#what point does it serve? none

[wensvol]

if gojo had to die at least give us a properly written scene lmao

[uglyf4wn]

realizing that communication actually doesnt matter as much as ppl say it does, bc most ppl glorify it and see it as a magical solution when in fact communicating your feelings/wants/needs only work if other ppl are receptible to it. which... most ppl arent, both bc many dont want to bc it requires too much effort of them and it's easier to shift blame on others not "communicating", but also bc many many ppl just have brains that arent wired to understand others, or other viewpoints and perspectives. thus, no level of communication will make someone who isnt capable of receiving it hear you. most efforts to "communicate" are completely wasted. and it's frustrating, but what can u do?

[aethersea]

another thing fantasy writers should keep track of is how much of their worldbuilding is aesthetic-based. it's not unlike the sci-fi hardness scale, which measures how closely a story holds to known, real principles of science. The Martian is extremely hard sci-fi, with nearly every detail being grounded in realistic fact as we know it; Star Trek is extremely soft sci-fi, with a vaguely plausible "space travel and no resource scarcity" premise used as a foundation for the wildest ideas the writers' room could come up with. and much as Star Trek fuckin rules, there's nothing wrong with aesthetic-based fantasy worldbuilding!

(sidenote we're not calling this 'soft fantasy' bc there's already a hard/soft divide in fantasy: hard magic follows consistent rules, like "earthbenders can always and only bend earth", and soft magic follows vague rules that often just ~feel right~, like the Force. this frankly kinda maps, but I'm not talking about just the magic, I'm talking about the worldbuilding as a whole.

actually for the purposes of this post we're calling it grounded vs airy fantasy, bc that's succinct and sounds cool.)

a great example of grounded fantasy is Dungeon Meshi: the dungeon ecosystem is meticulously thought out, the plot is driven by the very realistic need to eat well while adventuring, the story touches on both social and psychological effects of the whole 'no one dies forever down here' situation, the list goes on. the worldbuilding wants to be engaged with on a mechanical level and it rewards that engagement.

deliberately airy fantasy is less common, because in a funny way it's much harder to do. people tend to like explanations. it takes skill to pull off "the world is this way because I said so." Narnia manages: these kids fall into a magic world through the back of a wardrobe, befriend talking beavers who drink tea, get weapons from Santa Claus, dance with Bacchus and his maenads, and sail to the edge of the world, without ever breaking suspension of disbelief. it works because every new thing that happens fits the vibes. it's all just vibes! engaging with the worldbuilding on a mechanical level wouldn't just be futile, it'd be missing the point entirely.

the reason I started off calling this aesthetic-based is that an airy story will usually lean hard on an existing aesthetic, ideally one that's widely known by the target audience. Lewis was drawing on fables, fairy tales, myths, children's stories, and the vague idea of ~medieval europe~ that is to this day our most generic fantasy setting. when a prince falls in love with a fallen star, when there are giants who welcome lost children warmly and fatten them up for the feast, it all fits because these are things we'd expect to find in this story. none of this jars against what we've already seen.

and the point of it is to be wondrous and whimsical, to set the tone for the story Lewis wants to tell. and it does a great job! the airy worldbuilding serves the purposes of the story, and it's no less elegant than Ryōko Kui's elaborately grounded dungeon. neither kind of worldbuilding is better than the other.

however.

you do have to know which one you're doing.

the whole reason I'm writing this is that I saw yet another long, entertaining post dragging GRRM for absolute filth. asoiaf is a fun one because on some axes it's pretty grounded (political fuck-around-and-find-out, rumors spread farther than fact, fastest way to lose a war is to let your people starve, etc), but on others it's entirely airy (some people have magic Just Cause, the various peoples are each based on an aesthetic/stereotype/cliché with no real thought to how they influence each other as neighbors, the super-long seasons have no effect on ecology, etc).

and again! none of this is actually bad! (well ok some of those stereotypes are quite bigoted. but other than that this isn't bad.) there's nothing wrong with the season thing being there to highlight how the nobles are focused on short-sighted wars for power instead of storing up resources for the extremely dangerous and inevitable winter, that's a nice allegory, and the looming threat of many harsh years set the narrative tone. and you can always mix and match airy and grounded worldbuilding – everyone does it, frankly it's a necessity, because sooner or later the answer to every worldbuilding question is "because the author wanted it to be that way." the only completely grounded writing is nonfiction.

the problem is when you pretend that your entirely airy worldbuilding is actually super duper grounded. like, for instance, claiming that your vibes-based depiction of Medieval Europe (Gritty Edition) is completely historical, and then never even showing anyone spinning. or sniffing dismissively at Tolkien for not detailing Aragorn's tax policy, and then never addressing how a pre-industrial grain-based agricultural society is going years without harvesting any crops. (stored grain goes bad! you can't even mouse-proof your silos, how are you going to deal with mold?) and the list goes on.

the man went up on national television and invited us to engage with his worldbuilding mechanically, and then if you actually do that, it shatters like spun sugar under the pressure. doesn't he realize that's not the part of the story that's load-bearing! he should've directed our focus to the political machinations and extensive trope deconstruction, not the handwavey bit.

point is, as a fantasy writer there will always be some amount of your worldbuilding that boils down to 'because I said so,' and there's nothing wrong with that. nor is there anything wrong with making that your whole thing – airy worldbuilding can be beautiful and inspiring. but you have to be aware of what you're doing, because if you ask your readers to engage with the worldbuilding in gritty mechanical detail, you had better have some actual mechanics to show them.

[stardustedknuckles]

*scrubbing hands down my face* how can you compare magical ability to cocaine with a straight face and also support that the solution is to give Laudna unrestricted access to the cocaine. What mental gymnastics are you doing for that to make any sense. I know marisha used the metaphor. I also know people use metaphors that most closely match their life experiences and if parental/guardian/whatever broad mentor category Delilah belongs to abuse was something she'd struggled with, she very likely would have made that comparison instead! Creators are in fact fallible and trying their best with limited vocabulary and/or experience. It's not an entirely bad metaphor, but it does not take motivation and narrative impact as far as abuse and in fact puts Laudna in unflattering light that she doesn't deserve.

The magic wasn't making Laudna a worse person. Delilah was, and could also crucially physically take over her body to do shit she didn't want and which, again crucially, she was not actually responsible for. The magic was not interfering with her ability to live her life. Delilah was. And if anyone was hungry for power, it was Delilah.

Addicts are accountable for the actions they take in the name of getting their next fix, even though those actions are not what they would do without the disease of addiction and they are so often horrified by them and feel out of control. Laudna was never accountable for the things Delilah forced her body to do. The only possible blame she could take was MAYBE for not trying harder to get rid of Delilah earlier, which. She had fifty years to learn that wasn't fucking possible so forgive her if that certainty took time to change in the presence of powerful and kind friends giving her strength to not only try, but to even want to try.

Addiction as a metaphor for Laudna and her whole deal with Delilah would squarely assert by extension that everything Delilah did to her and through her was her own fault. The term for that is victim blaming.

Hey so can we stop with the addiction metaphors now that Delilah's been bejeweled. It was never a great metaphor and followed more along the lines of an abusive relationship, and now Laudna is in control of her life. Like. Addicts don't recover by continuing to access the thing that made them feel powerful, because again. Addiction was an incomplete and inept metaphor for that whole deal. The cocaine does not throw itself at your face and taunt your every waking thought, because it is in fact an inanimate object. Manipulators do that. People do. And when people do it, that's abuse.

[cleolinda]

So last night at the Democratic National Convention, Kamala Harris pulled off, in my opinion, the most glorious flex in all of American politics. It was petty as fuck and I am here for it:

Harris, in a Show of Force, Holds a Large Rally 80 Miles From Her Convention

Choosing Fiserv Forum in Milwaukee [the smaller venue used for the Republican National Convention] as the venue for Ms. Harris’s rally also served as an intentional rejoinder to Mr. Trump, who has fumed over the size of her crowds since she replaced Mr. Biden on the Democratic ticket. The campaign said about 15,000 people attended the rally in Milwaukee, and the 23,500-person convention hall in Chicago was packed.

Someone on Reddit then linked to the Kamala HQ video of her brief Coming To You Live From My Rival’s Venue acceptance speech for the Democratic nomination. And Redditors pointed out that you could actually see the juxtaposition, and the sold-out crowds could see each other, and it was beautiful.

Posters on r/politics constantly say to any positive discussion, “None of this matters if you don’t vote.” While this is true, the constant doomer nihilism of “None of this matters” pisses me off. I know they’re afraid people will get complacent. They’re afraid people will see, for example, pictures of these massive crowds and think, I don’t have to leave the house. I don’t have to vote. Everyone else will get this. But that’s not what I think when I see news like this. It DOES matter. I was always going to drag my carcass out to my polling station in a blood-red state, whether I have to use a cane or not, whether the Electoral College even gives a shit about my vote or not, but this is exciting. Whenever I see Kamala’s packed, enthusiastic crowds, I think, This is a movement forward and I get to be part of it. We are gonna run up the popular vote as a statement that will make bad-faith actors think twice before meddling, and we are gonna flip some battleground states. We are gonna nail down the electoral votes, and I am going to sit there and watch on TV as they certify the electors in December, and then I am going to sit there and watch them officially count it out like they did on January 6, 2021, and I am going to know that I was part of that.

It’s not about getting complacent. It’s about feeling the agency and possibility that we can actually get this done. It’s about saying, I get to do this, even if it’s just one ballot, one I Voted sticker, one day. We’re gonna get our first female, first South Asian American, and second Black president into that office. The enthusiasm is our running rebuke to that fucking guy, and we’re gonna get the numbers as even Republican politicians turn on him and support Kamala Harris. And any time someone tells you that being hopeful is getting complacent, come back and look at those crowds. Or better yet, get hyped up by Michelle Obama:

Hope is energy, not complacency. We can do this.

[hazelfoureyes]

The Big Part

Alastor x Virgin FemReader smut

(part 2)

You were dead, it was time to divest yourself of your virginity. When you ask Alastor, he takes to the task immediately. Unfortunately, he seems to enjoy surprising you.

warnings/promises: Alastor x Reader smut, Alastor dislikes getting naked, virginity does not rock, possessive Alastor, head pats, reader is an adult she’s just a nervous idiot bad at words

Horny little deer cult: @frompeach , @chirimeimei , @poppingaround , @polytheatrix , @itsmskeisha , @stygianoir , @celestial-vomit , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @amurtan

minors dni, this isn’t educational in the slightest and is just straight smut

It made sense, at the time. You didn’t want a relationship and you didn’t want to meet a stranger you couldn’t trust, that left very few people to ask. Husk would say no, and probably stop serving you drinks. Angel would most likely agree, but you were a little intimidated by his experience. That left Alastor. While you hadn’t spent much time together, your interactions were always cordial. And plus, this was hell. Isn’t this kind of situation a sinners dream come true?

For most, maybe. But you didn’t know Alastor. Not yet, not really. Everything he did had some ulterior motive. Perhaps nothing he had ever done was simply selfless. If Alastor wasn’t gaining something, Alastor wasn’t interested.

You caught him in the hallway one evening after redemption-oriented activities, deciding to get the moment over with as quickly as possible.

“It’s a favor, little… odd. But you’re the only person I have to ask.” Your eyes darted around his face, down the hall, up the walls, anywhere really but his eyes.

“I’m all ears!” Alastor tapped the microphone to the ground with a satisfying ‘thud’.

Oh— you had rehearsed this but you hadn’t prepared to be staring at that large, toothy grin. It wasn’t unsettling, it was just distracting. Would he be smiling the entire time he… ya know.

“I am,” you steepled your hands, pointing them at him, “a virgin.” You paused, hoping maybe he’d just infer the rest and you could stop talking.

His face was motionless save his eyelids rising up.

“And I don’t want to be. Anymore.” Your lips pursed together. C’mon, Alastor. Figure it out.

Alastor nodded.

You dragged your fingers down your face, “Would you help me with that?”

His head cocked to the side like a golden retriever being handed a book on ancient Egypt. Very nice offer but what exactly do I do with it?

“Help how, precisely?” He finally spoke, tone unchanged from any normal topic of discussion. Alastor watched your face scrunch up, mouth moving around words you abandoned half way through. You weren’t saying anything, just making panicked sounds. “I find annunciation most helpful when wanting to be understood, dear.”

You wanted to somersault out the nearest window. “Alastor will you take my virginity?”

“Take it where?”

You groaned, he laughed, “Just kidding, my dear! All in good fun. So, to be clear, you would like your first sexual experience to be with me?” He pointed the microphone from you to him.

You nodded, “Yes, please.”

His smile seemed to strain. Staring down at you, he tried to understand what your motivation was for this. But as he looked into your big, concerningly innocent eyes, he realized there was none. You really, simply, want him to be the first.

Ooh, as he thought it, he felt his pulse quicken in his lap. The first. A spot no one else could take. For the rest of your afterlife, he would always be the one who was first in you. A delicious thought. He could work with that.

“Are you free now?” He leaned down to your level.

“Oh. I wasn’t-,”

“Expecting immediacy? Perfect, the element of surprise has never failed me before.” His hand wrapped around your waist and drew you in to his chest, there was a rush of cold air over your skin before you felt yourself falling back.

It was soft, the room was dark, save for a small floor lamp in the corner. Your room, you realized.

“I didn’t know you knew my room number.”

“It’s my job to know everything about the hotel.” He said, tossing your shoes behind him. Was this happening now? Right now?

“I can do it, it’s, it’s fine.” You sat up and began undoing your pants. Alastor just standing there, watching. Smiling. Fuck, was it going to be this awkward the entire time? Should you say something? Touch him? You were lifting the hem of your shirt when you realized he was still fully dressed. “Are you going to take off your clothes?”

“Why would I do that?” Head lolled to the side.

You stopped mid-way through unhooking your bra, “Alastor you do know I was asking you to fuck me, right?”

He nodded. Maybe this was a mistake.

After taking off your bra, and finally your panties, you crawled to the top of your bed and drew your knees to your chest. Your feet hid your sex from view. Heart racing, but it wasn’t excitement, as you had anticipated. It was nerves. Would it hurt? Would you make a stupid face? What if he didn’t like the sounds you made? What if you regretted it after?

Alastor got on the bed on his knees, undoing his belt buckle but not his pants. The way he looked at you, your heart skipped a beat. You suddenly remembered he was called the ‘cannibal deer’ as you saw something akin to hunger in his eyes.

“What experience do you have?” His voice was suddenly low, deeper than before. This wasn’t the pun loving radio man you saw prodding the staff.

“I dated. Before. Kissing, um, I don’t know the bases. Groping?” You grimaced, it sounded so formal.

“Have you ever,” he began to slink toward you on his hands and knees, red eyes glowing in the dim light of your room, “been entered?”

Your cheeks burned, your head suddenly swayed as if it was half full of water and someone tipped you over. “Just myself, my,” you lifted your hand.

“Show me.”

All the air left the room, sucked out of your lungs and into his grin.

Uncrossing your feet, you tried to open your thighs without seperating your knees. It didn’t work, but you still managed to get a hand between your legs and to your entrance. You could have cried, you were soaking wet to an embarrassing degree. Your eyes return to Alastor, his gaze never leaving you. Even as you slipped a finger, then two, into yourself. You thought for sure he would want to watch your hands playing with your wet pussy but no, his eyes stayed on your face. Somehow, that was worse.

A shaky sigh escaped, your eyes closing as you tried to focus on relaxing around your digits.

Your head smacked against the headboard when you felt a third finger enter. Not yours. Your eyes flew back open to see him now directly in front of you.

“Two won’t do, dear.” He spun his finger around, pulling slightly at the thin skin of your entrance. “Unless you’d prefer this to hurt?”

You shook your head no, still stinging from the impact you had made. “May I?” His hand took your wrist and removing your fingers. Swiping your wetness from your ass to your clit, he coated his claw-like digits and pushed three back in. They were longer than yours, sharper. You could feel he moved gently, in and out. Your head was heavy, breath short and fast.

He laughed, bringing your consciousness fully back into the room, “Already wanting to change your mind?”

You shook your head side to side, still too embarrassed to speak, and took a grounding breath to help your body accept his fingers. He took his time, sliding in and out of you. His fingers picking up the slick and letting it lubricate your lips. It was so slow, the only pleasure for you was knowing it wasn’t your hand doing it.

But then his stretching of your hole stopped, and he grabbed both of your knees from underneath and pulled you down toward him. Now on your back, legs up and in his hands, you heard his belt slide through the loopholes, his zipper drop. You wanted to look, but you also absolutely did not want to look.

Your knees came together when you felt something hot and round at your entrance. “Ah-ah,” He opened them immediately. He reached for one of your hands, and brought it down to his cock. It was so hard under your fingers, but gave a little when you squeezed. It made him hiss.

“You tell me when to stop, little doe.” He pressed into your opening, pulled back. Pressed in, just barely making it past your lips, pulled back. He kept this pressing and pulling, head making slightly more leeway every time. Your fingers were holding right behind the tip.

“How about this, dear. I’ll just get the head in for now. Manageable!”

“Just— just get the big part in first?” You asked, the pressure at your entrance building with every shallow thrust.

He laughed, nodding as he held both of your knees further apart. When he attempted to get past the curve of his cock’s head, your hands flew down to press against his thigh, pushing back with the intrusion. Alastor stilled, sighed, and pressed his head fully in with a determined thrust. Instinctively, your feet came to his chest and tried to push away from him. It felt like you were being torn down the middle, your body forced apart at your most sensitive junction. He held you still now by the ankles, legs splayed in the air.

It burned where your walls were pushed aside. Stinging where the skin tore slightly just beneath your hole, unable to stretch.

“Breath, sweetheart.” He set your ankles down. “Does it hurt?”

You nodded.

“I’ll stay here for a bit,” he settled on his legs, looking down at where he was connected to you. Your pink little pussy looking positively overwhelmed by his cock. No one has ever been here before, and he could feel it. Your walls were pressing so hard against him his shaft was slightly curved from the force pushing his head out. You still had so much to take, there was so much more of you for him to explore. You tried to calm your breathing but your heart was racking against your sternum.

Hand reaching down again, you let your fingers count little paces from his core to yours. You knew the hardest part was over, but that didn’t bring much comfort as you felt how far you still had to go.

Alastor let his eyes wander away from your not-so-virgin cunt to your face. Your expression was twisted, not pained but clearly uncomfortable.

“How does it feel?” He asked, gesturing to your lap with a nod of his head.

“Full, so full.”

His cackle disheartened you, “Darling I am no where done filling you up.”

You clenched when he said it, earning a small groan from him. You were already too tight, when you spasmed on him it was nearly painful. There was more to do yet, more of you to claim as his. Just the tip of his cock was simply not enough.

His hips started moving again, the folds of his head pulling at the skin of your entrance but not actually crossing the barrier. He was gently rocking, barely making friction between you two. Your hand clawed at his knee, breath hitching. You let an airy moan slip, his head no longer an intrusion but something hot and melty barely rubbing your walls. It started to feel almost good.

Alastor’s cock was throbbing, his shaft touch-starved and desperate for the heat of your cunt. Your face was relaxing now, eyes blinking around new sensations. He wanted to see you experience more, more firsts and frighteningly foreign pleasures. He wanted to see you scared of how good he could make you feel. Alastor wanted you to never feel whole again without him buried balls deep in you.

“Can you take more?” His voice was like gravel, a radio static crackling in.

You met his eyes, glowing still in the dim light, wide and nearly frenzied in their dilation. His smile was practically beaming down at you.

“I don’t know.” You were scared to move forward, even though you wanted more.

“I don’t like liars.” A pop of electricity arcing at the end of his words. You pulled a pillow over your face, trying to hide from the reaction you knew he’d have as his voice made you tighten around him. “Your body says otherwise,” he hissed.

You wanted to say ‘yes’, if this could feel good then how great would all of him feel? But you were scared to vocalize it. Scared to make it start. Alastor lifted the pillow, “I need to see you, dear.” He set it beside his leg, “Do you remember what I said earlier?”

Brow furrowed, you shook your head. His grin widened to his ears as his hands slid down your thighs to your hips and he sank his cock to the hilt.

The element of surprise definitely made the nerves of saying ‘yes’ dissipate, but you were now choking on your breath, hands gripping at the blankets beneath you. Was this normal? Was he too far inside you? You felt nauseous, your guts prodded by Alastor’s member.

“How does it feel now?” He watched your eyes scanning the ceiling for an answer. You felt sure there was no way his head could leave you ever again. It was so snuggly fit in you, you feared you’d be pulled inside out. “Words, dear.”

You sat up on your elbows, sweating from the nerves of it all. “Like there’s a big stick stuck in me.”

“Accurate!” He laughed, and began pulling out. You whined, head dropping back. Almost taking himself out completely, he paused before thrusting back in. The head of his cock dragged against your walls, you could feel him with such detail. Every inch of him leaving impressions behind. Alastor could feel it too, how your soft warmth moved out of his way with every push. How pliable your womb was to his intrusions.

More. You could take more, he was positive of it.

Slowly, your moans began to get louder as the pressure faded into pleasure. Every time he bottomed out, you jumped. Every time he pulled out, you wanted to chase after him with your hips.

Watching your face soften, eyes now watery, Alastor was sure you were relaxed enough. He grabbed the pillow beside him, lifting your ass and sliding it under the small of your back. You didn’t ask, just waited to see what the point was. Dissatisfied, he grabbed another and added it under you.

Your hips were up, ass hanging over the ledge the pillows made, back bent upward. When he began to thrust again, you whinced feeling a new part of you widen for him. “Can you see me?” You looked at him when he said it, but he grabbed your hand and placed it beneath your belly button. When he pushed back in, you could feel his cock beneath your hand. Moving it, you watched your stomach bulge slightly when he was completely sheathed in you.

“Oh fuck-,” your head fell back into the bed, it was too much to feel let alone to watch, “Too deep.”

He hummed an acknowledgement, picking up his pace. “Let me see how you cum.”

Your face was hot, reluctantly bringing your hand to your clit and rubbing.

No, this wasn’t a mistake at all. If anything you regretted not asking sooner.

His thrusts now brought lightning to your core, your finger quickening in speed with the realization of just how good he could feel.

Studying your face still, he adjusted his angle until he saw the muscles in your neck tighten. He knew he found your g-spot, your moans dipping into cries.

“I can’t—,” You couldn’t get over the hump, knowing he was watching you, waiting for you.

“You can”, the lights flickered, his eyes now black with small red pupils illuminating your naked body, “and you will, my dear.” One of his hands stopped pressing finger sized bruises into your hips to instead push your own finger aside. The wide pad of his thumb took over and began thrumming you fast and hard.

That familiar build up of pleasure was stronger than you’d ever felt it, and when it finally snapped your muscles from your thighs to your toes cramped. How long had you been tensing?

You practically sobbed into the crook of your arm, Alastor’s hips slowing but still carrying you through your orgasm. They moved slower and slower, until stopping entirely. His head popped out of you, leaving you feeling hollow. Cold.

Eyes wet and blurry, you looked up at him, “Aren’t you going to finish?”

“If we do everything now, what ��first’ will we have for tomorrow night? And the night after that?” He smiled, member already hidden away and pants buttoned. Your thighs twitched. “Same time tomorrow, little doe?”

You covered your face with both hands, and nodded.

His big hand came to your head and patted you gently, “Good girl.”

I hope you liked it 🥺 I don’t feel as confident about this one. Fun fact, my first time involved bondage. Very on brand, huh? 💖

༻Masterlist༺

Gonna start calling his dick ‘the element of surprise’. You look tired today! What happened? Oh the element of surprise kept me up all night.

[elainemorisi]

old news I know, but Trek writers' ineptitude with romance is just so predictable and yet so extraordinarily varied!

[elodieunderglass]

On the topic of the monarchist animals I'm just really curious. What makes the winnie pooh real animals bourgeois? It's not like they own much more than the others. Do they just have bourgeois energy?

(In reference to my addition on this post; https://www.tumblr.com/elodieunderglass/748488762087047168/hold-on-lets-do-this-properly-paddington)

In the post I state that none of the stuffed/toy animals in the Winnie the Pooh series are monarchists, but that the real animals are bourgeoisie. Obviously this is tongue in cheek, but it’s still politically interesting to me because nobody ever reads Winnie the Pooh as an actual book. They just draw depressed Disney Eeyore and think they’ve done something.

Owl and Rabbit are real wild animals that live in the Hundred Acre Wood. The other characters in the story are Christopher Robin’s stuffed animals.

The “real” animals (reasonably) consider themselves to be separate from the stuffed ones, but where it becomes unreasonable is how they assume superiority and how they use this to exert authority.

(A charming response about how the stuffed animals view this: Piglet points out that Rabbit is both clever and Has Brain, and Pooh replies that this is why Rabbit “doesn’t understand anything.”)

Owl is characterised by being a bit of a fraud. The stuffed animals respect him for his presumed education and literacy, but even a preschooler understands that Owl can’t actually read. he actively deceives the other characters in order to maintain a higher social status over them. (Actually, Rabbit’s the most literate character in the Wood.) Owl gains relatively little advantage from this status, apart from his belief that he is superior and the pleasure in everyone deferring to him. A notable theme throughout the written series involves characters approaching Owl for advice, based on his self-made reputation of being wise and thoughtful, and him giving explicitly bad advice, rather than admit that he has no idea how to help. Also, they forcibly give him someone else’s house, in such a way that the actual possessor of the house (Piglet) feels he can’t speak up. Pooh immediately offers to Piglet that he move in with him, which even as a kid felt like an incredibly unsatisfactory solution to having the shyest character’s actual house given away to the character who casually lies about everything just to feel superior.

Rabbit is a grown-ass adult real wild animal. He is the social leader of a massively large family and an extended group of hangers-on (he has fifteen or seventeen close relatives, and the extended Friends-and-Relations are a sort of army); he is the only actually literate person in the narrative, so it is understandable that he feels this (although he also believes Owl can read.) literacy and Brain are considered very important in the Wood.

Rabbit believes in his own superiority and believes himself to serve as a sort of cadet to Christopher Robin. In the series Christopher Robin is the ultimate judge, and a kindly ruler; Rabbit positions himself constantly at Christopher Robin’s right hand and wants to be his enforcer. Christopher Robin, who is five and a fairly distracted God, does not really enforce anything. This does not stop Rabbit from trying to organise the entire Wood. It’s frequently mentioned that Rabbit wants to feel important, he wants to be the Boss. A beautiful, beautiful commentary on his character is when he wakes up feeling “important, as if everything depending on him… it was a Captainish sort of day, when everybody said “Yes Rabbit” and “No Rabbit” and waited until he had told them.” Fantastic!

However, we can see where this leads him. In the first book Rabbit is shown being hostile and actively anti-foreign in his approach to other people. When kanga and roo arrive in the forest - sanctioned by Christopher Robin who has received new toys - Rabbit instantly says they have to get rid of them. Like there is NO friendship in Rabbit’s heart here. There is no “god has placed a new friend in the wood so we have to get on with it.”

Rabbit’s anti-immigration stances are funny, and in-character, and shown by the narrative to be wrong and unfair. But they’re pretty unleashed.

His plan is to kidnap the baby and hold it hostage until the mother agrees to “leave the forest forever and never return.”

This is not a normal response to a new character. It is in fact fucking unhinged. Coming from the most normal-adult real animal in the story, it comes out of nowhere. “We have to eliminate them instantly. Take the baby hostage, blackmail the parent and deport them” Rabbit these are war crimes.

Anyway it’s all very heartwarming as Rabbit learns that he likes Baby Roo. (Their relationship grows warmer as Baby Roo says “yes rabbit” and “no rabbit” better than anyone else.) We never really learn why Rabbit is so violently anti-immigration that he instantly jumps to doing crimes, but it’s possible that he doesn’t like the threat to the status quo. Baby Roo, by deferring politely, thus turns out to be a valuable social inferior for Rabbit’s power base.

But in the next book we also get another new character introduction: Tigger. rabbit does not like tigger. In fact, he stops visiting Roo because Tigger lives with them. Rabbit, frustrated by Tigger’s bounciness, also decides to deliberately trick and bully Tigger in order to make him “small and sorry.” The fact that this comically backfires on Rabbit is part of the Pooh-lore storytelling style, of course, but it’s still something obvious even to the preschool audience - that isn’t how you treat your friends.

In conclusion, due to their hoarding of (social) capital and behaviors that prop up an unjustly unequal social system, I think the real animals in Winnie the Pooh are a bit bougie.

[norrisainz33]

the call pt.3 || platonic grid & gr63

summary: f1 rookie, y/n, enjoys the 3 week break and races in vegas

pairing: rookie!reader x platonic!grid x george russell

fc & warnings: none and suggestive. you are responsible for the content you consume

part 1 | part 2

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

ynuser has made a post

liked by georgerussell63, pierregasly, alpinef1team, carlossainz55, and 456,873 others

[tagged: georgerussell63]

ynuser: break is breaking!! glad to rest, read and be with friends. now on to vegas ✈️

view all 743 comments

user1: YES GAWD

rubendias: 😍 [liked by ynuser]

user5: oh now this is a crossover i’d kill to see

user2: george being the insta bf who isn’t her bf and taking pics of her omg

georgerussell63: london suits you

ynuser: it does 🥰

user10: y/ngeorge supremacy

user3: begging to know what’s on ur tbr y/n

ynuser; you can find me on goodreads darling

user3: OMGNAUFKWT Y/N

landonorris: you can READ?!

ynuser: yeah - can you?

landonorris: not a chance

lance_stroll: see you soon bestie

ynuser: looking forward to it ✨

user4: i can’t wait to see you back on track in 1 week!!

ynuser has posted to their story

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user11: might be the best media fit i’ve ever seen

yourbff: trying not to drool you look amazing girl

ynuser: thank you 🥹

alexandrasaintmleux: i love everything about this outfit especially that it’s red 😉

ynuser: hehe merely a coincidence

user29: it must be hard being the only one serving in that paddock

landonorris: ok daddy long legs

ynuser: 🕷️

rubendias: looking good y/n

ynuser: why thank you ruben

rubendias: let me know when you’re back in europe. i’d love to take you out one of these days

user12: these boys have nothing on you

ynuser has made a post

liked by alpinef1team, pierregasly, landonorris, maxfewtrell, georgerussell63, rubendias, and 765,230 others

ynuser: back on track in the alpink and ready for some alpoints 🩷

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user2: unhealthily obsessed with the alpink

pierregasly: we got this y/n 💪🏻

ynuser: let’s get it !

user5: crossing all fingers that this weekend is good to you

georgerussell63: you got a pink pony eh?

ynuser: why yes! a member of the pink pony club

user6: cars back on track thank GOD

alpinef1team: that’s our alpink alprincess

user7: final triple header of the year im gonna be sick

user8: god please let y/n seat announcement be soon

✿

p11 - you could work with that. only had to successfully make one overtake and you’d be in the points. you knew lewis and his silver arrow were going to fly forward and that your real battle was with nico in 9th. you could manage that and you knew it.

gripping the steering wheel tight you waited for the lights to go out and for the race to begin. 3, 2, 1.. you slammed on the gas and took off. time to get to work.

✿

“box, box” your engineer instructed over the radio and you let out a sigh of relief. the tyre degradation in vegas was stronger than expected and you were thankful to pick up a new set of hards. except when you came into the pit lane - you saw only one mechanic waiting for you. there was no one there. surely they should be there? “did i miss the box?” you muttered to yourself passing the alpine garage and making your way through the pit lane. nope. no box missed. your team just wasn’t there.

“are you fcking kidding me?! where was everyone?!” you screamed into the radio as you pulled out of the pit lane and reentered the race without new tyres and a whole lot of time lost.

“there was a miscommunication, y/n. please come back next lap.”

✿

✿

you stepped off the scale as quickly as possible snatching the paper from the fia agent and turning swiftly toward your garage. you desperately needed air and a moment alone.

practically running through the pit lane, you ignored your team who tried to call after you as you hurried toward your drivers room. you flung open the door and locked it behind you before ripping your helmet off of your head and slumping down to the ground.

putting your head in your hands, you cried. the race couldn’t have gone any worse. your mechanics weren’t ready for you to box causing you to lose over 20 seconds of time. your strategy calls after that were abysmal and you landed almost in dead last. this sort of a performance was not how you were going to gain a seat for next season and it certainly wasn’t going to stop the skeptics from trying to tear you down.

a soft knock sounded against your door and you heard an unmistakable voice, “y/n/n let me in.” you tried to wipe away some of the tears as you unlocked the door and scooted out of the way so lance could open the it. he looked down at you on the floor and frowned instantly. “oh y/n/n, come here.” he instructed holding out his hand for you. reluctantly you took it and allowed him to pull you up into his arms.

“what happened?” lance asked gently as you sobbed into his chest. you noticed that he was still very much in his race suit which meant he likely hadn’t done his media duties yet either and instead came to see you.

“everything went wrong,” you explained wiping your eyes again and leaning back to look at him. “my mechanics weren’t ready when i went to box and i lost so much time it ended my chances of being competitive and on top of that i just drove like absolute dog shit so i didn’t help myself either.”

lance wiped away a tear from your cheek, “i’m sorry y/n/n. that sucks but this isn’t the end. you have two more races - it isn’t over till it’s over.”

“i consciously know you’re right but i just… i don’t know lance - this pressure is more than i could have ever imagined.”

“i can’t pretend to understand how you’re feeling but i can tell you that no one is perfect after 4 races. you are doing the best that you can.” lance assured wiping more tears from your face as your crying slowed.

there was a forceful knock at the door, “y/n you need to get to the media pen. now.” your pr manager said sternly through the door pulling you back to reality.

lance sighed before letting you go, “alright come on. let’s get out there before people start to spread rumors about what we’re doing in here.” he laughed fixing his race suit, “and don’t get me wrong i love you but you unfortunately are not my type and also i am not a 6 foot 3 british man so im not yours either.”

you let out a laugh and lance was pleased to hear it. “yeah yeah let’s go.”

before walking out of your driver room, lance turned and said “hey y/n/n… don’t let them see you rattled - they don’t deserve it.”

✿

skysportsf1 has made a post

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skysportsf1: a tough weekend for our brazil podium finisher, y/n y/l/n. y/n said the following in her post race interview with us: “today is a forgettable one for me and the team. we didn’t have the pace and we made some critical mistakes. we’ll learn from them and come back stronger in qatar. both pierre and i will. but for now, congrats to george on a brilliant win.”

✿

“y/n/n.” george’s big blue eyes were staring into your soul and you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes flickered to your lips quickly before moving back up. “can i tell you something?” he asked over the pounding of the music throughout the club.

you had begrudgingly agreed to go out and celebrate with george and the rest of the mercedes crew even though you had no interest in partying after the race you had. but, at the end of the day, george was one of your best friends and he deserved to be celebrated. you both were a couple drinks deep at this point and george was clearly getting loose. “of course you can georgie!”

he tucked a piece of hair behind you ear, “i um…” he paused stealing another glance at your lips. “i’ve been wanting to tell you something for like a really long time and seeing you leave your drivers room with lance made me realize i should tell you sooner rather than later.”

“what are you talking about? nothing happened with lance and i earlier! he came to check on me after the race.” you put your empty glass down on the bar next to you as you tried to comprehend what he was saying.

“regardless of what was happening it made me realize that i couldn’t keep pretending like i don’t want to be more than just friends with you.”

it felt like the wind was knocked right out of you, there was no way you heard what you thought you just heard. “george william russell - you can’t be serious.”

“i am!” george insisted incredulously, “i have fancied you since what feels like the dawn of time. since i met you on the karting track for the first time. remember? when you barreled directly into the back of my kart? you hit me because i broke too soon and then you being you - you yelled at me after the race and even while yelling you were the most beautiful girl i’d ever laid eyes on.”

“george, i don’t know what to say.”

george ran both hands through his hair. “you don’t have to say anything y/n. i just wanted you to know how i felt because i —“

before he could say anything more you stood up on your tiptoes and kissed him right there in the middle of the club.

✿

f1gossip has made a post

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5, user6, user7 and 32,123 others

f1gossip: BREAKING NEWS 🚨 george russell and y/n y/l/n were spotted out at a club following todays race. reports say the pair shared a rather passionate kiss on the dance floor which was then followed by george dragging y/n through the dance floor and out of the bar. next report we got is the pair arriving together back at the hotel. seems like things are getting spicy between y/n and george!

view all 674 comments

user1: SCREAMING

user23: best thing i’ve seen all day

user44: ohhhhh they’d make the hottest couple

user2: allat and no video evidence??

user5: huge day for annoying people! (me)

user8: surprised it took these 2 so long. it’s been 10 years

user12: YES GAWD THANK YOU GAWD

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading!! likes and reblogs appreciated! been in another writing slump but hopefully will get some wips out soon

tag list from part 1 & 2: @yawn-zi @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @divagreymare @raizelchrysanderoctavius @ferakillia @stressed-cherry @sassyangel16 @mxdi0 @awritingtree @danielricciardoslut3 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @seasonswinter @rawr-123s-stuff @grussellsprout @belncaldern @ellelabelle @tall-tanned-tattoo @chelseyyouraverageluigi @tellybearryyyy

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[nagaytoe]

Periculum

Solivan Brugmansia X Reader

TW: implied drugging, manipulation

Word count: 1.4k

I can't be the only one wondering how on earth Sol is gonna explain himself on day 3 after the 8-point-required ending, that's why i decided what i think might happen!

BY THE WAY: i take request, so if anyone is interested, feel free to ask me :3

SPOILERS FOR TKATB DAY 1+2 REVAMPED

Periculum

(Noun) [Latin] Danger

Warm rays of sunlight graze your face as you slowly wake up, laying on your side.

What time is it? Why didn't your alarm go off?

You try to reach over to your bedside table but notice arms wrapped around your waist and someone spooning you, their chest pressed to your back snugly enough that you can faintly feel their heartbeat.

What the hell?

You feel panic rising up, an uncomfortable feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. The arms only tighten around you as soon as you try to break free from the grasp you currently find yourself in. Looking over your shoulder, you see none other than Sol, causing the feeling of panic to subside but one of confusion to settle in.

You sure as hell weren't cuddling yesterday evening. Wait, what happened yesterday evening anyways? You can't seem to recall, but you're pretty sure that you didn't go to bed with Sol.

In an attempt to wake him, you call out his name, but to no avail. You shake his arms that are still snaked around you, calling out to him yet again.

Sol's eyes flutter open and he looks at you with an adorning look in his eyes and a smile gracing his handsome face.

“Hey… good morning, [____]”

“Good…morning?” You ponder for a moment, before speaking up again.

“Sol, i really think we should get going, we still have classes today-”

His grip tightens at your inquiry, “Don't worry about it. You're probably still shaken up from what happened back at the arcade, right? Perhaps we should skip, how does that sound?”

He seems to snuggle even closer, signalizing that he would most likely not accept any answer other than accepting his request.

“Sol..” you sigh, aware that it wasn't a good idea. You need your studies, how else are you going to help your father? Even though, Sol might be right about one thing: You really are exhausted, but are yesterday's events at the arcade really the cause for that?

“We already skipped the last period yesterday, we can't skip again, especially not a whole day.”

You pry on his arms again and Sol eventually lets you go, although reluctantly. Sitting up and turning to face him, you decide to ask him one of the first questions that came to your mind after waking up, despite feeling a little uneasy about it.

“Hey… uhm, what happened yesterday evening?”

Sol raises his brow, looking up at you.

“You don't remember?”

His confused, almost disappointed, tone only serves to make you feel even queasier.

"No…? I mean, I remember that we were eating dinner but everything after that is… gone? I just can't seem to recall what we did afterwards…” You grow flustered. What the hell transpired between you two that apparently caused Sol and you to cuddle but you just can't seem to remember?

“You fell asleep.” Sol explains, “In the middle of the conversation at that. I was really worried about you, y'know? It was probably the exhaustion after what happened at the arcade finally settling in, which is understandable but also precisely the reason why I would like for you to rest a little.”

What? Never before have you fallen asleep just like that…but then again, you have never been attacked like that either…

Still, despite his comforting, caring tone you can't seem to shake off the feeling that something is wrong.

Before you could respond Sol continued, “I carried you to bed, I'd say that's a whole lot more comfortable than sleeping on a chair.” He chuckles, trying to ease the tension, since it doesn't slip past him how on edge you seem right about now.

“That… that was really nice but…it doesn't really explain why… um, you're sleeping next to me..” you can't help but mumble that last part, too flustered, almost embarrassed, by the predicament you currently find yourself in. You weren't the type to cuddle with just anyone, especially not with people you have known since a few days. The thought makes you uncomfortable, it's just not like you at all.

Sol chuckles a little, looking at you in awe with a blush of his own.

Oh how much he would like to tell you what happened, what he did, what he would do for you. How he knows that the two of you belong together, that you're his, even though you are yet to realize that.

“You were squirming and mumbling in your sleep the entire time, I thought you had a nightmare and quite frankly, I didn't want to leave you all alone after what transpired earlier on. You understand, don't you? I apologize if this made you uncomfortable, but if the roles were reversed, would you have left me alone, shaking like a leaf?”

No, you wouldn't have left him. Would you have cuddled him? You are not sure. Perhaps he only meant to stay with you for a few moments but accidentally fell asleep. That must be it, right?

You were too quiet for too long for Sol's liking. Did you hate him now? You can't hate him, you could never hate him, could you? The two of you were Soulmates, there is no way one could hate the other, is there?

“...[____]?”

You snap out of your thoughts, your gaze turning back to meet his vermillion eyes.

“Sorry, I just-” you bury your face in your hands, “You only meant well, didn't you? I probably caused you some trouble by having you feel obligated to stay here with me, that wasn't my intention. You need your studies as well and shouldn't miss them just for my sake.”

You really are horrible. How could you think that Sol potentially meant any harm? How could you feel so uneasy? How can you still feel a little queasy, despite him explaining what happened?

Is it because deep down you know that he is not telling you the entire truth?

“[____], you will never be a burden to me, please remember that. I will gladly miss my studies if it means I can be by your side.” Sol smiles gently and takes hold of your wrists, pulling them back and revealing your face to him.

“You really should rest, though. I'll be here, right by your side… If you let me.”

He wraps his bigger hands around yours. They're warm and still bruised from yesterday.

Sol did so much for you. He fought off 4 guys just to make sure they can't harm you and now he offers to miss his classes for your sake. He is sweet, sickly sweet, he doesn't seem to care about others as much as he cares about you. How can a single person grow on you this much in the span of two days?

It's surely because you are made for each other, two halves of a whole who finally found each other.

You nod slowly, leaning towards him to hug him tightly. A hug is the least you can give him after everything he has already done for you. Sol wraps his big strong arms around you, stroking the back of your head in a comforting manner.

Luckily, you can't see the wicked smile on Sol's face. He has you right where he wants you. With time you will grow more and more reliant on him, but worry not, for he will take care of you, he always will.

“Are you still tired?” You nod in response, properly laying down while still hugging him. “Sleep some more then. I'll be here when you wake up.”

It doesn't take long for you to fall asleep in his embrace, not caring about your prior discomfort caused by the very same action. Sol feels happy, truly happy, ecstatic even. You've known him for two days and yet you're almost putty in his hands, believing whatever he says, though, to be fair, why wouldn't you? He has no reason to lie to you, now does he? He only wants what's best for the two of you, after all.

Perhaps you are too trusting, but Sol will make sure to protect you from everyone who may take advantage of that.

…Though perhaps the only one you need to be protected from is Sol himself.

[thydungeongal]

That encounter joke Anon is wrong. Every 5e GM I've ever met went the route of "one fight per day oh my boss is already dead accutally he has 50 more hitpoints and now here's 2 more minions now the fight is properly exciting and dramatic" and the lack of a poker face meant we all knew.

How do you feel about that kind of rewriting, anyway?

For context, none of the GMs ever admitted to this on the LFG posts, or the pitches, etc.

I'm not opposed to it on principle. Ultimately I do think it's a bit like "oh so you're shifting the goalposts when it seems like the party is winning the encounter more easily than you think they should have," but ultimately that's just a maladaptive response to a different issue. Which is, once again, people trying to run D&D as a game it very much is not.

D&D isn't a game of epic bossfights where characters snatch victory from the jaws of defeat after an extended combat encounter. It can produce such encounters but they will usually emerge incidentally, not naturally. D&D is ultimately a game of attrition, of managing character resources through the course of an extended period, and even though D&D 5e's actual expectations of what an adventuring day is supposed to look like are whack D&D 5e does support a type of gameplay that relies on managing resources over an adventuring day much better than it does "a single epic setpiece encounter per day."

Because ultimately D&D is at its best when it's about weaponized player agency and system mastery, and in modern D&D this sometimes manifests as "the party knew they were going up against a lich so utilizing everything they know about liches they kicked that guy's ass in two turns." Now that would be really anticlimactic if the GM had set that encounter up as narrative culmination of a campaign that had been leading up to this moment for two years. But if you take it as "just one more encounter in the story of a bunch of assholes trying to grow stronger and more epic" then it's just a moment of those characters getting to flex for a moment.

Now of course adjusting the stats of a monster on the fly is sort of a problem in that it goes against the game and thus undermines player expression within the game. When the group pulls off a cool trick that immediately deals a million points of damage to the dragon's dick and you say "oh actually the dragon had two million hit points" then you're ultimately undermining player expression. I don't think this makes someone a bad GM because the motivation behind it is usually to provide a more entertaining experience for the group, but it is a sign of a GM fighting against the system and not knowing what it does, and they and their group would probably be better served by another game. And given that players won't necessarily know that happened it maintains the illusion that the game does produce that type of encounter.

My advice? As a GM, be honest: "hey, I didn't think you all would one-shot that boss. Are you okay if we add a bit more HP to that thang?" And if this is a consistent issue of the game not producing the type of experience the group wants they should ultimately look for a different game.

[paperultra]

back of house.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1,113 words Warnings: Mild swearing

If it weren’t for his principles regarding women, you’re fairly certain Sanji would’ve throttled and strung you up to dry by now.

“I … I’m impressed, sweetheart,” he says with a bright smile, though under the swinging lights of the kitchen it seems more out of pain than pleasure. “You managed to burn water.”

Your cheeks flame as you peer into the blackened pot with him, all traces of the water you’d been tasked with boiling completely gone. Vanished. You have no idea how or why.

“I’m sorry, Sanji.”

“No need to apologize. Everybody makes mistakes –”

“Sanji!” you hear Zeff before you see him round the corner. “Why the hell do I smell something burning in my kitchen?”

“None of your business, old man,” Sanji snaps immediately, murmuring a quiet excuse me, dear to you before taking the pot by the handle and heading to the sink. He twists the faucet open and running water roars like thunder in your ears as he thrusts the pot underneath. “I have it under control.”

“Under control, eh?" Zeff says. He suddenly turns his squinted gaze upon you, and you shrivel. “This your doing, missy?”

“I –”

“Leave her alone,” Sanji interrupts. “I didn’t give clear enough instructions. It was my fault.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that.” Eyeing your guilty and defeated figure next to the stove, Zeff shakes his head with a sigh and points you to the door. “[Y/n], go out and wait tables for the rest of your shift.”

Immediately, you make a move to remove your apron. “Oka –”

Sanji makes a noise of dissent and turns the faucet off. “Wait tables? She can still chop the vegetables and help me plate.”

“You’ll do that yourself. Front of house needs the extra person, anyway.”

“I’m her mentor.”

“And I’m the damn boss.”

The rest of the staff roll their eyes and carry on while the two men argue in the middle of the kitchen. You swallow and take your apron off, balling it up in your hands. This isn’t the first time they’ve butted heads over your incompetence, and watching them now cuts at your last shred of dignity.

Clearing your throat, you grimace when Sanji’s head whips around to look at you.

“Zeff’s right,” you tell him. “Dinner rush is coming up soon and I’ll just be in the way, anyway.”

Zeff grunts with satisfaction.

The expression on Sanji’s face reminds you of a kicked puppy. “But …” he begins to protest.

“Oi, you heard what she said. Get back to work! We have customers waiting!”

Sanji blusters about before heading back to his station, casting you one final, forlorn look as he does so. You imagine that your own face looks just the same when you turn to leave.

—

You take orders and serve customers for the remainder of the day, as promised, and help with cleanup after closing time. And then, long after the sun’s dipped below the horizon, Sanji joins you on the upper deck with a steaming bowl of seafood fried rice.

“For the madam,” he says with a smile, offering you the bowl.

You accept it silently and take a bite as he sits down next to you. It’s perfect like it always is – savory and warm on your tongue, happy and gentle in your stomach. You’ve never known a home quite like Sanji’s cooking.

His eyes remain fixed on you as you eat all of the rice, scraping the bowl for every last grain and setting it down beside you once you’re finished.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. I figured it would cheer you up.”

“It did.”

It did, and yet, your lips tremble and your throat closes up. You clench your hands into fists in your lap.

Sanji’s hand immediately presses your shoulder as you sniffle. “Are you alright?” he questions worriedly.

(His attentiveness strikes you like a hot iron sometimes, even now.)

“Why haven’t you given up on me yet?” you whisper.

His brow furrows. As if it’s obvious, he answers, “You want to be a cook. A lady’s wish is my command.” Sanji pauses. “And I can’t call myself the greatest cook in the East Blue if I can’t teach others to be great cooks as well.”

“I think you’d be the greatest regardless.”

You glance at him through watery eyes in time to see his face flush a deep red. He looks away hastily, chuckling with feigned modesty. “I’m flattered that you think so highly of me.”

Your shoulders lift in a shrug as you look back down at your hands. You reach up to blot away your tears.

How could you not think the world of Sanji? Or the world of anyone at the Baratie, for that matter? When you were kicked off the merchant ship you’d stowed away on two years ago, you had been sure that you’d be banned from setting foot in such a fine-looking restaurant. Years of scorn and slammed doors had not given you the chance to think otherwise.

But Sanji spotted you on the docks, called you madam like you really were one, cooked you a meal in the kitchen and talked to you. Zeff gave you a job and a bed of your own. The staff gave you a family.

“We’ll try again tomorrow. I’ll figure out something that’ll make everything click for you, and you’ll be a proper cook in no time.” Sanji leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and winks up at you. “I promise.”

As always, your heart skips a beat.

“Okay.”

Maybe, you realize suddenly, you don’t necessarily want to be a cook so much as you want to love the way Sanji does.

“That’s my girl.” Standing up, Sanji takes your empty bowl in one hand and offers the other for you to take. “Now, shall I walk the madam to her room, or does she wish to stay out on the deck for a while?”

You allow yourself to grin, considering. “The madam wishes to stay out here and …” you hesitate but then decide to soldier on, “and possibly chat with a dear friend for a few more minutes?”

Your pulse pounds in your ears.

Sanji’s eyes widen a bit. Then he blinks, and then he smiles, drawing his hand back and quickly sitting down next to you once more.

“A lady’s wish is my command,” he says.

He takes out a cigarette, making a quip about Patty while he lights it, and your combined laughter rings out across the Baratie. It’s perfect like it always is – savory and warm on your tongue, happy and gentle in your stomach.

Indeed, this is home.

[your-local-simp-writers]

Puppy Love

Word Count: 1552

Warnings: None

Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

It was a typical day after school, one of those rare moments when Damian Wayne wasn’t caught up in some sort of mission or training. The clock ticked loudly in the classroom as you stared at your class partner. Damian was sitting at his desk, meticulously packing up his things, his movements precise, as always. He had a habit of folding his papers just so, making sure everything was in perfect order before leaving. It was almost funny how much effort he put into something so mundane.

You tapped your pen on the desk, your mind bouncing with energy, as it always did. You had an idea, a crazy, spontaneous idea. The kind of idea you always had, but this time, you had to share it with him.

"Damian," you said brightly, leaning across the desk just enough to catch his attention. He glanced up, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as if preparing himself for whatever your next move was. You grinned, already knowing what he was thinking. “Do you want to go to the fair?”

His brow furrowed. “The fair?” he repeated, clearly skeptical. “I’m not sure how that could be beneficial to anything.”

You waved a hand, dismissing his doubts. “It’s just a bit of fun. You know, something different. Besides, you can’t always be training or brooding, right?”

Damian looked at you for a long moment, then sighed dramatically, an exaggerated gesture you’d gotten used to. “I don’t see the point in such... frivolity,” he said, though there was an edge of curiosity beneath the words.

You didn’t give him time to think about it. You knew he would overanalyze it otherwise. “Come on, just for a little while. You could use some downtime, and it’s not like Gotham doesn’t need a break from your endless seriousness. You’re my class partner, right? It’s just a few hours of normal fun. You’ve done worse, I promise.”

You could see the inner conflict playing out in his eyes—the part of him that was trained to be a warrior, never wasting a moment, battling with the part that was slowly learning to open up to new experiences. Finally, after a long pause, he nodded reluctantly. “Fine. I will accompany you to this... ‘fair,’” he said, his voice still laced with skepticism.

...

The fair was a short drive outside of Gotham, tucked away just beyond the noise and chaos of the city. You could tell the difference immediately, as soon as the car tires left the paved roads and hit the dirt paths leading to the fairgrounds. There was a certain charm to the place, something rustic and simple, so different from the bustling streets of Gotham or the towering Wayne mansion.

The sun was setting, casting a soft orange glow over the rows of booths, food carts, and brightly colored rides. The scent of hot dogs, popcorn, and cotton candy filled the air, and the sounds of laughter and music echoed around the fairground. It was the kind of place where people went to escape from the grind of daily life, to enjoy the fleeting moments of joy that came with a simple carnival game or a ride on the Ferris wheel.

You could see Damian’s unease as you both walked toward the entrance. His eyes darted around, taking in the overwhelming sights, sounds, and people. It wasn’t quite the same as the controlled environment he was used to. But you didn’t give him time to overthink it. You grabbed his arm, pulling him toward one of the booths.

“You’re going to love the ring toss,” you said with a grin, all too eager to get him involved.

“Ring toss?” he repeated, the skepticism still clear in his voice. “What purpose does this serve?”

“It’s fun,” you insisted, though you knew he wasn’t convinced. Still, you managed to drag him over to the booth. The game was simple enough—throw rings over bottles. It was a childish game, but you loved it, and you hoped Damian would catch on to the idea of letting go, even if just for a moment.

He stood with his arms crossed, watching you carefully. "You really think I can waste my time on this?"

You gave him a sidelong glance and a teasing smile. "Well, it’s not about wasting time. It’s about... I don’t know, enjoying the moment."

He didn’t look at you, but he did take a few rings and line them up, aiming carefully. You grinned to yourself. Even when he was trying to act all serious, his precision couldn’t be denied.

With a flick of his wrist, one of the rings flew through the air, landing perfectly on a bottle. You raised your eyebrows, impressed.

“Nice,” you said. “You’re better at this than you let on.”

Damian didn’t respond, his eyes narrowing as he picked up another ring. “I don’t do things halfheartedly,” he muttered, almost to himself. “If I’m going to do something, I do it properly.”

You watched him, a strange warmth spreading in your chest. The boy was so driven, so serious, yet you couldn’t help but admire his determination. It was rare for him to let his guard down, and even rarer for him to admit that something could be fun.

Soon enough, you had won a small stuffed bear, and Damian had reluctantly agreed to take it from you. You held it to your chest, practically skipping to the next attraction.

“What now?” he asked, clearly still unsure.

"Let’s ride the Ferris wheel," you said, already making your way toward the line.

He didn’t protest, which surprised you. Damian was a creature of habit and control. He liked to know what was coming next, not to be thrown into something unfamiliar. But here he was, following you as you led him toward the towering wheel. It was slow-moving and simple, but you could tell the height of the ride was making him a little uneasy.

Once you were both in your seat, the Ferris wheel creaked to life. The world below you began to shrink, the lights of the fair twinkling in the distance, and the sky above grew dark as the stars started to emerge, one by one. You glanced over at Damian, who was staring out at the lights, his face unreadable.

“You know, it’s nice up here,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “Don’t you ever just sit outside and stare at the stars? It’s so peaceful.”

Damian turned his head toward you, his expression stiff. “I prefer to watch... other things,” he said, his tone flat, almost as though he hadn’t really considered the question. “While I’m at it, I watch the bumper-to-bumper traffic and listen to the sounds of car horns and sirens.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his dry sarcasm. “That is exactly why I like to be in the middle of nowhere. No traffic, no sirens, no deadlines. Just peace.”

Damian looked at you, the barest hint of amusement flickering across his face. “Peace,” he echoed, then gave a short huff. “I don’t know that I would describe Gotham as anything remotely peaceful.”

“Well, I’ll take peaceful over chaotic any day,” you said, your eyes drifting back to the sky, the colors of the fireworks beginning to light up the air. You handed him a stick of cotton candy, offering it with a teasing grin. “Besides, I think you could use a little fun, Damian. Maybe the world won’t end if you just enjoy the moment.”

He hesitated, eyeing the fluffy treat in your hand before taking a cautious bite. His eyes flickered back to you, his voice quieter this time. “Fun. I’m not sure I remember what that feels like.”

You blinked, surprised at the admission. For a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. You were so used to seeing Damian with his walls up, his rigid control always in place, that hearing him admit something so vulnerable took you off guard.

“Well, maybe now’s a good time to start remembering,” you said, your voice soft. “There’s a lot more to life than training and working.”

Damian didn’t answer, but he didn’t pull away either. Instead, he continued to chew his cotton candy in silence, staring out at the fireworks. You could tell, even without the words, that he was beginning to relax, if only for a moment.

The rest of the ride passed in a comfortable silence, the fireworks exploding around you in bursts of color. It was a strange thing, this peacefulness, and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched Damian begin to melt into the experience. For once, he wasn’t the brooding, serious heir to Wayne Enterprises. For once, he was just a boy—your class partner, Damian—enjoying the simple joy of a fair.

As the ride finally came to a stop and you both made your way back to solid ground, you felt a strange warmth between you both, something unspoken but real. You hadn’t just taken him to a fair—you’d taken him to a moment where he could simply be Damian, and for the first time, he seemed to appreciate it.

“Not so bad, huh?” you teased as you walked side by side.

Damian glanced at you, the slightest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Perhaps... just this once.”

[hanahaki270]

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ “You Belong to Me” ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

・❥・ Synopsis ・❥・ Having an Uchiha as an ex doesn’t mean anything. Once you’ve managed to make them fall for you, you’re basically stuck with them for eternity.

・❥・ Pairing ・❥・ Sasuke x Fem!reader

・❥・ A/N ・❥・ I finally decided to continue watching shippuden after having it on pause for 5 years.. yeahhh so I’m having a huge obsession with it rn. Also please feel free to send prompt requests for me to write! And I feel like I definitely could have written this out better but I was in a rush and stressed out about Job interviews so mb

♥︎

You finally gathered the courage within you to end your relationship with Sasuke. This wasn’t an easy decision. In fact it was tearing you apart. You still loved him. But the differences between your priorities and his were far too different to the point where they were conflicting with each other.

You might as well have been talking to a wall that day with how blank his expression was after you just announced how you were breaking up with him. The loud silence was killing you inside, does he not care at all?

♥︎

-You wanting to break up with him was like a jab at his ego. The Sasuke Uchiha. The last prodigy of his clan and you wanted to leave him? Though this enraged him, he refused to let you know it. He couldn’t let you have the satisfaction of knowing that this actually affected him.

-After you left the apartment he started to completely trash the place. Everything in it was obliterated into nothingness. But as soon as he went out in public he acted completely fine as if nothing happened.

-Anytime you were around he would make sure you saw him with other girls. He wanted to show you that he could be with anybody he desired without a problem, at any given second. Show you that you weren’t nothing special to him.

-He was lying. Because as soon as you left his vision he treated the girls like shit and pushed them aside after they served their purpose in making you jealous.

-He tried to sleep with random women in the village to further prove that he didn’t need you. (He was really just trying to convince himself) but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. None of them even compared to your beauty. Even the thought of another person lying on the bed you two once shared disgusted him.

-After weeks of this even Sasuke couldn’t believe his own facade. He craved you. He craved your smile, your laughter, Your touch. And is willing to do whatever it takes to remind you that you belong with him.

-He sucked up his pride and begged Naruto to send you two on missions together. So you’d be basically forced to talk to each other . (Naruto uses this against him every now and then)

-During one of the missions, one of your comrades decide to get a little touchy with you. You pay this no mind since you have no interest in the guy, but Sasuke definitely notices it. What’s a worthless ninja doing talking to what’s his?

-A couple of days after that mission, the scenario of another man getting that close to you haunted Sasuke day and night. There’s no way in hell you’d ever willingly decide to be with any other man but him. Right? He needed the reassurance and he needed it now.

-It was 4 am when you opened the door to your apartment after you were awoken by loud desperate banging on the door just to be faced with your ex. He invited himself in, closing the door behind him as he slowly crept towards you.

“Sasuke?”

-He reached for your hand and held it in his, as he focused on you as if there was nothing else in this world. You could tell he developed dark circles since the last time you saw him.

“The day we got together was the day I chose you to be the one I repopulate my clan with. The only one worthy of the surname Uchiha. You’re mine and I’m yours.”

-He noticed how you were at a loss of words so he took this moment to do what he’s been yearning to. He grabbed the back of your head pulling you into a kiss. The kiss was messy and desperate. He kissed you as if you were the oxygen he needed to breathe. And to him, you were.

-Needless to say you were vulnerable to his request and took him back. How could you not?

♥︎

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Supermarkets

Alien: What makes this place “Super”? Human: It has all the food you can want. Alien: Does it serve human? Human: …….. Human: It has almost all the food you can want. ---------------------------

Alien: And you call these things “Spices”? Human: Yup. Human: From all over the world and you put them on food to make them tastier. Alien: They don’t seem that noteworthy. Human: Don’t tell the british that; they fought several wars over them. Alien: And yet their food still tastes terrible. Alien: *Stops and turns to see human friend smiling Alien: What? Human: I am just so proud of you right now. --------------------------

Human: *Watches alien friend debating between two different brands of milk. Alien: *Becoming increasingly angry wondering where the rest of the 98% of the cow is. ------------------------

Human: What are you doing? Alien: *Unwrapping candy and measuring it Alien: I am ensuring it really is by the foot. ------------------------

Alien: I now understand why your species is so random. Human: Really? Human: Why? Alien: *Points to liquor aisle. -----------------------

Alien: Why do you put your young in tiny containment chairs? Human: Have you ever seen a child free in a supermarket? Human: They are like terrorists hopped on Colombian snow. Alien: None of what you said makes any sense to me. ----------------------

Alien: You have been debating between those rectangles for the last ten minutes. Alien: Please pick one as I wish to see the crustacean torture box once more. Human: Please do not call the fish tank a crustacean torture box. Alien: Do you not make them watch as their comrades are taken away one by one to be devoured. Human: Well, yes, but- Alien: Then it is a crustacean torture box. ---------------------

Human: I can’t decide. Human: *turns to alien friend and holds up two boxes. Human: Which one should I get? Alien: *Looks at both boxes, then points at right one. Human: Really? Human: Why pick that one? Alien: In a fight these tiny pointy eared mutants would be no match against a terran tiger. Human: *sighs Human: You can’t pick cereal based on which mascot would win in a fight. -------------------- Alien: Why does this fruit not have skin? Human: It was peeled so the customer doesn’t need to peel it. Alien: If it was meant to be easy then why is it in a plastic container? Human: Because without the skin it rots faster, so the plastic keeps it contained. Alien: Was the skin not already an effective container? Human: It was. Alien: So you skinned the fruit to make it easy to eat, but then put it in plastic to stop it from rotting. Human: I DIDN’T MAKE THE RULES; OKAY?!?! --------------------

Alien: I wish to use the mobile throne. Human: That’s a mobility scooter and you can’t use it. Alien: But my legs are tired of walking. Human: It’s meant for people with disabilities so you can’t just- *Loud snapping sound Human: *Turns to see alien has broken one of their legs and is now limping over to scooter. Human: Your lack of pain threshold is infuriating. Alien: Kiss my thorax ground pounder! *Proceeds to drive slowly away. --------------------

Alien: Why do you store your cheese as wheels? Human: Ease of access I guess. Human: How do you store your cheese? Alien: Paradoxical Cubes. Human: That doesn’t seem possible. Alien: For centuries it wasn’t. Alien: We lost a lot of good scientists in the endeavor.  Human: ……. ---------------

Human: *Wondering where alien friend is when alien friend comes running around the corner. Alien: We need to leave. Human: What did you do? Alien: They were offering samples of fried fish. Human: And? Alien: And I took two. Human: Dear god…. *angry supermarket workers come swarming in from every aisle

[gay-dorito-dust]

could you do a lil drabble for each of the batboys with a ghost!reader who haunts the mansion? like the ghost is super nice and chill, and they help out in minor ways (help finding small items, cleaning up places, fixing someone’s clothes).

All the boys at some point knew the mansion was haunted, but not by the ghosts of Thomas and Martha Wayne, no but instead of a different person entirely who had no ties what so ever to the manner but thankfully you’re rather helpful and chill in comparison to how movies tends to stereotype ghosts as…something you take full offence to…

Jason

Ironically he reacted the least to you when you showed up in front of him one day, his red helmet in hand.

‘You’ve got to stop dropping this dude, it can only take a couple more drops before you break the fucking thing completely.’ You tell him as you set the helmet aside on his bedside desk.

Jason only looks at you with intrigue. ‘How did you get in the manor?’ He asks. You crossed your arms over your chest. ‘I’m a ghost, there is no getting in when I’ve been here for a little over a couple months.’ You replied

‘How?’ He asks.

You shrugged. ‘Dunno, I died a few feet from this manor and yet I got stuck here regardless, it sounds like the start of a shitty horror movie.’ Jason chuckled as he sits back on his bed. ‘Yeah it really does but aren’t you ghosts meant to be, you know…vengeful towards the living?’ He teases and you shot him a look.

‘First of all those ghosts are old cunts who are have a thing for killing young people and kids for the sake of enforcing their hatred towards the newer generation. I on the other hand don’t fucking care because what purpose does it serve me to frighten people into paranoia? None and besides you lot are a messy bunch that don’t know the first thing of keeping your stuff in your own rooms, you and dick are the worst for that.’

Jason raised his hands in defence. ‘Guilty as charged but they always seem to come back to our rooms regardless, so I’m assuming that’s you?’

You hummed.

‘Why?’

You shrugged again. ‘I’m bored and got too much time stuck here doing fuck all. So now I clean up after you lot to pass the infinite time I’m now cursed with.’

‘Must suck.’ Jason said as he looked at you. ‘Being dead and I should know but unlike you I was brought back against my will.’ You waved a hand at him as you sat next to him. ‘It’s not all bad being dead but I think coming back to live is an even worse fate to have.’ You then look at him with concern for his wellbeing. ‘How do you do it?’

Jason stayed silent as his steely gaze locked onto the wall in front of him. ‘I’m still trying.’ Was all he said and you decided they your time here was over as you walked over to his doorway but looked back at Jason before leaving. ‘Talk to your brothers, before you regret not doing so later…I know I regret not saying anything to my family before…you know.’ You tell him with a weak smile.

Jason was left mulling over your words that night.

Dick

He fainted the moment you handed him his weapons to him. This wasn’t the first time he did it either.

You weren’t amused as you sighed. ‘Okay big guy, let’s get you back to bed.’ You settled aside his weapons on the kitchen counter where you found him, before focusing all your effort and energy into lifting him up and carrying him back to bed, tucked in tight like a baby that he was when it came to horror movies.

You often left dick’s stuff in places he frequently visited or in his room rather then stay long for him to see you, all in the hope of not having to hear him scream and potentially faint on the spot, for in all honestly after the first few times it was beyond ridiculous, and you couldn’t be bothered to make an attempt to ease his anxiety about you if he wasn’t even conscious for you to do so.

He was the one you interacted the least but would keep an eye on from afar like you did with the rest of the boys.

So when he finds himself in his bed, he’s confused, he thought he was in the training room before but then he remembered that his encounter with you sent him into unconsciousness. He wasn’t the biggest fan of horror movies and ever since his first one, his fears and worries towards ghosts has grown since his siblings love horror movie nights, much to his dismay.

There was a ghost in the manor…but you didn’t seem hostile or as angry and violent as the ones he saw in movies, if anything you were the exact opposite but still his worries that this was all just a ruse was enough to have him on edge whenever he heard a creak in the floorboards or shutting of a random door.

‘Christ you’re hopeless boy wonder.’ You say out of instinct and dick, who had gotten out of bed at this point and wandered down the hallway, straightened up and looked over at you with wide eyes.

‘You!’

‘Me!’ You replied sarcastically. ‘Now before you faint on me, your weapons are in the training area where you fainted before I had to drag your ass back to bed, if not ask Tim as I left him the responsibility to tell you where they are.’ You add and within a matter of minutes, dick fainted and you sighed once more as you were forced to carry the man back to bed, more then ready to do this all over again should he cross your path once more.

Tim

Didn’t fully encounter you until he was on a hunt to find his missing computer charger, growing ever more annoyed when he couldn’t find it, only to hear someone from his doorway say;

‘Looking for this?’

Tim looks up to find your translucent hand hold out his charger, it almost looked as though it was floating in midair in front of him as though it was the carrot on the stick and he was the donkey, destined to be lured by the illusion of one day eating the carrot only to always be mere inches away from that reality but never getting any closer then those mere inches.

‘What the-‘ he begins but you raised your other hand.

‘Don’t freak out dude, I’m just a ghost who’s trying to help you find a charger, no need to reach for the phone and get a fake medium, nor call that John Constantine dude Christ.’ You said as you threw his computer charger onto his bed. Tim was still very much in a state of surprise at how you could intersect with objects, for as he was aware ghosts had to be able to muster the anger to do so, but here you were doing what other ghosts couldn’t so effortlessly and easily as breathing.

‘Thanks?’ He then says and you shrugged your shoulders.

‘No problem, also when dick comes and ask you where his combat sticks are, they’re in the kitchen…where he left them the night before, I would do it but I’m pretty sure he fainted when I held them t to him.’ You told Tim but before he could say anything else, you disappeared through the wall across his room and it left him with a cold sensation travelling through his body upon witnessing it.

He’s now going to sleep with one eye open in the instance you came back to watch over him like a sleep paralysis demon. That and he found out your death with a quick search.

Damian

Didn’t believe in ghosts until he caught you sorting out his art supplies in a neat and orderly manner.

‘Hey!’ He’d bark.

‘At least arrange your paint brushes from thickest to thinnest,’ you groaned, ignoring his bark, ‘it’s a pain in the ass to keep cleaning after you and keep the art desk clean also.’

Damian faltered and his anger subsided to confusion. ‘You’re the one who’s been doing that?’ He asks. You looked at his as though he grew another head. ‘Duh, of course I do. Also don’t wear anything that can get into acrylic paint, it doesn’t come out, like at all that shit ruins any good shirt you have forever see!’ You then showed him your paint covered sleeves with a smile.

‘How did you get in here without setting off the alarms?’ Damian questioned and you then sighed as you balled up a fist and threw a punch that went straight through the set desk, you leave it there for Damian to realise what your situation was before pulling it out. ‘You’re a ghost.’

‘In the flesh! Well flesh for you not me as I’m dead and all-‘

‘Yes I get that but-‘

‘Damian.’ Dick’s voice could heard through the door as the pair of you froze. ‘Who are you talking to?’ Damian was about to answer but when he looked over at where you stood, you were gone as though you had never existed and slowly Damian closed his mouth. ‘No one.’ He replied as he looked over at his art desk to see that you had cleaned his paintbrushes, organised them from height order and even brought a fresh canvas out for him too.

Something told him that this won’t be the last time that he saw you.

Congratulations you’ve gained his interest.