best to be gentle but the blissed out expression on his face barely flickers as you withdraw, quickly pulling the harness off and discarding it over the side of the bed. Turning back you can't quite keep a giggle from escaping, because with the way he's spreading out, you'd almost think that it's his bed and not yours. "Is there room for two?" As you stroke down his side he flops onto his side, letting you move the pillows away. At first you simply stretch out next to him but after a moment's hesitation you turn over, wrapping an arm around his waist. "You alright?"

"You didn't have to do that." That's not really what you asked, but you don't have the energy to argue. But then, it doesn't really sound like he does, either.

"I wanted to." You drop a quick kiss to his shoulder, tightening your grip around his waist. "Did you come good and hard for me, sweetheart?"

"What do you think?" He sounds exhausted and completely fucked out, the words going fuzzy around the edges with it, making almost you glow with pride.

"I don't know," you drag your fingers through the mess on his stomach, "I think I might do better next time."

"What makes you think there's going to be a next time?"

"Funny, that doesn't sound like a 'no' to me." You nuzzle the back of his neck, the damp curls tickling your nose as you pull his scent deep into your lungs, "Care to give that another try?"

"…No."

[wonder-worker]

"There are indications that [King William the Lion of Scotland] relied on Queen Ermengarde and allowed her to play an increasingly influential part in public affairs. A resentful Glasgow canon was to allege that in 1207 Walter, a royal chaplain, obtained the position of bishop of Glasgow after bribing not only the King’s chamberlain but the Queen herself. There are signs that her relatives also profited from their relationship with her: Richard de Beaumont, possibly a brother or nephew, acquired a sizeable estate in the Crail area. Ermengarde appears to have acted as mediator when William was negotiating with King John of England in 1209, and she certainly did so with great aplomb when her husband met John at Durham in February 1212. According to Bower, she showed herself in their discussions to be ‘an extraordinary woman, gifted with a charming and witty eloquence’. As a result of her efforts, the peace between the two countries was renewed, and it was agreed that her son Prince Alexander should be given an English wife.

That same summer, William fell ill, and there are signs that Ermengarde exercised considerable influence during his sickness. The King was nearly seventy by now, and although he recovered, his health remained poor. He was well enough to travel as far north as Elgin in the summer of 1214, but the lengthy journey brought on some sort of collapse and he was taken south again to Stirling by very easy stages. Ermengarde was probably with him when he saw his lords for the last time and urged them to accept his sixteen-year-old son Alexander as king. He died in Stirling Castle at the beginning of December 1214.

Next morning, the prelates and nobles urged the Queen to supervise the arrangements for the funeral, but she was ‘in a state of extreme mourning and worn out with grief’. Try as they might, they could not rouse her from her sorrow and so they hastily took Prince Alexander to be crowned at Scone while Ermengarde remained with her husband’s body. William was then buried in his abbey of Arbroath. Ermengarde lived for another twenty years, devoting her considerable energies to raising money to found a Cistercian abbey at Balmerino in Fife. She purchased the necessary land for a thousand merks and oversaw the construction of the building, which was made of local red stone. Monks from Melrose settled at the abbey on St Lucy’s Day, 13 December 1229 and both Ermengarde and her son Alexander frequently stayed there. When Ermengarde died on 11 February 1233, she was buried before the high altar at Balmerino. It is a pity that the records do not tell us more about this effective and influential Queen Consort."

-Rosalind K. Marshall, Scottish Queens 1034-1714

[sotwk]

SotWK OC Spotlight: Prince Turhir Thranduilion

Born in Third Age 37, the second son and child of Elvenking Thranduil and Elvenqueen Maereth. 

His name means “Victorious Master” in Sindarin. 

Towering at 7 feet, 6 inches, he is not only the tallest member of Thranduil’s family, but he is the tallest of all elves born in the Woodland Realm, in all of its history. (For reference, Thranduil is 7 feet, 3 inches, and the other Thranduilions are all less than 7 feet.)

As a child, Turhir had difficulty making friends with elflings close to his age. Since he was always much bigger and physically stronger, even from infancy, it was hard for him to play normally with them. His size and his more somber nature also made his childhood peers uncomfortable around him--and it was difficult enough to relate to a prince!

As a result, Turhir was rather lonely in childhood and spent most of his time with his mother, his older brother Mirion, and his tutors.

Otherwise, he spent his alone time reading and thus grew up into an avid reader. He especially enjoys narrative poems, and became an eloquent writer and poet himself. 

He is a skilled carpenter and builder who helps construct community buildings in his spare time.

He is a member of the very exclusive guild of Greenwood woodcutters--laborers who fell trees, which is a highly restricted and regulated practice.

Turhir is a horsemaster and was the primary trainer of the arroch breed that existed only in Greenwood (discussed in this post). He had a close relationship with the ancient ancestors of the Rohirrim who once dwelt near Greenwood.

Moodboard credit: @alicent-targaryen (Thank you again!). Fancast for Turhir: Sam Heughan

But the talent Turhir is most famous for, by far, is his battle prowess, which is discussed in this post. Thranduil noticed his son’s martial abilities very early on and persuaded the reluctant Elvenqueen to let their son begin training with Master Trainer Ivenil before he had properly come of age.

Turhir carries the official title of the King’s Champion, and would be called on to fight for the crown and kingdom if single combat is required. 

Although Turhir loves tournaments, especially jousting, his size and skill give him too large an advantage over his opponents. It has been deemed hazardous for him to participate in these types of competitions, so he is usually left only to spectate.

Occasionally, he is able to publicly demonstrate his skills by competing against his own father and brothers in special events limited within the royal family. 

His Royal Highness Turhir’s regency in north-western Greenwood (the province he governs) is seated in Thangail (“shield-fence” in Sindarin), one of the realm’s most recently established cities, built to house the largest military base in the kingdom. 

Turhir is the closest in personality with his father, but Thranduil tends to be hardest on him compared to his other sons. Turhir is thus closer to his mother and is the most protective of her. 

Turhir considers Mirion and Arvellas his closest friends in the world, and witnessing both their deaths nearly drove him to insanity. 

Although he is very noble and good-hearted, Turhir is the most prone to being corrupted by Darkness in his family, and Sauron himself grew aware and took interest in this.  

Much thanks again to @cheryl-of-kangsu for making this request!

So far, Turhir has drawn the least amount of interest among the Thranduilion Princes, which is not necessarily surprising to me, since that's how it would probably be in "real Middle-earth life". You might not like him at first glance, but once you get beneath the layers, there's a lot to admire there. He's an excellent hero for the "enemies to lovers" trope, and is a terrific Mr. Darcy archetype.

Also, I don't write and don't plan to write smut for the Thranduilions, but if there was ever a great leading man for that sort of thing among Thranduil's sons, Turhir would be my endorsed candidate. Just a creator's opinion. ;)

Elves HC Tag List: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @auttumnsayshi @blueberryrock @conversacomsmaug @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @entishramblings @fizzyxcustard @freshalmondpandadonut @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @glassgulls @heilith @heranintomyknife23times @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @lathalea @lemonivall @LiliDurin @quickslvxrr @ratsys @scyllas-revenge @stormchaser819 @talkdifferently6 @tamryniel @tamurilofrivendell

For more Thranduil/Mirkwood headcanons: SotWK HC Masterlist

Other useful links:

Introduction to SotWK

Fanfiction Masterlist

Fanfiction Request Guidelines

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @sableglass! I just got done watching that new Alien movie and I need something silly to decompress lol

Random OC Headcanon Tag

Rules: use this headcanon generator to make headcanons for your OCs! Then talk about how accurate they are.

Izjik is constantly singing for no reason.

She probably would, except for the fact that she's totally tone deaf and Sepo starts tweaking out if she's too loud and off-key.

Sepo shops exclusively at Hot Topic.

He's a little more upscale than that, but I will admit, he's a goth at heart.

Twenari sucks at saying tongue twisters.

I wouldn't say so. She's pretty eloquent.

Djek nearly drowned in a river as a child.

Sure, I'll incorporate that into his shitshow of a backstory.

Astra is very willing to eat inedible things.

Fully canon. No experiment is complete until it's been taste tested.

Mashal can drive.

Also, canon. He can drive Astra's mechanical vardo quite skillfully by the end of the series.

Ivander is tumblr famous.

Nah, he's too cool for us nerds.

Elsind chews their nails when nervous.

If they had fingernails, they probably would, but that's the trouble with being a single-celled organism.

Avymere does not know what sleep is.

I'm tempted to agree, however, Avymere is smart enough to know that they don't function well when they're sleep deprived, so they usually go for a full eight hours.

Faalgun steals other peoples clothes.

No one's clothes are gonna fit him - bro is three and a half feet tall. But also, no on the general principle.

Nyda is afraid of doing anything without their parent's permission.

Oooo, this is a touchy one for her. At one time, yes, she very much was. Now? It's a whole complicated mix of shame, indignity, and anger. Also, she hasn't talked to them in ages.

Kaulakri doesn't know how to say "no".

Nah, she got the impossible to be peer pressured brand of neurodivergence.

Pash is very good at using chopsticks.

I mean, sure. That's a common enough utensil in Illaros.

Anarac watched the sonic movie.

He took his sons to see it and actually got very invested in the plot.

I'll tag @davycoquette @ashfordlabs @poethill @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @cherrychiplip and anyone else who wants to play :)

[outeremissary]

🌟🌼💐 for Ismene!

Ismene our favorite amoral prophet Ismene <3

[prompt list]

🌟- Is this oc good at expressing themself through words or do they have to use other means?

Well. She’s “good” in that she tends to be effective at communicating what she wants. She is not good in that she chooses to do this in a way that pisses many people off and what she wants often includes “being passive aggressive” and “gaslighting people into thinking they don’t understand what they're hearing.” Why? Pettiness. Ultimately she’s not going to be wonderfully eloquent if pressed to do a large amount of public speaking because she’s rather impatient with it, and when it comes to emotional expression she’s awkward at best and actively resistant to any form of actual communication at worst.

I don’t remember if it’s been said before, but the book of prophecies that she writes before her death/public disappearance is written to often be obnoxiously cryptic and to require people to follow instructions blindly waiting for some incomprehensible symbol to make itself obvious. She leaves it with Jaheira, who hates it, and especially hates when those incomprehensible symbols do wind up manifesting. Poor Jaheira. If someone told me to watch for a “flash of clear-voiced cardinal crimson wading through shadows” to avert undefined world ending catastrophe I think I’d spend every day fighting the temptation to vandalize their grave.

🌼- What's your favorite thing about this oc?

Ooh, it’s hard to say- Ismene is one of those characters who’s out of my usual register in a lot of ways (especially with how reserved and emotionally disconnected she is), but god I have so much fondness for her. I think that a big thing is probably exploring the ways that her perspective is warped by her prophetic abilities- she’s in a place where she always seems to be drawn away from humanity very naturally, and that’s not coming from an obvious Bhaalspawn Blood(TM) place. I think it’s a lot of fun to think about the ways that evolves over time, both being changed by existing in the wider world herself and also by her powers and her importance in the world growing. She’s a very corruptible person in a way, but she can’t see how because she was raised in a way that bolstered her against the only form of corruption that seems like it matters: the direct influence of Bhaal. She has the potential to evolve into something very monstrous because of the way that she lets her unique talents feed this ego and this sense of superiority.

Dovetailing off of that, I really do just love playing around with a character who has a very nearly mundane background and the ways that it’s what grounds her in the world. She’s a horrible asshole with a nascent god complex, but she has all these deep, ordinary ties to normal people and places that tie her down as long as she’s in contact with them, and being passed off to Jaheira and Khalid guarantees she picks up more even if she’s not exactly the young woman Gorion might have hoped she would be. The ways that her sincere connections make her an ordinary woman forever instead of a godling are something I really enjoy. Plus: cooking up Sister Shenanigans with Imoen is a source of endless amusement.

And of course, there’s the way that she hangs over everyone forever even in her absence. Heart.

💐- Where is this oc's favorite place to relax?

While there were a large number of library nooks she inhabited in Candlekeep and she was very fond of her childhood room, her favorite place to relax growing up and the one that all places after was measured against was a large, shady tree tucked away not far from an inner corner of the keep’s walls. While nowhere is entirely private inside the keep and nowhere is ever truly far from people, it was just distant enough from the nearest buildings to be quiet, the rustle of leaves when a rare breeze slipped in eating the distant sounds of the keep’s other inhabitants. The library was quieter than this tree. It was certainly more comfortable. But there was a peace in being at the edge of the bustle of so much everyday activity. The shade was cool, the sun was bright, and it was easier for Imoen to stop between chores at the old tree than to go all the way up the library without being caught and sent back to whatever work she was neglecting (not that this stopped her when she wanted to, of course). Saturated in nostalgia as it is, it’s hard for anywhere after to match up to this tree at the edge of the tiny world of Ismene’s younger years.

[evieelyzabethh]

May I please request a maybe a few headcanons with Giles, like what it would be like to date him. Or a fic where he confesses his feelings to the reader. ( gn reader is completely okay, but maybe fem reader, authors choice of course.)

ofc you can!!! There isn't nearly enough Giles content (or any Buffy content for that matter).

*for the purposes of these headcannons you are Buffy's new Watcher instead of Wesley*

🟔 the relationship started out as an enemies to lovers type deal. At first he was confident that he couldn't be so easily be replaced in Buffy's life, but you were a few years younger than him, not nearly as uptight, and far more patient than he was at the beginning

🟔 While he was more of a paternal figure, you were more of the cooler big sister type

🟔 This being said, he was slow to warm up to you. Giles is a bitter old man, and you were so damn nice to the point that it bothered him. Truth be told, he felt a bit guilty. You were so willing and eager to learn from him and he was keeping you at a distance just because he was insecure

🟔 The more he got to know you, the more he softened. Before he was so averse to your being there, he never actually listened to what you had to say

🟔 You started spending a lot of time together after a while. You spent many early mornings in the library and late nights in his home where he walked you through his personal journals and volumes

🟔 Before either one of you noticed, you got closer. Soon enough, you knew how he liked his coffee, and he knew your opinions on every book you'd ever picked up. It became a routine to carpool to school in the mornings then back to his place. It had even gotten to the point where you had stolen multiple pairs of his old jumpers and the kids had started to notice.

🟔 Buffy would give him sooooo much shit.

"So...anything you wanna tell me?" She was snooping and she knows it. Giles, however, is painfully oblivious. He hasn't noticed how his eyes always find you, how he'll smile at random moments at the mere thought of you, how he trips over himself and his words whenever you are in the room. He used to be the most eloquent man Buffy knew and now...he reminded her of a teenage boy.

"You have a test tomorrow in chemistry." His glasses were perched on the tip of his nose while he was rereading Dracula, which was odd in of itself. If he was researching vampires, he wouldn't have gone for that, meaning you probably mentioned it and he picked it up.

"I do? That's beside the point, any new developments in your life?" He didn't even bother looking at her.

"Is there something you want to tell me, otherwise I'm a bit busy." His sentence trailed off as he began walking back into his office when the door opened, and his head perked up so fast his glasses nearly fell off.

"Darling, I thought you were staying home today."

"Darling?!" Her comment went ignored.

"I was going to, but I left my book here last night." It made a lot of sense to Buffy why he liked you just from that. Bookworms were so his type.

"Giles stole it." You both looked to Buffy.

"Huh?" She got out of her seat and plucked Dracula from his hands.

"I'm assuming this is yours. Giles wouldn't be reading it otherwise, he says it's distasteful, immature and... what else did you have to say about it." His face went red as he took off his glass. He tried to get the book back from her, but she was already half-way across the room flipping through it.

"I assure you, she is only making a big deal out of nothing. I haven't flipped through it in a while and I went through a very pretentious phase in my youth-"

"The most vacuous and insipid thing you'd read since Xander got you to pick up a comic book." She interrupted. "That's what you said. Guess you must really like her to pick it up again."

🟔 He'd totally call you Darling, My Love, Honey.

🟔 His love language would also be words of affirmation and acts of service. Constantly praising you, giving you words of encouragement, and just has a very affirming presence. He would also not mind doing chores, reading to you, and doing pretty much anything you ask

🟔 He loves feeling needed. One of his biggest insecurities is becoming obsolete or too old, so being able to do things for you makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside

🟔 This being said, he is sooo good during that time of the month. You want some chocolate; he already bought it. You want a heating pad; it's already ready. He has a medicine cabinet of ibuprofen and Midol just for you bby. He'd have a calendar tracking it for you as it's just another way he looks out for you.

🟔 He also probably has a calendar marked up with both of your events. He runs on a strict schedule, and though it can be a bit much, it is appreciated. You've never been late to anything and its because of him

🟔 He would also partake in your hobbies to spend time with you. Since he is an old man, I think he would really enjoy something like pottery or crocheting/knitting

🟔 You two would also have book club regularly. One of his first Valentines Day gifts to you was giving you his very annotated copy of one of his favorite books

🟔 OMG he would sing to you!!! He has an entire song book dedicated to you. He also just has such a nice voice so there are many nights you fall asleep in his arms with him singing or reading to you

[funtimesale123]

gn reader x bowser fan fic fourth chapter

You have breakfast and get to know the Royal Koopa Family a little better

(Also read the notes at the end for a little more info on things in this chapter)

Ugh…

You notice unknown weigh on you as you start to wake up.

Hearing multiple small voices some attempting to whisper but basically yelling in a whispery tone instead.

"Guys you're gonna wake em up!" Says the one you're most familiar with

"So this is the human from another world, huh? They don't look that special." Says a more girly voice

"Hey! The Human is very special!!! They were very nice to Morton and helped Morton golf!" Booms the loudest voice of the group

"..."

"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! I wonder if they'll like my tricks. Larry says they were fun to play golf with even if they're not the best" says a very bouncy and hyper voice

"They're probably just like the other humans like that scaredy cat green one or dumb meanie red one" says an agitated and rough voice

"Hey! Don't be mean, Roy. We haven't even given them a chance yet," says a very eloquently spoken voice

"Yeah! hehehe! and we can show them all our cool gadgets and battle strategies!" Another voice says

Groggily you finally open your sleepy eyes looking around to see you're surrounded by the koopa children with Roy and Wendy on you.

Oh… yeah… yesterday was real… and you really are in Bowser's Castle… surrounded by his eight kids… who have now started an argument over you.

Sigh

Welp while they're distracted you sneak off to the bathroom to hopefully tidy up a bit.

As you close the door you can still hear the now muffled sibling squabble.

You look around at the gorgeous and gigantic bathroom. The walls of course match a similar theme to the rest of the castle. Blacks and dark grays with fiery red highlights. You look over to see a bathtub/shower that's probably big enough to be jacuzzi.

Man, nearly everything in this castle is so much bigger and grander than what you're used to.

You notice something folded up on the counter with a note.

"Clothes fitting for the guest have been provided as well as possible necessities such as a toothbrush and toothpaste, both scented and unscented soaps, colognes and perfumes, hairbrush and other hair related products, and Basic beauty products and/or makeup. These can be found in the drawers and cabinets."

Setting the note aside you look over the clothes given to you

They're in a similar style to what you're currently wearing if not a bit more fancy. They're also seemingly made of the same materials as yours.

All in all the clothes are basically just a slightly fancier version of what you'd usually wear.

You set the clothes back down before washing your face, brushing your teeth, and doing whatever else then getting dressed.

As you step out the kids suddenly stop their arguing. It seems no one but Ludwig actually noticed that you'd gotten up.

As you walk in you remember that you technically haven't met all of them yet. You awkwardly wave.

"Um… Hi?"

"Tsk. At least they no longer look like some hobo even if it's not that much better." Roy mumbles

"Yeah, right?" Wendy whispers to him

Suddenly the twins were all over you!!!

Lemmy asking you childish questions while simultaneously showing you his tricks.

Iggy invading your personal space inspecting you and asking more invasive scientific questions.

Jr. Quickly runs over as Ludwig casually follows

You stand there dazed till Jr. Is able to calm the twins down as the three are bickering Ludwig introduces himself rather egotistically.

"Well hello there, I am Ludwig von Koopa, the eldest and most intelligent of my siblings." He boasts, puffing out his chest.

You notice Larry wave his wand showing a few images to talk and soon Lemmy translates

"Yeah!!! Larry's right, we're just as smart as you!!!"

"Hey! hey! hey! You're supposed to be tellin em who ya are guys!" Bowser Jr. reminds his siblings

"Oh… yeah!" Lemmy rolls his ball closer to you before excitedly saying "My name's Lemmy! Look at my trick! Look! Look! Look!" He then flips landing upside down on the ball on one hand and flipping and landing right side up.

"Wow!" You clap at the young koopas acrobatics as he giggles and bows

"My turn!" Iggy says nearly tripping over his twin to get to you. As he introduces himself he quickly starts to ramble out questions before you can even answer.

"I'm Iggy! You're from another world right, I'd love to study the differences in your anatomy and physiology! Do you have any unusual talents or abilities? Maybe we could run some experiments!"

You chuckle at Iggy's enthusiasm, but also feel a little overwhelmed by the bombardment of questions.

Before you can even respond, Roy pushes Iggy out the way and rudely introduces himself.

"Name's Roy or whatever " he grumbles before crossing his arms.

"Hey I wanted to go next! Hmph." Wendy pouts she then shoves Roy out the way as he yells about kicking her butt if she pushes him again to which she completely ignores as she introduces herself

"I'm Wendy and it's a pleasure to meet… Me"

"It is" you say as you indulge in the bratty princess's antics

As all the koopalings once again start talking at once, Kamek appears and not surprised by the children's behavior in the least simply announces

"Breakfast is ready, and young royals I urge you to try to not overwhelm the guest as being in an environment new to oneself can already be quite overwhelming."

You nod appreciatively at Kamek as he poofs off

before starting to chat with the koopalings on the way to the dining hall and throughout breakfast, learning about their personalities and interests.

Bowser chimes in occasionally about his children's many different accomplishments and skills.

Seems the Koopa King's pride isn't only limited to himself but to his children as well even if they're not related by blood it's clear he deeply cares for them nonetheless.

And despite their differences, the koopalings and Jr. all share a strong bond as siblings and a love for their family and kingdom.

You take a deep breath, realizing just how chaotic it can be living with the Royal Koopa Family, but also feeling a bit charmed by their quirks and personalities.

Notes

Man this is probably gonna take some getting used to ain't it…

(having played golf with Larry and Morton as well)

Sorry for retconning the story a bit

but I just had to have the koopalings play a more major story role cause I feel they don't get enough love

also sorry if the koopalings seem off, their characters haven't really been fleshed out as much in the games as Jr.s or Kameks

Also something to note is that Bowser's Castle in this story is based off of a combination of the Mario kart 8 track Bowser's Castle, Bowser's Castle (Arcade) from Mario Kart Arcade GP, and Bowser's Castle from Paper Mario: The Origami King.

so I'm basing them off of a combination of how they act in multiple appearances but mainly "The Adventures of Super Mario Bros. 3" show and the "Nintendo Adventure Books" and just changing the personalities a bit to fit the game versions

I'll probably draw up some reference images of a few of the rooms I've described and maybe make a rough castle layout as well as draw a height chart that includes the koopalings soon so be prepared for that ^v^ anyways sorry for the massive notes and hope you've enjoyed the story so far <3

[katyspersonal]

Roderika and Nepheli are really cute as a ship imo. I love how Nepheli mentions her in one of her dialogues, meaning that they at least interacted at some point. I know it's a small detail to base a ship around, but I do think they might be very neat together. What are your thoughts?

It IS a cute ship! I have not seen it very often, actually but it is probably because all two of my ER mutuals reblog either Finlenia or Yura x Eleanora sdfhfd I am sure it exists somewhere, because Nepheli acknowledging Roderika is very good at perceiving spirits "unlike her" not only implies having interacted, but also points out how they are different. I really love ships in which characters are 'opposites' in a way that complete one another, whereas being similar at their core, big fan. And? They are fitting the description! Nepheli is a strong, tough warrior that points out she can't even feel the spirits, let alone see them, whereas Roderika is naturally drawn to them and good at spirit tuning whereas having "never held a sword in her life"; but at the same time they are both sensitive and vulnerable emotionally while trying to be strong! Roderika says she is 'just a coward' for being scared of the idea of her limbs being cut off, Nepheli says she is 'pathetic' for being heartbroken about her father betraying her... There is just something similar to this, the whole vibe of having enough emotions but not being "weak" for that I keep trying to grasp (because I LOVE it).

🦅 Nepheli though rolls into blaming herself for Gideon being the worst father ever, as if she "failed" him and it served her right, while also hesitantly seeing through his injustice, and I feel like Roderika would be the one to recognize this pain and detrimental effect Gideon can have on psyche of even very strong and level-headed people and try to approach her about it? They DID interact, right. Roderika IS anxious and hesitant, but also has very good intuition for good and evil it seems, so Nepheli's strong appear as this... barbaric, no-bullshit warrior would not intimidate her. She'd see Nepheli's kind and good heart beneath it even before once talking to her! Basically, I feel like their talk happened from Roderika having been concerned, in the 'Sorry if that's not my business but do you need to vent' manner!

🎐 In fact, the contrast between Nepheli's "he betrayed me and killed and oppressed the weak but it is probably my fault... right" vs Roderika's "I sense very bad vibes from a person all the opposite way in the Rountable who is not even physically here" feels like a nearly-comedic potential for me! x) Roderika is good at identifying the bad guy, when Nephelis is good at taking the bad guy down! I just imagine Roderika being like "Get 'em, baby!" in the duo, sending Nepheli to obliterate the bastard with her axes fsdhdf They could've done so much combining their strenghts and compensating for each other's weaker points hahaha. Dangerous duo (in a good sense)

🦅 They are THE "She asked for NO pickles!" meme and you KNOW it, lol

🎐 Lowkey sad though that this ship doesn't have enough 'breathing room' within canon: Nepheli gets her spirits lifted up because of a bird spirit ash and not Roderika (sure she'd credit her for help and not only Tarnished otherwise) and is always off to travel, whereas Roderika is pretty much glued to the Roundtable... It is all videogame mechanics restrictions. SO yeah, we need an Elden Ring anime where useful NPCs do not have to be area-restricted and after Roderika feels more qualified, she and Nepheli can become wandering girlfriends that get a lot of adventures and appear to help Tarnished when it is plot-convenient x) (for some reason, all my suggestions for more interaction boil down to 'if ER/BB was an anime, ...')

🦅 Roderika is rather eloquent, when Nepheli is a woman of a few words, so I am sure they fall for the dynamics of 'wall of text vs just listens and smiles' too! Nepheli would not understand all that many of Roderika's interests personally and she is not the type of an ethusiatic listener that asks many questions or always has something to add, but, she would remember every single think Roderika shared and care about it (some times, even more than Roderika herself). Nepheli is a type of a partner to remember a thing Roderika said 'casually' like months ago, or get her something she mentioned liking as a gift.. Roderika would not really know how anyone is able to navigate in how many things she's sharing so easily :')

🎐 Nepheli might be really stoic person, actually, capable of swallowing so much grief and loss and get up after everything that happens to her, but Roderika would sorta get through this attitude. Like, Nepheli would absolutely LOSE it if someone hurt Roderika. I feel like Nepheli might even worry a little upon realizing that with all the friends lost in battle or slain by enemies she had to grieve in a lifetime, losing Roderika would actually destroy her. She'd wonder if her identity as a warrior gave a crack for that one, at first! It is just scary to get so 'open', when a warrior must be self-sufficient and prepared to lose friends and comrades by default! And love is a bit... different. But I think the girls would be capable of communicating about it, and Nepheli would accept that she found someone to hold as dear as to have her life (mentally) depend on them... Not without insisting that Roderika gets at least SOME training in battle, so she can stand for herself IF Nepheli can't be near. Be an archer or a wizard if she can't hold meelee weapon at least!

🦅 Going back to Nepheli having her perception blurred when the enemy is not apparent, with Roderika having intuition for bad vibes. I imagine if Nepheli mentioned Gideon's friend, Seluvis, Roderika would be instantly able to reveal to her that "hey, that actually was a creep behavior"... They have a base for accidentally uncovering bad experiences (if not traumas) Nepheli never even realized consciously yet still took psychological damage from, and getting through them together. There would be certainly a bunch of cans of worms upon how Gideon was raising her, but not just that. "It was emotional abuse / creep behaviour" are the WORST realizations, but also with a right person it could help to heal some things that were bugging you for years but you just.. could not point out. I also imagine Roderika would be the one and only person that ever saw Nepheli cry - from one of such talks..

🎐 I think Nepheli actually holds Roderika in higher regard over the fact that Roderika is anxious, and can even be very cowardly and undecisive by her own admission, yet finds resource within herself to forgive her weaknesses and "atone" for indecisiveness by being useful otherwise. Nepheli would normally condemn the trait of giving into fear and hesitating when something important should be done (which I imagine is Roderika's consistent flaw and not just 'I am scared of being literally chopped to pieces because it is a normal thing for Soulsborne NPC to say' sdfhfhdfsdh). But Nepheli could see the internal struggle and wish to still persist, flaws or not. THAT mattered. She was quick to respect this attitude; in fact, she DID find it comparable with someone realizing they are not physically fit for melee fight and opting out to help in other ways, as healer or archer or something.

🦅 I am kinda diving into Psychology TM a lot here, I just think ER characters are written with particularly a lot to work with (Martin was that your effect? xd). But as for RELATIONSHIP-relationship, they both can't be less interested in sex. Undecided whether they're asexual or just 'too into spirituality / battle to care', probably both of these, but yes, overall it is just hugs and kisses. I just can't help but imagine their mutual attraction being mostly 'god I would LOOK the hell out of you' xd I think Nepheli would really like to hug Roderika, not only to share affection but sometimes because it is her emotional support spirit-tuner x) But Roderika is more 'kisses' person. She especially likes giving cheek or forehead kisses.

🎐 Overall, I think they are doing QUITE healthy and good for people that did not have real relationship experience prior? Nepheli was just not the type to take it further than blushing when she'd see a pretty girl and.. that was it. Well, maybe a couple of times, when she was little, she'd try to "flirt" by slaying a scary monster and bringing it's claw/tooth/etc to the girl she'd try to court, which they really did not get xD I picture Dolores being around and that little Nepheli would ask her what she was doing wrong... Dolores would say that it was a "perfect" way to flirt but the girls were just too young to get it yet, and Nepheli was too ahead xddd Roderika would attempt relationship as a teen a couple of times, and quit both of them upon hesitating and estimating she was not good enough for that person. Low self-esteem was hitting her harder in younger age. What I am saying is that sometimes when the first 'real' relationship only happens in adulthood, there are plenty of conflicts to wade through as people don't know what to do... but these two I imagine clicked naturally, and things went rather swell?

_______________

Thank you for an ask! Sorry it took some while, I tend to be sorta slow at the answers ъ_ъ"

[soulslimes]

part i: zoro, through sanji's eyes

rating: mature

pairing: zoro x sanji

chapter number: 1/?

chapter word count: 1.37k

summary:

There’s a light knock on the galley door before it swings opens. He's expecting to come face to face with Brook; normally, he's walking about at this hour considering the fact that he doesn't need to sleep. Even Robin would be expected at this hour, but who walks in is rather surprising once Sanji truly recognizes it. It's surprising because it's Zoro. Roronoa "Mosshead" Zoro, who is normally passed the fuck out at this time of evening. Sanji doesn’t even notice it was one hundred percent Zoro walking in at first, drifting in and out of sleep with the washcloth in his hand until he nearly stumbles forward, caught from face planting into the galley counter by a strong hand holding him close. “Oi,” Zoro says, “Cook, you okay?” “I’m fine, moss for brains,” Sanji says, continuing to run water over the plates. “You don’t look fine,” Zoro says, "Are you a hundred percent sure you're golden?" He’s in the process of bringing his hand up to Sanji’s forehead when Sanji flinches, grabbing Zoro by the wrist. 

also on ao3, if you'd like to read it there instead!

Sanji feels like he’s been dead on his feet for hours. 

Of course, it probably didn’t help that he was the only Straw Hat with the ability to cook edible food. It also probably didn’t help that their captain ate enough meat on a bone to feed two villages worth of people on any given day. That’s always a lot of prep work, lots of time in the kitchen alone making things that his crew would be delighted to eat. 

It does tucker him out, though. Despite doing this for years now, Sanji gets tired. Not enough to hate what he’s doing, not at all, but tired nonetheless. He tries to let the tiredness roll right off him, let it roll right off him into the sea to drown, but sometimes it’s tough. A life on the sea has always been a stressful one and Sanji knows as such.

The delight on their faces after eating a good meal, that’s what it was all about in the end. That’s why he was here, on this crew of merry misfits; to feed his crewmates and find the All Blue. It really doesn’t get any simpler. What was there to complain about? The dream was happening right before his very eyes. 

They don’t really talk after their meal; Sanji returning back to the galley to scrub piles of dishes from every man, woman, robot, reindeer-person hybrid, and conglomeration of musical bones on the Thousand Sunny. Call him stubborn, neurotic, or whatever you’d like, but Sanji just can’t sleep knowing there’s dirty dishes in need of care. 

Leave it to Zeff to leave a lasting impression on him the last time Baratie got a bug problem.  So, he hauls ass to the kitchen despite being so tired he could sleep out on the deck. 

The mountains of dishes were normal for an event so large. After all, it's not every day that Luffy's birthday comes around. It's definitely not every day that Sanji has to prepare a meal that large, something vaguely reminiscent of the lunch rush at Baratie. 

That was one of the last times, really. One of the last times Sanji every remembered doing something so eloquently put together and spectacularly large. 

But now? Even the dishes seem a bit too...daunting of a task. Today--of all days-- he feels the tiredness in his bones, like his entire body was lead and slowly sinking. 

But, responsibility is responsibility no matter how you decide to tackle it.

There’s a light knock on the galley door before it swings opens. He's expecting to come face to face with Brook; normally, he's walking about at this hour considering the fact that he doesn't need to sleep. Even Robin would be expected at this hour, but who walks in is rather surprising once Sanji truly recognizes it.

It's surprising because it's Zoro. Roronoa "Mosshead" Zoro, who is normally passed the fuck out at this time of evening.

Sanji doesn’t even notice it was one hundred percent Zoro walking in at first, drifting in and out of sleep with the washcloth in his hand until he nearly stumbles forward, caught from face planting into the galley counter by a strong hand holding him close. “Oi,” Zoro says, “Cook, you okay?” 

“I’m fine, moss for brains,” Sanji says, continuing to run water over the plates. 

“You don’t look fine,” Zoro says, "Are you a hundred percent sure you're golden?" He’s in the process of bringing his hand up to Sanji’s forehead when Sanji flinches, grabbing Zoro by the wrist. 

Despite the crew's inherent closeness over the past few years, Sanji still didn't quite like people touching his head. Call it a trauma response he still hasn't quite worked through yet, but he's white knuckling Zoro's wrist in his own hand to stop him from touching his head in any way, shape, or form. "What are you doing?" Sanji says, hand clamped around Zoro's wrist.

“Making sure you’re not sick,” comes from Zoro’s mouth so matter of factly that it astounds him. “If you run a fever, no one here is going to survive. I swear, before you were here, Luffy burned water that's how badly we needed someone who knew what they were doin' around here."

"I'm fine." And it's petulant the way Sanji swats Zoro's hands away like a child preventing someone from taking their beloved toy, but he's fine.  Sanji and Zoro's whole dynamic at this point is based on their strength relative to each other, to admit that Sanji felt a certain way was to admit that he was weak in the moment. 

He would rather be dead than  ever admit that he was weak in front of Zoro, of all people. And besides, there's nothing that a good night's sleep couldn't take of anyway; nothing that Zoro needed to worry about. 

There's a few moment of resistance where Sanji is deflecting Zoro's hands. "God damnit, just let me ease my conscience, curly brow," Zoro says, "You've never said a god damn word when you feel like shit or are goin' through something, but I notice when you do. Let me make sure you're okay, stupid cook." 

"Fucking fine, if it'll make you feel better, barbarian," Sanji says. Sanji tries his hardest to stay as calm as possible when Zoro carefully places the back of his hand on Sanji's forehead, and then on both of cheeks. "Did you get the answer you wanted, moss head?" 

"I guess you're fine," Zoro huffs, crossing his arms. To say Sanji didn't notice how accentuated the muscles of Zoro's biceps become after he crosses them would be lying. 

"Well, what the hell did you expect?" Sanji says, "I wasn’t lying to you, dumbass."

"Yeah, well you weren't the one who prevented your head from smashin' first into the galley counter, now were you?" "Excuse me for being concerned about my fucking curly browed crew mate for a second."

"Yeah, whatever," Sanji huffs, "Now, get out of my kitchen unless you're gonna help me put away this mountain of stuff." He makes a vague motion over to the large piles of wet dishes drying. Sanji is so sure that Zoro is gonna dip on out of there, so sure that he's just going to tell him to fuck off and leave back to his room that he's surprised when Zoro slightly nudges him over. 

“Well,” Zoro sighs, “I guess I can help you, Cook. Hand me a rag and I’ll dry these so we can put ‘em away.”

It doesn’t take longer than ten minutes once Zoro comes in to help, carefully drying and placing dishes in the places that Sanji tells him to. The dishes are clean and Sanji lights up a cigarette, taking a deep breath of smoke in before blowing it out. Zoro scrunches his nose at the smell but stays anyway. Sanji swears he can hear a short mumbling of, “Those cancer sticks are gonna be what gets ya in the end,” but it doesn’t stop him from taking another deep breath in. 

“What?” Sanji asks, “I’ve told you so many times, moss for brains. Staying around me when you hate the smell of smoke is just torture on your part. I don’t know why you do it.” 

Zoro, as stubborn as ever, refuses to dignify that with a response. “Are you gonna go to sleep soon?” Zoro asks, and Sanji finds it peculiar. Zoro’s never stayed to help, never really asked him anything other than the occasional question Luffy can’t find the time to ask himself. 

He and Zoro don’t really…small talk like this. 

“We’re going into town tomorrow, that’s the only reason I’m asking,” Zoro continues. The last cup is put away, carefully arranged in the direction of the others, as Zoro says “Rest up, cook. I never know what we need in this kitchen; you need to be at your best so you can go with me to the market once we hit land.” 

Zoro is gone before Sanji can even say thanks for helping. Not that it would actually come out in a thankful way, probably just an annoying way to the swordsman, but he didn't even get the chance to say it. 

next chapter

[aqpippin]

wip wednesday —

all gilded and golden (I’m your girl)

Jackie’s pissed. She’s pissed and she may be home now, but it doesn’t do anything to stop the prickling heat and discomfort under her skin; not the way it usually does. She slams the front door behind her, even though it’s juvenile, because sometimes she just needs to let loose in a way that would usually not be very well received. It helps a little that Gigi gets it, that sometimes she does it too, but it’s not enough. It isn’t what she needs.

“Bad day?” Gigi asks from where she’s sitting on the kitchen counter, peeling a fucking banana as if they aren’t about to start making dinner.

“What do you think?” Jackie asks sharply, then shuts her eyes and breathes deeply through her nose a few times, “I’m sorry, I’m just… I’d rather not talk about my day unless you want me to go on some long rant that neither of us are likely to come back from.”

“Noted,” Gigi says after a moment, sounding largely unaffected by Jackie’s tone. There’s the distinctive sound of Gigi putting down the banana - probably without eating any of it - which Jackie finds completely absurd, “I’m listening, though. If you want to.”

Jackie opens her eyes and sinks into the counter opposite Gigi, folding her arms over her chest.

“Fucking suppliers,” she says firmly, voice still a little sharper than she’d like, “we were missing a whole bunch of stock we ordered and I swear to god I spent two hours on hold with them, one of the ovens blew and Nicky nearly had a fucking stroke so that was another hour and a half on hold trying to get a tech to come out, Crystal burnt her hand on a spilled coffee, and Jan - Jan - she nearly cut her fucking fingers off with the new knives. Pissed blood everywhere. Everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong and I’m just at my fucking limit today.”

Gigi looks completely unphased by Jackie’s outburst; the banana is indeed sitting next to her on the counter, peeled but otherwise untouched. She thinks that, if the situation were reversed, she would be making a very lewd joke about that. Gigi always has a lewd quip on the tip of her tongue; they seem to live there, taking up space that nonetheless allows for eloquence alongside it. Somehow. Gigi contains multitudes behind her teeth.

[myopicry]

Just popping in to say that I saw your post about the struggles of having healthy discussions about feminism on here (and other places) and just wanted to say that I relate!! (especially with the last ask I sent which you replied to with much eloquence as always)

But I think there's still some interesting discussions being had on different sides, and it's honestly amazing when we think about the mere concept of communities online, especially for things like feminism. I mean hell, I owe tumblr so much despite everything! I found your blog, for example :3

Don't despair!! Take breaks whenever you want to, hell you can disappear off the surface of this site if you'd like (tell me first tho >:!). History generally tends to lean towards progress, I believe. We will all be okay!

(sorry this was unprompted and unsolicited but I couldn't help but butt in lol)

Yours truly, 🪼

you are really too kind dear jellyfish anon lolol and the message is absolutely welcome, this is a great message and reminder!

I find myself somewhat oscillating from incredibly hopeful and cherishing the world to incredibly nihilistic about my own life and the progression of my generation, probably because despite my best efforts I still do not touch nearly enough grass to be mentally consistent, but you do make a great point and it's a good way to view the world !! I get pretty cynical about the internet sometimes, that might just be a side effect of being raised on it unfortunately. however, as you say, it is pretty dang incredible that we have this portal to a vast amount of knowledge, thought, and communication at our fingertips. it would be a shame to not explore it and take advantage of the unique kinds of interaction and community that it is possible to maintain online. and I suppose the more people who stay hopeful about this digital future, the more likely it is that it will be possible.

I never thought I'd get any kind of attention on this blog (well, I hoped I would get a little attention, that is what social media is for and it is a very human instinct to be noticed by our peers lmao) but I'm just happy that there's even a handful of people who get something out of my less hinged often-written-in-a-dark-room-at-ungodly-hours rambling. and of course, I'm always happy that there are so many people (anon included, of course!) who share their own thoughts and wonderful, thought provoking writing.

I've been thinking lately about how I often encounter male writers/bloggers/artists with opinions and writings and art that might go against the status quo, or wax philosophical about their own struggles and the state of society, and they get the glory of praise and large platforms and funding, while many of the most personally engrossing female thinkers I've found are hidden in secret blogs, forums, or web archives. it is quite sad too that men are afforded the luxury of being philosophers and great thinkers and are allowed to be flawed, complex, or controversial while still being respected in academia and public discourse, whereas women pushing new ideas or discourse are expected to placate and honor men and the status quo of femininity or else they're shunned and hidden in the public eye completely. but what I value is that with some dedication and the willingness to explore new ideas online, I can still find these women and find the interesting things they write and make, even if they're not pushed by some all-consuming algorithm or if they're forced to make their own spaces in the expansive online world. I'm glad that there's always a possibility to find something valuable amongst a sea of terrible things (because the internet is certainly quite full of terrible things). which, I guess this is also just how life works in general. a lot of terrible stuff, but the beauty of it is that some hope in finding the gold hidden in there is always possible.

aaaand that got weirdly philosophical at the end lmao. I guess I do just like to hear myself talk sometimes :p

to tl;dr though, lovely lovely ask I really appreciate the sentiment and the message, and I'm more than happy to get a little infusion of hope in my inbox! thank you so much for stopping by again as usual (and I look forward to seeing you again soon ヾ(＾∇＾) ) !!