#it just sounds so self congratulatory

[dragon-ascent]

Pre-Liyue Rex Lapis sees that you're stressed out, so he tries to help.

Lately, the dragon deity has been worried about you. Every time he sees you, your lip is curled anxiously or your brows furrowed, a far cry from your usual squishy and silly self (you would protest against being called squishy or silly with a heavy blush on your face, but Rex Lapis doubts you'd currently react at all).

Through his keen observations of his people, he finds that humans feel better after partaking in physical activity to relieve the mind. So, whiskers twitching eagerly, Rex Lapis sets out to find you.

You're strolling through the woods, dejection heavy upon your shoulders. For all you do, it feels like you're not holding up your end of the divine contract with Rex Lapis - to work hard with your fellow human companions and ensure the village is the best it can be. Your broken tiller drags miserably against the ground, leaving sad little tracks in the dirt.

Rex Lapis would certainly be displeased with you.

A loud fwoosh sounds behind you, the trees' leaves rustling ominously as they seem to bend and cower to make way for the dragon-god himself. He lands with a graceful thump, glowing eyes fixed on your small form.

You scream - evidently he's here to exact his divine punishment; without a moment to spare, your tiller lays discarded as you dash through the woods, heart in your throat.

Rex Lapis' tail wags elatedly, pleased that you're already going for a run! He doesn't need to take time to explain why you need physical activity! He follows after you, eyes shining in delight.

Your eyes are shining too, but with terror as you hear the god in hot pursuit of you. Oh no, you fleeing is probably angering him even more, isn't it..? But it's too late to stop! As fast as your legs can handle, you run and run, weaving through the trees...

For show, the dragon also weaves his long body through the trees at a languid pace - which is admittedly still very fast. He's gaining on you, and your legs are screaming in pain...

"Please! I'm sorry for what I've done!" you cry out, barely able to understand yourself over the sound of your own panting and the wind in your ears. Your pursuer tilts his head in confusion, still chasing after you.

With a squeal, you're scooped up by his claw and he comes to a halt, purring happily. "That's quite enough, isn't it?" he asks, sniffing you calmly while you're here panting for air. "You have done well, little one." One congratulatory lick.

"Wh-what?" you gasp, devoid of the strength to even try and struggle.

Another purr. "Staying physically active and stimulated will relieve some of your tensions. I expect you here again to-morrow, same hour. After a week of running, perhaps we shall see results, hm?"

You stare at him, exasperated, at least reassured he is not here to eat you or punish you. "...What?"

And just like that, the earliest form of therapy in human history is recorded.

#sini writes #zhongli #genshin impact #zhongli x reader #fluff #rex lapis #dragon

[moonstruckme]

hello luv!! i really enjoy reading ur work, especially with a whimsical reader, could u write something with sirius or remus? (both if its too hard to choose,( jk, or not)) and gn reader if its not a bother.

thats all, i hope u have a lovely day!! 💞

Thank you for requesting my love, hope you have a lovely day as well!!

cw: reader is gn but it is implied that they’re good with eye makeup, do with that what you will

modern au

Sirius Black x gn!reader ♡ 1.1k words

“Baby?” Sirius’ voice rises over the screeching of guitar, and you look up from your book. 

“Yeah?” 

“Get in here.” 

You sigh and put your book facedown on the bed, rolling off your stomach. Your boyfriend’s music gets louder as you go into the bathroom, echoing off the walls. 

“What’s up?” 

“I need you to show me how you do the glitter in your corners again.” Sirius turns towards you from the mirror, and you have to swallow a laugh. “I’ve fucked it up.” 

“It’s not…awful.” You can’t help a tiny giggle, and he glowers at you. The effect is diminished by the fact that his eyes and half his nose are covered in silver glitter. “It sort of looks like…like somehow, a star spit on you.” 

“Fuck, come here.” He grabs for your hips. You laugh but don’t resist as he hauls you towards him. Sirius hops up on the counter and passes you a wipe. “Fix it, please.” 

“So demanding,” you murmur, but do. You reach over to turn down his music and start swiping at the side of his nose, where it appears he’s tried to correct some initial error by simply expanding the glittery area until it got entirely out of hand. “I think it just needs to be cleaned up a bit.” 

“Good. If I had to take it all off, I’d cry.” 

You smile a little, and Sirius squeezes your hip lovingly. You don’t blame him for wanting to salvage the rest of his eye makeup. He’s done his eyeliner so it looks like little stars sprouting out of the outer corner of his eye and twinkling around his lashes. It had to have taken forever. 

“It looks cute,” you say. 

Sirius’ grin is sharp-edged, and you have a sense of dread even before he opens his mouth. “You like that, do you?” 

You scoff. “Don’t.” 

“Don’t what, darling?” His hands rake up to your waist, bunching the loose material of your shirt. “I’m just asking you a question. You do like it, yeah?” 

You take a second to steel yourself, and when your eyes turn up to Sirius’ they’re soft and sincere. “Yeah, I do,” you say quietly. “You look really pretty, Siri.” 

He looks for a second like he might choke on air, his grip on your sides loosening, and you hope your smile looks adoring instead of self-congratulatory. He hasn’t yet figured out the little ways in which you’ve been practicing flustering him. 

As it turns out, what flusters Sirius isn’t the same brand of droopy-eyed flirting he torments you with (and good thing, because you can only work up the courage to manage that for five seconds at a time anyway). No, all it takes is you saying exactly what’s going through your head while letting him see exactly how you feel on your face. Who knew? 

“Thanks, baby.” His voice comes out almost as soft as yours. “So do you, you know.” 

You feel yourself smile, holding his face still with one hand while you swipe concentratedly at the still slightly too-big splotch of glitter next to his left eye. “I haven’t started getting ready yet.” 

“And yet the statement holds true.” 

You huff a laugh through your nose but don’t comment. Sirius lets you get away with it, though his hands tighten around your waist, one thumb brushing your ribs as if to remind you that he’s there. He loves you. 

For a minute, it’s only the sound of your breathing, Sirius’ syncing to yours as you keep each other steady against the bathroom counter. When you think you finally have the glitter down to a reasonable amount, you step back to survey your work and notice his outfit for the first time. 

“Is that what you’re wearing to Regulus’?” 

Sirius cocks an eyebrow at your tone, but there’s not an ounce of hesitance in his voice as he says, “Yes. Why?” 

“It’s…” 

You’re going to a relaxed hangout at his brother’s place, and he’s wearing black jeans slung low on his hips and a tight, cropped graphic t-shirt. With his painted nails and dark makeup, he looks way too cool for you, even more so than usual. The only thing soft-looking about him are his eyes. With his bone structure and coloring, Sirius can make himself look as gleaming and dangerous as lightning when he wants to, but his eyes are a thick fog. Moonlight reflected on water. 

“I was just going to wear a t-shirt and jeans,” you say. 

He tilts his head at you amusedly. “That’s what I’m wearing.” 

“You know it’s not the same.” You shake your head, turning your head towards the closet. Sirius takes this opportunity to look over his favored spot at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, running his fingers over the marks he’d made the other night. “I should start getting ready, huh?” 

“You should wear whatever you want,” he says firmly. “I have to assert my coolness as the older brother—I mean, it’s implied, but sometimes Reg requires a reminder. But you’ll look perfect whatever you wear.” 

You sigh and melt forward a bit, letting him wrap his arm around your shoulders. You sense an opportunity. “So do you,” you say softly. “You don’t have to dress any way to impress them, you know. Regulus’ friends all already know how cool you are, and you’ll look it no matter what.” 

Sirius makes a little humming sound, and though you can’t see his face you like to think he’s blushing. “Good. They should know,” he says. The arrogance of his words is mushed into the top of your head. “And anyway, I think it’s fairly established when I have something as good looking as you with me, don’t you think?” 

You turn your heating face away from his view, nose squished against his chest. Sirius laughs, palming the back of your neck. It takes all the audacity you’ve got to turn your face up to his. 

“You do it all by yourself,” you tell him earnestly. 

Sirius goes all soft around the edges. Now it’s him hiding, dropping his head to that spot on your neck so he can love on you unseen. 

“You trying to get me out of these pants already, baby?” His voice is teasing but leaden with fondness, and the hand he drops to your waist is painfully gentle. “You haven’t even got yours on yet, so I suppose that puts you ahead of me.” 

You’d be content to stay here forever, but at the reminder you back off. “I should get ready,” you say again. “Help me pick an outfit so I can look like I fit with you, please?” 

Sirius rolls his eyes as he hops down from the counter. “You’re far out of my league on my best days, but sure. I’ll throw something together for you.” 

#sirius black #gn!reader #sirius black x gn!reader #sirius black x reader #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #sirius black x self insert #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #sirius black fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black drabble #sirius black scenario #sirius black blurb #sirius black oneshot #sirius black one shot #marauders #the marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fandom #hp marauders #marauders x reader

[impostoradult]

Heartstopper is different because it takes pleasure seriously

Since I watched Heartstopper, I've been trying to figure out what about it made it feel so different from other stories similar to it. When you just describe the plot of it, it sounds like something straight (har har) out of Glee or Sex Education or Elite or SKAM or Skins or Degrassi, or...you get my point.

But it felt so different to me, and I realized yesterday what it was. Hearstopper takes the pleasures of queer romance and eroticism as seriously as it takes the pains of it. By which I mean, it gives an incredible amount of screen time to the excitement of it, the thrill of it, the visceral good feelings of it. Pleasure drives Heartstopper, in a way that is still incredibly unusual in mainstream queer media.

In most other stories like this, the pain and the angst and the ambivalence and the negative social ramifications of the premise take up like 90-95% of the screen time. The pleasure aspect typically exists as minimally as possible to catalyze all the negative or difficult parts that are the 'real' story. And while Heartstopper doesn't shy away from those things, it gives a roughly equal amount of narrative and screen time to the two leads getting a lot of pleasure out of their relationship, too. The amount of time the show invests in showing Nick and Charlie enjoying each other romantically -- throughout the story, not just at the very end -- is just absolutely decadent (and I mean that 100% positively).

The first kiss is a perfect example. In any other TV version of this story, the boys would have kissed that first time for less than 2 seconds, and then IMMEDIATELY been interrupted by the other boys. Instead, Heartstopper lets them kiss once, take a breath, and then have a second, very extended kiss enhanced by animated embellishments designed to emphasize just how incredibly enjoyable this is for them...before finally disrupting it again with Plot™.

And the amazing thing is, from a pure narrative standpoint, you don't need the second kiss. It's completely unnecessary to the plot. You could completely eliminate it and the plot would hold together exactly the same. The second kiss is there exclusively to emphasize the intense pleasure of this experience for them. That's all it does.

Heartstopper is serious about foregrounding pleasure, and how important pleasure is in all of this. Which frankly, is a thing you usually only ever see in romance novels and fanfic.

***

One of the reasons I was hesitant to watch this show initially is because I have limited tolerance for coming out stories that are so focused on the unappealing parts of the experience. It's not that those things don't MATTER. But there is such a cultural allergy to making the pleasures of the experience a serious focus, particularly (yes I'm going to say it) the sexual pleasures of it.

Hearstopper, blissfully, refuses to shy away from pleasure, and from making it important.

It's not just that my tolerance for queer pain in media is limited (although admittedly that's true). I also grow so weary of popular culture treating queerness as mostly a political identity upon which we simply moralize about tolerance, and engage in self congratulatory yarns about ~being yourself~ and loving yourself. It's not that I think any of those things is BAD. But a) I've seen that story many times before and b) there's an ENORMOUS piece of this experience that we're still mostly skirting around the edges of because we're still very chickenshit about it, to be perfectly frank.

We, as a culture, are still scared as fuck to really say, very bluntly: queerness feels fucking good.

In the midst of this, Heartstopper does something wondrous. It says to the audience, in no uncertain terms: Queerness feels fucking good...so, let's spend some time actually talking about THAT for a while.

#Heartstopper #charlie spring #Nick Nelson #LGBTQ

[notroosterbradshaw]

I’m not sure if this is still open and obviously completely ignore this if it isn’t or use it as an example to let people know it’s closed BUT If there’s a slight chance it is could I request kissing prompt 70??? Again no pressure though! Anyways hope your day is going or will be great!!

PROMPT: 70. an accidental kiss that confuses you both, but only a moment pass before you crash your lips back against each other's

i hope you enjoy, nonny. had fun writing this one but it’s not the best, apologies x

NYE, 2022. You'd be very glad to kiss the year goodbye even if you'd committed to the ridiculous 2022 gold glittery glasses Javy had perched on your nose when you wandered into his house party around 11pm.

“Here she is, in her own time, ladies and gentlemen,” Javy hollered to get everyone's attention as friends and colleagues cheered, jeered and welcomed you as you followed him into the noisy living room.

“It’s not New Year, I made it in plenty of time,” you protested.

Using your callsign, Jake asked, “Does that watch on your wrist work?”

“Only when I'm on the clock, Bagman. You miss me?” you asked as Bob handed you a glass of champagne and you patted his soft cheek in greeting, a gentle blush creeping to his fair features.

“Party doesn't start 'til you get here, hellcat,” he taunted as you laughed, and took Rooster's extended hand without a thought to sit yourself in between him and Phoenix.

“All good?” he asked as you shuffled in. You rubbed away some lipstick on his cheek and ask you looked to Natasha and Callie, to match Natasha's shade to Rooster's cheek and grinned. He thanked you.

“All the better for seeing you, Rooster. How's your night been?”

“I see these dorks day in and day out,” he reminded you biting back a gentle smirk as Phoenix punched his shoulder. “Hey,” he tutted her. “Don’t make my point so easily,” he muttered as you laughed. He frowned at you, squaring you up as you grew a little self-conscious under his gaze. “You have a little glitter,” he said softly, pressing his index finger into your cheek but it wouldn’t budge.

Relieved, you told him, “I’ll have a little glitter everywhere for the next month,” you grinned.

“Those glasses are ridiculous.”

“They are,” you wholeheartedly agreed. 

He chuckled quietly. “What kept you tonight?”

“She had a date,” Natasha supplied. Rooster raised an eyebrow.

“On New Year's. That seems pretty serious,” Rooster joked, his knee nudging yours.

You motioned him closer, cupping his ear and whispered, “How well do you think it went if I'm here with you guys now?”

He pointed at you and nodded. “Gotcha. Well, I'm glad - we're glad you're here.”

You grinned and pet his cheek, this sweet manchild. You put the celebratory glasses over his eyes to share the magic of never-ending glitter as well. 

“Gee thanks,” he sighed, already seeing speckles in his eye line.

“You’re welcome,” you grinned. “They look better on you but they’re no Caravans.” 

The usual suspects were there, Dagger Squad members who'd chosen to stay in town for the holidays. A while later were gossiping unabashed with Natasha and Callie on the couch, happily crammed up against Rooster to chat with the ladies, making wild accusations about Christmas Eve shenanigans at Penny's, and Callie getting a bit of action with a visiting Lieutenant. You had seen her flirting with them and gave a congratulatory high-five. The babe was hot.

“We had a few drinks and one thing led to another. It was just a kiss in the spirit of the season,” she tried to explain herself.

“'In the spirit of the season',” you said in unison with Natasha and it only made you cackle further, collapsing back against Rooster, who adjusted his posture to let you have more space.

“The professional levels have been crossed,” you giggled raucously. 

“Was just a bit of fun,” Callie shrugged, blushing.

“What about your date tonight?” Natasha turned her attention to you. “You didn’t seem keen on the guy. Surprised you didn’t cancel. Sounds like you’re MO,” she teased.

You shrugged. “I dunno what I was thinking. He was cute, funny, smart.”

“Sounds awful,” Callie snickered as Rooster hopped up behind you and let you fall back into his spot. You watched him leave the room, missing his body heat. 

“It just didn’t feel right, you know?”

“So no second date?”

“No second date,” you confirmed. “Is it next year yet?”

“Six minutes,” Natasha confirmed as she popped up with Rueben to start refilling cups and preparing for the ball to drop. Goodbye, 2022. No one will miss you. 

“Time for a bathroom break,” you told Callie as she nodded and you pulled yourself off the couch and went to the kitchen to refill your own cup with whiskey where you quietly toasted with Javy and Mickey. “Where’s the bathroom, Javy?” 

He nudged your side, pointing down the hallway. “Just through there.”

“Thanks,” leaving your cup, you wandered down the hallway and knocked. 

“Just a sec,” Rooster responded. 

“Sorry, no rush,” you reassured him.

“10, 9, 8,” you heard as you rolled your eyes. New Year’s Eve was such bullshit, you were confused why you had even bothered coming - there was only one real reason why. 

The door suddenly burst open and you sprung back, frightening you momentarily. Rooster grinned. “Sorry, you need to get in there?”

Hello reason.

“5, 4, 3...”

“Please,” you admitted as you traded places, each of you guiding the other with gentle caresses on the side. He looked towards the sound of the '2, 1', and in the spirit of the season, you laughed with each other, planting a tender kiss on the other's cheek. “Happy New Year, Rooster,” you smiled up at him, cupping his flushed cheek as he nodded and caught your eyes with his.

“Happy New Year,” he smiled fondly and as if it was the most natural thing, you both went in to kiss again. This time gently on the lips. You both laughed bashfully pulling a respectful distance away from each other. Rooster checked over his shoulder, the commotion in the living room undisturbing you both. 

Both grins faded when it seemed impossible to distract yourselves from the other's gaze and before you knew it, Rooster was pushing you into the bathroom and kicking the door closed behind him, hitching you onto the sink and kissing you manically. 

Rooster's hands bunched into your hips, dragging your body to his as you lost your fingers under his hideous Hawaiian shirt, pressing into the dimples on his lower back, moaning gently into the kiss. This wasn't something you had planned, and of course, you had two eyes, you could see how good-looking Rooster was, but he was your teammate, there was no way this was right to be doing in Javy’s bathroom. 

But kissing him was amazing. You relinquished his back and your hands travelled to his strong chest, resting your warm palms against his racing heart as he lightly bit your lip and pleaded for you to continue. Opening your mouth to him, this tongue glided against yours and you were completely lost to the kiss. You were at his will and though it scared you, it excited you more.

“Rooster,” you said against his mouth as he breathed and rested his forehead against yours.

“I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me,” he said.

“It's okay,” you told him, holding his chin in your hands, your finger tracing a side of his upper lip, his moustache soft. He was sinfully good looking, it wasn’t the worst thing that had happened tonight. 

“I shouldn't have done that here.”

“It's just a New Year's kiss,” you lied for both of you as he nodded, his eyes searching yours, looking for a hint that the kiss meant a damn sight more than fucking New Year.

“Do you believe that?” he dared ask and let his hands drift to your rib, his thumbs rubbing against the side of your tee, dangerously close to your bra.

You shook your head. “Not at all,” you admitted, an easy smile gracing your features and you tenderly traced his strong nose, both of you relaxing a little. 

“This is the first time we've done something like this in front of everyone,” he said to you quietly. “Well, around others.”

“No one saw us,” you reassured him. “It’s okay.”

“You think?”

“The professional levels have definitely been crossed,” you parroted what you'd teased Callie of earlier.

“They crossed months ago, sweetheart. The first time we slept together,” he gently reminded you, a wet smirk crossing his face. “Why were you on a date tonight?”

“Because you were on a date before Christmas,” you threw back at him. If you were only sleeping together, what did it matter?

“I don't want us dating anyone else except each other anymore,” he confided lowly. “I know the rules were only sex, but you know. I know. It's a lot more than that now.”

“You got feels,” you teased him as he chuckled quietly and shrugged.

“Something like that. I don’t want to date anyone else. I want to take you on dates and not leave your bed after we cum.”

“You’ve been sleeping over for weeks,” you reminded him and the feeling of waking up in Rooster’s strong arms enveloped you with warmth. 

“I don’t want to go sleep in a cold bed when I can stay with you,” he said softly, his hands lacing around your breasts, his thumb combing against your bra he wanted to rip off you, 

You nodded solemnly. For you, it was months ago when you realised how truly wonderful Rooster Bradshaw was and though sleeping together muddied the waters, you couldn't stay away from him.

He smoothed your hair behind your ear and sighed. “I really want this.”

“Me too. No more dates with others, no more fucking around.”

He nodded. “I’m all in,” he told you, kissing you again. “Can we get out of here?”

“Yeah, let’s go find where else the glitter has lodged itself,” you said as he laughed and kissed you deeply.

"A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x

#notroosterbradshaw #rooster #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster imagine #rooster fanfic #rooster fluff #rooster fic #bradley bradshaw fluff

[delimeful]

in sickness and in health (7)

warnings: arguing, fear/panic, lying, injury mention, gratuitous sarcasm, lmk if i missed any!

-

Virgil exchanged one quick, panicked glance with his attacker-turned-rescuer, and knew he was screwed.

Regardless of their sudden, deeply suspicious change of heart, there was no way this guy was going to stick around to get caught on behalf of a Monoxide borrower, former member or not.

And if they stayed, they would be caught. Virgil was already as good as in Roman’s hand, his escape interrupted at the worst possible moment. Perched at the top of the pitcher without a hook to grapple down with, he was essentially stranded above a bone-breaking drop.

The moment the other borrower bolted, Roman would be spurred into action, and Virgil would be right back in the pitcher where he’d started.

Maybe with a fellow captive, depending on how quick the borrower was.

… The concussed borrower. Right, so they were both screwed.

Heart racing, Virgil let the rope fall from his grip, keeping a steadying hand on the thin lip of the pitcher as he turned to wait for the human’s approach.

The human, who was still standing there, gesticulating wildly. Had he been talking at them this entire time?

“--realized they were suspiciously well-timed firecrackers, and you know what they always say about timing in my Theater 102 course–,” he continued, before abruptly cutting himself off. “Hey! Excuse you, I’m trying to have a conversation here!”

Virgil turned to see that the other borrower had simply started walking away. They glanced over at him briefly, their carefully faux-casual gait not even stuttering.

“Oh, no, do go on,” they drawled with an eye roll, like they were bickering with an annoying stranger in a colony instead of sassing a human. “I was so deeply entertained by your self-congratulatory monologue.”

Virgil held his breath, feeling slightly faint as he waited for violence to ensue.

Roman squinted at them for a long moment, and then smiled beatifically. “Why, thank you! It’s good to know someone around here appreciates my theatrical flair. Not everyone can pull off the flair required for such a thrilling aha moment, you know.”

“Mhmm,” the stranger agreed, sounding entirely insincere and yet somehow managing to prompt Roman into an entirely new tangent about dramatic reveals and cliffhangers. They met Virgil’s wide-eyed incredulous stare with an extremely smug look.

They weren’t actually walking away, he realized belatedly, but towards the bag Virgil had abandoned on the counter when they’d had their first unfortunate encounter.

His bag held all his recent borrowings, and more importantly, his hook, which was basically the only thing that could feasibly get him down from his current conundrum without endangering the other borrower further.

They weren’t leaving him. Like an insane person, they were actually trying to salvage the situation, and somehow, it was working.

“--believe that they cast me as an understudy for that chronic overactor, it’s practically criminal!” Roman continued.

“That’s not the only thing that’s criminal,” the stranger muttered, looking as though they’d heard this particular speech one too many times before.

“What was that?” Roman asked, and then seemed to process that they’d traversed a good chunk of countertop. “Wait, where are you going?”

He stepped forward slightly, craning his neck to see around the warped glass of the pitcher, and Virgil felt his grip on the glass grow tangibly sweaty. The stranger, crouched next to Virgil’s bag, paused mid-rummage.

“I’m merely trying to multitask,” they replied, blinking innocently. “I’d just love to sit here and listen to you go on and on all night, but I have my own pressing responsibilities to fulfill. Ones that you– or rather, mostly your twin, of course– have already complicated.”

“Responsibilities?” This earned them a dubious up-and-down glance. “Like… catching dewdrops in flower petals, or...?”

Virgil wondered if the human was nearsighted, to miss that vexed eyebrow twitch.

“Contrary to your entirely flattering assumptions,” they grit out, “I am actually here on much more pressing business. The life-or-death kind.”

“No way.” Intrigued, Roman shuffled closer, entirely drawn in by the mystery of it all. “I mean, we knew it was serious, with Patton ending up in the hospital and all, but it really wasn’t just an accident? We thought it had to be ghosts for sure, but if there’s fairy criminals– Are there fairy assassins?!”

Virgil felt his blood run cold, as though he’d just plunged through a sheet of too-thin ice and dropped into freezing waters. And yet even through the shock, the symbol branded on his arm had never felt more searing.

The stranger met his terrified gaze through their own burn scars. The two of them had been marked by the same hands, and both of them knew exactly how spot-on Roman’s guess really was.

The moment they told him what Virgil was, the moment they revealed the bloodstained legacy he’d been born into, it was over. Patton had fallen deathly ill, and a human-murdering cult member had been sneaking around in his walls. No matter how oblivious Roman could be, he was more than smart enough to connect the dots.

They might not be his humans, but Virgil had seen enough of the twins to know exactly how vicious they could be in defense of their friends.

He was as good as dead.

The stranger’s expression flattened out, and they looked away with a sharp jerk of their head.

“I wouldn’t know anything about that. I don’t specialize in assassins,” they lied, voice airy.

While Virgil attempted to remember how to breathe, Roman had uncapped a pen and was frantically scribbling shorthand notes on his arm, apparently vividly inspired by the implication that there were fairy assassins out there.

As casual as anything, the stranger tucked the metal curve of Virgil’s hook into the loop of his belt. His gaze was unreadable as it flitted over Virgil, but this time, it didn’t linger.

“Oh, oh, I’ve got it!” Roman announced. “You two are partners! The grizzled veteran and the bright-eyed rookie, a classic crime-solving set up!”

Virgil didn’t even want to know who had been assigned what role. The stranger seemed to be thinking along the same lines, spreading their hands disarmingly as they responded.

“Oh, so close!” they said, a hint of mockery in their smile. “Actually, the criminal that I’m bringing to justice… is your unwitting trespasser up there.”

With a suitably shocked gasp, Roman turned to stare at Virgil. The stranger also turned to stare at Virgil, but at a considerably slower pace, wearing the sort of malicious glee that one typically saw in a cartoon cat that had successfully caught the canary.

Oh, you lying snake.

The scornful words tangled up in his throat the moment the human’s heavy gaze landed on him, years of deeply-ingrained instincts keeping him entirely mute.

So instead, he lifted up his free hand and flipped them off with as much vitriol as he could feasibly work into a single gesture.

“See how the miscreant wounds me even now,” the stranger said, pressing the back of their hand against their head as though they might enter a swooning faint from the offense. “Clearly, a human as quick-witted as you can understand how important it is that I complete my task and make them pay for their crimes.”

Roman nodded emphatically, completely taken in. “That’s why you were helping them out of the pitcher! Not to help them escape, but to prevent them from escaping the firm hand of justice!”

“I knew you’d understand,” the stranger agreed pleasantly, taking a few steps towards Virgil and his makeshift glass prison. “In that case, if you’ll just stand aside while I retrieve the culprit in question…”

“Oh, of course!” Roman replied, and then cast a considering look at where Virgil was dangling. “Actually, since it’s our fault— really, more Remus’s— that you have to go to the trouble in the first place, let me just—,”

“There’s no need for that, truly,” the stranger tried to cut in, clearly having caught on faster than Virgil. Their words were rushed, but still not fast enough to prevent Roman from reaching out and plucking Virgil off the edge of the pitcher, easy as anything.

Easy for Roman, anyways. Personally, being abruptly lifted into the air by a hand bigger than him was causing some difficulties for Virgil.

Mostly the fact that if this kept up, the heart palpitations were going to take him out before the humans or murderous victim of his former cult could.

“There we are,” Roman announced grandly, holding Virgil slightly aloft in front of the stranger in offering, like he’d grabbed them a tissue instead of an entire living person.

Virgil made eye contact with the other borrower, who looked mildly chagrined, and then gave in to the feral raccoon that lived in the back of his mind and twisted around to bite the human.

“Jiminy fucking Christmas,” Roman swore, immediately dropping Virgil as though burnt. “You bit me!”

Virgil made a sound like a deflating air mattress as he hit the ground backfirst, the impact knocking the wind out of him.

“Did you see that? They bit me!”

He ignored the sting of rapidly-forming bruises to roll to his hands and knees, his breathing coming in wheezing stops and starts as he tried to refill his lungs. There were borrower-sized steps approaching, and Virgil snapped his head up to glare furiously at the stranger. “Don’t.”

They stopped short, holding their hands up in a mockery of nonaggression.

“I can’t believe you bit me, and not Remus!” Roman had never sounded more offended.

Right. That was a cue to leave if Virgil had ever heard one.

He got to his feet, attention already locked onto the nearest wall entrance, and staggered the first few steps forward before a hand latched onto his wrist.

“Stop right there,” the stranger said, the words demanding but the tone of voice closer to a warning. “You’re not going anywhere like that.”

Virgil was tempted to take a swing at the guy, since apparently the first concussion hadn’t knocked enough common sense back into their head. He yanked his arm away with a scowl, but then froze mid-motion at a flicker of movement overhead.

“Don’t try me.” Roman had overcome his affronted shock long enough to move a hand to hover ominously over Virgil, clearly prepared to intercede if he tried to make a run for it. “Remus has brought over seventeen feral rats into our home, I am extremely well-trained in grabbing without getting bitten.”

“How convenient for me,” the stranger said, their gaze fixed squarely on Virgil. “If you would turn around? I obviously can’t take you back until you’re properly secured, and it’ll make things easier on all of us if you just play along.”

Virgil glared back in silence for a long moment.

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand their scheme. It was an insanely risky ploy that required extensive knowledge of the human in question, but the end goal was clearly to get the both of them back into the walls and safely out of human hands.

It was just that the last time he’d turned his back on this particular borrower, they’d literally attempted to run him through. Virgil found he wasn’t too keen on putting his undefended back to a guy who had tried to test out the structural integrity of his internal organs less than thirty minutes ago.

Unfortunately, the alternative was testing the structural integrity of his internal organs against a human who had dropped him less than thirty seconds ago.

Virgil turned around, his entire body drawn taut with tension, and let the stranger wrap some twine around his wrists in an ineffective parody of handcuffs.

“Perfect,” the stranger said, nudging at Virgil’s heels until he got the hint and started their trek towards the wall. “And now, thanks to your gracious interference, our villain can be tried for their crimes in front of a judge with the appropriate legal representation. The system is unimpeachable, the punishment will fit the crime, good triumphs over evil once more, et cetera.”

“‘Et cetera’?” Virgil muttered incredulously.

“You shut up,” the stranger whispered back.

“You know, when I heard about fairy courts, I was kind of envisioning something entirely different,” Roman mused, before visibly refocusing. “Wait wait wait, you can’t just leave! You haven’t even revealed the dastardly crime, or how they almost got away with it, or how you figured them out!”

“Oh, I really can’t delay. Fairy court is just so very time-sensitive, I’m afraid,” the stranger lied without hesitation, continuing to march Virgil forward as smoothly as possible. “I’ll have to return to tell you all about it later– of course, you’ll have to keep this little encounter to yourself. We aren’t typically supposed to disclose such sensitive information to anyone, let alone humans, but I’ve found myself irresistibly charmed by your moxie.”

“Aw, you’re just saying that!” Roman flapped a hand in faux-modesty, and then gasped. “Was I the bright-eyed rookie all along?”

Before the stranger could answer, Remus slid into the kitchen on socked feet, with so much momentum that he slammed against the counter. The painful thud of torso meeting marble did absolutely nothing to deter the grin on his face.

“Okay, bad news, I totally biffed my half of the divide-and-conquer plan. Good news, the other little guy is cool as hell and I’m calling dibs on hanging out with that one in advance,” he announced, and then visibly focused on the two borrowers in front of him. “Woah, what did I just walk in on?”

“You can’t call dibs in advance,” Roman instantly retorted, and then smacked Remus’s shoulder. “Stop being gross, the handcuffs are because they’re being taken away to fairy jail. After facing a trial required by fairy due process, I guess.”

The stranger’s grip on Virgil’s arm tightened, and they sped up their pace for the first time since Roman had entered the room. Virgil would feel more reassured if they weren’t still moving at a very ‘definitely-concussed’ sort of rate.

“I leave for five minutes, and you hand our puny poltergeist over to the cops?” Remus demanded, stretching his arm forward to block their way. “Ro-bro, it’s like you want me to disown you.”

“I would so disown you first, and you know it,” Roman hissed back. “Besides, they’re not a cop, they’re like, the fairy version of a hardboiled detective!”

“I don’t care how gay the detective is, that still counts as a cop!”

Unable to progress past Remus’s flesh barricade, Virgil glanced back at the stranger; they were pinching the bridge of their nose with visible irritation.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“Like what?” they snapped back, voice equally quiet. “Anything I would say to fool Roman, Remus will rebuff! Anything I would say to convince Remus, Roman will reject! There’s no winning with these two!”

“Oh, great, so we really are screwed,” Virgil bit out.

“Not necessarily,” the stranger replied, unconvincingly. “They’re still distractible by nature. If we contribute to the argument, rile them up–,”

“‘Rile them up’?!” Virgil twisted around further so they could get the full effect of his disbelieving expression. “That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard. That’s insane. You’re insane. We’re going to die.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I suppose you preferred being stuck in the pitcher?” they retorted sharply. “Far be it from me to inconvenience the cultist who fractured my skull!”

“I’m not– You tried to stab me first!”

Whatever they said next was entirely drowned out by the twins, who had escalated their own fight into near-shouting territory. Virgil was only catching every other word, but it sounded like they were yelling about a completely unrelated topic.

Every time Remus responded, his arm lifted slightly further off the counter, like he was only barely resisting the urge to put his brother in a headlock. Virgil locked onto the movement, a spike of anticipation filling him.

“Shut up, shut up,” he interrupted the stranger, ignoring their irritated scowl. “Look!”

The moment they noticed the potential escape route, their displeasure instantly fell away in favor of smugness. “See? I told you they were distractible. My plans always work out perfectly.”

The kitchen light flicked on and off a few times, startling the twins into silence and drawing every eye to the figure standing in the doorway.

“Hey, kiddos,” Patton said, rubbing a hand sleepily over his face. “It’s called a sleepover, not a shoutover. What’s going on?”

Stranded out in the open with three humans looming over them, the stranger endured Virgil’s scathing look with a pained grimace.

“Alright, fine. We’re screwed.”

#sanders sides fic #sanders sides g/t #ts janus #ts virgil #ts roman #ts remus #ts patton #isaih #in sickness and in health #my writing #writing #g/t

[thelastunicornflipouts]

Even if plot-wise - and logically speaking - the transformation was the only viable option for the group to move forward into the story, it still is an incredibly anguishing moment for the unicorn/Amalthea. She is understandably dreading her new form and her now impending mortality, which she feels and fears. Schmendrick however acts weirdly dismissive, defensive, almost annoyed when Molly and Amalthea express their horror at what he has done. He is boasting about having done true magic, while stating at the same time that he had no control over it. In the book, he tries to offer Amalthea his point of view as a mortal turned immortal, as if he is trying to condone what he has done masking it as a sort of favour.

Upon my first reading, it flew over my head. Book-Schmendrick is more mean-spirited than his movie counterpart (justifyably so, since keeping the same personality for movie-Schmendrick without book-Schmendrick's backstory would have made him an unapologetic jerk) but his reactions and his excuses did sound a bit off. Further readings and reflecting between the lines made me think that Schmendrick (at least book-Schmendrick) is essentially trying to normalize trauma.

He has done to the unicorn - in reverse - what Nikos has done to him. Schmendrick was a mortal man who had been turned immortal. The unicorn has previously expressed her contempt to the story of Nikos turning another unicorn into a mortal man, stating that he might as well have trapped the creature into a burning building. Still, what Nikos did to Schmendrick, as well-meaning it could have been, was no better at all. Aside from being an incompetent immortal, trying and failing endlessly, Schmendrick has zero chances for connections and relationships. If he is doomed to stay immortal, he is doomed to be alone, to see people around him grow old and die while he remains a bumbling young man forever. Just as the unicorn is not supposed to be mortal, Schmendrick was not supposed to be immortal.

When he tells Amalthea his story, he is curt and to the point, telling Nikos' speech word for word. His dry way of talking contrast with the visceral response of Amalthea. From "Schmendrick Alone", the novellette about Schmendrick leaving Nikos to begin his solo journey, the reader learns that Schmendrick seems to not be right away aware of his curse. Unlike the unicorn, his must have been a slow, painful realization and hell knows what he must have felt when he has fully understood its implications.

After his self-congratulatory speech, Schmendrick shows signs that he, on an emotional level, has grasped how much he has fucked up. Still he refuses to admit so. Acknowledging it entails acknowledging how Nikos has fucked up, how his master has screwed his life under the pretension of giving Schmendrick the possibility to come into his full power. That is not feasible for Schmendrick, so he comes up with excuses, justifying his act with good intentions. Most interestingly, he shifts responsibility on magic itself, claiming he has not control over it. I don't know how magic exactly works in TLU universe, but it seems to have ties with the subconscious of those who employ it. Schmendrick had no control when Nikos cursed him, now he is in control by lacking control. Sounds weird? Then why, of every creature possible - and Schmendrick himself quips about it in the book - was the unicorn turned into a mortal woman?

Schmendrick's arc in the story does not end when he comes into his full power, but when he acknowledges what he has done to the unicorn, expressing his regret and taking full accountability. Schmendrick's apology to the unicorn is the moment were the trauma-cycle is broken. He has come to terms with his own traumatic event, has accepted it, and is aware that he cannot do anything about it. He - and the unicorn - can only move forward; they are now again what they were meant to be, with additional awareness and knowledge.

#the last unicorn #schmendrick #the unicorn #lady amalthea #trauma response #normalizing trauma #psychology and the last unicorn #I have been cursed and I turned out fine #No Schmen you're traumatized and you're traumatizing others #tlu #tlu analysis #breaking the trauma cycle #I love how subtle it is

[daenerysstormreborn]

@cleverelaena88 hi I was the anon in the post this is from. I wanted to start a new thread instead of clogging the notes of someone else’s post. I wrote up an essay explaining it under the cut if you’re interested but it boils down to this:

1. I started thinking for myself about her place in the narrative.

2. I let go of petty feelings coming from my wounded inner child.

3. I realized I could continue to think for myself and that liking this characters doesn’t mean I’m aligning myself with objectionable things other fans of the character have said.

The way I feel about Sansa changed for a lot of reasons. I walked back on my stance that she isn’t important because I realized I wasn’t really thinking for myself and was just going along with the things often said by other fans of my favorite characters. If I remember correctly, she has as many POV chapters as Bran. The Vale plot is important to the story and it’s clearly not just relevant to Littlefinger or else… why would Sansa be involved? She didn’t need to be a POV character for the story to work but she is because she’s important. If Sansa was just supposed to be a “camera” to show the viewer what’s happening in KL and later the Vale, why did start off as a POV character in places where other POV characters were as well? She’s the only POV character in the Vale in AFfC, but if that was her only importance, why was she a POV character prior to going to the Vale?

Currently, she does feel pretty “cut off” from the main plot threads—the IT, the Others, and the dragons. At least where I’m at, halfway through AFfC. And I think that’s what makes some people think she isn’t important. But I kind of thing that’s evidence that she IS. She’s away from all of these major plot elements and is not in close proximity to other POV characters who are involved in these three elements, unlike characters like Arya, who are technically disconnected from those three elements, but are in close proximity to other POV characters (i.e., Arya encounters Sam in Braavos). Given that, why on earth would George continue to feature her POV if her story specifically was not important?

As for why she’s become one of my favorites, that’s a bit different. This is a bit personal, so forgive me for it, but I think it’s interesting insight. I had to get past this wounded inner child aspect of myself, for one. I was an ugly duckling. I grew up being mocked for being a chubby, socially awkward kid with a snaggle tooth and a lisp. I internalized the idea very early that in order to be loved and socially accepted, I must be beautiful. I have auburn hair and amber eyes. I also received this message that to be beautiful, I should be blonde and more importantly have blue/green eyes. Seeing how just about every example of beautiful women in media were blonde with light eyes, and how the vast majority of female protagonists were beautiful, I developed quite the complex about this. It started sending a message to me that these stories were not for me. The romance, the fantasy, everything these characters got was not and never would be for me because I wasn’t beautiful like them. I resented any female protagonist for which their beauty was a huge focal point because of a deep envy. I wished more than anything to be beautiful. Every birthday, every star, every dandelion. What I really wanted was love and social acceptance, but I was too young to understand that.

Then something weird happened as I grew up. I became beautiful. I don’t want to sound vain or self-congratulatory, but it’s relevant here. The vast majority of people now consider me to be extremely good-looking. This started around age 16. I got what I wished for. People started treating me differently. I got what I wished for. And it sucked. I’ll get back to that. But I did and still do feel like that little ugly duckling. I’m slowly healing, but it’s hard. I still felt this deep resentment and envy. It is starting to go away but comes up now and again. And as petty as it sounds, yes, part of me resented this character for being beautiful. Of course, I think every single female POV character is called pretty or beautiful aside from Brienne. Daenerys and Cersei are also considered to be extremely beautiful, but it’s not as relevant to Dany because the whole dragon thing takes more precedence and Cersei’s envy and vindictiveness are more prominent me (plus she’s an overt antagonist, and I don’t mind so much when the character is one of the bad guys, for some reason). But for Sansa, her beauty and grace seem to be major focal points in how other characters see her.

I said before that becoming beautiful sucked. I resented everyone around me for treating me differently because I was beautiful. And I realized that it does NOT offer me the guaranteed acceptance and love and safety that I believed it would as a child. Men will behave in different evil ways to both ugly and beautiful women. Being beautiful started to feel like this curse. It became a performance that I have to maintain because deep down I fear that beauty is all I have and/or that it’s the only reason anyone really values me. I developed an eating disorder about it. I got exactly what I wished for but not what I wanted.

Here’s how that’s relevant. I started drawing parallels and antiparallels between Sansa and Dany. I think it’s very interesting to compare the two but I seldom see that discussed unless it’s to pit them against one another. As I started to make these parallels I realized that many of the reasons I connect with Dany also apply to Sansa and started doing some self-analysis about why I didn’t connect with Sansa in the same way. I started to sort out the whole wounded inner child thing and realized it had been preventing me from acknowledging and appreciating any depth in Sansa’s character and really feeling for her. I realized that she too wished for something so very badly when she was a naive kid. Something she thought she wanted desperately. And she got it, and it was horrible. I found that I can now really emotionally connect with this character. Perhaps she too fears that her beauty and grace are the only reasons people like her. And I can definitely relate to the feeling of being sexualized and objectified by adults and peers alike. I know how it feels to have to smile and nod and lie to appease poisonous men. I really can connect with her emotionally in ways I couldn’t before because of my own personal hangups.

Finally, I just stopped caring about what other fans think. I have seen Sansa fans saying things I find objectionable, like proclaiming that Daenerys and Arya’s arcs are patriarchal or excusing the way Sansa treated Arya (although I don’t think their relationship is as cut and dry as “they simply don’t love eachother”). Plus there’s just a lot of infighting between Sansa fans and Dany and Arya fans and it made me keep my distance. I also am not a Jonsa fan and it seems many Sansa fans are in fact Jonsa fans. I used to hate the ship but was just being immature honestly. I’m neutral now and I think it’s interesting to read Jonsa metas because they present an entirely different way to interpret the story. It is fun for me to see what other people take away from the text. I was also holding myself back because I’ve seen Jonsas misconstrue the text and omit parts of passages and important context in ways that seem intentionally misleading, which really bothers me. But I realized I’m biased. We all have our own confirmation biases when reading the series and I’m sure other fans do the exact same thing. I was just noticing it more with Jonsa because it’s not a theory I subscribe to. But enjoying Sansa’s character does not mean I need to align myself with every single other Sansa fan, which seems obvious when said so plainly, but we often subconsciously develop this sense of group microidentities that we fear betraying.

This is all very specific to me as an individual of course but I had fun with all the introspection and think it’s an interesting case study about why a person may resent a specific character and why they might change their minds. Thanks for reading!

#sansa stark #asoiaf #asoiaf fandom

[shineemoon]

The best K-pop tracks of 2022 (by Dazed)

25. ONEW, “DICE “Dice” sounds expensive at all times; the elasticity of the bass is the dream foil to Onew’s inimitable vocals, with a chorus that swims on a current of 80s synths. It gives one of K-pop’s 2nd-gen OG’s a chance to flex his diverse personal taste, and he does so with sheer class.

10. KEY, “GASOLINE” The video’s costuming alone deserves an award; it’s so aligned to Key that everything, from the crucifix-stamped cumberbund to the gold, embellished suit, is a second skin rather than simply worn. Key’s solo career has come to follow the same ideology: Make songs that fit his true nature rather than garner public approval. “Gasoline” opens as a brassy, self-congratulatory affair but narcissism it is not. It’s born from defiance, of beating the odds and the pernickety judgement of the masses. “It’s not about the trophy, I’m just driving on my own,” he sings, later adding, “These threats fuel my evolution”. He’s holding true to that promise, carefully curating his aesthetic and sound to a point where he’s made himself a new world and we’re just living in it.

Source: dazeddigital

#SHINee #onew #key #lee jinki #kim kibum #DICE #gasoline

[pyrrhiccomedy]

ooo I love a Heretic lore drop! loving Bastian’s very christian take on the Hours situation, I’m assuming the order of angels the Sun In Rags fucked up became to literal devils from the bible. Question tho! The name Pyre-Hawk has come up before but they’ve never really gotten a lore post or any idea of what their vibe is. It sounds like a metaphysical orgy but what is their deal?

I love the Pyre-Hawk. He/she/it (gender-wise it is truly one of the 'anything goes' great powers; pick whatever pronoun you prefer. It presents itself as a 30-storey high flaming bird that is 100% always having the most fantastic time imaginable) is so not Bastian's vibe so he hasn't fucked with it much, but of all the Hours, it is unquestionably the most fun at parties. (Bastian's birthday party energy is just rotten.)

Orgiastic? Potentially. There is nothing inherently carnal about the Pyre-Hawk's exquisite energies, but you absolutely will see Pyre-Hawk cultists get carried away and fall into wild bacchanalia. But that's because getting carried away is what the Pyre-Hawk is all about! The Pyre-Hawk attracts worshippers who believes that experiencing the divine should be an overwhelming experience of liberation and joy. Dance! Sing! Scream! Speak in tongues! Throw yourself around the room! Make love! Handle snakes! See visions of a great light so radiant and compelling that the purest, truest expression of your soul is to throw yourself into it and become a part of it! Embrace abandon and love, throw aside ego and restraint! To approach the divine is to hurl yourself, ecstatically and with full consent, into self-annihilation! Drink from the cup of fire, drain it down to the dregs, and be free!

Many religions have ecstatic traditions, and Pyre-Hawk veneration can be found in nearly all of them. As 'a great burning winged figure that appears suddenly in the sky and fills everyone who sees it with stunning and forceful joy,' appearances of the Pyre-Hawk in the Christian West are almost always interpreted as visions of the Holy Spirit, or some congratulatory angel.

Bastian believes the Pyre-Hawk is the mantle of the Sun-in-Glory itself; the radiance of Lucifer, separated from Him in the fall. Outside of his little conclave of Emperor-Wolf venerators, no one really knows what the Pyre-Hawk is, or where it came from. It sits the Sixth Throne, on the shore of Candle Lake, which used to belong to the Wakefire, before the Vigilant Hour was slain by the Rending during the War of Intercalation. One day, without any warning whatsoever, the Pyre-Hawk erupted from the lake in all its burning radiance, flew straight to the empty Throne, and began binding it to itself.

Ordinarily some wholly unknown power laying claim to a vacant Throne might meet with some opposition, or at least interrogation; but the Pyre-Hawk was such a completely excellent vibe that pretty much the entire rest of the Calendar decided that this was a best-case scenario, and let it happen uncontested. The one reservation to be had about the Pyre-Hawk's ascension is that this immaculate bird appears to have no interest in maintaining the Wakefire's watch over the Emperor-Wolf's prison (also on Candle Lake). The Pyre-Hawk is not a cop, and has no use for cops, or even the concepts of 'crime' and 'punishment.'

The Pyre-Hawk can be petitioned through Lamp (vision, luck, foresight, knowledge, madness and insight) and Flame (the supremacy of personal will, the refusal to be limited, creative impulse, & the desire to seize the right to reshape the world).

#heretic #Hours Bastian will never petition because his vibes are way too rank #dice matters

[pixyys]

— i'll be counting on that

context. chuuya x lawyer! reader - pt. 2

the mafia executive helps you with some wine picking.

warnings/ notes. you're basically ada's legal advisor with an ability to read minds; chuuya cursing.

"say, i know this is a random question," you try to even your voice. desperate to break the awkward tension. "but have you ever considered marrying—if circumstances allow, of course."

"the hell are you talking about?"

right. how did you get into this situation, again?

just this morning, your computer lighted up, a mail from a former client of yours was displayed on the screen. it was one of the older clients whose case you successfully handled during your days at your old firm. maybe you are just too good at your job, or maybe she's just too nice that she regards you as a close friend.

your client, a middle aged woman, apparently just remarried and she invited you to her wedding ceremony, all the way to tokyo, which is far away from yokohama, which is also why it is impossible for you to attend.

so you figured, 'at least i should send a wedding gift with some congratulatory card!' and you wound up in one of the best quality wine stores the city offers. it's just that the individual you stumbled upon is not one you exactly anticipated.

"no, sorry—" you choke on your own words. "i didn't mean any harm! wait- you wouldn't dare try anything funny. this store have security cameras!"

not that some security cameras can stop a mafia executive from absolutely decimating your non-combatant, armed detective agency-affiliated self.

"i'm on my day off," the man shrugs. "don't give a shit about who you are. i'm just here for the wine."

nakahara chuuya, a fearsome mafioso executive. part of the port mafia and by extent, should be your worst nemesis. but a day off he said? that was an extremely good news.

"so," the hatted mafioso turns to the aisles of liquors. "what's with the wedding thing?"

"oh, right. you know a lot about alcohol right?" and probably guns and rifles and murder since you're part of the shady mafia guys.

you shake your head, reeling yourself out from uneccessary prejudices. "i was wondering what kind of wine would you choose- if you'll have a wedding ceremony, someday."

"you getting married or something?"

a heavy, tired breath resounds in the room. right, if only. at this age, not seldom did some friends or clients bring up the topic of marriage. but it's not like you have someone in mind, or that the danger of your current job allows you to.

"someone i know invited me to their ceremony," you raise your shoulders. "i can't attend, so i figure sending her a gift instead."

"so, out of everything, you settled with a bottle of wine?"

well, yes. but it's just that wine came to your mind after one of your peculiar coworkers mentioned suicide by alcohol poisoning. but you won't tell anyone that.

"i don't know," you groan, "should i just settle with scented candles? but that sounds too easy. a kitchen set?"

"that's lame," remarks the alcohol enthusiast, languidly skimmming over the racks of dark colored glass bottles. "you'll be better off with some wine."

"right? though i don't know which; too cheap and i'll be inconsiderate, too expensive and i'll be broke."

it's a wonder how you two eased up with each other so seamlessly.

by all means, you two have met before; as a member of the armed detective agency and as one of the executives of the port mafia. it wasn't exactly.. civil. but the way you've been casually chatting like old friends thus far makes you wonder if you two would make great acquaintances should the circumstances differ.

"are you kidding me?" you give the hatted man an incredulous stare. "her husband is crazy rich! give her this and i might as well buy her some towels or plastic bowls!"

"'are you kidding me' my ass," chuuya sends back the mild ire. "who's been prattling and worrying about putting some hole in their wallet?"

"ehem," a polite cough is heard in the room. with the shop being relatively empty, the sound travels clear and crisp through the otherwise quiet atmosphere.

though you and chuuya weren't exactly being quiet.

"may i help you, esteemed patrons?" the shopkeeper's voice rings a deep baritone. he is an elderly gentleman who exudes the aura of an aged profesional in their work—like the manager of cafe uzumaki.

"ah, yes. we were wondering about a suitable kind of wine for a wedding occasion."

"ah, a wedding occasion," the man says, almost fondly. "my most sincere felicitations. may i ask your preferences? what kind of wine do you have in mind? will there be a set of particular dishes to be paired with it?

"uh," you look around, frantically trying to remember the miscellaneous options chuuya iterated. "how about that one?" you gesture to the one you vaguely remember as one of the man's favorite. it is labeled fancily as '2000 petrus.'

"most excellent choice. that is one of the best we have-

"a bordeaux should age well," your companion suddenly cuts him off, his eyes nonchalantly flitting from one line of liquor to another. "do you have any sauvignon blanc? it doesn't have to be too vintage. they'll have one bottle." he gestures to you.

the shopkeeper, despite a bit rattled and slightly surprised by chuuya's sudden decision, simply offers a nod and told you to wait for a moment while he gets your product.

you two, once again, are left with silence. standing idly between mountainous amount of neatly displayed bottles of alcohol.

"something that ages well," you mumble quietly, "and not too vintage. it's less expensive and they can save it and open it later for anniversaries, you're a genius."

the wine connoisseur you newly acknowledge hums. his arms are crossed in front of his chest, masking his proud huff.

"of course. so you're actually not that dumb, or are you reading my mind-"

"anywho!" you chuckle nervously, skirting around the topic as you watch the the polite shopkeeper disappear among the many aisles, "is it just me, or did that person think we're the ones getting married?"

"the hell you're looking at me for?" chuuya bristles at you. "you're the one who like to word things weirdly."

well, true.

the next few seconds is filled with an awkward pause. you would love to coolly gaze over the expensive looking bottles and start some cultured discussion. but alas, you were no wine connoisseur.

so a quip came out before you can stop it.

"it'll be pretty funny if we did though."

you imagine the fearsome mafioso, suddenly pampered to the hilt and clad in a white suit and flowery ornaments. maybe the wedding stylist will ask him to wear heeled shoes. because what if there's an unexpected height gap? what if the part where the newlyweds are allowed to kiss look pretty funny?-

"AH!" a voice breaks you out of your trance, along with it ushering away your unconscious grin. "YOU'RE MAKING FUN OF MY HEIGHT, AREN'T YOU?" chuuya shouts in a barely concealed outburst . maybe it's true that small things can fit more rage in it.

"..no, i'm not."

"YOU DID, DIDN'T YOU? YOU-"

"okay, okay, alright," you try to placate him. afraid the kind shopkeeper might catch you both, again, and finally throw you out of the shop -or at least develop a bad impression on you.

"how about this," you grab one of the fancy looking wines you pointed before. "i didn't mean any offense, i swear. but just in case, how about i get you this?" you gesture to the 'petrus' label from before.

"oh?" the hatted man raises a brow, "trying to bribe me now?"

"it's not like i'm bribing you for intel, geez." you cradle the bottle between your arms. "besides, i kind of owe you for helping me. it's shouldn't be that expensive, right?"

you shift your feet, idly skimming the label of the bottle.

..right?

"right," chuuya casually takes two of the bottle, then briskly, smugly, if you reallly payed attention, goes to the cashier section. "its not that expensive."

damn. must be nice to be filthy, nasty rich.

chuuya briefly turns to your form, observing your creased eyebrows and almost constipated expression.

"you're pretty interesting!" he guffaws, reaching the counter and almost slamming the precious, expensive bottles in front of the poor cashier staff. "might as well invite you for a drink-"

"you received a new message!"

your phone rings out. just in time as the shopkeeper comes back with your sauvignon blanc.

"-but as we know," chuuya points his chin towards your pocket. "we're both busy. so that's impossible."

it's true that you're a bit busy, actually very busy, and not in your day off. unlike the mafia executive. but it's not like you really want to know only god knows what mafia executives do in their day off. so you focus on the many pages of the agency's legal documents miss haruno just emailed you to check on later.

"well, i'm the one who still owe you.." you trail off, eyes still on your screen. "maybe the next time we meet -hopefully when we're not trying to kill each other."

you doubt that, and something tells you chuuya does too. but he didn't offer anything but a loose smirtle.

"i'll be counting on that."

note. yeah, so.. chuuya. i can't resist, everyone in bsd is very pretty, and I ABSOLUTELY HAVE NO IDEA ABOUT WINES AND LIQUORS LMAO hope i did well. feel free to correct me if you notice anything off!

by the way 2000 petrus is a ridiculously expensive wine. the 1989 petrus one was what chuuya opened when dazai defected, which is also ridiculously expensive.

bordeaux is a type of wine ideal for an anniversary wine because it ages well. (source). sauvignon blanc is a white wine and is one example of a bordeaux.

#[bungou stray dogs] #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #chuuya x reader #nakahara chuuya x reader #nakahara chuuya

[csuitebitches]

Girl Code Rules

Sometimes I’m shocked when I go to a party and I see a girl alone in the bathroom, throwing up, with not a single friend in sight. Some of you guys need to learn what being a good friend means. Having emotionally stable, healthy friendships is important. You can’t just demand that unless you offer the same back.

1. Don’t fuck your friend’s ex.

That should be self explanatory but unless your friend themselves have given you the green light, don’t do it. And I still would say, don’t do it either way. Sharing bodies in my opinion is quite weird.

2. Make sure your friends are home safe.

If your friend hasn’t replied back to your message, call them to make sure they they’re safe and sound.

3. Be honest.

If you think your friend’s outfit could be better or if you feel that they are making a bad decision, you can inform them while also being kind. You don’t have to lash out at them rudely. Don’t be afraid of sharing your genuine opinion, you have a right to it. However, there’s a way of saying things and you can deliver the same meaning with different words.

4. Be there for them.

If your friend can’t handle too much alcohol, make sure they don’t drink too much.

Sometimes being there doesn’t just mean giving your advice. There are times when we know better but we just want to rant it out. I always ask my friends, do you want me to hear you out or do you want my advice?

5. Boundaries.

You’re allowed to have boundaries and you’re allowed to exercise them. If your friend has been going through a tough situation but you don’t have the emotional capacity to deal with it, tell your friend honestly what the situation is. “Hi, let me read this in a bit and get back to you” is better than not replying.

6. Check in with your friends

I used to suck at staying in touch with my friends when I left for uni. So I made a list of the friends I genuinely cared about and wanted to support. I would set reminders every weekend to check in on a different friend. That system worked out pretty well.

7. Support your friends!

If someone has started a small business, just had a baby, or is starting a new chapter in their life - celebrate their wins! It doesn’t mean that financially you go all out. But something as small as a congratulatory or promotional post, a sweet message, a video call; being there for your people is so important.

8. Don’t get defensive

When people tell us what we are doing wrong or if we made a mistake, we often get defensive.

“I didn’t do that!”

“That’s not what I meant!”

We cut off the other person and try to justify ourselves.

Try not doing that. Let the other person speak and tell you if you hurt them or made them feel bad in any way. The most difficult part is staying quiet and just listening, but this is what makes or breaks any relationship. Allow the other person to get it off their chest - confrontation isn’t easy and can often make people anxious.

#c suite #powerful woman #ceo aesthetic #personal growth #that girl #productivity #strong women #getting your life together #feminine energy #balance #friends #Making friends #being friends #better friends #how to be a good friend #popular #how to be popular #frienship

[football-in-tuxedos]

I dunno if I can explain this without sounding like a killjoy, but something about the "Humans are the space orcs" style of post just...irritates me. I dunno, it might just be the writer in me finding them incredibly dull and self congratulatory.

Like, is your imagination so limited that you have to not only make humans indescribably special in the galaxy, but also make every other alien race so dull that they're terrified of us?

[olderthannetfic]

Practical fandom advice question for you.

How do you/your followers deal with it when you write something that the antis seem to like? They keep following and interacting with my (rather loudly "censorship and fascism are bad and fiction is okay actually") fic blog and reblogging my stuff. It's in my bio and title that I'm anticensorhip, I reblog from other anticensorship people, I have my Fandom Philosophy in a carrd just like the antis do, I've written and bookmarked Problematic Filth...and they're still there, popping up infrequently enough to slip my mind between instances, but with enough regularity to be a pattern that's making me twitch.

I block the particularly noxious ones, but I'm still getting really tense about proliferating as a rec in those circles, because hahaha they're not going to be happy when I finally resolve some of the fifty bazillion plot threads I've been foreshadowing and also, more importantly, I don't want to reward awful behavior! It's nice that you liked the toy I made, but if you're going to use it to beat the other children, you can't play with it anymore!

I think they like my stuff because I write flangst with unreliable narrators who are young and prone to flattening issues of morality into simple b&w equations, which might, uh, resonate. I'm building to this being a BAD thing (and have been building for years at this point), but my points of view have no way of knowing that because they're not there yet maturity-wise, and it's taking me a while to get there for unrelated reasons and I don't know how to make it any clearer to these people that I AM THE THE THING THEY HATE SO MUCH.

I honestly debated sending this anonymously because it kinda sounds self-congratulatory to me, and I really don't want to come off like "boo hoo I'm popular" (especially since the idea of being fandom popular gives me hives). The thing is, I think the rrverse fandom in particular skews anti, and our antis can be extremely vicious, as evidenced by that flurry of anons you got a while back from people terrified of going off anon for fear of attracting the hordes. I ultimately decided I'd be contributing to the overall hostility if I went anon just because I was worried about my tone being misread on the How Dare You Say We Piss On The Poor website, lol.

Thank you for all you contribute to building a fannish community I'm proud to put my name behind!

--

Honestly, I'd probably just carry on as usual but be prepared to block a whole lot of people once the plot finally goes somewhere they don't like.

[south-of-heaven]

Whoever you want from your masterlist (women) x fem reader

Whoever you chose and reader start getting a bit touchy if you know what I mean and then someone knocks on the door to where they are or just like walks in so they quickly jump apart and reader is really embarrassed and whoever you chose finds it adorable and  hilarious or whtever

Forgotten locks || Lita x Reader

Summary: Lita pulls you into her locker room to celebrate a big win. She's so busy kissing you that she forgets to lock the door. You're surprised to say the least when Rey Mysterio and Eddie Guerrero walk in.

You feel a rush of excitement as Lita pulls you into her locker room. The adrenaline from her big win is still coursing through both of you, and the celebratory atmosphere is palpable. With a mischievous grin, she backs you against a row of lockers, her confidence radiating as she leans in for a heated kiss.

Her lips meet yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. The taste of victory is on her lips, mixed with a hint of something distinctly Lita. She takes control of the kiss, her hands tangling in your hair, and you can't help but melt into her touch. Every kiss is a testament to her dominance, and you gladly surrender to the moment.

Just as the heat between you two reaches its peak, the sound of the door creaking open catches your attention. Panic seizes you as you break the kiss, your eyes widening as you realize that the door isn't locked. In walks Rey Mysterio and Eddie Guerrero, their voices full of congratulations and cheer.

Your face flames with embarrassment as you take in the amused expressions on their faces. You and Lita quickly spring apart, your heart racing. Lita, however, seems unfazed by the unexpected interruption. Her confidence remains unwavering as she exchanges teasing remarks with Rey and Eddie.

You're mortified, struggling to find your words as you attempt to recover from the embarrassment. But Lita's calm demeanor reassures you, and she even gives you a playful wink before turning her attention back to the congratulatory banter.

As the laughter and light-hearted teasing continue, you find yourself relaxing. Despite the awkward moment, it's clear that Lita's carefree attitude and self-assuredness are infectious. Soon, you're able to laugh along with Rey and Eddie, feeling more at ease in their presence.

The incident becomes a humorous memory you'll share, a tale of an intimate moment interrupted by two unexpected guests. And throughout it all, Lita's confidence and playfulness only make you admire her more, grateful that she's not the type to let anything faze her – even if it means a little embarrassment along the way.

#wwe fanfiction #wwe x reader #pro wrestling #wrestling #wwe #lita x reader #lita wwe #lita #amy dumas #machetegirl #attitude era

[fandomfluffandfuck]

The anal hook spreader bar art, oh my GOD 🥵 I know it’s probably HTP, but he’s so gorgeous (im feeling Saint Sebastian vibes) I’m seeing him through Steve’s eyes too - he loves stringing his guy up, making him sweat, making him cry, making him push his body to its limits not because he’s a science experiment, but because he wants to prove himself to Steve. To be good for him.

related to this

Ohhh, if you want St. Sebastian vibes for Bucky... we got that:

WIP of Sebastian as Bucky as St. Sebastian

St. Sebastian style Bucky color meme

Art history dad joke

Fan artists really do be keeping us 🤌🏻fed🤌🏻

Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts about Steve stringing Bucky up, though--

Steve has never felt so starved in his entire fucking life. There's what feels like the precursor to a deep, dangerous growl curling in the very center of his gut. It's tight. Poised to snap and let the sound out of his mouth. His mouth... God, it's watering.

How could it not?

He doesn't mean to be overly self-congratulatory, but how could his mouth not water at the obscene feast he managed to lay out in front of himself.

Bucky.

Bucky is strung up in the most lovely, erotic way. Using the exposed wooden beams in their ceiling, his arms are extended toward the sky--hands shoulder-width apart--and ensnared in coils of rope. Both decorative and functional. His legs are spread, too, although Steve kicked them apart a little wider than his shoulders. He wanted him exposed. Vulnerable. Ripe for the taking.

And, oh boy, Steve has taken.

Along with his spread arms and legs, Bucky's collared. But it's more than that, too.

God.

It's so much more than that.

Steve licks his lips, then slides his slick bottom lip between his teeth, sinking into it until he feels a sharp, sparkling hit of pain. Fuck. He's been collared and he's been fucked open enough to push in an impressive anal hook. Steve considered attaching the end of fat, unforgiving hook to his collar with another length of rope just because Bucky is so prone to prettily throwing his head back or tanking it forward, chin to chest, when he's overwhelmed with pleasure--Steve knows the sounds of shock to come out of him when he accidentally tugs on the hook all on his own would be absolutely pornographic. But...

He opted not to do that. Not today.

Instead, he's used a long piece of rope to secure the hook tugging at his insides deliciously--so much pressure and so much thickness to clench down on, all the way until his toes curl--to the exposed beam in the ceiling, too. There's just enough slack in the rope for him to squirm and feel the hook push and pull and carve into his sensitive insides but there's not enough slack for him to squirm away from an inescapable pressure. Pressure that is right against his prostate.

It's so good that Bucky's jaw has dropped, and he can't seem to close it. His pink lips are swollen and wet. He's drooling. He's beautiful. Fuck drunk and gorgeous. Obscene. A goddamn fucking picture with his eyelashes fluttering, his eyes never opening and instead shutting tighter as Steve has his way with him.

Steve may be starving, but he's patient, too. He can hold off. He has self-control. He could wait for years to devour Bucky when he has such a golden opportunity to play with him first.

Play. with. him.

Steve's never really seen the point of those feather tipped instruments that always seem to come in "bondage for beginners" sets. Not until now. At least Bucky doesn't need one of those cheap blindfolds that can be found in the aforementioned sets--he's squeezing his eyes shut, overwhelmed. Besides, even if he was watching, watching wouldn't stop him from twitching and jerking and shrieking whenever Steve deviously draaaaags the feather-tipped rod against his skin. He's always been so fucking ticklish. It's coming in handy now.

Bucky started out laughing, and Steve couldn't stop grinning. Wolfish. Maniacal. Whatever you want to call it. His lips pulled back, and his expression was all teeth--it still is now. Sharp and dangerous and reveling in how Bucky dances for him. Bucky isn't laughing anymore. Gasping and begging for it to stop. Tickled pink.

Bucky is moaning, he's mewling, he's crying out, he's gasping, he's begging sincerely.

He can't go anywhere. No. He can't get far. All he can do is squirm and wriggle and twitch in place. He can rise onto his tiptoes with a howl or relax back onto his heels with a gutted groan. His hips can come forward with a sharp jerk, or they can roll back choppily, but either way, he ends up mewling. The anal hook follows him wherever he goes. The rope attaching the hook to the ceiling doesn't change, it tightens or slackens, it puts more or less pressure to his sweet spot. But it doesn't go away. It is relentless.

Steve is relentless. His face hurts from grinning. His throat is raw from cooing at his sweet little sub, dancing for him, singing for him. Each tickle from the feather, or from his fingers, seems to be new to Bucky. He cries out all over again. He shakes. He brings torture upon himself, writhing on the hook stringing him up to the ceiling; which means that Steve can't help but tease him more. More tickling. More touching. Asking Bucky if he thinks he deserves to cum--has he put on enough of a show? Has he been good enough? Should Steve reward him?

Bucky just sobs. His chest heaves, ribs expanding, abs clenching, the muscles in his arms and shoulders twitching, tugging. He can't answer.

Steve asks again, dragging the feathers down his side mercilessly. All the way from his armpit to his hip. He's careful not to drag the feathers over his cock, as tempting as the red, stiff length is. He doesn't want to ruin his new toy with the overflowing arousal from his favorite toy--his submissive. Poor Bucky has been leaking for so long. All the pressure against his prostate! It's practically milking him. Leaving him dripping. He's all wet! Sweat and pre-cum. Glistening.

Bucky screams behind gritted teeth.

Music to Steve's ears.

God.

He's everything.

Steve both needs to make him cum right then and he needs to drag this out and out and out until Bucky can't stand anymore, legs shaking and too weak to hold him up. When Bucky collapses, trusting all his weight to his arms, Steve would take him down. He'd lay him out on the floor. Right here. And he would tug and tug and tug at his hook until Bucky couldn't help but cum. The pressure fucking it right out of him.

Steve's impatience wins... today.

He steps in close, biting at Bucky's throat, his head is tipped back fully, stuck in rapture, burning up, and--

Steve soothes one hand down from his peaked, hard nipple all the way to his cock. Just like that. Petting him. Stroking him.

Bucky half chokes, half whines. Pure, molten desperation.

Steve jerks Bucky off, hard and fast, and Steve feasts--he delights in the way he jerks and convulses and shakes. With a particularly hard bite, he feels the wild tattoo of Bucky's pulse on his lips and answers it with a brutal growl as Bucky finally crumbles.

He orgasms.

Hard.

Shit.

He silently screams. Lips gaping and pink. His knees give completely. Boneless. Steve has to hold him up with an arm bruisingly tight around his waist, teeth still at his throat--the mark will be high and obvious. A claim. Steve is going to get off on that alone, almost as hard as he's about to get off from this whole scene. But what can he say? He's a possessive, sadistic bastard. And Bucky loves him for it.

So, yeah, anal hooks.

#asks #sail not drift #fandomfluffandfuck #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky

[eruherdiriel]

I get a little sappy about writing fic under the cut.

Sometimes I am astounded that I'm writing fic at all. For years, most of my life really, I kept these things all in my head. And it wasn't as detailed or complete as what I write down now but still, it was just there and I didn't do anything with it until one day I thought, "maybe I should write some of this down" (I had tried to do it once maybe 6 years ago but it was an anomaly and therefore I barely count it). And for a few months my writing was only summaries of ideas and maybe one scene, but I built from there, writing and rewriting and deleting, stringing disparate scenes together, scrapping ideas completely and letting others grow into something new. And now I've published seven works to AO3 (maybe they are "short" but I am slow and even if you're a fast writer, it's more time-consuming than I think nonwriters realize), and I have lots of unpublished material and, damn. Wild. I've written plenty in my life but it was almost entirely nonfiction before this. I hope this doesn't sound self-congratulatory or some shit because that's not how I feel; I'm just, idk, amazed at how small things can build into something bigger until there are finished stories where before there was nothing tangible, only my thoughts. Now I have something I've made. And I know a lot of people write fic so it's not like this experience is unique but it is special, at least to me, and it has been an important outlet for me the last year, year and a half.

If you've ever read anything I've written, thank you. I write for myself first (or I try to), but it means a lot to know anyone else sees, and likes, what I make.

#enough sincerity i need to purge by saying only sarcastic things the rest of the day #writing fanfic