#this is where I go on my long term hiatus

[romiantic]

3 reblogs….okay

[officialaemondtargaryen]

A Fine Line [part 5]

Summary: You've been with Aegon for a little over four years and the relationship just isn't the same. His brother isn't helping the situation, either.

Pairing: Modern Aegon Targaryen x Reader / Modern Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: ~7.2k

Author’s Note: I'm just going to go ahead and put this on a mini-hiatus because I'm moving in less than a month and I don't want anyone waiting for updates. Please note, I have e v e r y intention of finishing this series. I have been writing this for a year, and while it was my intention to be finished by now, you have to understand that I began writing this after my own long-term relationship began to unravel due to many of the same feelings the reader feels towards Aegon. Over the last year, I was able to successfully fix the foundation of my relationship, but it was a rough journey. I have a very clear direction of where this is going, life is just very hectic. It has not been my intention to let anyone down with how spaced out the chapters have been.

Warnings for the entire series: severe angst, cheating, unprotected sex, jealousy, lying, possessiveness, stalking, manipulation, language, alcohol use, recreational drug use.

Masterlist & Playlist

"I shouldn't have put you through that." 

Aegon's words reached you softly as you removed your earrings and carefully unpinned your hair. He was standing in the threshold of your bedroom, leaning against the door frame; two empty wine glasses in one hand and a bottle of merlot in the other. 

You looked at him through the reflection of the mirror.  His dress shirt was slightly undone at the top and untucked from his slacks– barefoot, he approached you quietly; pouring you both a glass before moving to sit on the bed. You turn to him, taking a glass from his hand, lips sinking into a sad smile as your eyes glanced over at the small suitcase he had packed, sitting next to the door. 

Otto wanted him on a plane to Seattle first thing Monday morning. 

"I always used to wonder why I had never met them," you replied, dropping your shoulders as you took a sip from your glass. The corners of your lips turn upwards as you say, "I thought that you were ashamed of me." 

"Ashamed of them," he countered quickly and rolled his eyes. He reached his hand out and you took a step closer, allowing for him to pull you in. His hands rested on your hips as you stood between his knees, holding his head in your hands. "I could never be ashamed of you."

A silence falls over the two of you as he rests his head forehead against yours and lets out a sigh, holding you tight against him. Your hands move to his hair; softly carding through the thick, blonde strands and he hums in response as his own fingers curl in the velvet fabric of your dress. He lifts his head to look into your eyes and whispers that he loves you. Your hand traces along his jawline until you’re holding his chin between your fingers. His blue eyes are glossy like sea glass and his lips are stained red, both from the wine. 

You can feel his hands slide down your backside, smoothing out the crushed blue velvet until he’s reached the hem. He hasn’t kissed you yet, but his lips are taunting, hovering just centimeters from your own. His eyes are fixated on yours as his fingertips move under your dress, teasing slowly up the backs of your thighs. Your eyes lull shut, feeling the touch that you were so desperate for. 

“I would hope he wouldn’t be foolish enough to–” Aemond’s words were planted within you, taking root in your insecurities and spreading like disease. “He’s been known to be a bit thoughtless in the past.”

You take Aegon’s hands in yours and stop him from going any further. It’s the last thing that you want to do, but you need to know. His brows crease as he looks at you, clearly confused. 

“I need to ask you something,” your voice is soft and unsure as you bite your lip. His expression shifts from confusion to concern as he senses the gravity of your words. 

He nods slowly, gently encouraging you to continue. 

You draw in a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you're about to say. The weight of your question hangs heavy in the air, and for a moment, the room feels suffocatingly silent. “Where were you last Friday night after the gala?”

"I-" Aegon's gaze softens with understanding, voice trailing off momentarily before he clears his throat, attempting to gather his thoughts. “After the gala, Otto and I went back to the office to figure out what to do with Stark International. We’ve offered them everything we can and they still aren’t biting. They agreed to one last offer, and we wanted to do it in person, hence Seattle.”

You study his face intently, searching for any sign of deception, but his expression remains open and honest, his features relaxed. Despite his explanation, that gnawing sense of doubt continued to nag at the most insecure parts of your mind, fueled by the lingering uncertainty that has plagued your relationship for too long. You wanted to believe him, you had no reason not to, but the suspicion lingered; stubbornly persistent, refusing to be silenced by his words. 

He looks at you for a moment and finally the realization washes over him.

“You thought I was–” Aegon’s voice trails off as your eyes meet and you reluctantly nod your head, silently confirming his thoughts. He stands immediately and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into him. Tears instantly well in your eyes. “I am so, so sorry that I made you feel that way,” he murmurs softly, his lips against your hair. "You need to know that you are the only good thing in my life, and I know that things haven’t been the way they used to be, but I’d never do that to you. I’ve just been so stressed lately."

“You can talk to me about it,” you mumble against his chest before you peel yourself from him to look into his eyes. Aegon tenderly brushes a tear from your cheek, his expression almost breaking. “You don’t have to shut me out.” 

“I know,” he sighs and moves to grab his wine glass from the bedside table, gulping the rest of the liquid. He plants himself back on the bed, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his stress. 

“Do you?” You ask, wiping your hands over your face before grabbing your own glass; taking a deep breath to reset before bringing the glass to your lips. “Aegon, what is going on?”

He only shrugs in response and it is then you can see the fatigue etched into the lines of his face; in the downturn of his lips, across his brow, the bags under his eyes. He looks almost unrecognizable. There’s no happiness behind his eyes, no hope. His face is gaunt rather than round and full. He looks miserable– a shell of his former self. His lips are pale as they part to speak. 

“It’s all so much,” his voice quivers, stumbling over the barricades of his emotion. A single tear falls to his cheek. “I feel as if I’m drowning in expectations– in responsibilities that I never asked for.”

All that you can do is listen, despite the way your fingers ached to reach forward and hold him. 

“The worst part is that I don’t even know who I am outside of it,” he continues; his words laced with desperation. “It’s the only thing I know now. I can’t do anything about it because what else would I be? I have no choice.”

“Aegon, that’s not true,” you say and take a step towards him. “You absolutely have a choice if it’s making you this unhappy.” 

“I do?” He scoffs with a bitter laugh. “At the risk of disappointing everyone in my life?” 

“Who are you disappointing? Your family?” A chuckle escapes your lips, “The ones that you kept me a secret from for four years? Who you say are poisonous, power-hungry cunts? That family?”

“It’s hard for you to understand, I get it,” he rolls his eyes and waves you off.

“It’s not hard to understand, Aegon,” your exhale is sharp. “Some bridges are just better off burned.”

“No, it is hard for you to understand,” he pointed. “It’s not just them that I’d be disappointin’!”

You look at him, allowing his words to linger in the space that had grown between you in the last year or so. Your heart cracks at the sight of him. You’ve never seen him like this before; completely stripped of the facade that he often wore. It was almost unsettling to see him so vulnerable. You take another step forward and cup his cheek, your touch tender as it reaches his skin. He looks as if he’s made of glass and he’s going to break into a thousand pieces right in front of you– right in your hands, broken and unable to be repaired.

“D’you know what I mean now?” He asks, his soft eyes meeting yours. 

“Baby, you could never disappoint me,” you tell him after a few moments of silence. 

“But I already have,” he takes your hand from his cheek and holds it in his own. “Is that not what this is about? You thought I was cheating, that’s pretty fucking disappointing if you ask me,” he says with a dejected smile. “When all I really wanted was to make sure that we’d be okay for whatever comes next– a house, a wedding, kids…”

His gaze is once again locked with yours. Your breath hitches in your throat. Years ago, when you had first met, you had spent many nights laying on his living room floor, high, talking about the future. That same future that he was alluding to right now; a house in the quiet part of the city, three bedrooms with a great view near the park, wine in your tumbler at soccer practice while a pale-haired boy– who looks the spitting image of his father– scores his second goal of the game. You hadn’t nailed down a name yet, but you did have a list. 

“Instead, I was pushing you away,” his voice cuts through your fantasy; gaze lowering to the beige carpet beneath your feet. Another tear falls to his cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

You take a deep breath and pull him into you, cradling him in your arms. His head instantly nuzzles into your chest, pulling you as close and as tightly to him as he can manage. His grip is almost desperate, as if afraid to let go, and you feel his breath warm and ragged against your skin. You pull back, holding him at arm's length as you look into his broken eyes. His face is blotchy red, wet with tear tracks down to his chin. For a moment, you just hold him there, your eyes locked, searching for the right words. 

“Aegon,” you say in a whisper. “I love you.”

His eyes soften at your words, lip quivering softly as he moves his hands to hold your face. A fresh wave of tears wells up in his eyes as a faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. 

“I love you,” he repeats back with sincerity. “You mean everything to me.”

Slowly, Aegon closes the distance between you and your lips meet in a gentle kiss. It's soft at first, tentative and gentle, as if testing the waters; scared to get your hopes up for something more that typically never came. Yet, the kiss deepened, becoming heavy with the need for reassurance. You give in almost too easily, melting into his lips as he pulls you onto him. Your dress scrunches at the hips as you straddle his waist and his hands slide up your back.

A soft moan escapes your lips as your kisses become desperate. Aegon follows willingly; his hands and lips are everywhere. He’s clawing at the neckline of your dress, anguishing for more skin. His lips are searing as he places open mouthed kisses along your shoulder. You can hear stitches ripping, but you’re lost in the feeling of his mouth on you. He’s removed your bra, helping himself to handfuls of your breasts. Your head falls back at the sensation, lipstick smeared lips parted open as you moan. His hands drop to your thighs, smoothing over the taut fabric of your tights as his fingertips dip under the hemline of your dress. He grips the fullness of your ass with both hands before pulling your dress the rest of the way over your head. 

He’s almost irresistible with that full, pink pout. His lips are swollen already, his eyes full blown with desire as you made quick work of the buttons on his dress shirt. In one fluid motion, Aegon picks you up and lays you back down on the bed. As he begins to unbutton his slacks, you sit up and swat his hands away. He whines, head tipping back, as you place a kiss on the skin beneath his navel. His cock twitches beneath his slacks and you smirk; looking up at him with wide eyes as you slowly work the zipper. You can feel he’s throbbing, desperate to be free from his clothing. 

You don’t undress him completely– just enough to allow his cock to spring free. Your tongue slides across your bottom lip as you take his girth in your hand. He shivers at the touch and you look back up at him; he’s waiting patiently, but also looks as if he’s going to unravel. He holds the base of his cock with one hand and delicately cradles your neck with the other, his thumb gently smoothing across your bottom lip. 

“Open,” he instructed and you did so obediently.

Aegon’s head fell back as he forced himself to the back of your throat, reveling in the feeling of your muscles tightening around his thick cock with each time you gagged; his whimpering moans fueling you. Saliva dripped from the corners of your mouth and down your chin, dampening your chest. He watches you in delirium, pushing himself deeper as he relishes in the feeling; not realizing how long it had actually been until this very moment. He was hardly unable to control himself, already coming undone at the seams and you hadn’t even begun.

He quickly pulls himself from your mouth, exhaling a shaky breath as you gasp for air. He’s edging himself, not wanting to ruin the moment, not when it’s been so long since he’s had you. He pushes you back, pressing you into the mattress beneath him and groans at the sight. You’re shy under his gaze– despite the fact that he’s seen you like this plenty of times– you can’t help but squirm sheepishly as his eyes roam your figure. You’re not completely undressed yet, but that doesn’t stop him from admiring you. 

“I’m so lucky,” he whispers with soft eyes, tracing his fingertips along your curves. 

You shiver, biting your bottom lip as his touch descends to your hips. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of your tights, slowly sliding them down your thighs. He lowers his head, planting tender kisses along your inner thighs and knees, leaving a trail down your legs until he reaches your ankles and removes the tights completely. He swears at the sight of you completely exposed and all his; hungry eyes tracing across every supple curve. His hands caress back up your thighs, spreading them gently as he moves lower, his lips following the path of his fingers. Each kiss he plants on your skin sends a jolt of electricity through you, making your breath hitch. When he reaches your core, his touch is gentle, reverent, as if he’s kneeling before an altar. 

He looks up at you one last time, eyes dark with desire, before he dips his head between your thighs. His tongue flicks out, teasing you with a gentle touch that makes you gasp. He works slowly at first, exploring and savoring every reaction he elicits from you. Your hands find their way into his hair, fingers curling into the soft strands as you arch into his touch. Slowly, his movements become more purposeful, more focused. His tongue and lips work in perfect harmony to drive you closer to the edge. He finds a rhythm that makes you tremble, your moans growing louder with each passing moment. 

The pressure builds, a coil tightening in your belly until it snaps, and you cry out his name, your body quaking with the force of your climax. Yet, Aegon doesn’t stop. He prolongs your pleasure until you’re spent; body sinking back into the mattress as sweat beads on your forehead. He removes his mouth from your sopping cunt with a wet smirk. His face is flushed, lips glistening with your essence. He hums in delight at the mess you’ve caused and spreads your dripping folds with his fingers, toying with you. 

“Look at you,” he praised. “How many times can I make you cum tonight?”

“Aegon,” you whimpered as he rubbed circles around your clit. 

He watched intently as you reacted to the feeling of him touching you in such an intimate way. Your back lifted from the bed, arching as his movements became faster and harder. You were closing in on another climax; eyes rolled back, lips parted, hands grasping at the sheets. He pumped his fingers inside of you- one, and then two, curling back and forth until he could feel your body tightening around him. He used his free hand to hold you in place, keeping you still– his fingers twirling around a nipple. Once he knew you wouldn’t be able to last any longer, he pulled his fingers from your core and immediately replaced them with his mouth. Your hands flew to his hair as you pushed yourself completely against his face, hips thrusting as you spew curse words; a tidal wave of pleasure sweeping over your entire body.

Aegon was far from being done with you, however. 

After your body was left shaking– and he had lapped up every drop of cum that drooled from your slit– he was on top of you, once again, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself. Your tongue pushes beyond his lips, exploring his mouth. He whimpers, feeling his cock brush against your hot core. Your hands roam over his body, feeling the heat of his skin, the strength of his muscles. You tug at his pants, and he quickly sheds them, his need for you evident in every movement. 

His eyes were tender as he gazed down to you; lining himself up with your entrance, rubbing his tight cock head over your already pulsating clit. A guttural moan bubbled in his throat as he cursed at the tightness of you. Before he was all the way inside of you, he pulled himself back out and then forced himself back in; filling you to the hilt. The size of him tearing through your walls made you gasp, a sound that was muffled by his lips. His hips moved against yours, each thrust becoming more synchronized. 

The sounds of your moans filled the room, along with the tapping of the headboard on the wall. The sensation was overwhelming. Aegon moves with a tenderness that takes your breath away. Each thrust is measured, controlled, as if he is trying to savor every moment. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper, your bodies moving in perfect sync. He ducked his head to the crook of your neck as he continued to move, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to last much longer; not after all the foreplay. Nevertheless, the pace quickens, driven by a shared urgency and need to lose yourselves in each other. His name falls from your lips softly, like a prayer. His breath is hot against your skin and with a shaking moan- he was pulling himself out of you and spilling his hot cum in a line right up your stomach.

Aegon rests his forehead against yours as the last little bit of his seed drips from his tip. He collapses beside you, pulling you close, your bodies still entwined. Your chest is heaving as you try to steady your breathing. He watches you tenderly, drinking in the sight. His lips find yours for a soft, breathless kiss and you moan softly against his lips as your body still tingles from the high of that final climax.

“Let me get you cleaned up,” he murmurs softly, pressing a final kiss to your lips and shuffling from the bed. He pauses at the threshold, glancing back at you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re so beautiful, maybe I should just leave you like this,” he says with a playful smile. 

“Aegon,” you whine, shooing him away playfully. 

He laughs, disappearing into the bathroom to grab a warm washcloth. 

You can’t help the smile on your own lips, bathing in the afterglow of the intimacy you had just shared. He returns shortly after and begins gently cleaning you; his touch tender and attentive as always. You giggled with him, softly joking back and forth together. For a moment, it feels like it used to, and you silently hoped it would remain this way. Though, you were hesitant to get your hopes up knowing that it would be unfair of you to expect change overnight. 

Afterward, you both lay in bed, entangled in each other’s arms. Your head rests on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. You can’t help but think about the weight he carries– the unfair expectations his family has placed on him, the pressure to be something he isn’t and the constant fear of failure and disappointment. You almost don’t want to bring it up, but you don’t want to return to the silence that you had become so accustomed to; the need to connect and understand him outweighs your hesitation.

“What’s going to happen with your dad?” You ask softly, looking up at him. 

He groans and breathes out a sigh, clearly not wanting to talk about work. Not now. Though that reluctance was part of the ongoing problem between the two of you; the rift, the distance, it was all because he’d just rather not talk about it– deciding always to carry his stress alone. He reaches over to the bedside table and grabs his wine glass, swirling the liquid as he contemplates how to answer.

“The man I saw tonight at dinner is not capable of running a company,” you add before he can say anything, hoping to break through his reluctance.

“And that will stay in the family,” Aegon sighs, his fingers trailing lightly over your shoulder as he makes deliberate eye contact. It feels like a warning. “We– they don’t want the truth about his condition to get out. Rhaenyra doesn’t even know the full extent of it. If she did, she could challenge for ownership of the company. As long as she and everyone else believes that Viserys Targaryen is well enough, Otto can continue with business as usual. The second the truth gets out, she’ll come for us all.”

“But how?”

“According to her, she has a trust that was signed years ago– before I was even born– naming her successor in the event that anything happened.”

“Does she?” you ask, searching his eyes.

“She might,”Aegon shrugs, a weary smile tugging at his lips. “I hope she does. My father never wanted me to take over the company, anyways, he’s always wanted it to be her, but my mother swears that he signed a second trust that would name me CEO. If Rhaenyra were to come forth with a trust superseding the one my mother has or if it were to come out that my mother may have forged that document–” 

He trails off, eyes distant as he plays out that scenario in his head. He shakes his head, as if trying to dislodge the thought, and then looks back at you. 

“Can we change the subject?”

You nod understandingly and ask after a few moments of silence, “are you ready for Seattle?”

He sets his wine glass down and pulls you close again, burying his face into the crook of your neck as he wraps his arms around you, “I’m not ready to leave you.” 

You smile to yourself but say nothing as you lightly graze his skin with your fingertips. As you lay there with him in your arms, your mind drifts to the implications of everything he’s just shared. You knew about Rhaenyra, you knew there was some sort of a power struggle, but you didn’t know the specifics. Aegon didn’t want you caught up in it and you were starting to understand why. You had a great career, but Aegon’s position meant security. The uncertainty of his future affected more than just him. You couldn’t even begin to relate to the pressure he must have felt, what little bit he decided to share with you tonight couldn’t have been but the tip of the iceberg. The weight of it all presses down on you, but you push the thoughts away, focusing instead on the warmth of his body against yours.

The rest of the weekend was spent in that very spot; only getting up for more wine, for take out deliveries, to shower– but only together. Aegon didn’t answer a single phone call that weekend, sending his grandfather to voicemail every time. You were living in a haze, drowning out the sounds of the phone ringing with your moans; fucking again and again until you’d fall asleep in each other’s arms. 

The world outside ceased to exist, at least for two fleeting days. 

When Monday morning comes, you wake to find him already gone; a sense of emptiness where his warmth had been just hours before. On the bedside table, next to your empty wine glass, there’s a note written in a familiar scrawl: “Back soon, I love you always.” A small smile settles on your lips as you read his words. He’d only be gone for one day, returning tomorrow on your anniversary. You hadn’t made plans, not with how you had been feeling towards him lately. When he mentioned he had to fly out to Seattle just the day before you were to celebrate four years together, you weren’t even sure if he’d even be here– and now he wasn’t, but with the promise that he would be back in time to celebrate. 

The first year, he had planned a picnic by the beach– it was a chilly early Spring day and the wind was impossible, but it was such a sweet gesture. He was so upset that things hadn’t gone as planned, you remembered how cute he had been, trying to make everything as perfect as he could. The second year, you had both spent a weekend in L.A. where he took you to see your favorite artist perform. And last year, he had sent three bouquets of your favorite flowers to your office and made a reservation for your favorite restaurant. 

Your hopes were already up. 

“You are glowing,” Baela commented with a bright smile as you got to your cubicle. “I take it you had a good weekend. Things with Aegon getting better?”

“We had a really nice weekend together,” you can’t help the smile on your lips. Before you can continue giving your friend the details, you look up to see your boss’ assistant making a beeline for your desk. 

“Ty wants to see you in his office,” she says to you and promptly turns back around. 

You narrow your eyes at her as she walked away and turn your attention to Baela; sharing a knowing look. You hated the way she called him ‘Ty’. You also hated that you accidentally found out they were having an affair; having caught them coming out of the copy room one Thursday morning. You watched as she adjusted her skirt and him replacing his wedding ring– he had to take it off so that he wouldn’t feel guilty. He had made direct eye contact with you across the cubicle walls, and ever since, hadn’t said more than three words to you. 

Tyland Lannister was the type of guy who really relished in being someone’s boss; editor in chief, his name on the door of his private, corner office. The view wasn’t spectacular, but you could tell he was proud of it. He was standing with his back to you, taking in that view as his mistress announced your arrival. She closed the door behind you and you couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle. 

“This couldn’t have been an email?” You joked, knowing that was his preferred method of communication. 

“Did you have a good weekend?” He asks without even turning to face you.

“What?” You ask, utterly confused. 

“Got an anonymous tip that the Targaryens had a little family dinner,” he continues and finally turns towards you, pointing to a front-page proof sitting on the table in front of you. Your heart immediately sinks in your chest. “A source close to the family claims that you were there, can you confirm?”

Your brows come together as you take a step towards the proof, eyes scanning the headline: “Daddy’s Favorite: Insider Claims Daughter To Be Named TargCorp Successor”. Your eyes immediately widen as you skim the rest of the article; a scathing detailing of the exact concerns Aegon had finally opened up about this past weekend. 

“You’re running this?” 

“What do you mean?” Tyland asked incredulously, laughing. “Of course we’re running it! This is the first credible thing we’ve heard about Viserys Targaryen in months. If you were, in fact, at this dinner party, we would be the only paper with an eye-witness account of Viserys Targaryen’s status. Can you confirm?”

“No,” you say firmly, shaking your head. “No, I won’t. If you run this, it’s without my input. I refuse to allow you to use my relationship to sell papers.” 

“Think about what you’re doing,” he warns.

“Think about what you’re doing,” you counter. 

Without another word, you turn sharply on your heel and head back to your desk. Your heart was pounding with adrenaline from standing up to your boss. You’ve never had to do that before, but were proud of yourself for standing your ground. Regardless of your defiance, you knew that there was nothing you could do to keep Tyland from publishing; it’d be on the front page, on newsstands everywhere tomorrow morning. 

And you could already see the fingers being pointed in your direction. 

Immediately you reach for your phone when you return to your desk, hastily swiping across the screen to dial Aegon’s number, but the call immediately goes to a full voicemail box. You grunt in frustration, dialing him again with the same outcome. You find his text thread and quickly send him a message: “Call me when you can, it’s important.” 

Baela is asking too many questions, her curiosity piqued by your frantic demeanor, but you’re too preoccupied to answer her. You excuse yourself and dart into the nearest bathroom for solace.

You pace back and forth, the realization hitting you that this story has the potential to destroy your relationship. It was almost too convenient that this news breaks right after Aegon finally opens up to you and introduces you to his family. Desperation drives you to scroll through the other contacts in your phone. Not sure what to do, but knowing you need to tell someone, your thumb hesitates over a familiar name before you press the screen to call. 

Aemond answers on the first ring, his voice is laced with obvious concern– still, you can’t help but feel relieved to hear it. He listens intently as you provide as much information as you can, his silence encouraging you to spill every detail. 

“Aegon’s in Seattle. He’s not answering,” you tell him, continuing to pace back and forth in the dimly lit restroom. Your heels click on the tile floor, echoing through the empty space. “I didn’t know who else to call.” 

“I’ll take care of it,” he affirms, and sounds so sure of himself that you can’t help but to feel at ease. You have no real reason to trust him, but for some reason, you just do.

You thank him with a sigh of relief, and he tells you not to worry about it. As the call ends, you find yourself staring at your reflection in the mirror. Earlier, you had been glowing with the lingering excitement from your weekend with Aegon. Now, your face was void of color and creased with worry. You turn on the tap and splash some water over your face to alleviate the anxiety that had made you so tense, hoping to be able to return to your work without any more cause for concern. 

Baela is waiting at your desk when you return.

She glances up from her phone, her perfect eyebrows arched high with concern. You can feel her gaze following you as you sit down, her curiosity practically burning a hole through you. 

“Well?” She asks, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. “Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

“I think someone is actively trying to ruin my life,” you laugh but Baela’s expression remains stern. Your smile immediately falls and you sigh. “Tyland is going to run a story about Aegon’s family, things that weren’t supposed to get out, and I’m worried that it might blow up and hurt him.”

She remains silent as you continue. 

“He finally opened up to me about everything, Bae,” you say as you hold your head in your hands. “He told me everything and now–”

Baela's eyes widened. "You think they're going to blame you for it?"

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. "I don't want Aegon to think I had anything to do with it. I feel like we’re finally getting back to how things used to be and this could ruin everything."

She reaches out and squeezes your hand. You manage a small smile. 

“He’ll understand,” she assures you. “And if he doesn’t, well, I’ll help you knock some sense into him.” 

“Thanks,” you say, squeezing her hand in return. “I just got off the phone with Aemond. He’s going to try and figure out who this ‘anonymous source’ is.”

Baela raises an eyebrow. “You called Aemond?” 

“Aegon wasn’t answering,” you shrug, downplaying it. “I had no one else to call.”

“Are you sure that you can trust him?” She asks. “You don’t really know him that well.”

You slightly narrow your eyes at her, wondering why she’d even ask. “I have no reason not to trust him.” 

“You’re right,” she nods and turns away from you back to her own desk. After a few moments of silence she turns back to you and adds, “I just want you to be careful.” 

“Noted,” you reply, a hint of irritation laced within your words. 

The rest of your day dragged on agonizingly slowly. Constantly checking your phone for any calls or texts from Aegon or Aemond made each minute feel endless. Everything you worked on seemed meaningless; each word you typed felt like it was just pushing you further and further towards writing classified ads in a dingy, basement cubicle with that guy who was rumored to have been blackmailing women into sending him pictures of their feet. 

By the end of the day, you were more than ready to leave. 

As soon as the clock hit five, you grabbed your things and headed out, barely acknowledging Baela’s concerned glance as you made your way towards the elevator. A dull migraine had been building all afternoon, and you couldn’t wait to get out from underneath the harsh fluorescents of the office. The cool, early evening air was a welcome relief as you stepped out onto the busy streets. The walk to the subway felt longer than usual, each step heavy with the weight of the day’s stress.

The moment you stepped through the door of your apartment, you tossed your bag onto the couch and headed straight for the shower, doing your best to ignore how eerily quiet it was. 

The tension in your shoulders instantly melted away as you stepped into the hot water, allowing the steam to envelop you and wash away the grime of the day, alleviating your migraine and helping you to feel a bit more relaxed. Yet, you still couldn’t help but let your thoughts drift back to the conversation you had with Tyland earlier; his threatening words loud and prominent in your mind, drowning out the sound of the water. You knew there was no point in worrying about the article or the implications it could have on your life. You had done everything you could, but the anxiety still gnawed at you. The anticipation was suffocating, a weight on your chest that refused to lift.

With a frustrated sigh, you shut off the water and stepped out. 

The apartment was still too quiet. 

At this point in the evening, Aegon would usually be upstairs in his office, deep into a business call with his advisors, talking money and spreadsheets and accounts. It was something that, just days ago, you were fed up with, but now, you just missed the sound of his voice. You grabbed your phone from the bathroom counter and figured you’d try him one more time, thinking that it might be late enough and he’d be finished with whatever meetings he had for the day.

The phone rang and rang, and eventually his generic voicemail picked up, “the person you are trying to reach has a voicemail box that is full and cannot accept new messages.” 

Disappointment settled in as the call ended. 

You wrapped yourself in a towel and walked into the bedroom, the silence amplifying your loneliness. As you dressed, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. The uncertainty of the situation with the article, combined with Aegon’s unavailability, left you feeling more isolated than ever. Desperate for a distraction, you decided to make yourself a cup of tea, hoping it would help calm your nerves. As the water boiled, you checked your phone again, praying for a message from Aegon or an update from Aemond. 

The lack of communication was driving you insane. 

A knock on the front door tore through the silence as you sat at your kitchen table; a now lukewarm cup of tea in front of you. Your heart beat quickly as you quietly stepped up to the door and looked through the peephole to see Aemond standing in the hallway. He knocked once more, and you hesitated. It wasn’t until he turned to leave that you finally opened the door. 

“Aemond?” You ask, voice soft and curious. He turned back, his expression serious but softening slightly when he saw you. You leaned against the doorframe, opening the door a little wider. “Did you find out who it was?”

“Not yet,” he said with a shake of his silvery blonde locks. “Really, I just wanted to check on you. You sounded stressed on the phone earlier.” 

You laughed through your nose and motioned for him to come in. 

There was a small smirk on his lips as he stepped inside that seemed almost proud, and suddenly the atmosphere between the two of you shifted slightly as you became acutely aware of the space he took up in your living room as he towered over you. The air he brought in with him smelled of tobacco and mint gum, and new car air freshener. 

“Would you like something to drink?” You asked him, lingering in the threshold of the kitchen. 

“No, thank you,” he says softly. “Have you heard from Aegon?”

You shook your head, “have you?”

“As attached as he is to his phone, he is surprisingly hard to reach,” he says with a lighthearted laugh. 

He meant nothing by the statement, but suddenly you remember what he had told you on the dock– those words that had been floating around in your head rent free since the dinner party– Aegon’s own brother providing you with a warning of the type of person he knew him to be. As you both sat on the couch, the silence grew heavy with unspoken words. Aemond must have noticed the way that your smile had faded, because he reached over and placed his hand on your knee, sending a jolt of awareness throughout your entire body. 

“Hey,” he says softly, squeezing your knee softly. “He’s just busy. This contract is important.”

“You said so yourself that he’s been thoughtless,” you remind him with a frown. 

“In the past,” he says reassuringly. “In fact, that’s actually part of the reason I wanted to see you tonight. It was wrong of me to imply that my brother may be unfaithful to you. He is an idiot, probably the most foolish twat I've ever met, but it's obvious he loves you. You’ve completely changed him.”

You shake your head and stand up, crossing your arms across your chest as you pace the living room. It wasn't what you wanted to hear. Everything wrong with your relationship with Aegon was because he'd changed.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says softly, moving to get up from the couch. “If you’d like I can go.”

“No, I–” your words are quick, stopping him in place. “You weren't wrong. Aegon and I have our problems, which I’m sure anyone would notice if they paid even a moment of attention.”

“What sort of problems?” He asks after a few moments of silence. You look at him with surprise, not expecting him to want to hear about your broken relationship with his brother. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“I don’t know who he is anymore,” you say softly, defeated. “You say that I completely changed him, but that's not at all what I wanted. If you had told me four years ago that the guy I fell in love with would become this empty, corporate machine I would have laughed in your face. And just when I thought that things were finally getting better, someone leaked that story and I’m back at square one.” 

Aemond stands up and places his hands on your shoulders and you instantly feel grounded by his touch; as if his touch alone could solve every one of your grievances. You look up at him, softly biting your lip as your eyes carve out the sharpness of his features. You don't know how to feel with the way he's looking at you; you're both uneasy and aroused.

“I’m going to figure it out,” he says firmly as his thumbs smooth over the fabric of your t-shirt.

“Thank you, Aemond,” your voice is barely above a whisper as the tension of the moment blankets you. 

“I should go,” he adds after a moment of silence and you nod reluctantly. 

As Aemond pulled his hands from your shoulders, you couldn't help but feel an immediate longing for his touch. You knew it was wrong, it was more than wrong to feel this way about your boyfriend's brother.

And yet, all you wanted in that moment was to feel his lips on yours.

“I hope you have a good night,” you say to him as you walk him to the door. "Thanks for the company."

“Anytime," he offers a soft nod as he presses the button to call the elevator. "If you need anything, you know I'll answer."

You smile, hearing the real message in his words.

But as if he needed to make it more clear he adds, "and hey, I know that relationships are complicated, but I also know that you deserve someone who appreciates you and is willing to show it.” 

The words hung between the two of you, heavy with unspoken meaning. You both knew he wasn’t talking about Aegon.

For half a second, you visualize pulling him back into your apartment; pulling him in and feeling his touch once again. There were so many things left unsaid, but the fact that Aemond Targaryen wanted you wasn’t one of them. 

But then the elevator doors opened, bringing you back to reality, and without another word he was gone.

Tag List:

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There are a couple people on the tag list that it won't let me tag for some reason. So if you had asked in the past and you aren't on here, it's because it's not allowing me to tag you/ find your blog. If you are interested in being tagged, let me know, and if you no longer want to be tagged that is also cool! Just let me know!

[eiflawriting]

Hiya! I was wondering if maybe you could write something like kyoraku fucking you in a sundress? Like you’ve planned a picnic date and then he sees you all dressed up in a pretty yellow sundress and makes you sit on his face in the middle of the park? Ty love x

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐢 𝐤𝐲ō𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐮

(✧) ─ 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 shunsui finally has a day off from his captain duties, so y/n decides to plan a romantic picnic to help him relax. upon seeing her in that pretty little dress, he thought of other ways to do so.

(✧) ─ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔! black woman who uses she/her pronouns ─ chubby!reader. established relationship ── husband x wife. same couple from goodmorning, my love. part ii. to my four part series. NO MANGA SPOILERS. third POV, usage of profanity, praising and breeding kink, VOYEURISM ── public s3x. oral!receiving ── face sitting, missionary position, terms of endearment ── cupcake, sweetheart, my love, angel, baby, pretty girl, etc. squirting, creampie. this is just some passionate love making in the garden. shunsui is wearing a yukata and i think it's hot. 3.3k word count.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀(✧) ─ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔

my goodness. first of all, im sorry this request took so long. i have like three different versions of this fic written, but decided to go with this one. i absolutely love it. nonnie, i hope you're still here with me lol. i also just came off a writing hiatus, so im going to try to knock out my other requests, which are also bleach characters, hehe. shoutout to nonnie for being my first completed request. ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ • *✰ no more rambling. i hope y'all enjoy. interactions would be greatly appreciated. ♡ eighteen plus only. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

𝑺𝑯𝑼𝑵𝑺𝑼𝑰 𝑺𝑰𝑷𝑷𝑬𝑫 𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑺𝑨𝑲𝑬 𝑺𝑰𝑳𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑳𝒀 𝑨𝑺 𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑨𝑻𝑪𝑯𝑬𝑫 𝒀/𝑵 𝑷𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑬𝑳𝑭 𝑨 𝑪𝑼𝑷, 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑫 𝑻𝑶 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑺 𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑴𝑶𝑼𝑻𝑯. His grey irises were glued to Y/N, mesmerized by her gorgeous appearance. A day never went by when Shunsui wasn't obsessed with her beauty, but today he found himself staring more than usual. Did it have something to do with the substance circulating his system or the short yellow dress Y/N was wearing? 

Maybe both. 

When Shunsui saw Y/N, he felt himself coming undone in the yukata she picked out for him to wear. He wondered where she got this dress from? Perhaps a gift from Rukia when she returned from the World of the Living? If so, he would surely thank her the next time he ran into her.

The dress held Y/N's curves perfectly. With every step she took, her tits bounced like they were dying to be freed. A few times on the stroll to the garden, the wind blew heavily to expose her garments. The pervert in Shunsui wanted the wind to blow harder to reveal more, but of course, the gentleman in him helped Y/N adjust. 

Shunsui declared yellow was Y/N's color. It complimented her deep brown skin well—and the sun couldn't agree more, descending upon her complexion to illuminate the natural glow she already had. To think this day was supposed to be reserved for spending time with Y/N and relaxing. All he could think about was fucking her in that pretty little dress. Well, that sounds quite relaxing to him, at least. 

"My love, you're staring," Y/N said while her eyes remained focused on rummaging through the picnic basket. 

Of course, he was. How couldn't he? If only she could witness the lewd thoughts permeating Shunsui's mind. They were beyond obscene, visualizing her thighs suffocating his face while he ate her pussy until she was a cumming mess. Fucking Y/N, gazing at her tits bouncing invitingly until they fell out her top. He knew she wasn't wearing a bra either. The dress's material was thin enough to have her nipples peek through. 

Fuck, she was so damn sexy. Shunsui's cock was growing harder the longer he watched.

"Can you blame me for having a beautiful wife?"

Y/N wrinkled her nose. "Hmm, maybe you're right. I can't blame you, but you could at least say what's on your mind."

"Why do you think something's on my mind?"

"Hmm, maybe because you're giving me those bedroom eyes, and your cheeks are quite red. I know you could handle your liquor."

He chuckled, using his free hand to throw up in defeat. "You got me. You'll probably think I'm a pervert if I tell you what's on my mind."

"Baby—I thought you were a pervert since we met. I don't think a few of your wet fantasies would make me think otherwise." The laugh he belted from his stomach pulled strings in Y/N's heart. So genuine. He needed this day. 

Shunsui leaned back to pat on his lap, wanting Y/N to take comfort, which she had no issue doing. A delightful ache rushed to his cock from feeling Y/N's clothed sex on him. Her lips were ghosting over his, inches from kissing but instead taking in the lingering aroma of sake. She brushed her nose along the bridge of his nose, an intimate gesture they did to express their love, before wrapping her arms around Shunsui's neck and finding his lips. 

While sharing a heated kiss, Y/N began rubbing her pussy on Shunsui to pull those husked groans from his chest. His free hand rested on the small of her back to aid the rolling motion of her hips. Y/N halted her movements to softly gasp due to feeling his erection grow against her clothed sex. However, Shunsui saw no reason for her to stop. 

Shunsui chugged the last of his sake before grabbing Y/N's legs to wrap around him, having her comfortably straddle him. He placed his hands on her hips to continue her movements while massaging each other's lips. Every moan, grunt, and plea was devoured with the intent of wanting to do more than just make out, especially for Shunsui. 

A greedy man he was when it came to Y/N. He wanted to discover every kink and pinpoint of her body until all her weaknesses were revealed. Any chance he had was used to taking his time pleasing her in ways she didn't know was possible, but Shunsui made it so. And today would just be another one of those experiments. 

"I want you to bear my children, my love," Shunsui rasped, pecking her lips between words before peppering kisses along her neck. "You look so damn beautiful and sexy in this dress. I want to fuck you while you wear it."

"Mmm, let's go back—"

He shook his head. "No. Right here. Let me fuck you right here in the middle of the garden."

"S-Shunsui—I don't know if I'll be able to be quiet. And what if someone sees us?" Y/N words barely came out as normal. Her breathy moans only indicated she was on board with him. 

He tugged her earlobe between his teeth, whispering, "Hmm, conservative now, are we? I recall you stopping by before my captain meetings a few times because you said you missed me—And lunch wasn't the only thing you were dropping off."

Shunsui earned a knowing look from Y/N that was filled with desire. She didn't even bother to argue because it was true. Y/N genuinely visited Shunsui at the barracks to bring him lunch. But there was just something about seeing him tend to his captain duties that had a pleasurable ache rush to her center. And let's just say when Shunsui walked her out of the room, she attracted a few stares from his subordinates. 

She nipped on her bottom lip, letting out a deflating sigh. "Why have I married you again?"

"Because you love me, and I love you. Now come here—Sit on my face." Shunsui wasted no time laying on his back to prepare to feast on Y/N. She attempted to remove her dress, but he stopped her. "I was very serious when I said I want to please you while you wear this dress, sweetheart."

He sat up a bit to grab Y/N's waist to pull her onto his face, causing her to giggle. That giggle soon turned into a soft moan upon feeling Shunsui lap at her clit through her panties. The barrier of her garments acted as a tease and a surprise for something great. Her natural odor graced his nostrils, reminding him how he became pussydrunk, to begin with. 

The feeling of Y/N's pussy being toyed with through her panties was a great delight—as if the material of her garments gave her clit more friction. She even found herself riding his face in hopes of reaching her release quicker. But she should know that Shunsui took his time pleasing her. 

Libido was pumping through their veins, but mainly Y/N. Shunsui was a tease in more ways than one. However, she felt like she was on the edge of a mountain. She was desperate to cum, and although her orgasm was right there—it wouldn't come. Not until his tongue was pleasing her without the barrier. It felt like an everlasting sensation of falling out of the sky. 

Y/N hiked up her dress to look down at Shunsui, seeing that pretty scarlet color decorate his cheeks. She just knew he was enjoying taunting her. His mouth was preoccupied, but his eyes twinkled a light of mischief and ecstasy. Y/N thought he looked so sexy smothered between her thighs, but she needed more, and she didn't mind begging for it. 

"Baby, stop teasing me—please."

"Gosh, I just love when you're so needy and impatient for me, angel. Just this once, I'll give you what you want."

He slipped Y/N's panties to the side to attack her clit. He groaned from having her taste on his tongue, joyfully rolling his eyes back. Shunsui was hungry for this pussy. Taking care of Y/N was the highlight of his day. If only he could spend every day like this—spreading her ass cheeks to obnoxiously eat her pussy and second hole.

Shunsui's moans transferred vibrations to her throbbing bud, causing Y/N to cry his name. He slipped two fingers inside her to produce more of those dulcet cries, which went straight to cock. 

Y/N was so wet for Shunsui and created a mess on his face. Being drowned in her wetness was no issue for him at all. Y/N's juices coated his facial hair and dripped down his chin. She kept whimpering his name, saying how close she was to cumming, and that only aided his feasting to become more passionate. Thrusting his fingers knuckles deep into her cunt while sucking vigorously on her clit. And he couldn't neglect the hidden flavor behind the long side of her labia. 

"Fuck, you taste so good, cupcake. I love this pussy," Shunsui mumbled.

"Shun, suck me harder. I'm right there."

So sensitive she was when it came to Shunsui's touch. Teasing Y/N through her garments was the calm before the storm. She just knew as soon as she felt him lapping at her clit she would cum quickly. Her actions also proved this accurate—pressing her weight on his face, suffocating him between her thighs while riding his tongue.

Y/N began feeling herself and imagined Shunsui running his hands through her curves. Somewhere along the lines of yes, please, oh God, and a few more curse words was all that she could say. However, Shunsui fucking the air caught her attention. She looked over her shoulders to witness how hard his erection became. If she didn't know any better, the wet spot on his yukata was the overload of precum seeping through. 

She bit her lip, thinking about how badly she wanted to suck the soul out of his dick. But that would be saved for another time. 

Shunsui pumped his fingers faster and deeper into Y/N until he hit her sweet spot to pull back her attention. He consumed Y/N's wetness, slurping her juices and generating slurping sounds like her pussy was a popsicle on the verge of melting. His free hand was used to repeatedly smack her ass and rub to alleviate the sting. Shunsui knew she enjoyed his actions. How she clenched around his fingers couldn't say otherwise.

And it wasn't long before her orgasm washed over his face. 

Y/N saw stars while riding out her release. Despite her moans being hitched, they still managed to push through. She panted above him and, as always, thanked Shunsui for delivering great pleasures. 

Typically, Shunsui would continue pleasing Y/N past her orgasm because he enjoyed her sensitivity, but he was just dying to fuck her. He ran his tongue along her folds a bit longer before removing Y/N from his face. He sat her on the blanket to begin freeing himself from his yukata. She watched him with lidded eyes, chest heaving slowly, licking her lips with anticipation to see his girthy cock. 

"You like what you see, darling?"

Y/N giggled. "Oh, shut up and fuck me already."

"Hmm, quite a demand from someone so worried about having sex in the garden." 

She pulled him by the band of his yukata to have him inches away from her mouth. "I said—shut up—and come fuck me." And found his lips once more. 

Their kiss was so passionately sloppy. Moaning and groaning from the lingering taste of Y/N on his tongue. He hurriedly lowered his yukata enough to expose his aching cock. Although Shunsui had all day with her, it seemed like he was still in a rush to fuck her fat wet pussy. He only left a few more smooches before descending into Y/N's neck to nip harshly at her flesh. 

While he stroked his dick to spread his precum and prepare to be inside her, he freed her breasts from the dress because they looked like they needed air. How Y/N's full saggy tits jumped out her top was beyond obnoxious. Fuck, he couldn't resist sucking them into his mouth just to savor for a bit. 

After showing equal love to Y/N's tits, he again slipped her panties to the side and leaned forward until Y/N was lying on her back. He grabbed her legs to hook one thigh under his forearm and pin the other. Shunsui ran his tongue across her bottom lip while his tip rested on her sex to tease, and just when she parted her lips to complain—he pushed in. 

But of course, her pussy was stubborn, involuntary resisting, and only allowing the head. 

He gathered saliva in his mouth to drip on his dick. Her wetness was enough lubricant, but Shunsui knew doing this would create that obscene queefing sound he loved hearing. He took his time working open her pussy, pumping tenderly until he was deep. 

Y/N rolled her eyes and let out soft whimpers, indicating her approval of his actions. How was his tip alone able to bring her this much pleasure already? But no. She needed to take all eight inches of Shunsui to make him proud. 

"My love, I—I can take it. Give me more," Y/N breathed.

He held his hips still to watch her, seeing how the sun was attracted to the tiny beads of sweat decorating her forehead. He noticed how tears began pricking the corner of those pretty chestnut-colored eyes. Y/N's hand was already resting on Shunsui's lower abdomen in preparation to hold him to alleviate the pressure. It didn't matter how often they had sex—Shunsui is a very passionate partner, and Y/N needed time to adjust.

But if she said she was ready… then she was ready. 

He bottomed out.

She let out a pitched yelp.

He pulled out and did it again. 

And again. 

And again. 

He fucked Y/N to make her cum all over his cock and milk her to breed her pussy. With every thrust, his balls smacked her sex. He was fucking Y/N at full force to have her breasts bounce uncontrollably. They sat so nicely outside the pretty little yellow dress she was wearing. This is what Shunsui was visualizing when he saw her in this dress. 

"Y/N, squeeze your breasts together with your arms," Shunsui ordered, to which she happily complied. "Yes, just like that. Fuck, you're so sexy. So good to me, sweetheart."

"Shun, oh God! Don't stop fucking me like this, baby."

He won't. He won't stop fucking his sweet wife like a wild animal hunting prey. If anything, he'll fuck her harder until she gushes and creams his cock, and he paints her walls. Until she's crying his name from the pit of her stomach. Shunsui kissed Y/N's cervix just enough to deliver another orgasm and not bring discomfort. 

Y/N's cheeks only grew warmer the more her pleasure was built. Shunsui was a lot to handle, but she molded around him perfectly with his patience to stretch her walls. Her pussy sucked him in and out. Based on how his eyes were glued between them, he was delighted by this sight. But Y/N wanted him to look at her.

"L-Look at me, Shunsui."

His dick twitched from her order that sounded too sweet. He gave her soft smooches to express his apologies. "I'm sorry, angel. You want me to watch you when you cum, hm?"

"Yes, please."

Gosh, why did she sound like that? 

Shunsui freed her thighs to take comfort in holding her thick waist. He pounded into her to hear her pussy smile. He quickly glanced to see a heap of cream on his cock. When he returned his eyes to Y/N, he saw her squeezing her nipple while attempting to suck the other in her mouth. The visual of this was so pornographic. His dick couldn't stop jumping unruly. 

He was going to bust soon. 

And she wasn't too far behind. 

"You're going to let me breed you. Isn't that right, my love? That's what you promised me, yeah?" But, despite his words coming out as a question, he wasn't asking. 

More so, telling her. 

"Yes. I'll do anything for you, Shun."

"You're always so fucking good to me."

His hands remained on her waist to fuck her, also pulling down Y/N to meet with his thrusts. He pressed his weight onto her to sensually kiss Y/N, overpowering her pretty two-toned lips with his tongue. Shunsui glided across her jawline and neck to suck fervently on her flesh to pull back those sweet yelps. Her walls wrapped around him acted as a turtleneck sweater providing warmth to his cock. It would only take a few more strokes until Y/N was a cumming mess. 

Shunsui removed one of his hands from Y/N to move his fingers to her pearl to rub out her orgasm. His pace was erratic, and he was eager to feel her wash over him again. Y/N's moans reverberated around the garden, yet they were still sweet and soft. His grunts joined her sounds of pleasure to harmonize. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, and she couldn't look more beautiful—happier. Words couldn't describe how much Shunsui loves her. She was perfect. 

"Ah—Ngh, oh my gosh, Shun. Baby, I'm cumming. You're making me cum," Y/N whimpered, sniffling her tears of joy. 

"I just love hearing those words from your pretty mouth. You're so gorgeous, my angel. I love you so much. Always milking my cock with this warm, tight pussy. Fuck, you feel amazing." The praises Shunsui was saying to Y/N only helped build her climax further. She was squeezing him, and her pussy produced stirring wet noises. He applied more pressure to her clit and flicked it more quicker. "Mmm, cum for me, Y/N."

His balls were growing heavy. Shunsui put all his strength into his thrusts until they became sloppy, indicating his near orgasm. He repeatedly touched Y/N's cushion, which had her whimpering and toes curling.

He ghosted his mouth over her ears. "Let go for me, sweetheart. I want you to release everything on me. I feel you. Don't hold back, okay? I'm yours."

"..."

"I'm yours," he repeated in a hushed tone.

"Oh–f-fuck…."

And that was it. A beautiful wave washed between them as Y/N squirted and milked his cock, and Shunsui drowned her pussy with his bitters. His sloppy thrusts didn't halt until he ensured every last drop of cum emptied in her depths. He moaned her name, saying she was his good girl, calling her beautiful, and saying he would make her a mommy. 

Once the couple came down from their high, Shunsui pulled Y/N onto his lap with his dick inside her. He showered her face with gentle kisses before finding her soft lips. Having Y/N in his arms was the best feeling he could ask for. 

Upon parting from the heartfelt kiss, they held eye contact to share a look of lust. Two lovers, drunk off love and sake after fucking passionately in the middle of the garden. However, Y/N almost forgot she was in public until hearing the voices of his subordinates. How she yelped and curled into Shunsui, smothering her face on his bare chest, made his heart flutter.

She softly bit his flesh to show her playful frustration of agreeing to be fucked in a public setting. "Remind me to never do this again."

"Haha. I can remind you, but we both know you don't believe in the word never. Now, come on. Let's go home and clean up."

𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜. 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙗𝙚 𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙. ♡

𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜 ── @dejwrites @beniswife @ayyy-pee @maydayaisha @violxtbxbyy @chaotic-nick @aiyaaayei @bontensbabygirl @po3ticb3auty @angrybirdxx @alinvert @heartdevil @caribbeanwifey19 @sexbob-ombbeck @softimgyu @kimorikuri @adoretruly @akondo @kinize20 @snowflakeanimelover @kawaiigirljenae99 @zabimarushoney67 @ghoulette420 @stargirllust @kenpachis-woman @magxnoria @kenpachiislit

[chasholidays]

we're back baybee

Hello friends! After a few years' hiatus, I'm going to once again take prompts for holiday fills. If you're new here, here's how it works.

You and some number of other people fill out THIS GOOGLE FORM

I receive all the responses and close the form on OCTOBER 4 2024 AT 8 AM EASTERN TIME

I use a variety of methods (personal bias, random number generator, chicken innards, etc) to pick from the submitted prompts and get a selection that I feel confident I can complete

On December 1, I will start posting! The fills we be posted by @chasholidays on tumblr and also uploaded to AO3

My planned posting schedule is that I will post TWO fics each weekend day (eighteen fics total) and ONE fic per weekday (twenty-two fics total) for a total of FORTY FICS over the month of December. Depending on how I'm feeling and how many prompts I get, I might decide to do more! But I'm going to commit to 40 minimum and go from there.

For many reasons, I'm not planning to tell people in advance if their fics have been selected or not. So in December, you will either see your fic posted or not, and it will be a surprise! If your prompt isn't selected, I hope another prompt will be something you're excited about

Because I am a human person with feelings, I will give some number of slots to my friends/mutuals without putting them through the RNG. Just FYI

The other thing I want to address is that this year, for the first time in a while, I'm letting fandoms be a free-for-all in terms of prompting! I'm going to have some specific information for my three biggest fandoms from my poll (The 100, 9-1-1, Tortall), but there's also going to be a free response form where you can shoot your shot on basically anything you want. Unlike the big three fandoms, I won't try to make promises about getting a representative sample from the other fandoms, and I'm also going to be more willing to just knock out prompts that don't catch my interest. I think of the other fandom option as high risk/high reward; I might bounce off the prompt completely, but if it tickles my fancy, you'll go directly into the fill pool without having to brave the RNG.

Okay god this is already so long but this is the LAST THING. As is tradition, I'm also offering alternate POV fics and continuations, which I used to call timestamps but that terminology has fallen out of favor and no one knew what I meant so I'm retiring it. Basically, this is an alternate perspective of or a sequel/prequel/some kind of continuation to a fic or series I've already written. You can pick from anything I have on AO3. These will be have their own forms, so if you want one of these, you won't pick a fandom, just provide a link to the story in question and provide some additional info.

Oh and this is one entry per person. If you submit multiple I'll take the first and delete the others, and if you submit too many I'll delete the first one too tbh.

tl;dr: here's the google form again

submit your prompt by 10/4/2024; send asks to @ponyregrets if you have them

[warrioreowynofrohan]

This is one of the best articles I’ve seen yet on Trump, Trumpism, and the upcoming election. It’s directed at the right and centre-right (whereas most tumblr posts on this are directed at the left), but it’s saying – with detailed analysis and evidence – exactly what needs to be said, to everyone. This is not a normal election. How you vote this November determines whether you ever get the chance to vote in a democratic election again. This is not a game. Fascism is not a buzzword or a rhetorical device to hurl at anyone and everyone you disagree with. It is real, it is dangerous, and Trump is openly running on a fascist platform.

There are only two sides in this election: those who want the United States to be a fascist dictatorship and those who do not.

I live in Canada. I do not want to live next to a fascist state (especially since the Comservatives here are way ahead in the polls and their leader gives every sign of wanting to cozy up to Trump).

Please, stop this while you still have a chance.

Today we’re going to look at definitions of fascism and ask the question – you may have guessed – if Donald Trump is running for President as a fascist. Worry not, this isn’t me shifting to full-time political pundit, nor is this the formal end of the hiatus (which will happen on Nov 1, when I hope to have a post answering some history questions from the ACOUP Senate to start off on), but this was an essay I had in me that I had to get out, and working on the book I haven’t the time to get it out in any other forum but this one. And I’ll be frank, some of Donald Trump’s recent statements and promises have raised the urgency of writing this; the political science suggests that politicians do, broadly, attempt to do the things they promise to do – and the things Trump is promising are dark indeed.

Now I want to be clear what we’re doing here. I am not asking if the Republican Party is fascist (I think, broadly speaking, it isn’t) and certainly not if you are fascist (I certainly hope not). But I want to employ the concept of fascism as an ideology with more precision than its normal use (‘thing I don’t like’) and in that context ask if Donald Trump fits the definition of a fascist based on his own statements and if so, what does that mean. And I want to do it in a long-form context where we can get beyond slogans or tweet-length arguments and into some detail.

Now the response from some folks is going to be anger that I am even asking this question and demands for me to ‘stay in my lane.’ To which I must remind them that the purpose of history and historians is, as Thucydides put it, is to offer “an exact knowledge of the past as an aid to the understanding of the future, which in the course of human affairs must resemble if it does not reflect it” (Thuc. 1.22.4). This is my lane. Goodness knows, I’d much rather be discussing the historical implications of tax policy or long-term interstate strategy, but that isn’t the election we’re having. And if hearing about these things that happened is unpleasant, well, Polybius offers the solution: “men have no more ready corrective of conduct than knowledge of the past” (Plb. 1.1.1). We must correct our conduct.

The author, Bret Devereaux, lays out the history of the rise to power of Hitler and Mussolini and draws out the lessons

What I want to note here are two key commonalities: First, fascists were only able to take power because of the gullibility of those who thought they could ‘use’ the fascists against some other enemy (usually communists). Traditional conservative politicians (your Mitch McConnell and Lindsey Graham types) and conservative business leaders (your Elon Musks) fooled themselves into believing that, because the would-be tyrant seemed foolish, buffoonish, and uneducated that such an individual could be controlled to their ends, shaped in more productive, more ‘moderate,’ more ‘business friendly’ directions. They were wrong; many of them paid for their foolish error with their lives (Victor Emmanuel III paid for it with his crown). Mussolini and Hitler would not be ‘shaped,’ – they would be exactly the violent, tyrannical dictators they had promised to be – to the total and utter ruin of their countries.

Note that these men were not exactly subtle about what they wanted to do. Mein Kampf is not a subtle book. But they both knew how to promise violence to their followers while prevaricating to their temporary allies; be wary of the fascist who promises violence in his rally speeches but assures you that, if you just give him power, he won’t hurt anyone (except the people you don’t like) – because it is a lie, of course.

Second: once these fascist leaders were in power it was already too late to stop them. Precisely because fascists had no respect for democratic processes and the rule of law – things they had declared openly in seeking power – once in power, they were unconstrained by them and swiftly set about converting all of the powers of the government into a machine to keep them in power. And the conversion from democracy to dictatorship was remarkably swift, in Italy, Mussolini marched in October of ’22, rewrote the election rules in November of ’23 and by December of ’24 had effectively dropped even the pretense of democracy; just two years. Hitler was faster: appointed chancellor in January 1933, by March of that year he had suspended constitutional protections and ruled by fiat; just three months.

The time to stop an authoritarian takeover of a democratic system is before the authoritarian is in office, because once they are in power, they will use that power, to stay in power and it becomes almost impossible to remove them without considerable violence (and difficult to do even with considerable violence).

That, however, creates a tricky situation. With most political ideologies, voters can adopt a strategy of judging by outputs: “if you don’t like the current government’s policies, let these other fellows here have a go at it and see if they do better. If not, you can always vote them out next time.” But with fascists and other authoritarians there may not be a next time and this strategy fails: by the time the actions of the fascists make it clear they are dangerous, it is too late to vote them out.

This is why it is important to listen carefully to what fascists say and what they promise and most importantly to take their threats of political violence and authoritarianism seriously.

Which is not to say that everything on the right is fascism (just as not everything on the left is its own authoritarian variant, communism). Ronald Reagan was not a fascist, nor was George H.W. Bush or George W. Bush or John McCain or Mitt Romney. They were conservatives within the liberal tradition (again, ‘liberal’ here in the old Jefferson-Locke-and-Washington sense). Most Republicans today are not fascists, although a distressing number appear ready to repeat Franz von Papen’s mistake of assuming they can achieve their goals through an alliance with fascists. Only the devil wins such a devil’s bargain.

How is one to tell the difference? Listen to the things they promise to do and understand that they make speak out of both sides of their mouth: promising violence to one audience and then toning down their rhetoric to another. But politicians speaking from within the tradition of liberty don’t need to speak that way because they don’t promise violence in the first place.

Listen for the promises of violence, the promises to suspend press freedoms, the promises to persecute political adversaries and when you hear them believe them.

I strongly recommend reading the whole article, as the author goes on to lay out two of the more common definitions of fascism and analyze, point-by-point, how Trumpism fits them.

There is a reason why some Republicans, even some of the people who were in Trump’s inner circle in 2016-2020, have jumped ship now. The Republicans who are willing to vote for Kamala aren’t doing it because she’s conservative – they’re doing it because they’re anti-fascist. It would be deeply ironic if people on the left who have been calling themselves anti-fascists for the last eight years proved to be less so than those Republicans. This may be one of the most crucial moments in American history. Take it seriously.

[hueseok]

( 01. ) GOOD GRACES.

kim seokjin doesn’t believe in luck. he’s someone who knows that in order to have good things coming your way, you have to work damn hard for it. however, that might not be the case when it comes to bad luck, because after a video of him goes viral wherein it looks like he’s screaming at someone’s grandma, he begins thinking maybe luck does exist—and it just so happens that he’s now being subjected to a lot of unluckiness.

he’s being cancelled. his career is getting destroyed. his manager is forcing him to take a hiatus. and on top of that, as if things could not get worse, the only hope he has on redeeming everything he worked hard on depends on you, the director’s daughter of the theater show that could propel him back to where he used to be.

that should have been a piece of cake. if only you weren’t his ex who he dumped via phone call and got threatened by to never show his face to ever again...

pairing: seokjin x reader

word count: 4.2k

rating: NC-17

content: fluff, light angst, humor, exes to enemies to friends to lovers au | ft. theater actor!seokjin + himbo energy!seokjin lmao, podcaster!reader + nepo baby!reader

warning/s: lots of swearing | lots of internal monologue by seokjin? lmao

[ chapter index. ]

EPISODE 01. there are worse things i could do !

seokjin never thought that the downfall of his career would happen because of a misconstrued video of him going viral where he was apparently yelling at a poor old lady in a grocery store.

but here he is, getting canceled on twitter and being informed by his manager that he was taken off the projects he was scheduled to do for the upcoming year, the brands who were once so keen on getting him on board suddenly backtracking and terminating the previously signed deals that were already discussed.

regardless of how he tried convincing yikyung, the said manager, that he wasn’t actually fighting the woman who was probably the same age as his grandmother on that short clip—and that all of this was just a stupid a misunderstanding, he’s told it’s too late. the public already made up their mind; they all hated him, and there were several gossip blogs publishing articles that had ‘receipts’ of his apparent bad and diva behavior over the span of his career.

“look, namjoon and I are working on it,” yikyung says, explaining that the PR and legal team are already in the midst of taking care of the whole problem. “but for the meantime, the best you can do is lay low for a while, buddy.”

“what?” seokjin exclaims. “are you saying—”

“you’ll be going on a hiatus.”

“hiatus,” he repeats, enunciating every syllable like he heard it wrong. he feels like he’s going to vomit, the whole room he’s in right now spinning before his eyes.

“yes. hiatus.”

god, seokjin hates that word. he’s been working his ass off since he knew how to act and sing and was the absolute fucking best at it. and now they’re putting him on a hiatus? it’s ridiculous. it’s unfair! he isn’t in some kind of boyband or anything, but he’s pretty sure that they use that term to sugarcoat the fact that the members are quitting the industry or going solo which doesn’t make sense for him so the former category is probably more applicable to his situation at the moment and—

“it’s temporary,” yikyung continues speaking, as if reading what’s going in his mind. “at most, it’ll be a year.”

that still doesn’t calm seokjin down. “you’re benching me for a year?”

“at most.”

“does it really have to be that long?”

“yeah, if we see that it’s necessary enough.”

“i don’t think a year is necessary.”

“we don’t know that yet.”

“but if you keep me away from the public that long… it's going to kill my career!”

yikyung gives him a pitiful look. “it's already dead, jin. let’s be real here.”

he gasps, genuinely offended that his manager would say such a thing. “take that back.”

“look, i’m not happy with this either,” yikyung says, “but the public needs to forget that video. It’s what everybody is talking about, it’s what every director or sponsor that’s asking us about too—nobody would want to associate themselves with your name anyway while the story’s fresh, so this hiatus won’t kill it. doing this hiatus will just induce your career into a coma. you’ll be like sleeping beauty.”

“then who’ll be the fucking prince?”

“a mindblowing project that’ll remind people that you’re the best leading man in the theater world.”

seokjin lets that sink in.

just days ago, he was being blasted with offers to do commercials and new productions due to the successful run of chicago where he portrayed billy flynn. A lot of columns praised his versatility, saying that despite reservations on how he was going to perform, he nailed the part and captured the audience’s hearts with how he made that character his own. it was the biggest ego boost he had in a while considering he was so passionate in bringing billy flynn to life and pulling off the long note he had in we both reached for the gun—now though? all the happiness that he felt before? all the acclaim he reckoned could last him a good few months to stay motivated in doing this? it’s being buried to the ground; he feels as if everything is crashing down and every good thing in his life is fading away.

guess it’s true that being too happy can cause too much sadness after.

“a year goes by so fast, you know,” yikyung tells him. “keep yourself busy. pursue other hobbies. the next time i’ll call you, i’ll make sure it’s about an offer that’ll jolt your career awake again.”

and so with no other choice, really… that’s what seokjin did.

he decides to follow yikyung’s advice and take a train back to his hometown with the plan to help his aunt run the small grocery business she had, residing there until circumstances appear better for him. he figures this break might be better than he thinks, taking into account the fact that he’s been working nonstop since he began landing solid roles years ago. maybe a restart is what he needs; maybe he can use this as an excuse to do other stuff and pursue other hobbies like he was suggested to do.

in the first month of his forced hiatus, he becomes some kind of apprentice at his aunt’s mentioned grocery store. he meets taehyung, a young man who looks way too handsome to be only arranging packed and canned goods in the aisles of the shop as another helper of his aunt; taehyung also apparently recognizes him, asking if he’s that “theater star harassing an old lady” he kept on seeing on tiktok which seokjin’s always quick to correct. taehyung never looks convinced though, regardless of how much seokjin explains, but he at least doesn’t treat him shit for some groundless scandal.

then in his second month, he begins to try pottery. there are classes for it in the same town, a 10-minute drive away and the instructor happens to be a family friend. however, after five sessions, he realizes that he’s horrible at the task and can’t produce anything that’s worth selling or admiring even. that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy it though, ‘cause he does, and he still attends each class or goes on his own for the following months to use this activity as catharsis.

for the third month, he starts painting; on the fourth, he volunteers to walk the golden retriever that an elderly couple neighbor has; when the fifth month comes, he begins jogging around the area, continuing that until the sixth and seventh as he progresses to running—and then on the eight month, while he’s tending to the crops he’s growing at his aunt’s backyard, he finally gets the call from yikyung that he always pretends not to care about.

hurriedly taking off his gloves that are covered with mud, he picks up his phone from the table and answers his agent’s call. “please tell me you have something,” is what he says, not even concealing the desperation in his voice.

“i have something,” yikyung confirms, sounding excited.

“holy fuck,” he whispers to himself. he’s pacing around now, thrilled and anxious, praying to the gods of every religion that this will be a good offer. “what is it? tell me quickly.”

“they’re doing grease,” he says and seokjin does an impromptu super mario impression, just jumping all over the place because of the mention of the famous musical, the kind of musical that he knows would definitely benefit him if he wants to be within everybody’s radar again. “they already have a sandy young—it’s the producer’s niece—so now all they’re looking for is the rest of the cast. I already got you an audition for danny zuko and it’s two weeks from now.”

“god, i fucking love you, yikyung.”

“i’m amazing, aren’t I?”

“the best. you’re a goddamn gift from above.”

“and it hasn’t even been a year,” yikyung proudly points out. “you’ll be absolutely back on your feet after this project. your scandal has died down, anyway. not a lot are talking about it, and some of your fans are getting better at defending you, sharing encounter stories of their own to support the claim that you aren’t a dick who has a fetish in getting into a bickering war with an old woman.”

seokjin rolls his eyes. “never describe it that way to me again.”

yikyung chuckles. “i’ll hire a cleaning lady to clean your apartment here in the city maybe this weekend. when do you think you’ll arrive?”

“some time after the weekend. i’ll have to take care of a few things before i go.”

“like what?”

“well, believe it or not, i actually made some friends here.”

“damn. i told you this hiatus was going to be good for you.”

“yeah, you are right about that. i think it was healing for some reason. aside from the first weeks of me being depressed as fuck.”

“so, what does that mean? does this mean that you think you’ll nail the audition?”

seokjin grins. he isn’t cocky for nothing. even though it was advised to him before to lower it down a bit so that he wouldn’t come across as a complete ass, he knows he’s great at this pursuit of his. he’s charming, he has an amazing voice, and he can pull off any choreography instructed to him regardless of his initial lack of dancing abilities. being a hard worker makes you that way, and it’s what seokjin thinks will always help him in every endeavor he runs after.

“you bet, i will.”

“how’s your voice? your joints? do you need to warm up?”

“i’ve been singing for the community here every tuesday and thursday. i also haven’t been physically inactive like you think i am. i’ve been exercising regularly, improving my stamina and all that shit.”

yikyung doesn’t answer for a few seconds, a silence that seokjin translates into his manager being impressed that he hasn’t let go of himself despite the circumstances.

after a few more clarifications and reminders, the call ends and seokjin flops down on the wooden chair close to him, this goofy and giddy smile erupting on his face. it doesn’t occur to him until this moment that he’s been wishing for a miracle like this to come along because he’s been missing performing on stage like he used to do during shows and even when he’s in dance studios for the rehearsals. yeah, having a reason to take a break was nice too as he expressed, but nothing beats doing what he loves to do.

and playing danny zuko? wow, talk about a huge upgrade from being mandated by his management to disappear from the public to potentially being cast as one of john travolta’s famous roles. of course, the challenge with this is that he has to make sure that he actually gets the role, which he’s optimistic that he’ll be fine with.

his reputation may be questionable once he comes back, but there’s no denying that if there’s anyone who can emanate an arrogant greaser who cares too much about his image—it’s him.

****

seokjin’s aunt was devastated when she discovered that he’s leaving. she tried to persuade him to stay longer (if not for her, for the plants and the grocery store—and maybe the crowd of people he would sing for whenever there was an occasion in the neighborhood). however, regardless of her insistence, seokjin cannot be budged; he’s been waiting far too long for this to have second thoughts about it, to be swayed from this provincial life he has come to love and genuinely enjoy.

“are you coming back?” taehyung asked him when the news of seokjin’s immediate departure got to him too. “because if you aren’t, can I have your bike?”

seokjin rolled his eyes. over the course of his stay, taehyung has become some sort of little brother he never had. “i’m coming back. just to visit though,” he said. “so you can have my bike.”

on the weekend before he left, he spent time with the people he befriended. he arranged a bingo session with the elderly; he ran laps with that golden retriever he took on walks every morning; he did his last piece of pottery with the instructor he also became friends with; then, on his very last night, he shared a few drinks with his aunt and taehyung, promising them that if he gets the part, they’ll have front row tickets to the show.

if not, he’ll jump off the bridge because he doesn’t think he has a face to show to anyone anymore. 

he earned a slap on the arm by his aunt with that one.

everything went smoothly when he came back to his old apartment the following morning, freshly cleaned like yikyung promised. nonetheless, seokjin felt it was necessary to check every nook and cranny of the place to verify that, even going as far as examining the decorations, memorabilia, and picture frames he had on display, his finger being swiped on the most random areas to make sure that every corner was polished. nobody lived here for eight months in his defense, and he really could catch a bad case of allergic rhinitis in the case yikyung was lying. he couldn’t have that. he had his voice to take care of; there shouldn’t be snot or phlegm getting in the way of the full prowess of his vocals.

for the next few days leading up to the audition, he did everything he can to assure that he’ll be in his best state when his time to shine comes. he practiced the song sandy, a solo piece sung by danny zuko, and rehearsed the lines for the scene where danny and sandy first meet again at rydell high.

in those hours he spent talking to himself, warming up his voice, making sure that he shaped his words right and exuded the energy of the greaser he’s aiming to play, he started thinking again that he seriously got a huge chance in landing this role. he’s superb at acting; he’s certain that he has the voice needed for this part; and not to mention that he’s got the looks for it, alright. his handsomeness is certainly one of the aspects that makes him so marketable as an actor.

plus, he manages to get a positive outlook regarding this because yikyung has been great in encouraging him, sending him inspirational quotes that sometimes were borderline annoying because it had nothing to do with his situation but still touching in a way.

like right now, as seokjin waits in the holding room of the theater for the audition, he receives a message from his manager with a GIF of a maneki-neko with an oversized arm and the quote by dr. seuss saying, “you have brains in your head. you have feet in your shoes. you can steer yourself any direction you choose. you're on your own. and you know what you know. and you are the guy who'll decide where to go”.

it is a little aligned to what he’s going through right now but seokjin can’t help but still grimace in distaste.

“kim seokjin?” the casting assistant calls, and he snaps his head up from the screen of his phone to peer at the person who called him.

he stands, gaining the attention of the casting assistant. “here.”

“great. follow me please.” she smiles and begins walking to where the stage is without checking whether seokjin followed her or not. 

he does, as quickly as possible, thankful because he can finally get away from that enclosed space with fellow auditionees who were either gaping at him or chatting him up, asking about the hiatus he did. he’s smart enough not to give any specific details, instead saying the standard “mental health break” or “sabbatical leave” that they seemed to buy.

walking across the stage, his eyes squint a bit at the spotlight directed to him. then, stopping at the center, he averts his gaze to the two people who are sitting on the front row seats. hyunbin park the director and seungjoon ahn the producer. they both appear serious, like they’re bored, or like they’ve been unimpressed by the roster of auditionees they’ve been having so far.

it creates a spark of hope for seokjin who’s confident that he might just be the person that’ll blow their minds for today. even though this is his first time performing in front of a professional again, he’s learned over the years to trust his skills more, and he knows that he’s definitely adept for the tryout happening at the moment.

“kim seokjin, isn’t it?” mr. Park says. he’s the more intimidating one out of the pair. he’s famous for having directed a lot of shows that got to win several trophies in every award giving body that catered to the theater industry. aside from this production being an anticipated project of his, he’s scheduled to direct a movie with a star-studded cast.

seokjin nods. “yes, that’s me.”

“wait a minute, i know you,” says mr. ahn, an index finger pointed towards him. this man doesn’t look that much older than seokjin. give or take about only five years his senior. “i’ve seen you somewhere. where have i seen you?”

seokjin swallows hard. fuck, fuck, fuck. kill me now. bury me in the ground. shit. i hope he doesn’t realize that i'm—

“ah! i remember.” mr. ahn laughs, turning to mr. park. “isn’t he the guy who played corny collins three years ago or something?”

a huge breath of relief escapes seokjin.

mr. park nods unsurely. “yeah, I think so. did you play corny collins, son?” he asks.

“i did.”

their faces significantly brightened.

“well, i’m looking forward to your audition, seokjin,” mr. ahn says. “i watched the media preview of hairspray back then. i was a great friend of jiyong.”

jiyong was the director of the said show.

“you may begin,” mr. park adds, gesturing for him to go ahead before readjusting the glasses he’s wearing. “break a leg.”

seokjin flashes a dazzling smile and begins.

****

yikyung: how was it? yikyung: the audition should be over by now. yikyung: tell me how you did! yikyung: i’ll be like this for the whole day until you reply. yikyung:

seokjin: do you think sending gifs is cool? seokjin: bc it’s not

yikyung: you didn’t answer my question?

seokjin can’t stop grinning. he’s had this grin since he finished the audition and walked out to the lobby, his mind replaying the events that took place during his performance and the reactions of the director and producer after he was done.

even though the two didn’t make their verdict apparent, seokjin had a feeling that he was going to get cast in this show for the reason that as soon as he finished belting the last line of the song sandy, mr. park and mr. ahn shared a look with one another, their eyebrows raising in what comes across like understanding.

now, quick disclaimer, seokjin doesn’t read minds, but he’s pretty sure that that’s a good sign. he’s done his fair share of auditions and seeing an interaction like that from people who are in charge of casting always raises the chances that he’ll end up in the project. it’s a really big tell from what he thinks—and it’s what’s prompting him to almost skip like a little girl while walking to the café nearby where he’s planning to treat himself with the mouthwatering strawberry cream croissant he saw on their display earlier, nothing in his mind other than fantasies of receiving a call as soon as he gets home confirming he got the part.

maybe i should start incorporating black leather jackets into my wardrobe more… it is what danny zuko wears half of the time in the film and since i’ll be danny zuko, it can be some kind of way i’ll be able to internalize the character and be fucking amazing in this…

clearly, doing an inner monologue isn’t advisable when you’re walking along a busy street filled with people who are obviously in a rush to get to where they’re going.

because as he continues marching forward, taking a quick turn to the café he’s aiming to go to, his thoughts everywhere aside from the path he’s strolling on—his arm bumps against someone’s shoulder, ceasing his daydreaming and causing him to glance back, about to utter a quick apology if it wasn’t for the sight that greets him when he does.

he wrinkles his forehead, gazing at you.

there’s no doubt in his mind that it really is you who he’s looking at, but due to the fact that it’s been approximately 9 years since you last saw each other, seokjin asks himself whether this is legit or is his imagination taking a sinister route and letting him imagine how it would be like to meet the person he doesn’t want to see on a perfect day.

“well, shit,” you say, staring at him with the same surprised yet puzzled expression. your features look more mature, your hair is styled in a different way, your choice of clothes is more sophisticated—yet despite the subtle changes, you’re still as attractive as you were when he last got to see you. he might even dare to think that your attractiveness leveled up as well. “i’ll be damned. it’s you.”

seokjin feels his throat closing up, reality sinking in that you’re really here in front of him. “____?”

“i’m flattered that you remember.” you chuckle. “or that you’re not pretending to have amnesia to escape this conversation at least.”

to be fair, if it registered to him a few seconds earlier on who you are, he might have done exactly that.

but of course he doesn’t admit it. his ears just turn red while he utters a lie. “that’d be silly. it’s not like you’d believe me if i said that.”

“touché. but i still reckon you’d do it. you are an actor.” a smirk makes its way to your lips. “how’s that going, by the way? last time i heard, you’re being murdered on twitter and being called a world class asshole.”

he winces slightly. “that’s an exaggeration.”

“i don’t think so. you are on hiatus because of it, aren’t you?”

“not anymore.”

“oh?”

“you seem disappointed,” he retorts. “then again, i wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve been praying for my downfall ever since you-know-what happened.”

“you-know-what? do you mean when you dumped me?” you explicitly say, not even missing a beat after he was done speaking.

yes, you’re an ex-girlfriend. sadly, an ex-girlfriend he knows he didn’t treat well because of what you just reminded him of.

he presses his lips together, gathering all the confidence he has left. “yes. i do mean that. and i am sorry about it. truly.”

“you dumped me over the phone.”

“i’m aware of that too.”

“you didn’t explain why you wanted to break up.”

a pause. “yes, i didn’t.”

“and just because we coincidentally met again after so many years, you finally apologize?”

“that’s about right.”

“it doesn’t sound very sincere to me.”

he widens his eyes, surprised that you’re not letting this go as easily as he thought you would. from what he remembers, you’re the type of person who doesn’t hold grudges; you’re the type of person that everybody would say was genuinely good. in fact, it’s what he was mad about years back when you were still together—how you often let other people take advantage of your kindness, often putting you in a position of being a doormat or an emotional punching bag.

but that’s almost a decade ago. he feels bad that he’s not sure whether to be proud of you or to be a bit frustrated that he’s on the receiving end of this.

“anyways,” you add after the excruciating awkward silence, “as much as i want to give you a piece of my mind, i have to go. i’d say it was nice seeing you and that we should catch up sometime, jin, but that would be a lie.”

seokjin’s supposed to let you go despite his conscience eating him up. he’s not entirely stupid, it’s apparent that it’s better not to reopen healed wounds, and judging from the manner you spoke to him, you don’t want to give him an opening to enter your life again.

but then your phone rings, which you’re holding on one hand while the other holds a paper bag from the coffeeshop. And then, seokjin sees it—sees mr. park’s face on the screen with a caller ID named ‘dad’, that he can’t prevent himself from staying still and allowing you to leave without explaining what he’s witnessing right now.

“wait,” he holds your elbow as you’re trying to walk past him, “your dad isn’t mr. park, is he? i know your dad. He’s not hyunbin park.”

you blink at him, confused at the random question, however a wave of understanding swiftly washes over you. he watches you grin all of the sudden, eyes twinkling in amusement. he’s familiar with that expression, and it’s scaring him to death because he now has a pretty good idea on what your answer is going to be.

“you’re here in the city because of an audition,” you state, tone so sure that it makes him sweat. “don’t tell me… You’re auditioning for grease?”

he doesn’t tell you he’s auditioning for grease.

your grin widens even further, your next sentence inducing a sensation that might be a heart attack.

“then you’ve met dad. he is hyunbin park, the director.”

fuckity fuck fUCK FUCK!

note. AHHH first chapter is out! i hope y’all like this because i’m happy with how this turned out hehe. this drabble series will only have 10 episodes and i’m gonna pray that i get to finish this before the year 2024 ends 😭

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Lol.

This will be short. I’ll go on a little tangent but I’ll tie this back to Jungkook and BTS at the end.

You know, I was mostly ambivalent about the feud between HYBE and Min Heejin until I heard her call Bang Sihyuk and his sycophants “bastards” for ‘overpaying for garbage and forcing everyone to eat it because they think the price makes the music good.’ - I’m paraphrasing a bit because her language was more crude. That made me sit up a bit, because her sentiments mirrored my thoughts about the direction Bang Sihyuk has been taking the company in for some time now.

Another random connection is that, to me at least, it seems clear BigHit is still trying to make the HYBE America investment worth it, given:

1. The unnecessarily long credit lists filled with Scooter-linked writers that appear to have become a fixture of most HYBE releases. Bang PD is clearly taking advantage of Scooter’s connections although it’s yet to yield any significant improvement in music quality, and in terms of chart performance the results are mixed at best;

2. The fact that in addition to HYBE paying US$1.05 Billion in cash for Scooter’s company, essentially overpaying for Ithaca Holdings by consensus estimates (a deal Min Heejin also openly criticized as being hare-brained), HYBE America still generated hundreds of millions of dollars in losses as of the last fiscal year, two years after the acquisition was finalized.

But this is old news, we all knew that.

The thing about Min Heejin’s comments that concerned me is that, despite what is now clearly an underperforming investment both in terms of Scooter Braun himself and the man at HYBE that arranged the deal in the first place, Lee Jae-sang, rather than work to correct course and minimize losses, Bang Sihyuk appears to be doubling down on the deal by rewarding these two men in particular with more music and business opportunities within HYBE, even if the music quality suffers as a result, even if HYBE continues overpaying for shit, and even if the artists/idols are negatively impacted in the process. And according to Min Heejin, one big reason Bang Sihyuk allows it is because those men are adept at greasing his arse and eating it out.

Basically, it’s become an expensive joke. But he’s brute forcing the deal to work because so long as BTS is involved and so ARMYs are involved, it’s a joke that Bang PD is guaranteed to take laughing all the way to the bank.

This is where I say I realized shortly after Jungkook’s fan song for Festa was announced, that I wasn’t excited to hear it. I’m saying this only because now that the song is out, it’s confirmed everything I expected. And also because that apathetic feeling was so at odds with how I’ve been feeling about Jungkook as a person for the last year. If it’s not been clear from my reblogs and gush posts, I’ve been spending the better part of this hiatus loving Jungkook extremely. Jungkook is an empathetic songwriter, an emotive vocalist, a talented producer.

But nothing about Never Let Go is exciting. Who wants to listen to a fan song written by people who’ve never had fans? And on top of that, Jungkook is making less money from that song than any fan song he’s written before. Meaning, the song is mediocre, it feels blatantly insincere in ways only a crowdsourced fan song can be, and Jungkook has to split his revenue from the song with about 10 white people. Just look at this.

I’m actually laughing typing this out, but this turn of events is at least a little tragic.

Golden worked as a concept album because it was a collection of songs Jungkook felt represented his taste, he could take on the challenge of putting out a full English album with some help from the writers, and he showcased new vocal techniques and styles that only showed an evolution from his prior work in BTS. The songs themselves were just okay, good decent pop, but as a collection it worked.

Everything about Never Let Go feels almost audaciously soulless. Not quite a slap on the face but it’s like someone coming all up in your face with a bad case of halitosis and their nose barely touching yours, daring you to do something about it.

I have no issue with HYBE working with Scooter-linked writers or producers if it means something actually good comes of it. But it seems HYBE seems to believe their work is better simply because they slap on as many foreign names in the credits as they can fit. It betrays a worrying mentality about the head honchos in the company. Looking at the peak quality in FACE by Jimin, or in Right Place, Wrong Person by RM, which included acclaimed Korean, other Asian, and Black talent supposedly hand-picked by Jimin and Joon themselves, it’s clear HYBE has access to remarkable home-grown and foreign talent that could improve the work of the members. But what I’m seeing with too much frequency is HYBE picking off the bottom of the barrel in the unending list of Scooter’s contractors and otherwise choosing to do the bare minimum.

And that’s how we end up with a Festa fan song with a topline that sounds like an AI-generated jingle written by a soccer team of hired help.

Or idk, maybe I’m being just a bit too full of it. Maybe I’ve been brainwashed by the witch Min Heejin, maybe this was just one more song Jungkook worked on with his Golden team as he had no time to write a proper fan song, nothing more. And maybe as a silver lining, there are no glaring grammatical errors though I found the ones in My You very charming, and honestly part of the appeal. To hear the way Jungkook sees the fans who have been with him till now, even if in English it didn’t quite make sense.

I said this would be short but I’ve rambled, as usual. Sorry for that. When I started out writing this post, I did intend to keep it short.

To end things on a somewhat lighter note, for me the only thing I’m excited about this Festa, is SeokJin coming back. I’ll be working on a deal during the fanmeet so I didn’t bother participating in the raffle, but I’m happy for the ARMYs who get the opportunity to hug Jin, and for Jin who gets to spend time with his fans after so long. With him returning, things are starting to feel more right, even though there are worrying signs in high places. We’ve got about 1 year left to endure most of the members enlisted and then, the crew will be rounded up again.

Now more than ever, I find myself looking forward to that.

[blacknedsoul-blog]

Nevermore is a gothic tragedy. Part I: The Tragedy

This essay assumes that you've read the first season of Nevermore. If you haven't, you'll be eating spoilers.

First of all, a disclaimer: you won't find the term "Gothic tragedy" in theory books, because I just pulled it out of my sleeve. But it seemed appropriate to put it in those terms because, hey, beyond theoretical structuring, genres are also used as a guide to content, and that's kind of what I want to express with this.

Partly because I've noticed that I've called this comic a tragedy on more than one occasion, and talked at length about Lenore and Annabel as gothic characters, but never bothered to delve into these matters, and with the hiatus until (possibly) October, I think it's time to rectify that situation.

But also because I think there are a lot of things in this story that fall into place if you read it under the logic of those genres.

Originally, this was going to be a single essay, but it turns out it took over 2000 fucking words just to explain why it's a fucking tragedy, so I'm going to split this shit in two because I don't want to burn anyone's eyes out.

Tragedy and Types of Tragedy

This is the ridiculously abridged version because this is a really long story, if you want more information on the subject I highly recommend reading Aristotle's Poetics, Nietzsche's The Birth of Tragedy or watching this OSP video for a more proper introduction. If you're interested in Shakespearean tragedy, The Cambridge Shakespeare is a amazing compilation, and here's the essay that talks specifically about what the hell Shakespearean tragedy is.

Tragedy has been linked to the origins of theater as such, found in the festivals dedicated to Dionysus (if you want to know more about the cult of Dionysus, you can watch this video to start), where poetry contests were held, specifically of dithyrambs: lyric compositions dedicated specifically to Dionysus. This later led to the inclusion of an increasingly sophisticated chorus using masks. This was no longer poetry, but the first expressions of theater as we understand it in modern times, at least for Europe and the countries colonized by Europeans.

Nietzsche also points out that tragedy condenses within itself two opposing impulses represented in the gods Apollo and Dionysus, expressed in the terms "Apollonian" and "Dionysian": order, mathematics and music (understood by the Greeks as science) vs. party, debauchery and chaos. The clash between the beautiful and the grotesque (understanding that the "beautiful" can be disturbing and the "grotesque" can be strangely beautiful). This description is not entirely literal, of course, but it must be kept in mind that in order to have the fundamentals of a tragedy, one must have these two elements: order and chaos. A synchronized waltz between the rigid structures and the rupturing.

Yes, those two are enough.

Step by step, I think it is important to point out what are the transversal elements to tragedy - classical or Shakespearean - that are present in the comic.

The first important concept that appears on this page is Amarthia. The tragic mistake, the first domino that topples the whole stack, is the specific event that sets tragedy in motion, and we spectators of tragedy can only stare in horror at the situation, knowing that everything that follows will go terribly wrong.

At least as far as its protagonists are concerned, Annabel and Lenore's Amarthia has been said but not seen: the dinner party where Annabel will wear pearls, indicating to Lenore that she is in on the charade. From then on, every step they take will bring them closer to the fate we know: the arrival of both of them in Nevermore. This story ends with them both dead.

And if I had to point out the Amarthia of the comic's topicality, I would dare to say that this is it:

And this:

Annabel refuses to explain to Lenore why the plan has to be the way it is, while Lenore agrees to be part of it (the fact that she disagrees with the whole situation is a plus).

The interesting thing about this is that the roles are reversed: before, Annabel sealed the tragic fate of both of them by accepting Lenore's proposal, while in Nevermore, Lenore sealed the tragic fate of both of them by accepting Annabel's plan.

Another important term that comes up here is hybris. While it is true that hybris represents ego, this does not necessarily mean that the hero is self-centered in a personality sense; hybris is the tragic hero's (misguided, of course) belief that they can turn their terrible situation around. And, well…

That ends badly in tragedies. Very, very badly.

At this point, it is necessary to start pointing out the elements of each type of tragedy, because something interesting is happening: within the ancient walls of the purgatory that is Nevermore, a classical tragedy is taking place, while in the past, Annabel and Lenore were the protagonists of a Shakespearean tragedy.

Classical Tragedy

One thing to understand about classical tragedy is that these are stories of humanity versus divinity. The predestined fate that comes upon mortals at the hands of beings superior to them, even if those beings do not appear directly. The external forces superior to the characters do not intervene directly (at least not in most cases), but they put all the pieces in place for the tragic hero to fall headlong into his terrible fate "by their own hand". Yeah, that shit is so unfair.

In Nevermore, fate is represented by these two bastards: The Deans act as the ominous shadow of divinity that sets the rules of this battle royale. For all intents and purposes, this pair of bastards represents the tragic fate of the characters: only one will survive to have a second life. And there is (theoretically) no way to escape.

This is where we start to get into thorny issues. If I had to point out the classical tragedy that Nevermore most resembles, I think I'd get a smile out of Hadestown fans: Orpheo and Eurydice.

Okay, let's review: Orpheo is a highly talented musician who, after losing his beloved, goes to the underworld to find her. Hades and Persephone give him a chance to get her back if he doesn't turn around to see her until they leave the place, he does so at the last second, she returns to the underworld, and Orpheus spends the rest of his life in misery mourning her.

That's the thing, the story of Orpheo and Euridice is a tragedy for the most depressing reason of all: love. What seems like a generous gift from Hades and Persephone is actually a condemnation, because they ask Orpheus to do the one thing he could never do: stop looking at his beloved. In some versions of the story, he can't even hear her as they walk; will she really be her, or has he been tricked? Will she be frightened on this journey and he will not be there to comfort her? What if she has trouble on the road or an accident and Orpheus has left her behind? Orpheus loves Eurydice so much that he cannot save her under these circumstances because he cannot stop watching over her long enough to get her out of here.

Now let's go to Annabel and Lenore, the same thing is happening here, these two idiots love each other. It's probably the only thing they know for sure in this bullshit game. And for Annabel and Lenore, to love is to protect, it's to be the shield that will be there to defend their beloved in the face of adversity, she's been hurt in a terrible way and they will do anything to stop anyone from hurting her again.

But tragic fate, represented by the Deans, has set things in motion for this to quickly go to hell:

For Lenore to understand Annabel's actions, she would have to tell her that's why she's so afraid, why they shouldn't get attached to anyone, why she thinks it's necessary to pretend they don't remember each other. But Lenore can't be okay with Annabel carrying everything alone, because she sees how it hurts her, because Annabel is clearly hurting. She goes to great lengths to confide in Annabel, but she can't come up with a plausible explanation for all this crap either.

For Annabel, becoming a villain and enduring all this pain is slightly less horrible than dragging Lenore into the Deans' psychotic game. But Lenore just loves her too much to let her do that. Lenore could protect her if Annabel were by her side, so why does she keep leaving? She was hurt the first time, why do it to her a second time?

The feeling of not being heard, the frustration that the other just won't listen to her pleas and won't stop what she's doing to allow her to be cared for, runs through both of them because it's the exact same situation, "Why won't you let me do this for you?"

The answer is that Annabel and Lenore are asking the other to do the one thing she could never stop doing: stop trying to protect her. That's why they fight.

This relationship has become a power game that neither can win because they are both exactly the same. A tug-of-war that will only be resolved when something breaks. Hopefully not irreparably.

And speaking of the P-word, let's talk Shakespeare, people.

Shakespearean Tragedy

The good Bard took classical tragedy and brought it back, but changed enough elements of it that it had to be renamed because some of its fundamentals were rewritten. The most notorious of these is that while Shakespeare does not ignore the presence of higher forces or supernatural entities, the fundamental basis of Shakespearean tragedy is not the conflict between humanity and the Fates/Gods.

It is power.

Those who wield power, those who are corrupted by it, and those who crave it. These tragedies speak of moral corruption, the victims of power, and those who sink under the responsibility that power brings.

This is the reason why Shakespeare's tragic heroes belong to the nobility, come from opulent families, or hold important positions. In this case, we have as protagonists two women who were born in a cradle of gold: Lenore apparently comes from a family of old money, and while we do not know if Annabel also comes from a family of old money, we do know that there is no shortage of coins around here.

But status cannot protect Shakespeare's protagonists from the society in which they live, whose agency is sometimes literally represented by people with power. This puts them in a situation from which they cannot escape and which screws them from the start (in other cases the Shakespearean protagonist is the figure of power and seals his own fate). Here, the odds are stacked against them from the start because they are women and, as if that were not enough, lesbians.

I think it's no surprise to anyone that the Shakespearean tragedy most similar to Nevermore is Romeo and Juliet.

Let's review: Romeo and Juliet are two young people who meet at a party and fall madly in love. Their families hate each other, so they cannot be together. The two secretly marry, but after an argument Romeo kills a man and is banished, despite a plan hatched by a priest friend so they can run away together, things go terribly wrong and they both end up committing suicide.

This follows a similar logic to Orpheus and Eurydice: the tragedy here is that these two are in love. But where classical tragedy says, "They love each other so much they can't save themselves," Romeo and Juliet, like Annabel and Lenore, works with two layers of conflict.

The first is the social and political. These young people's families hate each other, so they can't be together. In the same way, Annabel and Lenore can't be together because they're both women.

This is also a reference to one of the central themes of Romeo and Juliet: the clash between tradition and modernity. I think if you squint hard enough, you can see the relationship between these two as Victorian conservatism and homophobia screwing up their lives in the same way that tradition screws up Romeo and Juliet's.

The other layer of the problem is the one that has to do with love: Romeo and Juliet love each other so much that they cannot live without each other. This is what drives them both to suicide, even when they are given the opportunity to continue their lives separately. They love each other so much that they cannot live without each other. Just as Annabel and Lenore desperately want to be together, this is what starts the engine of tragedy when circumstances prevent them from doing so.

Another thing it takes from Romeo and Juliet is the role of the parents as a representation of the power that oppresses the characters. In Romeo and Juliet, the Montague and Capulet lords pull the strings of their children's lives, and it is their resentment that creates the barrier between the lovers. In the case of Nevermore, Ira and Thaddeus are the personal jailers of their respective daughters: Ira wants to get Annabel into an arranged marriage by hook or by crook, and Thaddeus first gets Lenore a fiancé and then keeps her locked up in the fucking attic.

Finally, a tragedy that can be read as a reference to Nevermore, though more subtly, is Macbeth.

The plot is simple: a trio of witches tell Duke Macbeth that he and his descendants will one day be kings. This leads him to murder his cousin, King Duncan, and everything goes downhill from there, because Duncan's murder didn't even amuse the prince.

Yes, at first glance it doesn't seem to make much sense, but that's because it's referring to a specific moment. Specifically, the most discussed and controversial scene in the play: the dialog where Lady Macbeth and Macbeth discuss killing Duncan.

This scene has kept the Bard's fans arguing for centuries: is she manipulating her husband so that she can be queen, or is she just verbalizing Macbeth's wishes that he be allowed to commit the crime, and saying that she will support him in it? Impossible to know unless someone gets a working Ouija board.

This is the same logic that follows the flashback scene where Lenore talks to Annabel about the plan. The important thing here is that the comic decides that the answer is: it depends on who you ask.

Given Annabel's attitude toward Lenore, we can interpret that she does not think she was manipulated or anything. Lenore is not a devious woman who put things in her head, it was her knight in shining armor who came to save her from a marriage she didn't want. Yes, she may have had her doubts, but she definitely liked her chances, enough to accept them.

On the other hand, what this tells me is that Lenore thinks the opposite: that she convinced Annabel to be part of this hoax that ended with both of them dead. A crazy woman who dragged the only person she cared about into a dangerous game that cost them their lives, she considers herself as guilty as the perpetrating hand of the crime.

Conclusion

I think the first time I decided to do a review under this particular lens was when I started to notice where Annabel and Lenore's arcs seemed to be going.

On the one hand, given how things are going, it seems that Lenore has to start taking off the blindfold to realize that things aren't as simple as she thinks, and stop letting others make the hard decisions for her because it hurts everyone.

On Annabel's side, you have a character arc that seems to be aimed at being honest with other people, not letting her fears stop her from making risky decisions, and not dealing with all the bullshit herself.

If what I just said leaves a bad taste in your mouth, that's normal. Because it's fucking unfair.

That Lenore should be the one to stand firm - not out of guilt, but out of responsibility - for her actions feels like shit after everything the poor girl has been through. The same thing happens on Annabel's side, that she has to give in to a situation where it makes so much sense for her to shut down, where it makes sense, even without her background, for her to behave that way.

But that sense of injustice is one of the foundations of tragedies. The feeling that, in her situation, it is practically impossible to think that anything different could be done is the basis of catharsis: the pity felt for the character, the fear generated by identifying with their terrible situation.

The expiation of these emotions, which are produced in the spectator by the fall of the tragic hero.

Now, it is interesting to ask how the fall of Annabel and Lenore will be. The simple answer from a tragic point of view is death, a thing we know has already happened once, why not a second time? After all, that's what awaits tragic heroes. Unless you're Medea.

It's impossible to know how the comic will develop, but it seems to me that this is as far as the tragedy goes. For the next part, I want to talk about gothic novels, female vampires, the female writers of the period, and the last gothic. Believe me, buddies, there is no more obsessive romantic bond than that between a Poe protagonist and their dead bride.

[brightest-stars-if]

Good news for irl, bad news for game development

Hi guys, how are y'all doing today? I'm both happy and sad. I'm happy because I've been given an amazing opportunity for a long-term internship that will further my potential career options. I'm sad, though, because my time to write is effectively gone now. I think that you guys can see where this is going, can't you?

Between work, school, and my internship, I don't have any time to write. And though I would love to, I have to prioritize my real life. Working on The Brightest Stars is amazing, but it doesn't pay or advance my career options.

Thank you for all of the love and attention you have given this game. I'm sorry to those I'm disappointing. For now, I'm putting it on a hiatus as I try to get my life together.

[xx-lemon-drop-xx]

Hello! This is my first time requesting something! It's fine if you delete it, but could I please request a Rook x insecure reader? Maybe with mirror sex and body worship. Also GN! (AFAB) reader please.

Also could I be 🌹 anon please?

Hey! Of course you can be 🌹anon! I'm so sorry this took so long to come out, I was on a hiatus for a little while; a lot of personal things went down. Anyways, here's your request!

Warnings: gn reader, afab, terms "pussy, clit," Slutty is used once, French words, heavy praise, body worship, insecure reader.

Request: Yes.

Words: 484.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

 "You look beautiful, amour." 

He whispered praise and sweet nothings into your ears all while his hands touched you in such intimate places, cracking open the soft shell of an exterior you put up in a hope to protect yourself. 

Rooks fingers swirled and dipped into your core, his other hand groping your chest and tweaking the nipple in gentle motions until they where peaked. When your head dropped back on his shoulder, eyes fluttering in ecstasy a low rumble reverberated from his chest. 

"Chère, Look here." He guided your head back up to look at yourself in the mirror, legs spread over his thighs and cunt eagerly sucking in his fingers with every dip he allowed them into your sloppy heat. "Magnificent, (Y/n).." He murmured, lips pressing against the inside of your ear. Rook's tongue flicked out, running across the shell of your ear. 

He knew how embarrassing this must've been for you. But he was proud. You'd always been an insecure person. Shamed over your weight, height, the way your facial features accentuated your face, the pudge on your belly. 

Rook saw an angel. 

An Angel bathed in sweet elixir, waiting for every drop to be savored and worshiped. His for the taking. 

And by the seven he was going to take everything. Rook was going to take and take and take until his darling's lovely body could only squirm and writhe under him in pure and unfiltered ecstasy. He was going to break you thoroughly. Until the only thing you could think of was about how his cock was claiming that slutty little hole of yours. He was going to sear his name so far into the depths of your brain it's the only thing you can think of.

Rook felt your walls flexing and clamping down around his fingers and thrusted them faster, his thumb coming up to roll circles around your puffy little clit. His free hand caressed across your body, landing back on your chest to flick a reddened nipple while he had you falling apart on his fingers. It was only when you twitched and tried to wiggle away did he pull out his fingers, dripping with your essence. 

“Merveilleux, you did so well, amour. Vraiment magnifique!”

Your panting gasps were a delight for Rook's ears, his hands rubbing up and down your hips in the meantime, before coming down to circle your dripping pussy. 

“So pretty for me, tell me, do you wish for more?” He pressed a soft kiss against the back of your neck.

[indiaalphawhiskey]

Just some thoughts.

“There’s only so high you can go. At some point you’re not gonna make that expectation. Going out on a high and now feeling like I’m starting a fresh, came to terms with the fact that, that was so great and if I never get to do that on that level again, that’s okay.”

— Harry Styles, Behind the Album

Ever since Harry’s started saying his goodbyes on stage, this quote as been echoing in my head. All the variations of how he’s been saying thank you, and I’ll miss you, and talking about his break; it’s an unpopular opinion, but none of them ever really strike me as some big, final “goodbye” in the strictest sense. Rather, it feels like he’s thanking this era, giving it it’s time in the sun and reveling in what he has whilst he has it, before giving it a proper send off and putting it to bed.

The Fine Line and Harry’s House eras have meant an unprecedented skyrocket in his profile, and for a person who thought One Direction would be the pinnacle of his time in music, to find out it wasn’t, is a lot. A lot of joy, a lot of pride, but also a lot of pressure.

It’s safe to say this is the most popular and most successful he’s ever been, and I’m sure it’s incredibly reminiscent of where he was and how he felt when the band went on hiatus, which can easily bring about those same anxieties of “Well, what happens next?”

I think the reason he’s using this certain language to say his goodbyes is, in my opinion, not because he’s leaving and never coming back. It reads more like he’s giving himself the room to acknowledge that this chapter of his career (just like the last) was so beautiful, so memorable, such a high, in order to come to terms with the fact that if it’s never like this again — if it turns out he comes back and is met with (much) less success, or popularity, or love — it’ll be okay.

It seems like this is a lesson he’s taken with him from going solo: that natural breaks in your career shouldn’t be spent worrying about what comes next, that the goal of each phase of your career isn’t to “top” the last, because what that leads to is working from a place of fear. (Which he’s said he doesn’t want to do anymore.)

And so, I think, by saying a proper goodbye to this chapter, he’s releasing himself of the pressure to “top” it. He’s honoring this moment, this peak, for what it is, and by doing that, he’s also allowing himself and his art not to be defined entirely by these eras and this level of success. Releasing himself of that pressure, allowing himself to acknowledge that a long career means highs and lows and ebbs and flows, allowing himself to be “less than” who he is now in the future, is what’s going to make making music for his next era fun and personal, and maybe, in turn, end up making him a bigger and better artist than what he’s leaving behind. Or not.

The point is, either way, he’ll be okay, and happy, and healthy. And most importantly, peak of his career or not, everything that comes after will still be entirely Harry. 🩵

[luverz-exe]

Hey, I was wondering if maybe you could do yandere headcanons for The Riddler from arkahm city? I rarley see anything about the arkahm games. However, If not it's fine, have a nice day or night!

Yandere Arkham City! Riddler Headcanons

...Uh, hi. I'm back. sorry for the prolonged hiatus, I've just been...dealing with a lot at the moment. I'm glad to be back. I'm not gonna be making a full blown post for it, so imma just say my piece here. Don't worry Anon, I'm gonna get to your request soon- just wanna talk a little bit. Requests will be off for awhile, how long, I'm not sure. Going to finish the requests I can, I won't force myself to do them all- because if I can't write it, then I realize I'm not obligated to. A reason that I quit was because I was so overwhelmed with stuff. But that was any of your faults! I am absolutely astounded that I have so much support! Just that sometimes I need to realize that I can't do everything there is out there, because I'm still an amateur writer, there's a lot I can't do and even more that I have yet to get good at. Sorry for rambling, here's your request Anon!!

Slightly suggestive near the end, oopsie doopsie guys. Oh yeah, and he says some really mean words, guys- an absolute shocker 🤯

Here's the thing when it comes to Edward. He's an asshole- a smug, insensitive asshole. Of course, we all know this by now. But this snarky self-absorbed piece of shit is slowly starting to decay, inside out. His mental state fluctuates, and it really is straining on your "relationship". He believes in more practicality, you're here to be his assistant, and he's here to protect your primitive brain (though, less than your peers, just enough for him to take you under his wing and truly try and help you flourish) from combusting. He can make you smarter, you know. You have so much potential, enough to be second best...Just watch, and learn. It's not like you'll have a choice.

Yeah...The first few weeks-months will be tenuous- it's likely you didn't join this relationship of your own volition. And even if you somehow did, it's not going to be any better. He's making you go no contact with the outside world. While you call it a fucked up form of house arrest, he prefers to call it a more civilized form of rehabilitation. Sorry, not sorry- those idiotic, moronic, brain-dead louts would taint you again. No wonder you're so much dumber than him, all your life you've been surrounded by bad influences (so was he, but he's a prodigy, and you're just smarter than average- it's different). You have to stay away from them because any smarts he's been giving you might be sucked up by those braindead leeches!

Good news though- free range of his living space (if you can even call it that)! While he's still keeping his appearance semi-clean, his space hasn't, as he's slowly beginning his descent into the Arkham Knight version. But hey, how about you be a good helper and pick some stuff up- keep you occupied short-term. Because, you try and talk to him, it's going to be a lot longer- and you might want to take notes because he is going to test your knowledge on it later.

"Why are you bothering me? ..Cleaning? No, no, you stop that. If you're going to keep your mind occupied, then I recommend you grab the 11mm crowfoot wrench and get over here." When you didn't move, be it you didn't know where he stored those or a genuine lack of knowledge about wrenches, he peered up from his work. "..What, can't even do that?" He signed, furrowing his brow, but prevented himself from badmouthing further. It wasn't their fault for having an idiot society teach them about these things. "..Just- grab the flashlight, over there on the counter, I'll get it myself- and you better pay attention. This mistake will not be made more than once, I assure you of it."

Pity is a common occurrence, but his sympathy isn't. Oh, your poor pitiful shrunken brain, rotting away from all the bad people in your life. But you should've taken one quick look at him, realized he was your intellectual superior and asked for him to bring your brain to a normal size and to ditch everyone else in your life. That's your fault.

Now, it isn't all bad! Look on the bright side, learning is now your full time job- with him as your teacher (in a non-sexual way, because god-damnit if you think you can get out of learning about the proper ways to build one of his puzzles by giving him a handjob (you can, and probably should to avoid what would be considered a 5 hour lecture over the course of the day)). He enjoys teaching you all that he knows, and he expects you to share that enthusiasm, especially when he talks about batman. When he starts talking about the flying rat that plagues his life, you better listen. You're going to be his assistant someday with all of this 'killing Batman' thing, so you better hop on that train early.

While he does call you an idiot, he's just self-projecting his hatred of Batman (and himself) onto you. No, it's not your fault- it's 100% his own and he won't apologize or acknowledge it in a meaningful way. It slowly dissipates the more your 'nasty' attitude does, but even then it never fully disappears. Depends on the day. He'll never get better, though, not fully. And once you see how bad he becomes in Arkham Knight, you'll realize this isn't as low as he can go.

"You idiot! Can't you do something right? When I talk, you listen! Why do I even keep you around?! You're an absolute buffoon, you know that?...Of course you don't, you see? If you were with me sooner, you wouldn't be like this. We'll get you to the intelligence level you should be, don't you worry, but clearly we're going to need to change tactics if I'm going to get it through that thick skull of yours."

[carlos-in-glasses]

I'm having some thoughts and feelings, for reasons.

The feelings are that I'm so grateful for this beautiful fandom and the beautiful couple in the picture above. The thoughts are beneath the read more and can be taken or left. The picture cannot be left, however. Taken is the only option. You need to see it because look how cute they are!

For prosperity:

Something I always 'explore', if you will, in my own writing is how people process the concept of time. Endings, beginnings, the past and the future linking up. Your past self always being with you like a spectre. The present feeling like a marble rolling around a tube... I think this is because I'm not good with change or saying goodbye, but I do know that endings always lead to something else. Which is scary, because you don't necessarily know what that will bring.

Thinking about all of the above in terms of Lone Star is a different beast for me personally, because I've never had this kind of experience with a show or characters before, where I'm so compelled by it that I found my way into the fandom and have been creatively stimulated to the point of writing 25+ fics for it (which isn't nearly as many as others have produced! But to me it feels significant). So for that reason I want to say: When the show ends -(WHENEVER THAT MAY BE) - the characters don't. They don't end, not really. As long as we choose to keep talking about the themes, sharing meta posts, writing them or drawing them or creating gif sets, and revisiting them in rewatches or YouTube clips - there they are. Always. Either suspended in their moment and so easy to revisit in all their glory, or put in new situations in fic and art even years into the future. If this hiatus has taught us anything, it's that even without the show on air, there are still plenty of stories to tell and interpretations to be had, based on what came before. When the show ends, the thing that will unfortunately go is the speculation aspect, but what we have instead is a beautiful completed work that can inspire and be meaningful forever to those who already love it and for those who will find it in the future - and it will be found. Anything that exists can be found. (See: deep sea fish that glow in the dark (!)). And things that don't exist can be imagined.

We're so lucky to be the ones in the know when it comes to the show and to Tarlos. We know how special it is, what a gift it is. I'm not a spiritual person but I do feel oddly spiritual when it comes to this. Idk.

Something I've always hoped (as I'm sure we all have) is that we would know ahead of time that it's over. The show not being renewed between seasons is a thought that horrifies me to my core. I remember thinking towards the end of season 4: "At least if it doesn't get renewed, it ends with Tarlos being canon-married." Which, as a Tarlos super-fan, was my no.1. concern, but I love and care about the other characters too of course.

Going into season 5 and fearing it could be the last season, I had a huge tummy ache wondering if Tarlos would be on the rocks. If they ended on a cliffhanger having assumed season 6 was on the cards, we'd never get a resolution. But Rafa's Cameos have really eased my mind in that regard. Based not only on the tiny amount he's given away, but the way he talks about them loving each other, it sounds like they're going to be okay - and we're going to see it for ourselves that Tarlos really is endgame. In a time when hope is needed, we do have this. AND we have each other! As long as Tarlos ends happy, I for one intend to keep dancing, even if it means I'm the eccentric up on the table on my own doing the robot. But I would always like others to dance with.

Whatever happens, which we don't officially know yet, we can get through it together.

[yridenergyridenergy]

Is there a way to know if members are healthy and feeling well? Shinya's last video, he looked really really thin, the voice note on his last blog update felt sick and tired. The tour was very compact, the bus looked uncomfortable (for musicians over 45 years old, I mean, c'mon). They must be resting now, but I feel that their company is exhausting them for the sake of saving/gaining more money. I don't know if it's just me, and I'm worrying for no reason. Does the company even do routine check-ups on their health? Is it reasonable for us as fans to ask this to their management?

Shinya always has a particular voice, but I haven't heard that voice note that you mention. It's no news that Shinya is incredibly skinny, as even h.Naoto's assistant commented that he was the only one that she could wrap the dark tunic on at the smallest holes/size and she seemed surprised.

Traveling and being on a plane in general tends to make people sick, so if he did hit a bad patch, hopefully he is getting better now that he is back in Japan.

For Shinya, I have my own opinion, but at the end of the day, I'll trust that he is a midlife adult who must have at least learned how to manage maintaining that size in a sustainable way.

Nobody on the band has been outspoken about the downsides of touring overseas this year except Kyo, and I'm always baffled by how much Kyo is allowed to complain so publicly about his own management hah. Good for him, and I mean, he's an artist and their primary one when you think about it, so you can't really restrain him much.

It's difficult for me to form an opinion on the management's frugal tendencies when I don't actually see numbers. All I know is that Kyo is able to afford Gucci, expensive toys, etc. and when that impersonator was arrested, from what I understood, he assured us that he wouldn't have ever needed to ask for loans like that. Whatever sacrifices the band is making to apparently make touring abroad profitable at least translates into them being well paid, even if that's just from performing in Japan.

Money also may play only a small role into the decision to have them sleep on a bus and only carry one luggage each. Extra luggage would have to be checked in and could get lost. Checking into hotels, where fans are also staying, presents its own series of issues.

Either way, Kyo had mentioned going to see a doctor in a monthly birthday video on kyo-online (I won't give more details but it was a super minor issue, don't worry) and I think even in another type of content where it sounded more like a regular checkup.

Ultimately, they are adults, they're the main moneymakers fo sun-krad and I'm sure that they would be able to push back against at least future decisions if their health could be jeopardized in the long term. Kyo had mentioned in 2012-2013 that he had warned his management time and time again that the grueling schedule of their tours and shows would grind down his throat, so it was no surprise to him when it became so bad that he needed surgery and the band had to go on a hiatus. I'm sure that everyone learned from that, and Kyo's singing has been spot-on every time I have seen him since 2015 or so.

[rorylovesmatt]

Unrequited love - Madison beer

summary: The second Y/n laid her eyes on Madison, she knew she was in love, but she also knew she couldn’t have her. At least not yet.

warnings: NOT PROOFREAD, bad ending!!! (i think that’s it?)

word count: 1,000

a/n: yes i did come out of my month long hiatus just to publish a fic for my girl WHAT ABOUT IT (idek how long it’s been this is a wild guess)

Y/n stood on the balcony of her apartment, overlooking the shimmering city lights of Los Angeles below. The night was quiet, with only the distant hum of traffic and the occasional gust of wind rustling through the trees. She leaned against the railing, her thoughts heavy and tangled.

She had everything she could’ve ever wanted. Friends, a successful career as a musician, and a life in a city where dreams were made. But there was one thing she couldn’t have, the love of her life.

It had started innocently enough. She met Madison a year ago at the Sturniolos birthday party. She was everything Y/n could’ve ever asked for in a partner (does that made sense?..) Talented, kind, and stunningly beautiful. Despite her celebrity status, Madison was extremely down to earth, warm, and genuine. She didn’t know who she was at first, which only seemed to endear her to Madison more. As the night went on the two of them talked about everything. Their favorite bands, their most embarrassing moments, their dreams and fears. By the end of the night, Y/n was captivated. She found herself thinking about her constantly, longing for the next time she could hear her voice, her laugh.

But there was a problem. Madison was already in a relationship. She knew it from the beginning, yet she couldn’t help herself. The more time she spent with her, the deeper she fell. Y/n cherished every moment, every text message, every late night phone call. She lived for the times when Madison’s hand would accidentally brush against her own or when she’d look at her in a way that made her heart skip a beat. She knew that they didn’t mean the same thing to Madison as they did to her.

Madison saw her as a friend, someone she could trust, someone who understood her in a way few others did, but Y/n saw Madison as so much more.

One evening, after an emotional recording session (is that the proper term?) , Y/n invited Madison over to her place. She had written a new song, one that she had poured her heart into and she wanted Y/n to be the first to hear it. As she sat on her couch, listening to her sing, Y/n watched her closely, hoping to see something in her eyes that would tell her that she felt the same way. But when the song ended, all she did was smile and tell her how beautiful it was, how talented she was.

“Madison..” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “have you ever wondered what it would be like if things were… different? like If we had met at a different time under different circumstances?”

She looked at her confused. “What do you mean?”

Y/n hesitated. She had rehearsed this conversation a hundred times in her head but now that the moment was here, she wasn’t sure if she could go through with it. “I mean… if you weren’t with someone else. If we could be more than just friends.”

There was a long silence as Madison processed her best friend’s words. Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest, every second feeling like an eternity. Finally, she spoke.

“Y/n, you’re an incredible person. I love and care about you so much, but I’m with someone else. I can’t just throw that away.”

She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. Y/n had known this would be her answer, but hearing it out loud still broke her heart. “I understand,” she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Madison reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently. “I don’t want to lose you Y/n. You mean so much to me.”

She forced a smile, even though her heart was shattering. “You won’t lose me. I’ll always be here for you. I promise”

[allwaswell16]

A One Direction fic rec of fics where at least one of the main characters has trust issues as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

🌊 Love After the End of the World by @mercurial-madhouse

(E, 162k, dystopian) When staying alive is already a constant battle, the deadliest weakness is to be in love. For Harry and Louis, finding each other sits on top of the endless list of What Else Could Go Wrong.

🌊 Saving Symphony Hall by @helloamhere

(E, 124k, omegaverse) “That’s the attitude,” said Louis, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, I need to do some research. Zayn, give me your number. I’m gonna save our symphony.”

🌊 And What If I Were You by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom

(E, 109k, famous/not famous) For Louis, will losing his sight give him the clarity to realise what is right in front of him? For Harry, will losing the love of his life give him the strength to finally open his heart? And can they find their way back, before they lose each other forever?

🌊 Say Something by @kingsofeverything

(E, 105k, age difference) At fifty years old and recently divorced, Omega Harry Styles isn't interested in dating. When his doctor suggests a heat and rut matching service, he signs up out of necessity. It’s the only use he has for an Alpha in his life.

🌊 Emperor's New Clothes by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships

(E, 92k, famous/not famous) Harry’s a pop star and Louis isn’t, and there’s a non-disclosure agreement where there used to be a relationship.

🌊 One More Taste of Your Lips by @canadianlarrie, MsHydeStylinson / @mizzhydes

(E, 80k, canon) It had been eight years since the hiatus began, and Louis had spent that time writing and recording music, touring and making it safely through the pandemic. When the opportunity arose to go back on tour with One Direction, Louis knew he'd be a fool not to take it. 

🌊 I Walk the Line by Awriterwrites / @a-writerwrites

(E, 55k, uni) Professor Louis Tomlinson is the leading researcher in his field. Harry Styles is Louis’ recently hired grad assistant. Sparks fly between them but something doesn’t add up when it comes to Harry, and Louis is determined to find out what.

🌊 where the lights are beautiful (series) by twoshipsdrifting / @polkadotlou

(E, 48k, omegaverse)  the accidental bonding a/b/o fic.

🌊 To Be Loved and To Be In Love by RealName

(M, 34k, First Dates au) Louis Tomlinson is a thirty-year-old divorcee whose friends have signed him up for the Channel 4 show First Dates. Harry Styles is a twenty-eight-year-old lawyer who has never been in a long-term relationship.

🌊 Compass to my Soul by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 31k, omegaverse) Louis Tomlinson, omega, is 1/5 of world famous boy band One Direction. He spends his time hoping his bandmates don’t notice him.

🌊 A Road To Something Better by @taggiecb

(E, 25k, small town) Louis Tomlinson, famous romance novelist, has just had the rug pulled out from under his feet when his boyfriend leaves him without notice. What's the most appropriate response to this? Move a thousand miles away and seclude himself in a tiny lake town, of course. 

🌊 I Don't Wanna Fall Asleep by therogueskimo / @bravetemptation

(NR, 23k, exes) AU where Harry has trouble sleeping unless he’s wrapped in Louis’ arms. Louis left him 4 years ago.

🌊 let your lights shine by hazkaban

(M, 22k, football) AU where Louis is a faded professional footballer (soccer player) whose career is nearly ruined by an injury. Harry's his physiotherapist.

🌊  Might’ve Took The Long Way by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove

(M, 21k, exes to lovers) Now Harry is back in town, and no matter how many times Louis tells himself they can’t be together, they keep falling right back into each other.

🌊 He Was a Different League (When I Was Nothing Much) by @afangirlfantasy

(NR, 21k, Marcel) an AU where finding that 'someone new' actually leads to finding that 'someone old,' and Marcel is painfully oblivious.

🌊 A Small Matter (A Matter of Trust) by @kingsofeverything

(E, 18k, tiny penis fic) Harry knows he and his Grindr hookup would be perfect together, if only he could convince him to give a relationship a chance.

🌊 Once The Dark Divides by zanni_scaramouche / @zanniscaramouche

(E, 14k, bdsm) Louis finds out his childhood best friend is a Dom and somehow convinces him it's a good idea to learn about the world of kink with a hands on lesson

🌊 A Silver Lining In A Storm (You Were Lightning, I Was Born) by @fallinglikethis

(E, 6k, omegaverse) after the death of his first fiancé, a man who turned out far worse than Harry thought possible, his subsequent marriage to the man's brother leaves Harry finding it difficult to trust that everything will work out.

- Rare Pairs -

🌊 Bloom by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

(T, 28k, Louis/Liam) In early 1970s Oxford, Detective Sergeant Louis Tomlinson has to deal with the dual pressures of a case that hits too close to home, and the arrival of new colleague Liam Payne.

🌊 One by @allwaswell16

(E, 4k, Louis/Tommy Shelby) When omega Louis Tomlinson becomes pregnant after an unexpected encounter, he decides his only option is to flee his pack. But Tommy Shelby, pack alpha of the Peaky Blinders, might not be willing to let him go so easily.

🌊 When We Hold On (To the Past) by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf

(E, 3k, Zayn/Louis) Zayn could drop the subject and keep fucking him, keep the strings from getting attached, pretend that they weren’t getting closer than Louis was comfortable with. Or Zayn could choose the opposite path—which he did.