#and create a competent timeline

[maegalkarven]

Thought about June's bad ending too much and now I'm sad.

He is essentially what Gortash wanted to be; the ruler if not of everything, then Baldur's Gate at least.

He is the perfect Chosen of Bane and a widely known hero at the same time. The man who stopped Kethetic Thorm, defeated his own evil nature and dismantled the cult of Bhaal, the man who defeated the Absolute.

The famous savior, their new archduke.

And the loneliest person in the world with only the God of Tyranny to keep him company.

#dark urge: june #also astarion ascends in this ending and it makes their own relationship into a pain dominion #june breaks up with him and they end up being toxic exes #with Astarion still somewhat hung on the thing he was denied (june) #and june hung on Enver's death. no one wins. Astarion is forced to compete for achduke's attention with a memory of a man long dead #june has lost himself successfully selling his soul to another evil god bc he couldn't deal with not having directions #and felt so utterly alone after astarion's ascension and gortash's death #wyll is a new Duke Ravengard who refuses to give up on June and tries to get to him only to be shut down everytime #karlach jaheira and minsc are dead :( #the dark timeline the wicked one #i like to imagine them (in a normal timeline) being able to gaze into the future where June doesn't tadpole Gortash and being horrified #june and Astarion (spawn Astarion who just denied ascension) seeing the mere shadows of themselves standing in front of each other #physically a step away but eons apart #being horrified of what they've turned into #astarion seeing cazador in himself. june seeing himself following Enver's footsteps #being once again enslaved to a god #oof #i hate that timeline #i said as i personally created it #bg3 spoilers

[deadsetobsessions]

Your name is Tim Drake and you are nine years old.

Today, tomorrow, and soon, you're going to save Robin.

----

Tim stares at his reflection on the sink tap. It trembles, along with the plane, as he contemplates his situation.

His face is rounder, now, with unfamiliar baby-fat rounding out the sharp lines he'd come to expect. Even with the subpar reflection, Tim can tell that his dark eyebags are all but gone, replaced with youthful skin.

Magic. He's being quite literal, seeing as he's been tossed into the body of his younger self at the hands of a crazed magician.

He could find a way back... or he could create a completely different timeline by fixing everything that went wrong. It's not like he has anything to go back to, anyways. That crazed magician was actually competent and killed everyone he ever cared about. Tim barely got away with his life. He could go back to save that shell of a world- surrounded by people whose minds were broken beyond magical and medical repair- or stay here, fix his own personal troubles and cut off the magician before he could start with his world domination bullshit.

Well, Tim already has an idea of what he wants. So he begins a list, after having oriented himself.

Save Robin

There's no point trying to convince Bruce that he knows where Jason's being held. So, Tim finds himself on a plane to Ethiopia a day before Jason's meant to die. This was long before Barbara even thought of being Oracle, and the tech is ancient in his hands. In short order, nine year old Tim has a trust fund with millions in it, all siphoned from billionaires like Lex Luthor and his own parents.

Tim toddles back to his seat, after washing his hands because he still can't shake the extra bit of paranoia that came with a missing spleen. Oh. Tim blinks guilelessly at his seat neighbor, smiling like Timothy Drake, Angel of a Son as he reels from the realization that he still has his spleen.

Tim adds another box to his list:

Keep Ra's away from my spleen, creepy bastard.

What else...? Ah, the League of Assassins.

Damian

Tim pauses. Holy crap. Damian's only six right now. Tim moves Damian's box upwards in urgency. Tim might have a mildly antagonistic relationship with his younger brother back then, but he wants baby pictures of his siblings, dammit. He's gonna put that photography expertise to good use if it's the last thing he does.

Watch over Z, Owens, Pru

'They're alive!' His mind screams. Cold rationality slaps the sentimentality down with a quick 'But they won't be if I fail.'

His mind wanders to Dick Grayson. He scowls as something pops up in the back of his head.

Catalina Flores

Contact Nightwing- in space

He's gotta call Dick back from that Teen Titans mission, Jason's gonna need all of the support he's going to get.

Find Cass

Train Steph

Save Duke's family from Venom

Tim taps at that last point. He'll save them. But that might mean Duke might never join their family.

But he'll be happy and Tim... will deal with it. He'll be the only one mourning, anyways. To end on a lighter note, he adds something that he should have done ages ago.

Give Tam a raise.

Tim sighs as he gets out of the airport, the hired escort he found and vetted, delivering him to a predetermined hotel. They think his parents are already inside. He laughs and does not say anything to make them think otherwise. He has so many things to do, Tim laments as he settles down to track the Joker's movements. Here. That's where Jason's being held. Being tortured.

He can, however, knock two things off his list in one go. Tim picks up the burner phone he acquired. He doesn't have time, or else he would have done this sooner and saved them all the trouble.

[RR: Are you in Ethiopia yet?]

[Deathstroke: Payment confirmed. In Ethiopia.]

[RR: Third building by the docks.]

An hour.

[Deathstroke: Confirmed. Target spotted.]

Ten minutes.

[Deathstroke: Target eliminated. Bringing Robin to Safehouse.]

Twenty minutes.

[Deathstroke: Basic first aid applied. Leaving.]

[RR: Secondary payment sent. Confirm?]

[Deathstroke: Confirmed. Pleasure doing business with you.]

Tim sprawls on the king bed. He sighs a breath of relief. He'd check on Jason in person, if he weren't paranoid about leaving traces that would get back to him. Tim's pretty sure that Deathstroke's going to get hunted down in the near future, regardless, so he made sure to add a huge tip on top of the extra fees for burning one of Deathstroke's safe houses and the emergency first aid. He taps into the rudimentary camera Deathstroke had given him the access codes to, to stare at Jason's rising and falling chest. On a further table, the Joker's head laid in a preservation box.

He bypasses all of the security on the Teen Titan's tech to send Dick a message.

[Robin has been retrieved from the Joker. Contact Batman for details.]

Then, he sends Bruce the location of the safe house. Tim spends the rest of the day staring at Jason and watching his father in another timeline break as he huddles close to the broken body of Tim's Robin.

Timothy Drake destroys the burner phone.

#genius tim drake #tim drake angst #tim saves jason #tim hiring a hitman bc that's the one guy he doesn't really care about offing #tim: if I didn't kill him i didn't cross the line #bruce wayne #batman #jason todd #red hood #dick grayson #nightwing #time traveling tim drake #teen titans #deathstroke #deathstroke: wow my client must be a big crime lord to off a rogue #tim who is a baby: lol lets off him for the shits and giggles #tim drake #tim drake is not red robin #time travel fix it #dc robin

[sytoran]

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒 || mdg pt. 5

timelines and lifelines have torn you and natasha apart, but the two of you are bound by the child you have created. though subjected to earth, loki, god of mischief, dangles the possibility of a future with natasha by making you a god.

pairing: goddess!natasha x mortal!reader (not for long)

note: this is the 5th installment to the goddess!nat universe, as per the 4k celebration! please read the other parts first if you haven't already. this part contains depictions of violence. this series is 18+ only.

word count: 1.8k

series m.list | main m.list | AO3

Previously…

Your relationship with the Goddess of Lust, Natasha Romanoff, comes to a screeching halt. Torn apart by timelines and lifelines, you’re not coping well, and neither is Natasha — especially when she finds out she’s pregnant with your child.

On the other side of the universe, Loki, God of Mischief, breaks into your apartment to offer you a deal. Worse still, he eats your leftover pizza.

Now…

When you come back to consciousness, you feel like you’re floating. Not in the whimsical, psychedelic cocaine-induced way, but in the Help-I’m-Physically-Suspended-In-The-Air way. 

And it is true, much to your demise, because despite the fruitful hours of work spent in the gym, your arms and back can’t quite handle the excruciating pain of being strung taut like a rope.

Against the will of every screaming cell in your existence for you to fall the fuck back asleep, you forcefully sit up and open your eyes.

It takes about two seconds for the headache-worthy hangover to sink in, and three seconds for you to regret every godforsaken decision you had made the night prior.

Last night- oh, fuck. Last Friday night. 

(No, this isn’t going to entail a radio pop song with a curly black-haired Katy Perry, because the only curly black-haired one in this story is the God of Mischief himself. Both equally as sassy, but expounding on that would fracture the entirety of the space-time continuum.)

“Oh, you’re awake.” 

Speaking of the devil (quite literally), Loki forces you to bring your blurry gaze up to the cocky expression painting his angular face.

“Fuck you,” you spit, dry and hoarse, memories surging through your teetering consciousness. All you were aware of was the mother of your problems was the man himself.

Now, you were suspended like a puppet in your very own living room, strings of golden magic encircling your body, keeping you stretched to the edge of insurmountable agony.

“Funny,” Loki says dryly, eyes raking over your pathetic form. “That’s exactly what you said last night that put you in this position.”

You would’ve laughed, truly, if not for the ache in your ribs and your back and your– you get the point. “You offered me a proposition,” you comment, licking your cracked lips with distaste. 

“And you said ‘fuck you’ and threw up three bottles worth of alcohol on my ridiculously expensive snake-scaled shoes before promptly passing out from your hissy fit of a heartbreak.”

“Deserved.”

“I will hang you upside down.”

You roll your eyes – however much you can roll them in this position. “You gave me an offer. That means that I had a say in this, and I certainly did not consent to take part in this BDSM-worthy fantasy of yours.”

Loki scoffs at this, shifting in his seat. Your seat, actually, his black robes draped over your armchair like it belonged to him. 

“My sex life is none of your business, and more than often entails men,” Loki begins, putting a finger up. “The only reason I’m taking interest in a hopelessly lovesick woman-lover is because you have something that I want.”

You exhale roughly, lungs and ribs screaming in protest. You weren’t of a godly status by any means, but based on his identity and the fact that a God was lurking around Earth, you were competent enough to figure out what he wanted.

“You wanna get back to the land of the Gods,” you state, eyes narrowing in seriousness. “Like me, you’ve done some shit that made SHIELD put a target on your back. Except it’s ten times worse, considering you’re a God. That’s why you’re here. What you want is connections, because I have – I had – a relationship with Natasha Romanoff.”

Natasha.

It pains you, to even put it in the past tense, that what you had with Natasha would only ever be history.

“Oh wow,” Loki responds, acting shocked. “There’s actually more to you than this himbo attitude you exude.”

You don’t give him the pleasure of a response to his provoking, despite your incessant need to sucker-punch that face of his. But uncovering his plan has that layer of composure slipping, for a second, and you delight in it for what it’s worth.

"Put me down first," you say instead through gritted teeth, looking up with a ferocious glint in your eyes.

"Say yes first," Loki answers promptly, folding his arms over his chest with a self-satisfied grin.

"Put me down and or I won't consider your absurd request," you try again, a wracking cough making your stomach lurch in pain.

"Funny you think you're in a position of power," the arrogant god taunts. "Who's to say I won't torture you to the brink of death until I get what I want?"

"...Who's to say I'd eventually break?" you say finally, narrowing your gaze. You sure as hell were scared as fuck, but you had to survive. "Threats only work on people who've got something to lose. I'm forbidden from ever seeing the love of my life again – I've got nothing to lose, y'know? No amount of torture will get you what you want."

Your little speech of sorts, delivered with an unwavering tone despite the pain coursing through your body, plays out perfectly. Loki's gaze is unreadable as he contemplates upon your counter-proposition.

Unceremoniously, you're dropped to the ground, hitting reality with a grunt of pain. “Shit,” you wheeze, clutching at your ribs with sore wrists. “Warn a girl, man.”

Loki waves you off dismissively. “The pain won’t matter anymore.”

“Wait,” you struggle to say, reaching out to nothingness as the man closes his eyes and raises his hands to the lands you once roamed.

It’s only then that you realise you’re surrounded by candles, so many candles. You’re in the center of some kind of ritual board, and what you assume are ‘offerings’ circle you.

From skulls to black flames, you know something is wrong. Very wrong. Loki is muttering incantations under his breath, a language beyond your human tongue, and the pressure in your room rises to an extent that forces you downwards.

“What,” you ask, exhaling roughly against your cracked ribs. “What kind of God am I going to become?”

Your question goes unanswered, lost in the swirling black flames that surround you. Loki’s eyes open again, and this time they are completely black. He begins a chant, crafted from an inhuman tongue, a language you’d never heard before.

That’s when the pain starts.

You scream, brain waves throbbing, a loud ringing sound echoing in your ears. Psychedelia takes over your conscience, producing images all around you, dark and distorted and everything you thought you’d buried.

“ибяѓюгэю юдякиэҁ, эиѫч ҩ рэд.”

Unbridled darkness, enemy of peace.

Natasha’s face is at the forefront of your mind, unblemished and happy and everything you’d ever wanted. You reach out, spluttering and breathless, trying to grasp that wistful memory like it’d materialize in front of you, like she could ever be yours.

“бцэт юҩщи ҩцядрҩи дю ғдг ҩця ҩиэҁ.”

Put down your weapons and fall to your knees.

Her face gets shattered into smithereens, scattered throughout the dark swirls of your mind, overtaken by shadows. Horrifying screams and flashes of a graveyard overwhelm you, and you yell through the misery for the love of your life.

“тҩ фэн тнэ юэҁѓяэ ҩғ џэиəэдисэ lə'”

To quench the desires of vengeance and rage.

Fury slugs through you, as you crawl away from cold hands that pull you back. “No!” You yell, but your voice is not yours anymore. The only thing to describe what you feel is chaos, darkness creeping in from the shadows, a slithering worm into your ear, a rotting carcass and the stench of carrion.

“ҩҁэ бҩиэҁ сдҁт ҩғ ҁсчнэҁ дию бдюэҁ.”

To see bones cast of scythes and blades.

The world snaps from reality, and you get flung into a different dimension. This place you’re trapped in is unfamiliar. You’re standing on a pile of dead human bodies, and there are ghouls and demons cheering your name. Blackness seeps through your veins, infiltrating your mindwires. 

“Revenge,” you spit, a devilish noise, and the cheers rise again.

You scream, as black wings tear through your back, ripping your collared shirt and spreading towards the sky. You launch from the depths of whatever hellhole that may have been, an inhuman screech echoing around the void, soaring towards the heavens in search of the one you’d lost.

“ҩѫэҩя, гдск-щѓəэю юэџѓг, эт ндҁ иғцяг”

Come forth, black-winged devil, let chaos unfurl

Upon descending on holy ground, unfamiliar faces intrude into your mind, prominent and unmistaken. Backlogged information begs its worth — God of Thunder. Goddess of Magic. God of Science. God of Justice. 

Then one word rings above all, high and mighty, and the darkness of your mind clears to reveal the people that had taken your Natasha away.

SHIELD.

“энҩгю яҩѫ нэг, ҩю ҩғнэ Циюэящҩягю.”

Behold from hell, Ruler of the Underworld.

Reality drives into your side like a thousand semi-trucks, bright and flashing, and then you’re back in your living room. You stay on the ground, all-fours, spluttering and gasping for air. 

Natasha.

Black wings flap behind you, resplendent and marvelous. Those had been real.

Arising from the ground, gone is the fear in your eyes. No more shreds of hope. No more sense of justice. Your blackened eyes burn red, searching for Loki. He stands in the corner of the room, and he seems so much smaller now, compared to you and your bloodlust.

“She was mine,” you growl, dangerously, fearsome and inhuman.

“She is yours,” The God of Mischief answers, marveling at his creation, for there was nothing that could stop you now.

***

“Rockabye baby on the treetop,” Natasha sings softly, a hand gently caressing the swell of her stomach. Colours sweep into galaxies as nightfall arrives, cloaking her land in gentle beauty.

“When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.” As if on cue, the wind gets a little chillier. Worry clouds Natasha’s face, edging in on her safe haven.

“When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall.” A holographic image of The God of Justice materializes before her eyes. It meant that it was an urgent message, from one God to the next.

“The SHIELD base is being attacked by an unknown force. We’re in grave danger,” Steve says, urgent and frantic. Screams and chaos can be heard in the background, and the God barely ducks a crashing marble pillar.

Natasha almost scoffs and switches off the image. The Gods had ignored her very existence ever since they had banished you, which was convenient in hiding her pregnancy, but at the same time rather annoying, now that they were begging for help.

That is, until Steve persisted further. “Natasha. This perpetrator has power beyond measure, dark power. It could even exceed Loki’s.”

“......What does this harbinger of hell want?” Natasha asks, steely eyes surveying her homeland.

“Natasha,” Steve repeats, weary eyes hooded with anxiety. “They’re looking for you.”

Down will come baby, cradle and fall.

so that happened.... any thoughts about our new and improved y/n, ruler of the underworld?? loki rlly stirred up a lot of shit huh

reblog or no y/n x natasha reunion

series m.list | main m.list | AO3

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader angst #marvel #sytoran's 4k celebration #wlw fiction #wlw #gxg #natasha romanoff angst

[theemissuniverse]

“YOU ARE MY SOUL” LIU KANG X FEM!READER

SUMMARY : You find out Liu Kang loved Kitana in another timeline and you’re angry. In the previous timeline, you were in love with Liu Kang and heartbroken over this. Also you’re one of Earthrealm’s champions

WARNINGS : MINORS DONT INTERACT. angsty but happy endings for everyone! oral f receiving, praise kink, p in v, edging, some other stuff I probably forgot

You were beyond mad. How could he keep this from you? How could he pretend that all was well in the universe?

Liu Kang had now finally revealed about him creating this timeline. He also thought it was time to tell you about the last one. That he was actually in love with someone else. A goddamn princess specifically.

As if you weren’t already insecure enough about the relationship. Your boyfriend was a goddamn Fire God. You couldn’t compete with that. Now you couldn’t compete with an Outworld princess.

You walked through your house, completely trying to ignore Liu Kang but Liu Kang kept following you. “My love, my past life means nothing as of now.”

You scoffed. You go into the kitchen and grabbed some things out so you could get started on dinner. “Give me a break. You were in love with goddamn Princess Kitana.”

Liu Kang watched as you angrily grabbed food out to make dinner. Nothing made him feel more guilty than this. He didn’t regret telling you. You had a right to know. He just hated how the whole situation turned out. “Everything was different in the last timeline.”

“Yeah, I bet everything was different. Hey, here’s a question-if you and Kitana were out having the time of your lives, where the fuck was I?”

If Liu Kang could throw up, he would. He didn’t want to tell you because he didn’t want you to feel bad about yourself. You again, still had your right to know. “You were in love with me…and you died for me.”

Your eyes went wide eyed at the reveal. You threw down the food that was in your hands on the kitchen counter. “Let me get this straight-you get to bone a literal princess while I get to be obsessed with you to the point of my death? Great.”

You went to the sink and started to wash your hands. You couldn’t feel anymore humiliated. Like you were a joke. Did he only date you because he felt sorry for you? “Are you only with me because you couldn’t get Kitana in this timeline?”

Liu Kang immediately shook his head. “Not at all, my love.” He came up behind you and gently rubbed on your neck to release some tension. “I did not plan for you to fall in love with me this time and I also did not plan for myself to fall in love with you. But I did. You are truly amazing, (Y/N). I wouldn’t have anyone but you. I’m sorry for making you feel this way.”

You were even more mad now because your anger was dying. Not only because of his words but how his hands worked your body. “Don’t do that. Don’t talk all sweet to me and rub up on my body. It’s not gonna work this time.” You said, drying your hands with the rag that was next to you.

Liu Kang’s hands went to your hips and he started to kiss your neck. “You are the only one I desire, (Y/N). The only one that I love. Please, let me show you how much I love you.”

Liu Kang brought you back into him. His hand easily slipped in your sweatpants and into your underwear. He found his way to your clit and started to rub it in circles.

You moaned. Liu Kang continued to kiss and suck on your neck. It was like all your anger for him was gone and you hated it. You hated how he made you feel.

“Oh my god…This is not going to get you out of trouble.” Your sentence was cut off when you felt Liu Kang pick you up.

He took you all the way to the bedroom and gently placed you down on the bed. Liu Kang kissed your lips sweetly before going back to your neck and sucking on it. You moaned louder. “Liu…”

Liu Kang pulled away and took your sweatpants off. Then went with your underwear. He bent down and spread your legs only to then start to eat you out.

“Oh fuck. Liu Kang.” Your hands went immediately on his head and you tugged on his hair.

Liu Kang’s hands were wrapped around your thighs. He tasted you like it was his favorite meal in the world. His tongue danced on your clit several times before licking up all your juices.

He started to suck on your clit. You tugged on his hair even harder. “Oh my…” Liu Kang was the only one that could get you to feel like this and you hated it.

Liu Kang rubbed on your thighs. Your whole body to him was a work of art. All he wanted was you. All he loved was you.

He slurped all your juices and pulled away from your delicious pussy. Liu Kang licked his fingers slightly and stuck them inside of you, going in and out.

You threw your head back. Liu Kang allowed you to grip on his bicep as he used his incredible God-like powers on you. The sex was always more overwhelming and pleasurable because he was a God.

Liu Kang watched you as you fucked yourself on his fingers and he admitted it was one of the most beautiful things in the world to him.

“Liu Kang. I need you. Please.”

Liu Kang didn’t stop fingering you. “What do you want, love?”

“Fill me up, please.”

Liu Kang stopped. He started to take off his pants and underwear. Once his bottom half was completely naked, he grabbed your thighs and wrapped them around him. “Are you ready, darling?” He saw you nod and then entered you.

Liu Kang stretched you out so well. You moaned as he entered you. He gave you one passionate but sloppy kiss on the lips before starting to move in you.

He loved making love to you. For him, it was one of the best things in the world. He loved to make you feel good. He loved that you would fall apart underneath him. He loved that you were his. He didn’t plan to give you up anytime soon.

“Faster. Please.”

Liu Kang listened to you and started to fuck you faster and a bit harder to your liking. He continued to have your legs wrapped around him as he made love to you. “My goddess, you look absolutely stunning like this.” Liu Kang lifted your shirt and rubbed all over your stomach. “I could not give you up if I tried. You are mine and I am yours.”

Him speaking so beautifully to you always turned you on even more. You whimpered at his words. Liu Kang felt your pussy clench around his dick and he grunted a little.

Liu Kang never really showed reactions during sex as he was a God, had control of himself, and has been alive since the dawn of time. He knew you hated that he would show no reaction and was trying to change that.

Liu let out his moans. You did feel good around him despite his God nature trying to hide it. To be honest, he already felt like he had to cum. He was lucky that he was a God and he could hold it for however long he needed to until you came.

“Oh my god. You make me feel so good. Please don’t ever stop.”

Liu Kang listened to you. It was like heaven to his ears. His hand was still on your stomach. He gave you light rubs as he fucked you. “You’re the only woman that can make me feel like this. You’re the only woman I desire to make feel good.” His pace sped up and he was hitting your good spot. “I am yours.”

Your mouth turned into an ‘O’ shape as he hit your good spot. You couldn’t even put it into words. You just flung your head back and closed your eyes.

Liu Kang continued to mercilessly hit your spot. “Say it. I’m yours.”

You knew if you didn’t, Liu Kang wouldn’t let up. “You’re mine. You’re all mine. Fuck, Liu Kang.”

God, you looked too good like this. Liu Kang slowed up the pace a little so he wasn’t constantly hitting your good spot. “You’re too good for me, my love. I don’t deserve you.” Liu Kang felt your pussy clench again and he grunted. He tried to slow up but he couldn’t resist you anymore. He started to pound into you harder.

“Oh, fuck. Liu Kang. Yes, yes, yes.” You loved when Liu Kang lost control inside of you. “Fuck this pussy. It’s yours all yours.”

Liu Kang felt like he could cum any second and was once again glad of his god-like ability. “Mine.” He gripped onto your thighs. “All mine.” He continued to fuck you hard and fast. “Nobody can have you but me.”

Liu Kang being possessive was the hottest thing in the world to you. You tugged on Liu Kang’s shirt, indicating for him to bend down and kiss you. Liu Kang understood and bent down to kiss you.

The two of you moaned as he went relentlessly in you. He didn’t even break a sweat at how fast he was going.

“I’m so close.” You said in the kiss.

Liu Kang was glad you were but he was going to do something he had never done: deny you to cum. “Hold it.”

Your eyes widen a little at this. “Liu, I can’t hold it.”

“Yes you can.” Liu Kang placed another soft kiss on your lips before focusing back on his pace. “I love you more than anyone and anything. Do you believe me?”

Your fingernails dug into Liu Kang’s back. “Yes, baby. I believe you. Please.”

Liu Kang did not let up on his pace. “Tell me your mine.”

“I’m yours. Fuck, Liu Kang. I’m all yours. Please. It feels too good.”

Liu Kang brushed away the tears that were welling up in your eyes. “Remember that the next time you question my love for you. Now cum.”

When Liu Kang felt you cum on him, he released into you. He continued going until you both were done.

Liu Kang pulled out of you. He gave you sweet butterfly kisses on your face, making you giggle. “I’ll start a bath for you.”

He tried to get up but you made him stay on top of you. “Not yet. Just hold me.”

Liu Kang kissed your cheek. “As you wish, my love.” He intertwined his fingers with yours and held your hand. “You are my everything. My soul. Do not forget that.”

You smiled at him. “I won’t.”

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #liu kang #mortal kombat 1 #kitana #kung lao #mileena #raiden #johnny cage #mk #mk 1 #liu kang x reader #kenshi takahashi #mk smut

[scrupulosity-comics]

hey is racism one of your obsessions? also white and ocd. if it is, how u cope with it? i'm really afraid all the time to hurt my loved ones who are black people, and they're the majority of my loved ones. and how do u identify whats racism from whats an intrusive thought?

Most of my race-related OCD is abstract stuff like “if I move out of my parents’ house and try to live my own life outside of their control, I will have to find somewhere I can afford to pay rent, which will probably mean moving into a low-income neighborhood, which would mean inadvertently helping to gentrify the community, which would gradually push the original residents out of their homes and disrupt community ties and support systems and creating housing insecurity, so therefore I can’t move out or move on”.

I think that’s just part of a larger existential terror that I can only ever make the world worse by living in it—a net harm to the universe, molecule by misspent molecule.

I have been letting this ask sit in my inbox for weeks now because I’m convinced that anything I say will be destructive. What if my answer enables or excuses racism? What if my answer fuels the anguish of the mentally ill?

The rational and compassionate part of my mind insists that your loved ones (and mine!) understand that you (and I) are white, and have likely dealt with white peoples all their lives, and are capable of judging for themselves whether you are good to them and deserving of their intimacy. It is impossible to go through life without hurting and being hurt by people you care about—always you will have blindspots and miscommunications and competing needs. That’s just part of the curse of consciousness and being a social species. We all get a little blood on our hands eventually, one way or another… friendship involves knowing this, accepting this, and committing to avoid it and then, that failed, to make things right.

Again: your friends know you’re white. They have reason to expect the best of you or they wouldn’t be your friends. They choose to have you in their lives; trust them to trust you, and to recognize the difference between a beloved friend struggling with a treacherous and unkind brain and doing their best in an inescapably racist society, and a racist who whose bigotry makes them unworthy of their time and affection.

I do think racism obsessions are a particularly difficult manifestation of OCD to cope with because they’re hard to discuss at all without feeling like you’re implicitly asking for absolution. With other types of OCD, it’s common to seek reassurance that what you’re obsessively afraid of isn’t true—but what feels more racist than asking someone to reassure you that you’re not racist…? LMAO.

They say the “cure” to OCD, such as it is, is just to learn how to embrace the existential horror of uncertainty. Tall fucking order. Hell on Earth! But in a bizarre way I have found the rhetoric that “everyone is unconsciously and incurably racist” to be unexpectedly helpful… there is no total psychological purging and mental purification we can undergo, no amount of ritual self-flagellation that will drive the demons out, no pristine state we can aspire to and hate ourselves for soiling. Only mundane everyday commitments to compassion and empathy and solidarity and cleaning up our messes. But even then, a thought isn’t a mess. A thought I’d not a thing that happened or a choice you made. It doesn’t represent an alternate timeline branching off into a parallel universe where you have acted on it and hurt people.

Earlier this year I was playing a video game—during my lunch break I got to wondering what happened if you failed a skill check that I had passed in my own playthough, so I looked up a clip on YouTube and was so triggered by the answer (the player character calls his companion a racial slur in the heat of the moment, without meaning to, even if you’ve played him as a committed anti-racist) that I immediately spiraled and was close to throwing up in the broom closet, and when I got home I opened my own save and tried to make the player character kill himself as catharsis. It was an incredibly unreasonable guilt response to a completely fictional scenario that I hadn’t even gotten in my own playthrough, but in retrospect it was a safe way to explore fear of my own internalized racism hurting somebody and what might happen if my intrusive thoughts came true. It sucked and it was terrible and I was angry at myself for being crazy about it, but it ended up being a small dose of exposure therapy and practice at not repenting for nonexistent through self-abuse.

I dunno. This has been a long uncomfortably personal ramble but I hope it’s helpful. I don’t know if your friends know you have OCD (or how it manifests) and I don’t know whether telling them would help. But allowing yourself to trust others to trust you is far more useful than beating yourself up for thoughts you don’t want. I have on occasion warned people that I am cautious about doing certain things with them—particularly drinking—because there is a risk that I may spiral and show symptoms humiliating and uncomfortable to both of us, and I don’t want to put them in a position where they witness or feel like they have to help me manage the white guilt elements of my disorder. These conversations have usually gone well, and the mutual understanding to boundaries takes some of the tension out, which seems to reduce the triggers. It’s messy and awkward and maybe it limits who is willing to be friends with me, but IMHO it’s better than surprising someone.

As for determining whether something is an intrusive thought or actual racism, I guess my answer is: does it matter? Would you manage them differently? Intrusive thoughts may be an evil voice in your brain, but racism is an evil voice in society’s brain.

[ladylooch]

Strictly Pleasure - [Timo Meier]

A/N: So color me stunned when I went to the roster of Team Switzerland in 2019 and did not in fact see Timo on it……. Because the Sharks were in the playoffs…. LMAO But you know my entire AU timeline is built on 2019 so we go with it. As promised, the full fic for our unanimous poll winners 🥹

As a warning, I literally was clawing my fingernails into the bench seat editing this morning. Holy fuck. Apparently I was feeling extra smutty this weekend.....

Word Count: 4.3k

The coolness of my white wine glass chills my palm while I bring the liquid to my lips. I take a sip, lips curling up in appreciation of both the wine and the stunning sunset before my eyes. I sit on the patio of a cafe in Bratislava, Slovakia awaiting the arrival of my little brother. I am the only member of my family who has been able to make it over to Slovakia in time to see him compete for our country at the IIHF World Championships. His previous international experience has been at the U18 level, but this year he is competing in the big leagues. We are so proud of him and I feel honored to have the flexibility to see him live his dream this week.

Crowds from various countries line the streets of the capital city, surrounding Ondrej Nepela Arena. Various teams are represented- the three crowns of Sweden, the lion of Finland and one man with the red and white of my home country. I smile at the familiar crest on his chest. He wanders down the sidewalk with sunglasses on, hair perfectly styled in a swoop to the left. Mirrored aviators hide his upward gaze to the awning that spells out the restaurant. He flips his sunglasses up, looking down at his phone, then at the name of the restaurant again. Once confirming, he puts his phone back in his pocket, then stalls his footsteps at the podium explaining the menu options for tonight.

“Go Swiss!” I cheer in my native language at him. He looks up from where he had been studying the menu, nodding in my direction. 

“You from?”

“Yes.”

“Me too.”

“I assumed so. You have the accent.” 

“You… kind of do?” He chuckles, questioning. His head tilts to the side slightly, thick eyebrows pulling lower over his eyes. “Where are you from?”

“Close to Bern.”

“Ah… that southern dialect can be troublesome.”

“Maybe you just haven’t heard it enough. Should get out of the big city.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Zurich. Clearly.”

“St. Gallen.”

“Same difference.” 

“Okay.” He chuckles, shifting as he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “This place any good?”

“Wine is good.” I cheers my glass in the air at him. “But other than that, I don’t know. My brother picked the place.”

“Yeah, I am meeting someone here too.” 

“Would you like to wait with me? I can buy you a drink.” For some reason, he laughs. 

“Buy me a drink?” He nods. “Sure, if your boyfriend won’t mind?”

“No boyfriend. I’m sure your girlfriend will not be much longer though?”

“No girlfriend. If I did, sitting next to a beautiful Swiss woman would likely get me into big trouble.” He murmurs, reaching for the back of the empty chair across from me. As he pulls it out, my brother comes hustling up next to us.

“Oh great! You did get my text about Timo joining us. I’m glad you found each other.” We both pause, connecting the pieces of who we are to each other. I would not have pegged him as a hockey player. He presents so different from the others I have interacted with over my brother’s playing career. “Timo, this is my older sister Emma.”

“Nice to meet you.” He murmurs as he shakes my hand. Our hands fit perfectly together in a polite shake. His fingers drag along every inch of my palm as he pulls his hand back, creating an electric jolt up my arm.

“Yeah…” I trail off, answering my brother. I gulp down a sip of wine. “He was easy to spot.” Nico grins as I stand, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. “Hi.” I haven’t seen Nico for a few weeks. He came home to Switzerland after his season ended, but was running off with all his friends with his new found freedom.

“I am glad you could make it. Mama and Papa are coming tomorrow?”

“Yes, it was the earliest they could get here. I was able to get on a flight from my conference in Berlin.” 

“Good. More time together.” I laugh, glancing at Timo who studies the menu across from me.

“Seemed you liked the way the last few weeks were.” I murmur. “Your big sister always coming in last.”

“I’m sorry.” Nico sighs regretfully.

“It’s okay. As per usual, your time is pulled in every single direction.” 

“Yes, but you’re important to me. I’ll do better.”

“Good! You can start by buying me dinner. You make the big bucks now!” 

“Yeah, you can buy mine too. You make 1st overall money. I’m slumming it down at 9.” Timo and I share a look, chuckling together at Nico’s red, embarrassed cheeks.

“With a flick of a pen, you instantly made more money than your sister has her entire career. You can buy my dinner.” I pile on.

“Stop.” Nico shakes his head with a shy smile. “I will buy you dinner because I love you and that’s it.” I shake my head, looking over at Timo.

“Nico always has to be so sweet to make me feel bad for teasing him.”

“You need to get meaner Nico.” Timo laughs. “Your sister is more intimidating than you.” I scoff at him, then smirk.

“Certified man eater.” I confirm. “You better be careful.” He sucks his cheeks in for a moment, scanning his eyes along my body. Then he shakes his head.

“I like a challenge.” He winks. I pause, recognizing his interest, sliding my gaze over to my little brother who seems to be contemplating between two entrees. I lick a drop of wine off my lips after taking a sip. Timo’s blue eyes stay there, then fall back down to the menu in front of me.

The rest of dinner, these small, wordless interactions happen. He brushes my hand while handing me back my filled water glass. We steal looks at each other whenever Nico isn’t looking. Most of the conversation is driven by us towards each other. Nico seems content to listen, happy to see us getting along so well after inviting a stranger to sibling bonding. I am thankful he did. Timo and I are vibing, conversing and joking like we have known each other for years, not less than two hours. 

Nico pays the bill, making a huge show of treating us with his black Amex. 

“Flaunting your wealth is tacky Nico.” I scold. He scoffs at me, waving me up out of my seat. I toss my arm around his shoulder, pulling him in for a forced hug. “I love you. Thank you.”

“I love you, buddy! Thank you!” Timo says too, coming in to the other side so Nico is sandwiched between us. I giggle hard, tilting my head back towards the dark sky while doing so. Timo’s hands grip my sides as we squeeze Nico harder. I fold my fingers over his arms too, feeling the soft material of his sweatshirt. When I open my eyes all I can see is Timo. His beautiful blue eyes sparkling with joy. His big smile and scrunched nose indicating how much fun he is having with us.

“I could use another drink.” I hear myself say to him directly. He nods immediately, releasing from our packed hug.

“We have a bar in our hotel. Are you staying there too?” Timo asks casually.

“Oh! Yes! Let’s go.” I exclaim. “Neeks?”

“Maybe. I’m tired, but I’ll see how I feel when we get there.” 

“Okay.” I shrug. No offense to Nico, but I wouldn’t be disappointed if he didn’t come.

“How are we feeling about the game tomorrow?” I ask the boys as we walk the cobblestone walk way. 

“Good. We’ll get it done.” Timo says confidently. Nico echos that though a yawn.

His yawning continues through our first round of drinks until he is almost falling asleep sitting up in his chair where we sit at a space in the bar, backing up to the lobby.

“Nico, just go to bed.” I chuckle.

“Yeah I am going to head there.” Nico sighs after a yawn. He looks over at me. “You too?” I bite my lip, shaking my head. 

“I’m not tired. I stay up late for a living.” Nico shrugs his shoulders. “Goodnight.” He stands up.

“Goodnight baby brother.” I tease him as he heads across the lobby to the elevators. “Sleepy good!” I take a sip of my wine, then settle my brown eyes on Timo who still watches with those interested eyes. “Are you tired?” I wonder.

“No.” He says then takes a sip of his drink. “A lot more interesting things are happening down here than in mine and Fiala’s room.” A shiver runs from the base of my neck down my spine pulling my chest tight with flattery. 

“You like to stay up late?”

“Mhm.” He answers around another sip of his drink. He licks at his top teeth afterwards, bringing my eyes back to his lips. “Kinda have to in this job. What do you do?”

“I own an event planning business.” 

“Oh fancy, Ms. Entrepreneur.” 

“I went to college and everything.”

“Impressive. Maybe I should hire you to run my charity golf tournament.”

“I could do that. But it depends.”

“On?”

“What happens between us tonight.” A slow and sexual grin rolls across his lips. He likes my boldness. My heart fluters excitedly in my chest. I love this part, getting gorgeous and powerful men to give into what has been brewing between us. “I have a strict line between business and pleasure. I’m sure you can understand that in your line of work.” Timo nods, looking lost in a previous mistake. 

“That is fair.” He tilts his head. A few teammates walk through the lobby, shouting a hello at Timo. He gives a brief wave, then focuses back on me.

“Any chance I could convince you to go somewhere private to discuss further your personal and professional qualifications?” There is nothing professional about his request.

“Where would you suggest?”

“Maybe your room?” I pretend to contemplate, leaning back in my chair while studying him with scrutiny. 

“What would we do there?” I ask him, dragging out the vowels in my words. I slowly run my tongue along my lips, gathering his attention there.

“You can tease me some more with that mouth.” 

Forward. Bold. Going in for the kill, just like I hoped. 

“Our drinks?” He pulls his wallet out, tossing cash onto the table. He stuffs his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans and stands. He holds his hand out for me. I stare at the warm, welcoming skin of his palm. I know what taking that hand means. I know this is dangerous territory, but Timo is a temporary teammate of my brother. It’s not like he is in New Jersey with him full time.

I slide my fingers gently into his hand, then clasp it as he lifts me into a standing position. He weaves our fingers together, palms cupping each other as we walk silently to the elevator. He pulls me in behind him, then turns expectantly at me.

“Four.” I tell him. He presses the button and the doors close. 

“You do this often?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Plenty.” His eyes drag ravenously from my face down my body. He nods in surprised appreciation. “I won’t tell you I love you after, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He chuckles. 

“You look harder to get than that. What are the rules?” He asks as he turns towards me. His hand drops mine, so he can pull my hips flush with his. My eyes flutter at what I feel. Big. Hard. Ready. 

“Wrap it up. Don’t you dare finish before me. No butt stuff. And…” I insist, stepping closer. “Nico never knows.” My foot goes between his, rubbing my thigh against his zipper. He exhales a little heavier, hinting at the desire building in his body. The elevator doors open and we step out. I lead the way, sliding the key through and pushing the door open. I walk in first again. He shuts the door behind us then crosses the slim space between us. He whips me around by my wrist, crowding my space immediately. My heartbeat skyrockets in dangerous and needy passion.

“Anything else?” He asks, sliding a hand to the side of my neck. He holds it tight, thumb stroking my cheek. His blue eyes are fierce, ready for whatever waits for us on the other side of my answer. 

“What are yours?”

“I don’t want anything serious. You understand that?” He strokes my cheek as he says it as if to soften the blow. He’s clearly had this conversation before with other women. He’ll figure out I’m not like them soon enough.

“Completely.”

“Are you on the pill?” 

“Yes.” I laugh. “Are we going to fuck now or keep playing 20 questions?” I slide my hand down to the button on his pants. He laughs too, pausing as he bites his bottom lip. 

“What are your thoughts on cuddling?”

“Hell no.”

“My kinda girl.” He whispers then closes the gap between our faces.

His lips on mine create an explosion that rocks me to my core. I exhale into his mouth in a moan. He runs his hand through my hair then down my body. It wraps around my waist and he lifts, practically tossing me up onto the hotel desk. The lamp shade rattles against the wall. His hands come to my shirt, lifting. Our lips part for a moment, then reconnect with tongues. Wetness pools in my panties, almost soaking them through. 

One of his hands comes up to my breast, squeezing it, then finding my nipple and thumbing it over my bra. I sigh happily into his mouth, then fist his shirt in my hand. His shirt joins mine on the floor, then I reach for the button on his pants. It snaps apart easily. I jerk his zipper down until it’s completely open. His cock is hot and seeping in his underwear. I pull back from his mouth, looking down as he unclasps my bra. The straps slack along my arms. He pulls them the rest of the way off, then takes me in. 

“Beautiful.” He mumbles, tugging my hips so I slide closer to him on the desk top. “So, so beautiful.” He repeats against the warm skin of my chest. His lips kiss down vertically, until he gets to a tight nipple. He makes eye contact with me as he sucks it into his mouth. His tongue strokes upwards too, making my jaw unhinge for a moment. “You had so much to say earlier, now you’re quiet? Gonna have to change that.” He whispers, then sucks my nipple deep into his mouth, working it over, sending darts of pleasure to my clit. It aches to be touched, missing out on his skilled mouth and fingers. 

“Oh.” I pant. He smirks into my breast.

My fingers find the waistband of his underwear, tugging it back from his skin so his cock rises to rest on his belly. His red tip is oozing down the edge of his head. I bite my lip, then my head knocks back into the lamp as his tongue strokes my other nipple into submission.

Fuck, this is incredible. He knows exactly what he is doing. When to push, when to pull away, how to tease and reward. He will be worth any future punishment. My hands shove at the waistbands of his bottom layers until they work down his strong hips. He steps out of them, grabbing a condom in his jean pocket, then kicks them off to the side. I lean back on one palm grinning. He lets me take him in, every delicious curve and edge of his muscular body made perfect from hockey and hard work. His big hands cup my breasts, rolling his thumbs over the stiff peaks in unison. 

“Oh that feels sooo good.” I moan appreciatively. I run my free hand through my hair. He watches my face, playing with me more until I am embarrassingly close to coming without him even being inside of me. “I need you to fill me up.”I demand breathlessly. He bites his lip.

“You’re so fucking sexy. You can tell me what to do all night, Emma.” 

“Just call me Em.” I laugh. “Emma is so formal.” 

“Whatever you want, babe.” 

He unbuttons my jeans, then pulls them off my legs. He admires my black, lace panties, seeing the creamy wetness pooling there just for him, then he works them off my body so we are both naked. He picks me up, setting me to the very edge of the desk, then he hands me the condom. I rip the package open with my teeth, gripping the tip, before easing it down his shaft. His eyes close and he sways slightly forward at my hands on him.

He crowds my space, our breath combining together, still smelling like the minimal alcohol we had tonight. One hand goes to my left hip, then the other goes to grip his shaft. He rolls his head through my folds, collecting my soaking juices before he nestles his head at my entrance. Together, we watch him disappear between my swollen lips. He lets out a shaky exhale. He grabs my wrists, putting them on his shoulders, then he lifts me slightly up off the desk, beginning to pump into my pussy. 

Tingling explosions burst out down my body. Gooseflesh covers my arms and legs as I take each hard thrust with enthusiastic greed. I kiss along his jaw, grinning at the way I jerk in his arms with each pump. He isn’t handling me like a fragile doll, he is fucking me just like I knew he would. Hard, fast, deep, showing he was built with power and strength for a reason.

“Fuck, Em, your pussy is so good.” He growls into my neck. The sound of skin slapping together increases, becoming disgustingly obvious in the room as he rocks hard into me. “So wet and tight.” He hisses through gritted teeth. My nose bumps into his jaw as I moan on his throat. He turns his face, capturing my lips then fucking up harder and faster into me. My whole body goes tight and rigid, then I fall into my orgasm. Timo fucks me through it, not wavering in his thrusts at all until I collapse onto his chest in surrender. He slows then, kissing my neck as he takes me to the bed. He lays me down, then work himself out of me. I look down at the condom, wondering if we are done.

“Your turn. Show me what you got, Hischier.” I laugh loudly. He sits down on the bed, then falls backwards. He takes my hand in one of his, fingers folding together, helping me maneuver to straddle his lap. I work my hair to one side, then reach behind me to grab his cock in my hand. He hums, then sighs happily as I swallow him whole in one press of my hips. Timo’s eyes literally roll back into his head as I start to move. His hands come behind his head fingers lacing together on the pillow below.

“That’s right. Just lay there princess.” I smirk, throwing my hips back on his cock. 

“Funny… gorgeous… talented… where has Nico been hiding you?”

“Practically under your nose.”

“Ah, that’s why I didn’t see it. It’s a little big.” I giggle, then set my hands on his shoulders, rolling my hips.

“Ooo. You know how to fuck.” He praises me. “So good….” He bites his lip, exhaling heavily. “Little more, gorgeous.” He encourages. I comply and he groans. “Mmmm.” His hands snap away from the back of his head. He grips my hips, feeling the roll of them on him. Then two fingers find my clit. I shutter. His other hand comes to my breast, pinching my nipple. “Fuck me until you cum.”  He whispers. I moan shakily, then keep bucking my hips down into him. When he senses I am about to release, he works his hips up in little thrusts to help me over the edge.

“Oh!” I cry out, pinching my other nipple.

He gently eases me down, pulling his feet up closer to his butt so his thighs create support for my back. I slump into them. I pant, looking at him on the pillow as he smirks. 

“Shit.” I hiss as he forces his cock up deep into me, lifting my weight with his hips like it’s nothing. 

“Doggy?” He asks, wiggling his large eyebrows. I nod eagerly.

I’ve never come so hard or had so much fun with a one night stand before. Usually, it’s awkward, bumping into each other and trying to find the right tempo. Not with Timo. It truly feels like we were made for each other. Gone is the insecure way I try to move my body so my partner can see the best angles. Usually, I stay away from doggy. But I am desperate to feel the hard slapping of his balls against my clit. 

We both stand. Timo kisses me, tongues flirting within my mouth. Our lips are puffy and red by the time we pull apart. He twists my hips, working his cock between my legs as I bend over in front of him. He lines his latex covered head with my entrance, then pulls me back on his dick. We both groan loudly this time, appreciating the stretch and arousal of each other. 

“Gonna be dreaming about this pussy tonight.” He groans, starting to buck his hips again. The delicious slapping has me deliriously groping the bed sheets. His thick cock crams into me thrust after thrust, feeling like he is rearranging my internal organs. A big hand comes to the back of my neck, forcing me down. I groan loudly, shrieking an inhale at how good this angle feels. 

“Please.” I hear myself beg.

“Please what, baby?”

“Please make me cum. Please. More. Um! That! Yeah!” I yelp out as his hips snap harder into me. My ass shakes with his powerful thrusts. I turn my face into the comforter, then scream hard into it as a powerful orgasm grips my core and turns me inside out. 

“Fuck… I’m gonna cum. Feels so fucking good when you cum.” I shake against his thighs as he finishes in the condom. His hand releases from the back of my neck. He grips the edge of the condom then works his way out of me. Wordlessly, he heads to the bathroom, striping himself and cleaning off. I collapse forward into the bed sheets, curling into the fetal position while my heavy breathing continues. Timo brings a towel back with him, tossing it to me. Afterwards, I throw it onto the floor while he lays back next to me in bed. 

“Good job.” I murmur, holding my hand up. He slaps it firmly, then sighs happily.

“That was amazing.” He turns to look at me when he says it. I nod, meeting his gaze. “Any chance you’re available for more of that this summer?”

“No strings?”

“No strings.” He agrees. 

“Then yeah. I’m available.” He chuckles. 

“We make a good team, tho. Damn.” He rubs a hand over his head. He turns his wrist, looking at the time on his expensive, silver watch. “I gotta go. It’s almost curfew.”

“Yeah, I want to go to sleep.” I admit, stretching out, pushing at his thigh under the covers to move him off the bed. He dramatically rolls off like I kicked him full on. I giggle as he rests his chin on the bed from the floor. His blue eyes soak me up. His hand comes up, poking at my left cheek.

“Your dimples are cute.”

“Thank you.” I murmur. 

“How long are you here?”

“Wanna see me again already?” He laughs.

“Yeah. Sex that great is rare. I want you again tomorrow.” Butterflies erupt in my stomach. I roll my bottom lip in my mouth, watching him pull his clothes back on. His last article is the Team Switzerland sweatshirt he zips up to the middle of his chest.

“Okay.” I agree. He smiles gently, then walks towards me. 

He kneels one knee on the bed, hovering over the body he wrecked tonight. He kisses me quick, then pulls away. He smells seductive and sultry, like his expensive cologne and me. 

“Sweet dreams.” He whispers.

“Goodnight.” I respond. He walks out of the room, closing the door softly during his exit.

I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling above me. The butterflies in my stomach expand up into my chest until it feels crammed full. I put my hand over my face, watching back the reel of the night against my black eyelids, ending with the mutual agreement of more. 

More this weekend. More even this off-season too. More, more, more because it will be months before I will have had my fill of him.

I’m not sure how we will make it all work. Sneaking around once is one thing, but doing it continuously is another.

I guess this planner is going to have to figure it out. 

Because It’s going to be a long, hot summer with Timo Meier.

More Timo and Emma can be found here.

#tm: loving & leaving #Timo Meier x oc #timo meier smut #Timo Meier imagine #hockey fan fiction #nhl fan fiction

[old-school-butch]

Age identity

I have found that racial identity is highly political concept that many people hesitate to argue around when they are making argument about gender identity. I’ve made more progress using age as a foundational argument and thought I'd share some of the parallels that can be made.

I begin with the request that my birth certificate should be amended to reflect my trans-age and not chrono-age. My reasons:

I have extreme dysphoria about growing old. It gives me panic attacks, it creates a morbid obsession about my impending mortality and I need emotional relief. I might kill myself if my aging continues. Many, many studies demonstrate that suicide rates jump in middle age. Age dysphoria a significant mental health risk. Discrimination against older people in the workforce is also systemic and significant. It hurts my employment prospects to force me to continue conforming to an oppressive and arbitrary system of temporal measurement.

I’m not alone in my views. Our movement has been ignored in order to exploit our oppression. Rates of age dysphoria among the chrono-elderly are near universal and increase with chrono-age. The vast market of botox, anti-aging creams, surgeries and other treatments are witness to the pain and suffering of age dysphoria, but we are forced to bear the costs out of our own pockets, harming every trans-age person and creating barriers to those unable to access age-euphoric treatment. It’s time that we recognize ageism and age dysphoria as the next important social movement, and you should be on the right side of history.

The mere existence of adult babies is not a fetish, but part of age identity has existed for centuries. It is a severe form of age dysphoria that is accommodated only during the extremes of chrono-age (the very young and very old), but diaper-wearing may be a source of age-euphoria at any chrono-age. Other trans-aged people might feel more comfortable in a post-toddler range, and there’s no reason to prevent them from enrolling in elementary schools or competing in those sports teams. Again, once we acknowledge that ‘age identity’ is an arbitrary measurement, you will agree that some chrono-aged 8 year olds can run faster than trans-aged 8 year olds and therefore there’s no conclusive evidence that so-called ‘adults’ differ in any systemic way from ‘children’ and that age-identity is more of a spectrum than scientific reality.

Age identity is a culturally determined construct, where in reality one day merges into the next with no clear universal progression or timeline for development. Progeria, ‘old souls’ and emotional ‘immaturity’ co-exist without regard to commonly-held age identities. Widely held beliefs like  ‘middle-age’ persist even through it’s impossible to identity without knowing your ultimate time of death. Even my doctor says I have the heart of a 30 year old . In fact, I’m more fit than many people younger than me. I’m healthier than I was at 45 now that I’ve fully recovered from cancer. Why can’t I return to the age of 39, which I feel best expresses how I feel on the inside? Sports competitions grouped by chrono-age should be inclusive of the trans-aged since there is no clear definition of the impact of age-identity on the human body.

Additionally, it should be obvious that ‘age of consent’ laws are discriminatory and not inclusive of trans-aged individuals. They should be repealed.

I’d also like to point out that trans-aged people do not all skew in a reductive temporal direction. There are many chrono-young but trans-aged people who feel they would be treated more in line with their age identity that is older than their chrono-years would imply. Again, workplace discrimination, dating discrimination and even fundamental civic rights are denied to many trans-aged individuals.

As a tiny ask, I would like to be referred to as ‘young miss’ in my interactions. That’s how I was addressed when I was chrono-young and I’d like to return to those happier days. I might kill myself if this request is ignored, so please check your age-privileged attitudes. Once age dysphoria is fully acknowledged, hate speech against the trans-aged will constitute a hate crime.

[emeritusemeritus]

Just wanna bewitch you in the moonlight. Pt 5.

[Fred Weasley x reader x George Weasley]

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Title: Just wanna bewitch you in the moonlight.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Timeline: Predominately set between GOF and OOTP (some canon has been altered to fit the story)

Summary: Both twins like Gryffindor!reader. Reader likes both twins. How will she decide who to chose in the end? Amortentia might be able to help, or not.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of sex, established relationships, threesomes, friends to lovers, all the good stuff. NO Twincest. Mentions of illness, Brief mentions of vomiting. Tiny bit of angst, possessiveness, talk of kids. Mentions of dominant behaviour. Snape has a soft spot for reader. Love potions? But none are actually used.

Potions lesson’s with Snape, what could go wrong? 🥀

You held back a shiver as you took your assigned seat in the potions classroom, cursing the fact that the dungeons were always at least 10 degrees colder than anywhere else in the castle, so much so that you could almost make out your own breath in the chilly room.

Despite the fact that it was Monday morning and you were absolutely freezing, you actually enjoyed potions class, as much as Snape made it somewhat intolerable for most students. In your multiple years at Hogwarts, you'd proven yourself to be a competent student in potions, consistently achieving high grades and maintaining your spot as top of the class. It wasn't pure, natural talent per se but rather a profound interest in the subject that began in your first year and had developed into a pasable skill.

"Turn your books to page 634," Snape orders as he crashes into the room, the heavy wooden door slamming shut behind him with a resounding bang and distinctive rattle of the bolts and metal hinges. He flourishes his wand and the shutters to the small windows slam shut as he takes his place at the front of the class, beside the chalkboard. One window illuminates the entire classroom, enough to see your own workstation and the raised level where Snape stood, but not much else.

"Today's focus will be on Amortentia; one of the most dangerous and powerful potions in existence. It's very purpose is to deceive and ensnare the mind, you will be wise to not underestimate the dangers of this particular elixir."

The word 'Amortentia' is written in chalk upon the blackboard as you cast your eyes down to the textbook page which details the recipe and method of creating the potion.

"Can anyone tell me what this particular potion is commonly known for?" He asks, glaring out into the class as he looks upon the faces of the students. He gives a harsh, solemn nod towards a girl in the back who had shakily raised her hand.

"It's a love potion."

"Love is a misguided term, but nevertheless it is grouped as so," he huffs, both confirming and rejecting the girl's answer. "Love in it's entirety of unconditional and eternal attachment cannot be brewed nor recreated even by the most skilled potioneer. Of all the love potions created, Amortentia is the most powerful of all, known to create an instantaneous, obsessive infatuation in the drinker so infallible it is near impossible to detect until the effects ware off."

He suddenly closed the book he was reading in his hands with a slam and placed the book onto his desk, looking out towards his students.

"Who can tell me what distinctive qualities define Amortentia from the other infatual potions?" He almost sneered when no one raised their hand until you reluctantly did so, trying to temper him. He gave you a nod, selecting you to answer. You noticed that the nod he had given you was in stark contrast to the one he had given to the other student.

"The pearlescent shine, spiralling steam helixes and the subjective scent. It smells different to everyone as it's based on what we find most attractive, even if we don't consciously know or acknowledge those feelings," you explained, pulling your knowledge from the book that Snape had given you to read over the summer to advance you in preparation for the year and for your NEWTS.

You swore you could almost see Snape's mouth shift into a very slight smirk, or at least move from its near constant downturned fixture.

"Very good miss y/l/n, 10 points to Gryffindor," Snape said, acknowledging you before turning back around to scribble on the chalkboard. Hushed whispers of surprise murmured around you at Snape's generous praise; he had frequently removed house points but never once had he given points, especially not to Gryffindor.

Katie whispered a kind well done in your ear as she nudged your shoulder which made you quietly giggle and try to hide your slight blush at the response you'd received.

Snape continued to outline the dangers and general uses for Amortentia and the larger group of love potions until it was time to collect ingredients and begin brewing. With an uncaring wave of his wand, all the flames under the small cauldrons in the classroom ignited, ready for brewing.

You gathered your ingredients and laid them out responsibly in order according to when you would need them, trying to be thorough in your method.

You began by bruising the peppermint flower heads in the pestle and mortar rather than fully crushing them as the recipe specified, something that Snape had shown you privately the previous term, before adding them into your simmering potion water and then adding the leaves as a whole

You stirrred gently and began sprinkling in the moonstone powder one teaspoon at a time before stirring until you had used enough. Whilst the potion was stirring itself you added the rose thorns and immediately snuffed out the flame to let the potion simmer with only the residual heat of the bunson burner.

Snape stalked between the students as he made his rounds, observing the other students in their attempts at brewing an advanced potion. You'd absently heard him calling out a few students for their lack of effort, attention and overall helplessness but you'd paid it no mind, focusing on the tempestuous potion below you.

Once it had thickened to your desire, you began adding the ashwinder eggs one by one, allowing them to dissolve into the mixture without any assistance of your stirrer. You turned back on the flame only very gently, enough to keep the heat of the cauldron but not as to increase it and finally allowed yourself to stir it once, checking that no ingredients were sticking to the side and potentially spoiling the potion you'd put so much effort into.

You sat back on the stool as you observed the potion, making notes of your findings into your notebook after glancing at the clock, when you saw something in your peripheral. Steam, spiralling steam.

You leapt off your stool and stood before your cauldron as you looked upon the potion that had gained a beautiful mother of Pearl iridescence of pink and white hues which made your heart leap at the very sight.

Curiosity overcame you and within seconds you leant down gently to smell the effervescent potion below, trying to get an idea if it actually worked.

Sweet, earthy hues of Dandelion and Burdock immediately filled your senses immediately knocking you off guard, instantly mentally winding you as you considered the implication. As you began to pull away in shock, the scent changed in your mind to the sickly sweet, alluring tang of toasted marshmallows which lasted only a second and then adapted once again, the smokiness that lingered in the back of your mind becoming the only thing that filled your head. You knew that scent anywhere, it was the specific scent of the settling smoke after a series of whizz-bangs had been set off.

Fred.

Your mind raced as you tried to work out of there was anyway that George was included within those smells, or if you'd perhaps confused it but it was impossible, all those things were specifically and undeniably Fred Weasley.

Your stomach dropped as you stood frozen in place, guilt and shame immediately overwhelming you as you considered what this meant. Your feelings for Fred were stronger, so much so that a potion had revealed your uttermost secret, illuminating your true feelings until they were staring you right in the face.

Fred filled your mind as the lingering scent of him consumed you, the last notes of the potion haunting you as a reel of Fred played in your mind. His laugh, his voice, his gentleness and his teasing make butterflies erupt in your stomach, though it wasn't enough to quash the uneasiness and guilt you felt.

You thought of George, and the guilt felt crippling. You thought of the night you'd spent together just days ago, the wonderful night spent stargazing on the balcony at the burrow wrapped in blankets and in each other, George giving you his sweater to wear in the chilly night air, making love under the stars and sharing stolen treats afterwards. You thought of how gentle he'd been, how tender and romantic it all was and how much effort he'd gone to just to spend some time alone with you. He'd never once pressured you into choosing between the brothers, even when you spoke of your futures and your dreams, he had been gracious and selfless, which only make you feel worse.

A foreboding popping noise brought you out of your daydream and you leapt forward to snuff out the flame, praying that your careless daydreaming hadn't ruined the brew as it had began to pop and broil under the heat.

You looked down to examine it and were immediately drawn to the spiralling steam which rose up and filled your nostrils again. You prepared yourself to smell the delicious mixture of dandelion and burdock but when that never came, you stood dejected, realising you had ruined the perfect batch you'd created.

Immediately you froze as the scent surrounded you, only it wasn't the sugary sweet scent you had expected, it was something entirely different.

The scent of pumpkin spice filled your mind instantly, the spicey sweet blend making your mouth water for a second before the scent changed to something that made your heart soar and the lead weighted feeling in your stomach disappear; the scent of freshly washed wool that mixed with a woody scent as if a garment had been stored for a while. The scent was soapy and fresh but not overly so and was a distinctive blend of scents and oils that gave you an immediate complete sense of comfort. It couldn't be mistaken for any generic brand of detergent as the complex mixture of smells was too distinctive; it was Mrs Weasley's famous homemade blend. George's sweater. The scent then changed so quickly you couldn't fathom when exactly it did, but the third scent was all too familiar to not recognise instantly, causing a pained laugh to bubble up in your throat at the irony. The Smokey smell of the aftermath of a whiz bang- exactly the same as his brother.

George.

You stumbled back slightly at the implication and the notion of your discovery. Before you could process or ruminate on the changing scents, Snape suddenly stood before you staring down into your cauldron with an unreadable expression.

He suddenly looked up at you with eyes that implored your own, effectively silencing your spiralling thoughts from what had happened as you watched him stand with mouth agape, looking between yourself, the cauldron and your open notes page.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lilyfig leaf and drops it into the potion, watching with astonishment as it dissolves entirely in seconds.

"It appears Miss y/l/n has perfected Amortentia, I'd like you to all gather around and see for yourselves the impeccable sampling she has managed to conceive," He says loudly, addressing the entire class as they huddle forward to gather around your now settled potion.

A few excited murmurs fill the crowd as they look on, each of the girls trying to edge forward to see and smell for themselves but Snape quickly puts a stop to all of this as he explains the qualities of the potion, able to now physically show the class with the specimen in front of them.

Usually you would feel a sense of accomplishment at what you had created, especially after receiving praise from Severus Snape but the previous encounters with your own potion had made you completely conflicted, knowing you must have done something wrong.

You couldn't even bring yourself to listen to Snape or the other students around you, feeling like you were trapped in a bubble, your ears hearing nothing but static as your thoughts drowned out all of your senses.

How had the potion changed? How had you so specifically smelt Fred and then later George? You were certain you'd never heard of such a thing happening- perhaps your heart was just as conflicted as your mind when it came to your feeling for both the brothers, perhaps you would never know who you desired the most.

You were distraught at the conflict it had raised in you, feeling sick to your stomach as you considered the implications and the further questions it had raised.

Did you love Fred?

Did you love George?

Did the potion get it wrong, or did you mistakenly identify the scents?

Did the potion changing to George mean that it was him and not Fred you had larger feelings for?

You reasoned that the potion only changed after you thought of George and the most recent night you'd spent together, did that impact it? Was Fred the right answer because it had shown him first, even when you weren't thinking of him?

"20 points to Gryffindor," you finally heard, the roars of excitement from your house peers sharply pulling you back from your spiralling thoughts. Katie and a few of your fellow Gryffindors around you reached out to pat you on the back as you forced a smile onto your face, turning to look at Snape who looked relatively pleased.

The loud chime signalled the end of class and each student flocked to their workstations to clear away their work, disposing of their mixtures and collect their items ready for the next class.

"'Miss y/l/n," Snape called out from the front of the room, beckoning you with a simple pull of his index finger. You turned to Katie who was waiting for you and she nodded gently, turning to wait just outside the door for you.

"Well done miss y/l/n, your predisposition for potions has once again come to fruition, never once have I seen a student create such quality drafts that potion masters would be envious of," Snape says, his eyes looking into yours with a softness you had rarely seen. It looks as if he is just as uncomfortable with the words as you are, but you had to commend him for trying.

"Thank you sir," you replied though it was only half heartedly mumbled, the conflict within you not allowing you to accept the praise.

"You are doubting your abilities?" He asks sharply, reading your downtrodden expression as his eyes squint in questioning.

You quickly debate wether or not to bring up the mysterious situation that happened earlier, now knowing wether it was a fault with the brew or yourself but you quickly decide not to speak of it, knowing how little Snape cared for trivial matters of his students. Perhaps you could use that to cover your steps.

"No sir," you say, trying to exude a little more confidence than you felt. "I'm just a little... conflicted by the outcome of the potion scenting," you said trying to imply that the scent was not what you expected it to be, knowing that Snape would dismiss you immediately at your personal matter.

"Oh," he says, recoiling ever so slightly with awkwardness, just as you were hoping. You waited for him to make a snide or harsh comment but it never came, much to your surprise. "The mind is a complex and many layered thing, not always does it connect to our hearts so transparently, no matter how desperately one tries," he says, his eyes lingering at the desk as he absently tidying up a few stray quills that litter the wooden table.

His words sink in immediately, leaving you a little breathless as he seems to summarise your feelings in one fell swoop. You nod your head gently as you consider his words, realising that he must have spoken from a place of knowing, a pang of empathy running through you at the notion.

"Sir?" You implore after a moment, seeing that he hadn't spoken again, addressed nor dismissed you. He gazed back at you and straightens up, his show of vulnerability dissaperating instantaneously as he falls back into his usual emotionless self.

"You are excused from the homework this lesson as an accolade to your achievement," he says in his regular tone, "I anticipate my expectations to be met if not exceeded again next class, you are dismissed," he says, the usual downturned mouth frown lifting gently to almost be a smile.

"Thank you sir," you said quickly, turning to exit before you paused, turning back to him with the need to show your gratitude, feeling a sort of even footing happening between the both of you, "the potions book you leant me last term has been invaluable, so I only have you to thank."

You didn't wait around for his reply as you walked away and out of the cold room. You spot Katie waiting for you in the hallway and offer a wince of remorse at keeping her so long but she simply shrugs it off and instantly sprouts into an excited monologue about her love potion identification, which closely resembled her long time crush, Oliver Wood.

As much as you wanted to listen to your friends outpouring of emotion, you were bitterly conflicted and exhausted by the emotion turmoil you endured at the events of potions class, as well as the surprising turn with Professor Snape.

"Are you coming to lunch?" Katie asks as you make your way up through the corridors and to the main staircases, feeling yourself get warmer and warmer with each step, feeling as if you were finally defrosting from the temperature of the dungeons.

You pondered briefly, considering your options. On one hand you desperately wanted to hide away in your dorm, avoid Fred and George at all costs as the feelings of uneasiness lingered within you but you also simply wanted to eat and allow your friends to hopefully provide relief and distraction from your destructive thoughts.

"Yeah," you said absently, following her lead to the great hall. Your conversation with Snape had delayed you slightly and so most of the students were already seated and digging in to the feast.

You huffed out a breath as you spotted your group in their regular positions high up the table, with Hermione multitasking at trying to eat and read at the same time whilst also chastising Ron for shoving so much food into his mouth he could barely chew. Harry and Ron were conversing about something as Ginny looked on, listening but not speaking. Your eyes closed as a pang of dread filled you at seeing the only vacant seat available from Neville down to Seamus was placed between Fred and George, which you knew would not be a coincidence.

As you neared the group, Fay Dunbar and Carl Hopkins suddenly stood up from their place at the table and began clapping with a little cheer as you made your way over, a sudden onset blush staining your cheeks. Cormac looked over from his place at the top of the table and stood up immediately, ushering his friends and joining in the cheering, no doubt for the points you'd been awarded in class, which had pushed Gryffindor to the top of the leaderboard, the flags in the main hall all shining with red and gold.

"Here she is, Hogwarts' new potion master, or mistress I suppose," Carl says from his place beside Neville, a sarcastically elated grin spread across his face as he continues clapping.

"Shove off," you said without any conviction as you laughed, moving to walk behind George as you take your place, allowing your hand to graze his back lightly as you climbed onto the bench.

"What have we missed?" Harry says suspiciously as you take your seat, your face no doubt bright red from the attention as you attempt to hide behind your hair. Fred's arm moves instantly behind your back to rest on the back of the bench, securing your place between your boys.

You can feel the stares of the people around you as they wait in anticipation of explanation for your reception, the stares of George and Fred in particular feeling hot on your skin but you hardly look up to meet anyone's amused gaze.

"Snape awarded her 30 points in class!" Fay, who was in your potions class, spoke up whisky pointing her finger at the totals displayed in the main hall.

"She was bloody brilliant, Snape said that he'd never seen a student create such quality drafts and that that potion masters would be envious of of her!" Katie excitedly chattered as she made her way over to her usual place with the Patil sisters.

Ron and Harry immediately quietly cheered and Hermione seemed to throw out a flustered congratulations though her tone couldn't quite hide the tinge of underlying jealousy.

Fred nudged your shoulder playfully with his own and leaned in to whisper in your ear, "well done Princess." His whispering voice so close to your ear made you fight back a shiver of arousal. The cheeky sod knew exactly what he was doing.

George leaned over towards you just as Fred pulled away and brought his hand up to criss cross over his brothers to rub at your back, suspiciously just below your bra strap. "Yeah well done angel." He lingered just a moment and you could tell that he wanted to kiss your head, just as he always did in private but thought better of it.

"What were you brewing?" Hermione asks, pausing her reading to ask, her voice breaking you out of your little internal monologue.

"Amortentia," You replied, shrugging gently.

"But that's advanced level!" Hermione states with a mixture of outrage and bewilderment. Once again you shrug and reach forward to pick at a chicken leg sat in front of you, choosing the side closest to you so you don't touch anything Ron might have had his grubby hands on.

"Oooh love potions Eh?" Ginny smirks, wagging her eyebrows at you, which you counter with a sarcastic smile and glaring eyes.

"Should we be worried?" George teases quietly, leaning in again, just loud enough for you and his twin to hear. You elbow him playfully earning a synchronised laugh from the twins. Fred chooses that exact moment to readjust his arm to bring it forward underneath the table to rest on your thigh.

"I think someone slipped Snape some, he seemed awfully smitten with her, I'm sure he nearly almost smiled," Katie says loudly as she tucks into her lunch. Fred and George cast a glance at you which you know resembles slight jealously mixed with amusement at the very notion someone else would be interested in you.

"Yeah that was my master plan all along, seduce Snape into giving me good grades, maybe next year I'll try Mcgonagall," you said sarcastically, earning a laugh from the people around you.

"Georgie, why have we never thought about that?" Fred asks faux-distraught as he turns to look at his twin over your head.

"I don't know Freddie, maybe we should try it on Flich and work our way up," George smirks, playing along. "Y/n/n here can brew for us and we'll go into business, Weasley and Y/l/n incorporated."

"No way are you dragging me into your sadistic schemes," you retort, turning to face George who gives you a smile with a wicked glint in his eye, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Name's too long, it should just be Weasley incorporated; one of us will just have to marry her so she can join the family business," Fred says, shooting a wink in your direction as you choke on the sip of water you'd just taken at his words. Both the twins laugh, eyes shining as you squirm in your place, heart leaping at hearing those words.

"Well in that case I choose Bill," you joke, circling back to the joke you made yesterday, earning a swift attack from Fred who lunges for you and tickles your side at your audacious claim. George attempts to pin you down once again to allow Fred's attack and you can do nothing but try to hold in your squeals as Fred's long fingers run up your sides, tickling wherever he can reach.

"Alright enough enough!" You wheeze still laughing at the sensation as Fred and George pull away, smirking down at you.

The rest of lunch carried on as usual and was largely uneventful. Hermione and Ron were squabbling, Harry tried to keep out of it, Ginny remained quiet with frequent stolen glances in Harry's direction and the twins schemed secretly. Both of them were trying their luck with teasing you, littering your body with little secret touches and gestures which had you flustered the entire time.

You couldn't shake the lingering guilt and unease that you felt from your discovery that morning, the moment and the smells replaying in your mind like a broken record. You tried your hardest to push down the feelings, trying to appear normal to the twins and the people around you but in all honesty you just wanted to crawl into bed and be alone with your thoughts to try and process them. The conversations happening around you where causing you to feel massively overstimulated and agitated, like a constant buzzing in your ears as you tried to focus on a single thought.

Being sat in between the two boys you were trying to chose between was the worst possible situation right now and you felt helpless. They were usually your comfort blanket, always there for you when you needed them and grounded you when you were feeling out of control, but now the problem was them and you had nowhere to turn as you couldn't tell anyone what had happened earlier that day.

Instead of going to transfiguration next class when the bell chimed, you made your excuses, slipped away from your classmates and retreated to your dorm. You passed Ron on the way to the common room and forced out an excuse of feeling ill, hoping he wouldn't question you further. Luckily, he didn't and you were able to avoid anyone else as you climbed the stairs.

As soon as you stepped through the portrait hole, you felt an instant wave of relief at seeing the common room empty and quiet. You walked up to your dorm and instantly began pulling off your uniform and changing into something more comfy, trying to soothe yourself in any little way you could.

You must have sat there for an hour at least, trying to work out in your head what had happened earlier that morning.

In the months that you'd been seeing both George and Fred, you never knew who you liked more, not truthfully. Fred had always been the one you fancied, the one you were slightly closer to and he was the most openly flirty and affectionate through your friendship. The flirting and the banter between you both had grown stronger and stronger over the years to the point neither of you could deny feelings for each other.

But George had surprised you. You never realised that he too had feelings for you as he was much quieter and shy than his brother, both in life and in your friendship. It had monetarily knocked you for six when you found out about his feelings, most of all because it made you confront your own.

You'd spent so long fancying Fred that you hadn't realised how incomplete you felt when George wasn't around. Never wanting to make them think they were a package deal like so many others, you'd never asked where the other was or seemed like you were disappointed by only having one near you but you couldn't deny that everything was better with the both of them there, like you were finally at peace. You'd pushed down your feelings for George and deflected them into Fred because of how taboo it was to like both brothers at the same time but with this whole new arrangement, you couldn't deny it any longer. How were you ever going to be able to chose between the two brothers? If Amortentia couldn't even show you your true desire then how the hell would you be able to decide yourself?

A gentle knock on your dorm door sprang you out of your thoughts and you quickly wiped at your eyes before swishing your wand to open the door.

George.

"Angel, Ron said you weren't feeling well," he says stepping towards you with a face of concern as he moved to sit on the side of your bed.

"Its just a headache Georgie, I'll be fine," you replied with a small, shy smile, hopeful that he wouldn't see that you'd been crying. He lifted his hand to touch the back of your head to check for a temperature but when he found none he simply smiled and looked you in the eyes for a second before standing up off the bed.

"Want some company?" He asks, beginning to tug at his tie, "no doubt Fred will be along soon, soon as he hears you aren't well."

You nod enthusiastically and open up the covers for him as he quickly shucks off his shoes and climbs into get beside you, instantly reaching out to pull you towards him and into his chest.

You sigh a breath of relief at the contact and the familiar smells of George, thankful that for now it's just him and you don't have to split your affections.

It lasted all of 10 minutes before Fred barged into your room, not even bothering to act as if he knocked as he came barrelling towards you both in the bed.

"Princess, are you okay? Ron said you skipped class, you're not feeling well?" His worrying was awfully cute and you couldn't resist the smile that hung on your lips as he climbed in bed beside you so that you were now sandwiched between the pair.

"You know if Errol ever croaks, Ron could take his place," you mumbled into George's sweater, realising that Ron had alerted both boys and no doubt numerous friends to your absence. Both boys chuckled as George pulled you closer into his chest, whilst Fred placed his arm securely around your waist.

Instead of the intense conflict you'd felt earlier in the day, you finally felt at peace between the brothers, with both of them by your side.

#emeritusemeritus #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #harry potter #emeritusemerituswrites #fred weasley masterlist #george weasley smut #george weasley x you #george weasley x reader x fred weasley #weasley twins masterlist #weasley twins x reader #george weasley x reader #george weasley masterlist

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Timeline: Part 4 -July 2017

Previously:

2015 - April 2017 | An Update

May 2017 - June 2017

This piece features events, press, and PR from the summer of 2017. You will see competing narratives - the Daily Mail leaking Meghan's dossier drip by drip by drip and Meghan's team counterattacking with engagement rumors.

There are two main stories in the royal sphere during this time that we know Meghan is paying attention to, as these most definitely shape her understanding of what it means to be royal: royals taking glamorous summer vacations and daily coverage of Diana's life, the impact of her death, and her lasting legacy to the world.

Fasten your seatbelts!

(Note - this was initially meant to also include the August 2017 events but Tumblr was having problems saving the post.)

July 1, 2017: The Cambridges, Harry, and the Spencers attend a private memorial service at the Spencers' Althorp estate for Diana. Meghan's relationship history is published and it's revealed she left Cory for Harry.

July 2, 2017: Charles plans to host a 70th birthday party for Camilla and the Express speculates whether Harry will bring Meghan with him. Additionally, the broadcast network that airs Suits in Britain drops the series from its slate and won't show its upcoming seventh season.

July 3, 2017: Kensington Palace announces that the Cambridges will visit Poland and Germany.

July 4, 2017: Kensington Palace confirms that Harry will have a role in the upcoming state visit by King Felipe and Queen Letizia. Meghan teases whether she will attend Wimbledon 2017. Harry's scandals are revisited.

July 5, 2017: Meghan's appearance at the 2016 Create & Cultivate conference resurfaces, as do her comments from The Tig about being biracial.

July 6, 2017: Meghan does another airport pap walk as returns to Toronto after spending 10 days in London with Harry.

July 8, 2017: Meghan leaks that she has tried on wedding dresses with friends and is beginning to think about a wedding at Westminster Abbey. The Daily Mail publishes all about Meghan's first marriage and the divorce. Katie Nicholl publishes several scoops: 1) Meghan keeps clothes at Nottingham Cottage, 2) Meghan is so familiar to KP security and the RPOs that she doesn't need a security pass to enter, 3) Harry wants to be engaged by his birthday, and 4) they want to debut Meghan as his fiancee at Toronto Invictus Games.

July 9, 2017: Harry attends a music festival and is photographed getting close to a blonde woman. At the same time, there is fast-spreading gossip that Camilla disapproves of the relationship. Meghan gets worried: she hints about the engagement to get Harry back in line and tries to assuage concerns about her marital history by explaining that being married to Harry will be different than when she was married to Trevor. Meghan merches a baseball cap.

July 10, 2017: Meghan doesn't like the comparisons to Pippa Middleton anymore (which she began, mind you) and says they look nothing alike. It's announced that Trevor is thinking about writing a book about his relationship with Meghan, sparking another round of rumors that the marriage broke down when Meghan cheated on Trevor with a Suits castmate.

July 11, 2017: It's revealed that Meghan was still dating Cory when she began dating Harry.

July 12, 2017: Meghan attends the Suits party to celebrate taping their 100th episode. Meghan's team puts out a story that she and Harry are so alike because Meghan's uncle is the leader of the Eastern Orthodox Catholic Church, just like Harry's grandmother is the leader of the Church of England. Rita Ora flirts with Harry and Meghan gets mad, saying she doesn't want to marry Harry.

July 13, 2017: The Spanish State Visit begins, with Harry accompanying King Felipe and Queen Letizia to Westminster Abbey and attending the state banquet (where he sits next to Rose Cholmondeley...iykyk). Meghan's "one tear, left eye, go" interview resurfaces and she tries to be a beauty guru again. Suits Season 7 premieres in the U.S.. Meghan practically calls Kate a Stepford Wife.

July 14, 2017: Meghan gets more private protection and increases her security team.

July 16, 2017: A friend of Harry says they're engaged and everyone is looking forward to the after-party more than the wedding. Meghan leaks that Harry will quit the royal family for her and her "don't give it five minutes if you're not going to give it five years" interview resurfaces. Harry wins his IPSO privacy case against The Mail for publishing paparazzi photographs taken in Jamaica.

July 17, 2017: Meghan sets up Chelsy to be Harry's Camilla in their marriage.

July 18, 2017: Meghan tries to be a yoga influencer again. Meghan also brings back her gender equality platform and reminds us about her soap commercial.

July 19, 2017:

Pictures from Meghan's childhood are published, including a photograph saying/showing she won Homecoming Queen in high school (US high school is ages 14 - 18). Speculation begins immediately that Meghan has had cosmetic surgery to minimize her black traits and Markle feeatures, including chemical treatments for her hair.

Meghan hints that Harry will propose on her birthday and that they will elope to marry.

Meghan leaks that she's worth $5 million.

July 20, 2017: Meghan says Harry will propose soon and they have no intentions of eloping.

July 22, 2017: Meghan's ice bucket challenge video resurfaces, causing speculation over how she knows Rory McIlroy and what the nature of their relationship is.

July 24, 2017: Meghan promotes Suits and hints that she wants IVF twins as soon as possible after the wedding. (The IVF twins story is important for two reasons. One, because in the first picture taken of Meghan after the pregnancy is announced, she is carrying two purple binders. We know she likes to virtue signal, so many people believe this is her hinting that they are expecting boy-girl twins. Second, because while she ended up having a boy, the decor and theme for her February baby shower indicated she was expecting a girl.)

July 25, 2017: Prince Albert of Monaco (son of Grace Kelly) gives advice to Meghan and Harry and British Vogue writes about Meghan and her fashion.

July 26, 2017: Meghan claps back against the rumors of plastic surgery by getting medical experts to say she hasn't had any work done.

July 27, 2017: Meghan teases an engagement in the Express, who recaps the relationship to date.

July 28, 2017: Meghan merches Rachel Zane's wardrobe. She's spotted in London, supposedly with Doria (though Doria is never seen). Meghan's insecurity over Harry's past causes problems for him.

July 29, 2017: An open letter is published to William and Kate, urging them not to have a third child. This comes after playful comments by the pair while on tour in Poland and Germany earlier in the month when they were gifted baby items by fans on walkabout.

July 31, 2017:

Christopher Geidt is forced out retires and is replaced by Charles's favorite, Edward Young.

Kate hires Catherine Quinn as her new private secretary.

Meghan is worried a Cambridge baby is going to steal her thunder and leaks that the Cambridges won't have any more children. After Kate's third pregnancy is announced and this article resurfaces, speculation begins over what Meghan knew (because Harry leaked like a sieve to her).

William and Catherine are in Belgium for the 100th anniversary of the Battle of Passchendaele.

Lainey gossips that the recent shakeups in palace household staff has to do with Charles's discomfort with William and Harry operating independently of him. She also confirms for the first time that Charles was angry with the KP love shield because it overshadowed his work in the Middle East.

#timeline #brf #sussexes #pr shenanigans #pr stunts

[txttletale]

bundletober #15: the sunless seasons

almost halfway there. woah. living on a prayer and all that. today's bundletober is interesting in that i'm not looking at a standalone game. the sunless seasons is a blades in the dark--i hestitate to call it a supplement, it's more a play tool or as the cover proclaims, a toolkit--by eskur.

so, for those who haven't played it--blades in the dark is my favourite ttrpg. it's a heist game set in duskvol, a city in the middle of a blighted perpetually dark wasteland, a dark and brooding take on a world like that of dishonored or bioshock that embraces character competence, the over-the-table conversation, and cutting out all the parts of stories and games that aren't the fun parts.

the sunless seasons is a very short set of pages containing tables of plot hooks, vignettes, and weather conditions for each of duskvol's seasons.

the weather tracking works with a pretty ingenious hex grid--you roll to move a counter between these hexes at different intervals--you can base it off in-game time passing or between scenes for when you want a dramatic hard cut. it's a simple thing but it takes another element of 'being the world', of creating an immersive and breathing space to play in, off the sole shoulders of the GM.

the plot hooks provided on the 'weird weather' hex are very cool, too. this toolkit gives duskvol a pulse--i'm always talking about how games can be co-authors, and this is pure game-as-co-author, this is game as someone who interjects 'oh, and it's raining' at the most dramatic point. if you play blades in the dark, you should 100% read the sunless seasons, if not to use it, to get some inspiration for how you describe duskvol. even if you don't, it might inspire you for whatever ttrpgs you do play, or to include something similar in your own game.

this, imo, is better to make a place feel real than any amount of lore or timelines or family trees or could be. it's something material and present, something you use in play rather than just read and forget about. this is how you make your world feel real.

the sunless seasons can be downloaded for free through itch.io

#tattletxt #bundletober 2023 #ttrpg

[gale-gentlepenguin]

Gale Theories: Who is "The Supreme"?

In the Miraculous World Special: Tales of Shadybug and Claw Noir it is revealed that the two villains were not the main one's causing chaos, but two villains working under someone or something called "The Supreme" and we never see what they look like, just their logo and influence.

(Spoilers below)

Shadybug and Claw Noir are both clearly terrified of the villain, Betterfly even comments that the two villains he is fighting are being used by the Supreme.

We know that the Supreme gave Gabriel his miraculous and his misuse lead to... well

But thats not all we see of the Supreme,

Tikki and Plagg are both Gagged by the Supreme, the miraculous he gave to Shadybug and Claw noir have kwami unable to speak.

We also know that even if someone were to combine the Ladybug and Cat miraculous that belong to the Supreme

Gimmi, the Kwami of reality CAN NOT grant wishes and even says

Only The Supreme defines reality. Reality is The Supreme

So this begs the Question, who could this "Supreme" be?

Now if we look at the Supreme's symbol it looks like the Order of Guardian's symbol, but with an X through it

This could imply that the being known as the Supreme has had some affiliation with the Guardians in the past or at the very least knows about their existence.

Which leads to the First Theory

The Supreme is the Evil Version of the Order of Guardians

I have seen going around is that the Supreme is an Evil version of the Guardians, and that it is simply a representative of a group as a whole, which does seem feasible, especially when we look into the picture of Gabriel facing multiple symbols but that could also be a stylistic choice.

But if the Supreme IS a group as opposed to just a singular individual than the group MUST be under the evil version of Su Han OR the Wizard that created the Miraculous originally.

I think the theory is a bit lacking as we know very little about the wizard and Su han (while being a competent fighter has shown to be incompetent in literally every other field) so him being the villain doesnt make sense.

But the next theory does hold a bit more water.

______________________________________________________________

Nathalie is the Supreme

We never see who or what the Supreme is, and we never see a version of Nathalie from the other Universe. We know Nathalie used to be a Lara Kroft like explorer and was the one that found the butterfly miraculous. It could be possible that in this timeline, Nathalie FOUND all of the miraculous and used them for her own benefit, making herself the supreme. She has shown to have a better grasp of the miraculous than Gabriel even before uncovering the knowledge.

But this is also speculation as we dont know if Fu is still around in that Universe and if the events of Feast actually happened. And while I do love an all powerful Step Milf. It is also unlikely. The next one may also seem out of left field but does have a bit more justification

___________________________________________________________

Lila/Cerise/Whomever the f***, is The Supreme

Lila as the Supreme? Well she is evil and competent enough. Lila also has the cold hearted nature to accomplish such a feat, And the ending of Season 5 does have something happening that causes our universe's Lila to freak out. An alternate universe conquering Lila does seem feasible with how well she adjusts, but with people commenting she is only 14 that it wouldnt work, what if Lila isnt 14?

The girl knows how to navigate and change persona's at the drop of a hat. The planning and way she acquires things she wants is on a much more devious method than most teens would even consider. Lila could feasibly be someone with eternal youth or a medical disorder that makes her look young. (Yes an Orphan situation). And it is basically a fandom joke at this point with how much Thomas believes that teenagers are the meanest people.

But similar to Nathalie such a possibility is limited and likely not the case.

Which leads us to the final and probable individual that is likely the True Supreme

______________________________________________________________

Fu is The Supreme

Now why would I say this is the most likely situation. On Rewatch, Shadybug does refer to the Supreme as "Him" at one point. Which could be a dubism, but if it isnt there is also the reasons below on why it could be Fu

Fu has canonically had a negative experience with the Guardians

Fu is responsible for the Guardians disappearing the first time by accident

Fu has a deep understanding of the miraculous and was trained in the ways of the guardian.

Fu going mad with power and being alone for almost 2 centuries would be a logical backstory to turn him evil

Since we know that certain events are consistent in the other universe, like Adrien losing his mother and Marinette getting bullied by Chloé. It is likely the events that created Fu are the same. And if the events are the same or similar, than the order of Guardians are no more, leaving one person who would have had ALL the miraculous, and that is Fu.

And lets say the Events DIDNT play out the same, Fu could have made a faction that simply took over from the original Order of Guardians, thats why that symbol is there and is crossing out the Original one.

Fu would also know how the wish works and thus likely made the wish to be the one to alter reality, he likely gave himself the power to have control of things. And while people may argue that Fu is incompetent, he actually has shown to be quite clever and quick to figure things out. Fu also was competent enough to pick ladybug and Chat noir to fight Hawkmoth, so he must understand what is needed.

And that is where I stand on the "Who is the Supreme"

#miraculous ladybug #ml spoilers #ml speculation #ml special spoilers #ml paris spoilers #the supreme #gale theories

[cloudysonder]

15! mafia! soukoku getting together before 5 years of tension challenge (IMPOSSIBLE)

ok so I don't think I need another WIP on my plate but i can't stop thinking about them so I'm gonna write a hella long fic outline for a hypothetical fic I might've written in a different timeline

This is a half canon compliant half Chuuya leaves the mafia with Dazai AU, with a focus on their powers + how it affects them

Chuuya struggles with his identity and his agency bc of Arahabaki sharing his body, and combats it by trying to be as kind and giving as possible-- it's a way of proving to himself that these decisions are his, not Arahabaki's, because Arahabaki would never choose to be kind. As a result, he gives himself to others too easily, creating a tension of giving up agency/identity in order to prove that he has agency/identity

he does this with the sheep and then with the port mafia, where he eventually meets dazai

dead apple happens

Chuuya thinks the guy is actually the biggest asshole maybe in the universe, but begrudgingly accepts that his power is very useful and they make a good team (you would have to actually waterboard this out of him)

Dazai deems Chuuya his dog, and when Chuuya gets pissed and keeps pestering him abt how patronizing it is, Dazai responds lightly, as if he's saying that the sky is blue,

"Oh please. You were a dog long before I called you one--" Dazai doesn't even bother having the decency to look at Chuuya before ripping his life apart. "--eager to be on a leash and be taken on walks if it meant that it pissed off the wolf inside you. I just have the manners to actually call it a leash."

it isn't the first nor the last time that chuuya wants to kill him, but he can't deny Dazai's right (he usually is, infuriatingly)

He still hits him with a boulder

they build up trust over multiple months-- Dazai begins to believe in Chuuya's competence and skill (enough to relax on missions, because chuuya will take care of things, chuuya will catch the things I miss, and chuuya will catch me if I fall), and Chuuya will follow whatever order Dazai gives, no questions asked (He never steers chuuya wrong, never betrays him in a way that matters, never hurts him in a way that lasts-- usually people would've by now, but not Dazai-- he just annoys him and pranks him and thrashes him in video games, casually saying things about chuuya that are so on the nose that chuuya doesn't feel seen through, but seen)

chuuya goes on a mission that he's supposed to lead himself, and dazai tags along bc he's "on vacation" (healing from broken bones) and bored and knows that chuuya wouldn't let him get more hurt

there's a critical point in the mission where chuuya has to make a decision-- either to jump into the battle and hurt himself to save his subordinates, even if it means the mission wouldn't be completed successfully, or to let them die, guaranteeing success

He doesn't know what Arahabaki would choose, and he's terrified of choosing the same option it would-- he doesn't want to think that he's slowly turning into Arahabaki, that Chuuya one day will be no longer--

Dazai knows. Dazai always knows.

A warm hand envelops his.

The familiar shiver of No Longer Human blankets over him.

"It's your choice, Chuuya." Dazai is looking directly at him, serious for once. "No one else is here now."

And Chuuya, simple, stupid Chuuya, feels the tension he's known his whole life leave him completely-- and what was left?

Oh.

The sun catches on Dazai's brown hair, beautiful even dusted with concrete powder and dried blood--

Fuck.

His hand is warm, his body is still, so trusting, his eyes are unblinking, so knowing--

And Chuuya falls irreversibly in love.

There's no real hiding it from Dazai (nor is there really a "normal" way that Chuuya can act anymore, knowing that he had the capacity, the capability for love)-- Chuuya tries for a while, but Dazai keeps staring at him with calculating eyes, suspicious and uncomfortable with whatever Chuuya is hiding from him

He pesters Chuuya constantly, making infuriating guesses about crushes (fucking Mori??? Chuuya wanted to kill Dazai for even suggesting it) and Chuuya's had enough of trying to escape who he is (which his feelings are tied to, unfortunately)

So, slowly, he lets himself show the affection he wants to-- a brush of hands, a hold on Dazai that's a little too tight when they lean on each other, a patching up of wounds that's a little gentler, a dinner of crab soup and rice that he took hours to learn how to cook---

Dazai stops pestering Chuuya pretty quickly after that

(He also never pulls away when Chuuya presses in, never comments on it, acts as if he doesn't know and doesn't care, and Chuuya finds some twisted sort of relief in that)

He's also become fiercely protective of Dazai, working thrice as hard so that he never sustains a single injury bigger than a scratch

"Wow---, why's my dog so easily riled up recently?" (they both know why)

Dazai is his to protect, but his in no other way. Chuuya knows that. He turns away when he flirts with pretty girls and gives them his number, and still admonishes him with the same tone he always does when he fucks around with women instead of doing his job

Chuuya genuinely shrugs it off— he doesn't love Dazai for it to be returned— it's just a fact in his life— his hair is red, his eyes are blue, he loves Dazai. Fin. He doesn't need to be in a relationship with him, he doesn't need to own him, he just wants to keep Dazai safe, and make him happy where he can

Dazai, meanwhile, is actually having a conniption— He figured out that Chuuya had a crush on him pretty quickly, but he's the most lost he's ever been in his life

He's never been loved so gently before, so carefully, as if he's a unique existence and intrinsically worthy of love-- Chuuya doesn't use him, doesn't expect anything of him, just keeps giving giving giving giving

Fact: Dazai has always been useful. Fact: Dazai has always been desirable, but in a way that seems dangerous. Fact: Every person who's ever held desire for him seemed to want something in return, as payment for the chore of liking him.

He annoys Chuuya more than anyone he's ever met, and yet Chuuya never treats taking care of him as a chore. He looks into Chuuya's eyes, sees a strange sort of pride, of gratefulness for relying on him, of joy just from the act of indulging him--

He asks nothing of Dazai, nothing, content to hold his hand firmly while Dazai's remains limp, asking nothing nothing nothing, backing off the second Dazai starts to squirm (though, sometimes, Dazai was just adjusting his posture on the couch, he wasn't pulling away— but he'd rather die before he asked the dumb little garden gnome to put his head on his shoulder again)

Dazai has never been more confused in his life. He's only sure of three things: 1) that Chuuya’s affection is genuine, 2) that it is far too good for him, which is a shame because 3) he'll never be able to return it.

Months pass in this limbo state— Chuuya backs off the second Dazai shows Any sign of being uncomfortable (he isn’t, he never was, but he’s confused by the frustration that wells up inside whenever Chuuya mistakes one of his random movements as resistance, pulling away, leaving Dazai oddly lonel—)

They usually don’t get hurt on missions— in all visible aspects, they’re perfect partners; Dazai’s plans don’t fail, and Chuuya never disappoints

But Mori thinks they’ve been a little too full of themselves recently, that they might benefit from a little humility, so he sends them straight into a trap

Chuuya drinks water from a safehouse that Mori arranged to have drugged

His vision goes blurry, fast

He tugs at Dazai, who’s keeping guard, blinking rapidly

“What, slug? Have you forgotten how sleeping works—“

“Dazai,” he chokes out.

Dazai snaps into focus, scanning Chuuya immediately.

“What happened?” Dazai doesn’t understand why panic is rushing through his veins, watching his partner struggle for breath. “Chuuya, breathe—“

“Don’t,” he strangles out, the word barely a whisper. “Don’t drink the water, something’s—“ Chuuya’s body seizes.

“Chuuya!” Dazai grabs him by the shoulders, and he’s surprised by how terribly his own hands are shaking— he can’t lose him, he can’t lose him, not him, not him, he’s never felt this strongly about the possibility of loss before, but he can’t lose Chuuya, he Can’t lose Chuuya, not the warm hands that hold his own, not the soft hair that buries into his neck, not the way his body always seems to fall into his, utterly trusting, not him, please god, not him, not the boy who loves him— he knows he doesn’t love Chuuya back, but he can’t lose Chuuya—

He brings Chuuya to his chest, preparing to make him throw up—

A bullet tears through Dazai’s arm.

Another one, seconds later, through his leg.

Dazai hisses in pain, grabbing his gun from his pocket

He’s not the best sharpshooter in the mafia for nothing— he shoots into the distance and hears both bullets hit their marks— he’s listening for the sound of two bodies falling—

A third gunshot rings from behind, and Dazai isn’t going to be fast enough to dodge it in time, fuck, but he can shift so it hits some non critical part of his body—

Shaking arms shove him to the ground

Dazai thinks the sound of the bullet burying itself into Chuuya’s body is going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

Chuuya’s warm blood is soaking into his lap, and Dazai’s vision begins to turn red at the edges

He uses more bullets than necessary to kill the last sniper, shooting his hands first, then his legs, his arms, his shoulders— he doesn’t get the mercy of a quick death— he hopes he bleeds, just like Chuuya is now—

The helicopter would come to pick them up at the meeting point in a few hours— he just needed to last until then—

He treats Chuuya’s injuries the best he can, murmuring his name like a prayer, begging begging begging

He ignores his own pain— or, that’s not quite right— he doesn’t even register his own pain— his own wounds are nothing in the face of the possibility of Chuuya’s death, and adrenaline keeps his limp arms moving, his wobbly legs walking

The helicopter picks them up

On board, a doctor patches Chuuya up and assures Dazai the poison wasn’t lethal and that the shot didn’t hit any major organs

Upon hearing (his) Chuuya would be ok, all of Dazai’s muscles relax at once, and he passes out

Chuuya wakes up in the hospital first

Dazai is in a comatose state, recovering— he’d be fine, but it’s the worst he’s been injured since Chuuya was assigned to be his partner

Chuuya waits by his side, holding his hand, running his fingers through his hair, caressing his cheek with his hand

He heard from the doctors that Dazai insisted, hysterically, that the doctors treated Chuuya first, despite his own injuries worsening by the minute

“Fucking asshole,” Chuuya pinches Dazai’s cheek.

He doesn’t wake up

He wakes up a week later, blinking slowly into consciousness

Chuuya is sleeping beside him, resting his cheek in the palm of Dazai’s hand

His eye bags look horrendous, and his face is pale

He nudges him without meaning to

Chuuya wakes up immediately

“Dazai?” He rubs his eyes a few times, as if he was checking he was awake. A few blinks later, Chuuya’s entire face melts. “Fuck, Dazai.”

Dazai isn’t prepared for the armful of Chuuya that barrels into his chest, burying into his neck— oh, Chuuya is warm—

Chuuya begins pressing small kisses into his hair, into the skin between his ears and his neck, eventually moving to kissing him on the apples of his cheeks

Dazai’s heart is doing a weird flop in his chest— he sees Chuuya’s sapphire blue eyes shining with tears, feels his chapped lips against his face, and god, is it pathetic that this feels like the first time he’s ever really been alive?

“You scared the shit out of me—“ Chuuya’s voice is trembling. “Why the fuck would you make them treat me first— I was literally fine, you fucking dumbass bitch, and I heal fast, you know that, you’re the lanky brittle stick— you were in a fucking coma for like a week, do you even know how, how worried I was?”

Frozen as he is, Dazai stumbles out a “why?”

Chuuya glares at him.

“You know why.”

He does. He still doesn’t know why. But Chuuya is peppering kisses all over his face and murmuring reminders to himself about gauze changes and medicine and antibiotics, so Dazai just lets himself stop thinking for once—

He catches Chuuya glancing at his lips, and he waits for a kiss there, but it never comes.

“You missed a spot.”

Chuuya turns bright red (cute cute cute), and looks toward the wall, clearing his throat.

“You should save that kiss for someone you love, mackerel.” Chuuya sighs, the red beginning to leave his cheeks. His eyes lose a bit of light, and Dazai wants to shove his words back in his throat. “I wouldn’t— you’ve already, uh, let me do this much.” He rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable, as he untangles himself from Dazai.

Dazai wants to throw something (when did he ask Chuuya to stop, why is Chuuya sitting back in the chair, why is Chuuya holding his own hands instead of his, come back come back come back).

But Dazai doesn’t say anything, and Chuuya starts milling around the hospital room, collecting his medication

Chuuya nurses him back to health

He doesn’t kiss Dazai again

More months pass

Chuuya still asks for nothing from Dazai, and Dazai is weirdly frustrated by it (Oda and Ango are tired of hearing about it— they insist that Dazai has, ew, Feelings for him, to which he responds, like a mature adult, “The only feelings I have for the amoeba are pity and disgust— he’s stupid, it’s all stupid! And I’m a genius, obviously, so this is all below me!” He mutters, under his breath, “Dumb Odasaku, stupid ango, thinking they know better than me”)

They’re at a high end mafia party

Chuuya looks absolutely dashing, as always

Dazai cleaned himself up just to watch Chuuya’s face turn red

Dazai’s fooling around with some girls, playing the games he always plays, and glances out of the corner of his eye

Dazai freezes.

A Port Mafia man is on his knees, his hand cradling Chuuya’s, his lips planted firmly on Chuuya’s knuckles

And Dazai feels like he’s boiling alive— he hasn’t even kissed Chuuya, and this, this GRUNT is DIRTYING his— Chuuya with his fucking disgusting mouth, and Chuuya’s skin is so soft and warm and smooth and Dazai should be the only one in the world who knows how it feels

Dazai storms up to him and snatches Chuuya’s hand away, replacing it with his own. He introduces himself, but his tone and his eyes are deadly.

They sit in a rare moment of silence on the way back

Chuuya looks weirdly happy

Dazai doesn’t want to wipe the look off his face, so he keeps his mouth shut for once, watching the moonlight catch in his partner’s red hair and blue eyes— he’s so beautiful, Dazai thinks, and he tries to burn the image of Chuuya’s smug smile into his retinas

Dazai follows Chuuya home

They fall back into their old childish teasing the second they collapse on the couch, wrestling and yelling between delirious laughter— that’s the thing about Chuuya, Dazai thinks, he makes Dazai feel like the kid he never got to be.

Chuuya wins a round, and Dazai wins a round, and though they hadn’t agreed on a bet or a reward, Dazai chirps, unable to stop himself, “Guess that means that I have to do something for you, and you have to do something for me! You know, to be fair!”

“Ok…” Chuuya is staring at him suspiciously, checking behind him for a hidden pillow or another similar weapon (which, rude! he would never cheat! Scout’s honor.)

Dazai’s eyes seem to be darting everywhere but Chuuya. “For Chuuya, hmm… I’ll stop flirting around with girls!”

Chuuya blinks at him, bewildered. “I don’t really mind— it’s not like—“

Dazai cuts him off (he doesn’t want to hear the end of the sentence, for some reason?), the next words rapidly stuttering from his mouth—“And in exchange, Chuuya’s not allowed to flirt with anyone, ok?”

A light seems to dawn in Chuuya’s eyes, and he bites his bottom lip, trying to keep down a laugh. “Ok, mackerel. Deal.”

“Good slug.”

Chuuya actually does laugh, this time. “Fuck off.”

Things are a little different, after that. Chuuya gets more confident— he invites Dazai over for movie nights where he falls asleep on his shoulder, he occasionally presses a chaste kiss atop Dazai’s bandages (as if he’s something worth loving, somehow), and they still wrestle and fight and prank each other, but it’s euphoric— it’s their communication, their reminder that the other is thinking of them.

Dazai is still the one on the receiving end of things, and he realizes Chuuya’s never gonna kiss him on the lips because of his stupid moral code that kisses should be loving and romantic from both sides, and well, Dazai doesn’t know about love or any of that other dumb stuff, but he wants to kiss Chuuya

Dazai stays over at Chuuya’s apartment more often than not, and one day, as Chuuya’s leaving for work (he always shows up a couple hours earlier than Dazai), Dazai gathers up the blankets and waddles over to him, still sleepy

“Chuuya?”

“Fuck off,” he replies out of habit more than anything else.

“Chuuyyuyuyaaaaa—“

“What?” He finally turns to Dazai, who seizes the opportunity to give him a kiss, licking Chuuya’s lips as he pulls away.

“Have a good day at work!” Dazai smiles against Chuuya’s lips.

Chuuya works through a couple of phases— shock, joy, all encompassing bigger than the universe giddiness, shock, hope, hope, hope

He watches Dazai waddle back to his bed and collapse in the middle of it, taking up both his side and Chuuya’s

Chuuya smiles all day

After Oda’s death, Chuuya is the first one to grab Dazai’s hand before he can drown.

Dazai has never doubted that Chuuya cared for him, that Chuuya loved him, and it’s so fucking affirming to be believed— to know that someone believes you’re human, through and through

So he hopes that Dazai would trust him to take the initiative here, to make a choice that would truly be a middle finger to Arahabaki, to let Dazai be the savior he already was to Chuuya

“Dazai,” He says, knowing what happened before Dazai says a word, seeing it in his grieving eyes, his miserable form (how dare people think he has no emotions, how dare them, how dare them). He grabs both of Dazai’s hands and pushes their foreheads together with enough force to be a headbutt. His smile is sharp, a little scared, but he’s sincere. “Let’s run away together.”

and they run away and never define their relationship completely, but they are partners, through and through

Chuuya wants agency and to be seen as human and to be trusted and believed, Dazai wants to trust someone to take care of him and to believe in someone’s care for him and sees Chuuya as utterly human

They complete each other, they trust each other unconditionally

Chuuya wakes up with a ring on his finger one day, and Dazai shrugs and says that it might make Chuuya’s side of the deal they made 4 years ago a little easier

Chuuya thinks this is very funny

Dazai wakes up the next morning with a matching ring on his finger

They never have a wedding— they don’t need to prove their partnership to anyone— and they can count the amount of times they’ve said “I love you” on one hand— that’s private, that’s theirs and no one else’s

They’re both part timers at the ADA (the ADA insisted; if they were both full timers, there’d be no work for anyone else to do— Chuuya plows through paperwork, and they’re still soukoku— they never fail a single mission)

In their free time, they play games, write some shitty novels and some not so shitty novels, they try painting, they both become polyglots, read all the books they can in all the languages they can read, and it is all so mundane and so, so human

they no longer have to prove it to anyone

They are home

#soukoku #chuuya nakahara #nakahara chūya #dazai osamu #dazai x chuuya #15 soukoku #bsd stormbringer #bsd #bungou gay dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd port mafia #skk #skk fanfic #soukoku fanfiction #soukoku au #me post

[diam-etrical]

being an artist is humiliating

I don't think this is talked about enough.

When you put something out in the world, you have to accept the possibility you won't get anything back.

Maybe you laid your heart bare on a one-shot that got zero comments. Maybe it was a painting you spent hours working on that didn't get the engagement you wanted.

I think it might have been the reason I stopped creating, for a little while at least.

I got obsessed with the stupid little numbers and metrics. Got happy when people liked my content, got sad when it resonated with no one. My relationship with what I created was determined by my perception of how many people engaged with it.

I waited day and night for the dopamine rush of notifications. I refresh my inbox, thinking that one of these days, somebody will leave some kind of affirmation, and somehow that recognition will imbue what I created with more significance. More value, writ-large.

If it got crickets, then I've failed somehow. It just wasn't good enough, I say to myself.

For the longest time, I felt like everything I created had to prove it belonged. It all felt like a race, except I didn’t know who I was competing against, only that I always felt left behind and couldn't keep up.

That's my fault. I can't help but measure myself.

But isn’t that the universal tendency? To view our past achievements as a benchmark we have to constantly overcome? Isn’t that why we’re so satisfied to look at old works we made and see how far we’ve come?

I remember what my old teacher used to say. “You’re only as good as your last piece.” As if art exists only to constantly prove itself. As if art is forever doomed to fight for its place in this world.

Well, I'm sick of it.

And so I'm realizing, in real-time, that I don’t want to fight for my place anymore. I don’t want to pander to some stupid algorithm.

I want to create. 

I want to believe that a work of art is good simply because it exists out of necessity. Out of someone’s urgent desire to share a piece of their heart in the world because it would have been devastating to keep to themselves. That’s always been very beautiful to me. It's why there is so much heart in fanworks because of the sheer heart poured into it—a love that is as raw as an exposed nerve.

There are so many stories in your head, numerous in number and nebulous in form, that eventually come to fruition as these delicate, precious things you’ve been brave enough to summon into existence. To materialize in a timeline or dashboard. To somehow take up space in people’s minds if only briefly. 

Maybe that in itself is the miracle. That what you conjured in your head somehow made its way into something real. Whether in tiny strokes or tiny letters on a tiny screen.

Somehow, the numbers next to them don’t seem to matter as much.

#this is the opposite of a thinkpiece #this is just me rambling #Many Thoughts #these are definitely all words #me when i say things #i dont know where else to dump this #im just #tired of all the changes #writing #writing help

[road-kill-eater]

what do you think of people making their own tonitrui characters? I love your work, the faces are super nice to look at, teeth and all

i dont mind at all! tonitrui are very close to my heart as theyre by far my oldest original species/headworld, but ive yet to actually do anything with them and dont really have much motivation to do so. the tonitrui i primarily draw are ocs from another story entirely which is fundamentally a human story, but i vastly prefer drawing the weird goats over humans.

i suppose this is also as good a time as any to "officially" describe tonitrui.

there are some rules that come with them since they are designed to inhabit a specific setting and play a certain role within their world. but at the same time i dont really care much, and have always enjoyed seeing other peoples takes on the species in the past, even if they break some rules

theyre a primarily carnivorous species which is on average 2 feet taller than the average human, ranging between 6-8 feet in height. this great size, along with their diet has forced the southern portion of their population to rely heavily upon fishing and animal agriculture to support a substantial population/military, and to eschew many of the superfluous aspects of their historical culture. as a result tonitrui are generally very utilitarian, what few festivals and art they have is generally related to bloodsports and ritual combat. they are a race strongly influenced by the pressures surrounding them, this primarily being other equally sapient but different races which they compete with for land and resources. unlike other races they have no allies, and either conquer or destroy their foes, however their colonial and expansionist tendencies can't keep up with a dwindling population, subseptibility to disease, civil war, corruption, and general hubris.

as for religion, monarchist tonitrui have a historical theistic framework that they have mostly abandoned, for good reason. many generations prior (to the general timeline) their corresponding creator god (each race was created by an individual god, the many civilizations acting as a living chess game, this is not known to the mortals below, they dont know they exist to better the social reputation of another entity entirely) walked among them as a god king. this was of course seen as blatant foul play by the fellow players so they locked it in that mortal form, and being confronted by mortality drove it mad. the specifics of whether or not the god king killed itself, or was murdered by his own subjects is widely disputed, but the impact of that betrayal has turned much of the kingdom off theism entirely. luck and chance are the spirits that tonitrui pray to now, even if ever since, their civilization has begun to crumble from within and without. their every enterprise fails, their wars of conquest fold back in on their own territory, plague strikes them endlessly.

the northern population is technically part of the southern kingdom, however their way of life (more nomadic, hunter-gatherer based) has typically set them apart. there is still free trade and travel between them, and they still pay taxes and obey military conscription, however there is increasing resistance to these, and governmental authority weakens as the northern population becomes more preoccupied with their own struggles.

in terms of morphology, tonitrui have two sets of flat incisors much like a horse, prominent canines which can occassionally stick out between their lips, and canine-like carnassials and molars. their faces are rather stiff for the most part and they primarily emote through their eyes, the corners of their mouths, their ears, and the tilt and posture of their big heads. they can just barely lift their top lip, and the muscles that control snarling and snout wrinkling in mammals are quite reduced or nonexistent in tonitrui, they compensate for this by opening their jaws very wide as an aggressive signal, and sometimes slamming their lower jaw shut to clack their teeth, but the latter is super rude, its basically a death threat.

their horns are primarily for display purposes, with a huge amount of variety that distinguishes individuals and family lines. generally their horns are relatively small when compared to those of existing ungulates, and particularly large horns are seen as ungainly and may be trimmed down in order to keep appearances and prevent them from being used against them in combat. young tonitrui naturally have the desire to ram their nubby horns against things, much to their parents exasperation, and everything breakable has to be well hidden in the household. though this is considered a childish and unrefined form of combat by the mainstream population, some more isolated villages still hold contests of strength where one must push their opponent past a line with only their horns.

their feet have no distinct nails and the toes are progressively keratinized until they are quite hard at the very tip, useful for gripping a variety of surfaces. in appearance they sort of resemble a blend of claws and hooves, clooves if you will.

tonitrui are generally covered in a short, peach fuzz fur that thickens around their head, neck and down the length of their spines, and this is generally accompanied by a dorsal stripe of darker fur and lighter patterning on their chest and bellies. their patterning is usually very basic, darkened extremities tend to be more common in northern populations, and piebaldism pops up a lot in the south. their colors range from white to gray to black, to tan to gold to brown. northern tonitrui generally have shorter, broader snouts, smaller ears, and a mane that covers the entire circumference of their neck rather than just the top ridge. however the two populations have mixed to the point that these traits can be found across their entire range.

tonitrui always get their tails docked as infants, and if it isnt done by their families for some reason, individuals will often have the procedure done later in life to prevent the associated social rejection. tails are considered an unnecessary extravagance and liability, especially given how long and thin they are by nature. in a duel or battle they are easily broken, or used to pull an enemy off balance. back during the formation of their kingdom and the conquering of atomized clans into one entity, soldiers would often cut the tails off the locals and whip them with them as punishment for crimes real and imagined, so docking became a practice of integration, and preemptively avoided such humiliation. and whatever practice is compulsory in the military quickly becomes unofficially expected in the rest of the population.

in terms of gender norms, tonitrui arent beholden to anything resembling the human concept. they arent even mammals, and while they have the two typical sexes, they have far less sexual dimorphism than humans, and both sexes have the capacity to feed their young via specialized glands in their throats. females are on average smaller and slighter than males, but this remains the primary difference, and as a result social norms and gender roles are far reduced in tonitrui culture. personal wealth does tend to accumulate with the matriarch of a family because they are more likely not to die in battle. historically females have never been conscripted in the military, although there was no rule against them signing up until relatively recently, due to the powers that be realizing that males are far less crucial to the longevity of a society, especially one with a dwindling population.

#tonitrui

[cookies-and-music]

Ghost. - part 11: Air.

I suggest listening to Why'd only call me when you're high? and I wanna be yours both by Arctic Monkeys while reading this.

Part 1 here - part 12 here.

PAIRING: TVA!LokixOC

RATING: ALL

TAG LIST: @kats72 ; @mischief2sarawr

SUMMARY: Loki meets sombody at the TVA he once knew. Unfortunately she doesn't seem to remember him.

Mobius and Loki's mission in Chicago had been successful. Theoretically.

Renslayer and Miss Minutes had not yet been taken into custody, but they had returned with the less cocky and more useful Variant of He Who Remains to help prevent the collapse of the universe. And Sylvie. Again.

Lydia wanted to slap her. She couldn't stand her. She didn't like the way she looked at him, the way she stood near him, or even just the way she breathed his same air. Besides the fact that wherever she was, chaos ensued.

Like at that moment, in O.B.'s lab, as he tried to explain the (hypothetical and highly risky) plan to save the TVA, while Loki and Mobius competed over who shouldn't risk their lives for everyone.

"The problem is that there are much more radiation out there than there were before," O.B. explained.

"Well, then Loki will have to run a lot, right?" Mobius shrugged.

"What? Why me?"

"Well, because it's your turn."

"Says Who? Why?"

"Exactly, why him?" Lydia interjected.

"There, thanks. At least someone here doesn't want to see me roasted," Loki shot Mobius a dirty look.

"I believe it should be Sylvie," Lydia tilted her head, shifting her eyes to the other girl, "she created the problem, it seems fair to give her the chance to fix it."

"Only if you hold my hand along the way," Sylvie taunted.

Bitch.

"Also, the plan is only theoretical," O.B. continued, adjusting his glasses, "and we still need to finish the range multiplier, integrating the booster that Mr. Timely" – the latter smiled embarrassedly – "created."

"Very well, we'll leave you to work," Mobius clasped his hands in front of him before turning to the others, "let's go, kids, leave the adults to their spaces."

Lydia crossed her arms and followed the others out of O.B.'s office.

“I think we could use some cake, don't you think?" Mobius started walking towards the cafeteria.

"Cake?" Sylvie spat, turning towards Lydia and Mobius who closed the line.

"Yes..." Mobius furrowed a brow.

"Do you have any better ideas?" Lydia gave her a glance.

"What's wrong with you guys?" Sylvie raised her voice. "The world, no, the universe is collapsing and you want to eat cake while everything goes to hell?"

"And whose fault is that?" Lydia took a step towards her.

"Ah, so I'm the bad guy?" Sylvie mocked her. "It's not my fault if the fragile system you liked so much collapsed."

"Oh really? Because it wasn't me who assassinated the only being capable of making it work, this fragile system." Lydia made air quotes with her fingers.

"I gave freedom of choice, the same one that led you here," Sylvie indicated the ground.

"You created chaos, Sylvie." Lydia got closer to her. "Chaos so great that the universe can't handle it, and now everything is collapsing. And what for?" At that point but a few inches apart and Lydia didn't wait for an answer.

"For your personal vendetta." She spat in her face.

She got punched in the face by Sylvie so hard it made her head spin.

"You know nothing about me!" Sylvie screamed as Loki grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her back.

"I know how to recognize a selfish whore when I see one" Lydia managed to say through the pain as Mobius dragged her in the opposite direction.

---

Lydia should've learned, by that point, that provoking a Loki wouldn't lead to anything good.

As she dabbed her cheek with a towel, she also started to think that there was some sort of fate's design. In the sacred timeline she had seen how Loki had reacted when she had provoked him, and now nothing particularly different had happened. In both cases, she was the one who came out worse.

"Free will my ass" she scoffed as she sat on a cabinet in the bathroom where Mobius had sent her to cool off.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Lydia looked up to see Loki. Probably the last person she wanted to see at that moment.

"Are you okay?"

Lydia lowered her gaze but didn't respond.

Loki closed the door behind him and approached her. Seeing that she didn't look up, he bent down trying to enter her line of sight, but she turned her gaze away.

Loki sighed and straightened up, taking the towel from her hand gently.

"I'm not your enemy, Lydia" he said as he delicately took the towel from her hand.

"You have nothing to do here, Loki. Go back to your variant" she snapped.

“So that’s your trigger, jelousy” Loki chuckled.

“Why should I be jelous?” Lydia faked nonchalance, he ignored her.

"When I met you here at the TVA, I would have never said you were such a jealous type," Loki approached one of the sinks to wet the cloth with cold water "but thinking back that you and the girl I knew on Midgard are the same person, I should've remembered that you have a hot head."

"If you've come here to give me a lecture, I don't need it, Mobius already did" she swung her legs on the cabinet.

"I'm not here for that, I'm here because, despite your terrible personality" he shook his head approaching her "seeing you in pain hurts me, a lot."

"Is that why you were with her, until now?" She had to bite her tongue, provoking him wouldn't have had a different outcome, but Lydia just couldn't help it. Fortunately, Loki had developed enough self-control for both of them.

"Lydia" he grabbed her face from the non-sore side so she was forced to look into his eyes, "every wound, every mark on your body, and every tear of yours is a punch in the gut for me."

Lydia's gaze softened, and she had nothing to retort. Perhaps because the absolute sweetness and sincerity with which he looked at her while saying those words had brought down the concrete wall she had quickly erected against him.

Seeing the cat retracting its claws, Loki brought the cloth to her face, and Lydia flinched slightly, but Loki's hand held her steady.

"Does it hurt a lot?"

"Not much."

"I could fix it, if you want."

"With a magic touch?" she smirked.

"If you want."

"No," she replied after a second of thought "I'd like to keep it, like a war trophy."

"Sylvie is not your enemy either, Lydia" Loki whispered, dabbing her face again.

"Why do you defend her?" Her voice was calm, though perhaps slightly hurt.

"I don’t," Loki lowered the cloth "I agree with you. Probably if she hadn't killed He Who Remains, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"It's not just a mess, Loki. It's a crisis, a desperate situation," Lydia let her concern show.

"And you're right," Loki took her hands, bringing them between his, "but that's exactly why we need all the help we can get, including hers."

Lydia lowered her eyes to their joined hands and let out a sigh.

"And what if we don't find a solution?"

"We will find it, I promise you."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Loki," she looked back at him.

"I promise" he repeated "trust me."

Trust. Did she trust him? Did she believe he could prevent the end of times? She wasn't sure, but she knew he was damn stubborn and that the TVA was his home, as much as hers. Maybe she didn't believe he would succeed, but she believed he would try everything, and that was enough.

"Okay" she nodded.

"Okay."

---

And Loki? Did Loki trust her? He wasn't sure he had an answer yet, as much as he was attracted to her and cared about her; she made him feel calm, even more when she was the chaotic one, and understood.

But when Timely failed in his mission, dissolving into space spaghetti, Lydia's hand was the first thing Loki grabbed, and her eyes were the last thing Loki wanted to see before the frame collapsed and the radiation destroyed everything.

Terribly sorry for the late update, my new situationship/"short-term, short-distance, low-commitment casual friend" (comment if you get the reference) kept me up too late on saturday and I needed recover, rest and some paracetamol. ALSO I was thinking of writing an extra streamy, maybe smutty chapeter to be added to this one (like a 11.5 chapter), like a missed scene or stuff. Let me know if you're interested pleaseee Thanks again for all the support shown me up till now, again, if you wanna join the tag list, let me know! My pc is dying, byeeee

#fanfic #loki series #loki #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki x oc #loki season 2 #loki x reader images #loki x you #loki x y/n #tva!loki #tva!lokixreader #tva!lokixoc #tom hiddleston

[spring-into-arda]

Minhiriath Midway Step up, step in, let's see what you win! The Minhiriath Midway is full of games and fun!  Spin the wheel, try your luck at the Crablor Grab, and see what prompts you get by the luck of the draw (or keep playing until you find something you like).  You can use the Midway any time during March, and beyond!

Blue Ribbon Exhibition The Prince of Cardolan loves to acknowledge hard work and creativity.  Enter your finest works into the Blue Ribbon Exhibition as an exhibition challenger.  Challengers will compete against others for the title of Best of Cardolan in the categories they enter.  All entries for the Blue Ribbon Exhibition are due by noon on June 1, 2024.

Dappled Dapper Pony Picture Coloring Contest The Dappled Dapper Pony Picture Coloring Contest (D²P²C²) is a very basic coloring contest event. Everyone starts with the same base image, and colors and embellishes their pony in whatever way they choose. 

Dappled Dapper Drabbled Pony Race  The Dappled Dapper Drabbled Pony Race is a team writing event which is being run as part of the Cardolan Carnival, a Back to Middle-earth Month 2024 Event.  For groups of 2 to 6, three races will be run throughout the month.  

Lost Treasures Quest  Part of Back to Middle-earth Month is revisiting works that are already in the world -- old favorites and new discoveries.  For the Lost Treasures Quests, you will be able to choose from leaving new commentary on works posted or written before 2020, making rec lists, working on WIPs (writing or art) that are at least a year old or more, or posting works currently unavailable publicly or at a new archive. 

The Prince of Cardolan's Grand Gala; April 12-14 The Grand Gala is a live event held on Discord.  During the event, winners of the various competitions will be announced (with the exception of the Blue Ribbon Exhibition), games will be played, live readings will occur, and generally, it will be a grand time.

Additionally, B2MEM is an open event where ANYTHING you create during March counts!  Feel free to add works you start, add to, or finish in March to the gallery!  You can also host your own events -- let us know what you're up to, and we'll add your event to the list of festivities!

Timeline of Events

The Midway will open on February 24, 2024. 

The Blue Ribbon Exhibition categories will be posted on March 1, 2024.  Entries are due by noon on June 1, 2024.  Winners will be announced at the Tarnin Austa event. 

The Lost Treasures Quest gameboard will be available no later than Feburary 24, 2024.

The Grand Gala will take place April 12-14, 2024. Cancelled. All activities moved to June. Announcements to follow.

Posting & Viewing Works

Beginning March 1st, 2024, works can be posted to the AO3 collection. This collection never closes, so while the event will wrap by the end of April, you can always add works later as you are inspired and finish them. If posting on Tumblr, use the tag B2MEM24 and @ this tumblr to make your posts easy to find by our team for reblogs!  You can join the Discord at any time! 

#b2mem 2024 #b2mem housekeeping