#Last Will and Testament Form Free

[montereybayaquarium]

Remembering Rosa the sea otter

Hello Aquarium family. It’s with great sadness that we share that our beloved sea otter Rosa passed away today. At 24 years old, Rosa was the oldest resident otter at the Aquarium and one of our most experienced surrogate moms, having raised 15 stranded sea otter pups in her time with us. 

While Rosa spent the last few months behind the scenes getting extra special care from our staff, she was the matriarch of the Sea Otters exhibit. Beloved and cherished by millions of visitors and fans of the live Sea Otter Cam, she was instantly recognizable thanks to her blonde head (eclipsed only by Ivy as our most grizzled of kelp grizzlies) and her signature head-all-the-way-back swimming style.

“Rosa was one of our most playful sea otters, and even at 24 years old, she would still be seen frolicking and wrestling with the younger otters when she instigated it,” said Melanie Oerter, curator of mammals. “Rosa was usually found sleeping against the window while on exhibit with her chin tucked tight into her chest and her tail swishing back and forth.”

After being found stranded as a four-week-old pup in September 1999, Rosa became part of the Aquarium family before our sea otter surrogacy program even took shape. Our Sea Otter Program staff raised her by hand for nearly seven months before releasing her to the wild. 

Rosa eventually returned to the Aquarium once again in March 2002 when she didn’t take to life outside of human care, and she immediately became a fixture in the formative years of our sea otter surrogacy program as a caring adoptive mother for rescued pups destined for wild release.

She was a delight to work with, though she certainly had her expectations of our staff according to the many Sea Otter Mammalogists who trained (were trained by?) Rosa over the years. 

"Rosa was an incredibly smart otter! Generally calm and patient with the staff. However, she could be defiant at times and there would be no convincing her to do something she did not want to do," said Oerter. "She would often just look at us or swim away. I believe she was the one who was really training us all of these years. I certainly learned a lot from working with such an incredible otter. It has been a privilege and to say we will miss her is understated."

Rosa relaxed into retirement from surrogacy in 2019, acting as a companion and cornerstone in the ever-changing raft of otters in our care. 

Wild female sea otters live between 15 and 20 years, and reaching the age of 24 is a testament to the exceptional care Rosa received throughout her life from our Veterinary and Animal Care teams. In recent years, she began showing signs of age-related health concerns.  In the last few weeks, her health had been deteriorating. After an exam, the veterinary and animal care teams made the difficult choice to humanely euthanize Rosa because those health conditions were compromising her quality of life. She passed away peacefully, surrounded by her caretakers.

Rosa’s legacy lives on both at the Aquarium with our other resident sea otters Kit, Selka, Ivy, and Ruby, and in the wild, where sea otter pups she raised continue to raise pups of their own, contributing to the recovery of their species and their ecosystems along the California coast. 

Rosa was an inspiration to millions as a charismatic ambassador for her threatened species while playing a leading role in the story of sea otter recovery from near-extinction during the fur trade. Rosa will be greatly missed by all of us who got to know her over the years.

To celebrate Rosa’s long life, please feel free to share photos and stories of your encounters with Rosa at the Aquarium in the comment section on this post, in her memory and for the staff and volunteers grieving her loss. Thank you all for being such a big part of Rosa’s life. 🦦♥️

[gtgbabie0]

{Roomate!Vi giving you what you deserve}

!!-18//MDNI-!! //CW// cheating (reader) slightly pervy vi fingering slight dumbification

Violet hates your girlfriend, no, like really hates your girlfriend. It’s stupid, if she’s being honest with herself. There was no actual sense to her hatred, hell she’s never even met the damn women! It’s just jealousy. An ugly feeling that has managed to root itself deep inside her, making her want to snap and just take you for herself— so well, she did.

You deserved better then whatever she was giving you, which clearly wasn’t a lot from the way you’re constantly whining and bitching, and the fact you’re currently taking three of Violets fingers— stuffed deep inside your wet cunt like you were made for it, practically swallowing them up.

Violet had grown sick and tired of listening to you go on and on about how she’s such a ‘horrible girlfriend’, how she ‘stood you up’ or has been ‘ignoring you’ or whatever other bullshit you complain about it. Honestly it was a daily thing.

But you’ve been extra snappy recently, so goddamn annoying with your little taunts and those lingering gazes— practically begging her to bend you over. All you needed was a good fuck and Violet was more than happy to help you out, kinda.

“What time is she picking you up again?” She says it all too casually as if she isn’t currently knuckle deep inside you— fucking you into her mattress with just her fingers.

Your lips part then close, struggling to find the words— if any at all. Nothing comes out just a jumble of needy moans as you try to close your thighs around her hand, writhing against her bed, hands fisting at her bedsheets.

“Can’t remember, huh? You even know what day it is, pretty girl?— or can you not speak, hmm?” She coos, grinning wolfishly, her soft blue eyes darkening as she curls her fingertips up against that spongy spot that makes you see double— head tipping back against her pillows, hips grinding up against her hand clumsily. “My fingers feel that good doll?”

It was a sight, seeing you all spread out for her— not your girlfriend, her. Violet was half tempted to get it on video, show it to your soon to be ex (she’s sure it isn’t gonna last long after this) how you liked to be fucked. Because hell if Vi hasn’t perfected the art of your body down to the fucking T within the span of five minutes.

“Nuh—yes!— just— ughh!” you give up trying to form a sentence. A low chuckle rumbles out from Vi’s chest as her free hand pushes on your thigh, roughly, spreading you back open with a tut— watching in awe as she stretches your greedy hole open with her digits, disappearing inside your wet heat, slick dribbling between her fingers, soaking her hand.

Oh and she so smug about it, and you would fight back, really!— tell her to shut the hell up or something if your mind wasn’t so mushed up by pleasure— but it was and here you are drooling into the pillows and Vi is drunk off of the picture you’re making.

"Look at you, getting fucked silly just from my fingers. Imagine if I had my strap in you, baby.” She leans down, brushing her nose against your flushed cheek, breath fanning across your jaw. “I'd fucking destroy your pretty pussy." her voice low, rough, a filthy promise, a thought that hasn’t left her mind since that time she ‘accidentally’ walked in on you showering— a thought she’s fucked herself to more then once during sleepless nights.

You think you might just let her— sure it’s really messed up, your girlfriend is literally blowing up your phone right now, buzzing on Violets bedside table— waiting outside your apartment and well… you’re too busy getting fucked dumb by your roommates fingers, hitting you in places you need, filling you up. You hate to admit it but you’ve never been so wet before, her sticky bedsheets a testament to that.

“Vi— Vi, Ahh— uh—uh!” Your hips canter eagerly, trying to keep up with her hand as her thumb rubs circles against your hard clit— marvelling at the way you’re desperately trying to grind your cunt against her hand, chasing after what you needed— your gummy walls clenching around her, squelching obscenely.

“Yeah? Bout to cum already—” then she’s pulling back, slick digits slipping out of your messy cunt as that hot tightness in your tummy dwindles away into a devastating nothing, and you swear you could start sobbing— “Girlfriends’ calling babe.” She nods over to your phone with a twinkle in her blue eyes.

“Wha?— god— I don’t— I don’t fucking care!” It’s a pathetic noise that leaves your lips as your hand darts down to try and grab at hers, guiding it back to your throbbing pussy, “Just— please put em back in Vi, please, please.” You mewl, tears trickling down your cheeks.

And she’s half tempted to— rough fingertips teasing along your sticky folds— if it wasn't for the violent banging at your front door that sounds out through the apartment, ripping through this little moment and you can’t help but whine— frustrated. “Well that’s a shame isn’t it baby? Have fun tonight.” A teasing smirk plastered across her lips. God, you hated her.

You spend the night with uncomfortably wet panties, nothing but Violet on your mind— Violet who spends her own night finger fucking her cunt, the same fingers that were in you. What a damn mess you’ve gotten into.

[uchizana]

CHORDS OF LOVE

synopsis: during an unexpected storm that traps you and karina, the talented guitarist of aespa, alone in the studio, she decides it’s time to stop hiding her heart. with the rest of the band away seeking dinner, the atmosphere crackles with the potential for confession. as the wind howls outside, will karina's brave revelation about her long-standing crush bring the two of you closer, or will fear of breaking the band’s sacred harmony send her heart spiraling into uncertainty?

pairing: rockstar!karina x bandmate!fem reader

warnings: kissing, none more that I know of

word count: 2.7k

— english isn't my first language so sorry if there are any grammar mistakes.

aespa masterlist.

jimin lets out a sigh of frustration, letting the pen fall free from the grip of her fingers, landing on the worn leather of the notebook. the pages are overwhelmed with half-formed lyrics, doodles of hearts and stars, and errant thoughts. it’s all a chaotic testament to her inner turmoil, a reflection of the pressure she feels to deliver yet another brilliant album. she drops her body abruptly onto the swivel chair, causing her to squeal at the sudden force, a sound that slices through the silence of the studio.

what was going on? well, jimin was trying to write a song for the next album of the rock band she was in—the band you were also a part of, and not just a member, but the very heart of its musical identity. it was complicated enough that the last few weeks had seen her pacing frantically when she wasn’t teetering on the edge of frustration.

the impossible task looms larger every moment, each hollow space on the page amplifying her every doubt. twelve songs, twelve distinct messages, and she still has nothing but crossed out words and half-formed melodies that refuse to budge from the intricacies of her mind

��hey! you okay?” comes a voice from behind her.

it’s aeri, her sandy-blonde hair falling over her face as she leans against the door frame, followed closely by minjeong and yizhuo, both of whom wear playful smiles. they giggle like schoolgirls as they watch her theatrical outburst, a wave of warmth washing over jimin despite her frustration.

“what was that for?” yizhuo laughs, her eyes sparkling.

“just trying to summon some creativity over here,” jimin groans, throwing her head back dramatically.

just then, a deep rumble of thunder rolls through the air, pulling her from her reverie. she jumps slightly in her seat, feeling the giggles of her bandmates filter into the little bubble of her frustration. aeri, with her ever-gleeful spirit; minjeong, always the pragmatist; and yizhuo, who somehow always finds the light in the chaos. they share a laugh at her expense, teasing her about how a mere thunderclap was enough to shatter her precious concentration. the light-heartedness brings a slight grin to her face, easing the tight knot forming in her chest.

“jimin,” aeri says playfully, “you look like the world’s weight is on your shoulders. relax a little. we have plenty of time before we need to head into the studio to record anyway.” the sincerity in her voice softens the ribbing, a reminder to jimin that she doesn’t have to shoulder this burden alone.

the thunder doesn’t just signal a storm outside; it mirrors the tempest within her. “i swear, these lyrics are just not coming together,” she admits, the words creeping out reluctantly. they mean more than just her struggles with songwriting—they seep into her personal thoughts.

“we didn't realize we were dealing with a diva here!” yizhuo jumps in, her voice light and cheerful as she shimmies her thin jacket over her shoulders. “relax, jimin. you’re going to burn yourself out. we have time before any of it matters.”

jimin scowls playfully but the laughter helps buoy her spirits. “you’re all just lucky i didn’t throw something at you,” she retorts with mock irritation.

“seriously though, don’t stress too much,” aeri advises, her expression more earnest now. “we have plenty of time before recordings. you don’t want to wear yourself out before we even get to the fun part!”

they all know how much it means to her—the thrill of performing together, the rush of being in front of their fans, the electricity in the air during their concerts. but right now, it’s hard to remember that. right now, it’s just the empty pages and the untamed notes swirling in her mind.

as the three of them discuss dinner plans, jimin shifts her gaze back to her notebook. the messy letters seem to mock her. she stares at the crossed-out lines, the hints of torn pages—a chaotic representation of her tangled thoughts. then she hears the unmistakable sound of jackets being zipped up, and her heart beats faster.

“what are you doing?” jimin asks, a hint of desperation threading through her tone as her eyes dart between them.

"we’re going out for dinner! we can’t just live on snacks while we’re working in the studio," yizhuo said, rolling her eyes as if it were the most obvious thing.

“we’re off to grab something to eat. something good, and then we’ll come back and keep working,” aeri ads, and you can see the kindness shining in her eyes. “you need a break, jimin. fresh air and a good meal might be just what you need.”

jimin watches as they exchange conspiratorial glances. just then, her eyes drift across the room and land on you, nestled comfortably in the corner of the couch. you haven’t moved to grab your coat despite the playful teasing. you’re her bandmate, the composer who has been behind the production of all the band’s musical hits, and the group’s guitarist—a presence that sends both comfort and confusion coursing through her.

your brow is furrowed slightly as you focus on your guitar. the twilight light reflects in your eyes, making it impossible for jimin to ignore the way her heart leaps just at the sight of you. there is something captivating, magnetic, in the way you lose yourself in the music, translating emotions into notes as you’ve always done.

and that’s the problem. over time, that admiration has turned into something else—something more profound. a crush that runs deeper than a passing fling or a drunken kiss. it’s the kind of affection that makes her chest ache when you smile, the kind that sets her pulse racing whenever you laugh.

“hey, you coming with us?” minjeong asks, breaking her reverie.

you look up from your guitar, a faint smile revealing a tenderness that tugs at jimin’s heartstrings. “i’ve got a few more things to work on, so I’ll stay here for now,” you say, your voice low and soothing.

jimin feels a rush of disappointment. she wants to invite you to join them, to share a meal and a moment outside this studio bubble that has kept them all locked in a creative frenzy.

“are you sure?” she asks, an urge swallowing her hesitation. “we could really use more brains. i mean, the sky might just help us to stir some creativity, right? plus, i’ve decided to try a new place that serves the best pasta in town!”

you chuckle softly, a sound she could listen to forever. “pasta sounds good, but i really need to sort out these lyrics before i can think of anything else.” your eyes dart back to the guitar strings in a way that makes her want to scream in frustration.

she watches you for a moment, the weight of her feelings hovering between them. the unspoken connection thickens in the air, but it’s the fog of uncertainty that keeps her immobile. how would you react if she confessed that her admiration had blossomed into something stronger? that every fleeting touch during practice ignited sparks that lingered for far too long?

“alright then, we’ll be back soon,” aeri interjects, clapping her hands together. “when we come back, you better be done with that song, or i’ll be taking that guitar from you!”

as the door swings shut behind them, silence envelops the room, leaving you alone with the sound of the rain trickling against the window, the storm still raging outside.

and then—there it is—this longing that has previously felt muted begins to pulse stronger. jimin's focus on her songs often distracts her from what lies just beneath the surface, a connection built on years of shared laughter, tears, and unspoken words. watching her struggle, you decide to take a risk, to bridge the gap widening between you both.

you rise from the couch, guitar in hand, and move toward her desk. the sight of the crumpled notes makes your heart ache for her, knowing she isn’t just creating music; she’s trying to carve out her place in the world.

jimin rubs her forehead and sighs, an audible sound of frustration escaping her lips. the tension in the room grows thicker; the air feels electric, charged with unspoken words and lingering glances.

“can't seem to get the right words out,” she mutters, her pen tapping against the page in irritation. you’ve been cooped up in this studio all afternoon, trying to piece together something worthwhile for the next album, but every sentence that flows from her pen seems to vanish into the void of her mind.

“ugh, i can’t think of anything!” she finally exclaims, tossing the pencil aside in frustration. it clatters to the floor, breaking the spell of quiet. leaning back on the chair, she tilts her head, exposing her delicate neck. the curve of her jaw catches the light just so, and for a moment, you forget about the music.

“why not try writing something about desire?” you suggest, your voice steady despite the flutter that ignites in your chest. it’s an idea that’s been bubbling in your mind since the last time you two shared that knowing glance, that electric chemistry lurking just under the surface. “you know, something forbidden?”

“desire…” she repeats, rolling the word across her tongue like a sweet melody. “that could be something.”

you nod, emboldened by the thought of igniting that spark. “yeah. something raw, something real—like secrets we keep or...”

“or that lingering touch we dare not explore?” jimin finishes for you, her gaze piercing through the dim light. there's a challenging tone in her voice, teasing and serious all at once, stirring something primal inside you.

“exactly,” you say, your heart pounding in rhythm with the notes you play. the tempo quickens, matching the beat of your thoughts. you’re both living in a world of unspoken possibilities, and suddenly, it feels like the walls of the studio are closing in, trapping you in this moment.

you set your guitar aside, the faint sound of strings vibrating mingling with the quietness of the room. the soft sound echoes like a heartbeat between you, creating a momentary pause where the world outside fades away.

“what do you know about desire?” she challenges playfully, a teasing smile breaking her earlier frustration. it’s a question that feels loaded as your chest tightens; you’ve known her long enough to recognize the weight behind her words. you can tell she’s not merely asking about the general concept.

“oh, i know a thing or two,” you reply, forcing a chuckle, though the truth is that you’re acutely aware of your own frustrations—of the yearning that’s been building each time you share a moment with her. each chord you strum, every late-night practice, has only made you more aware of how intoxicating she is, how your affection for her swells when you least expect it.

“like what?” she asks, leaning back the chair, her body subconsciously inching closer as if drawn to you. the light dimming, stripping away the outside world, leaves only the two of you.

you shrug, trying to mask the magnetic pull you feel toward her. “desire is…” you start, and the words spill forth unbidden. “it’s wanting something that feels out of reach, something you can’t have. it stirs up excitement and fear all at once.”

you take a breath and lean forward, resting the guitar on your knee, your fingers practically itching for more than just strings. “what if we wrote a song about—” you hesitate, the weight of your words anchoring the air around you, “—about the tension between... two people who want more than what they’re allowed to have?”

jimin's eyes shine with a spark that mirrors your own feelings. “you mean like us?” her voice is barely above a whisper, the question hanging uncomfortably yet intoxicatingly between you.

a pulse of vulnerability courses through your veins, and you search her face for signs, for permission, for something you hope desperately isn’t just a figment of your imagination. “maybe,” you manage, your throat dry as sand.

with a slight tilt of her head, jimin's expression morphs, shifting from playful to something softer, more sincere. “what if...” she trails off, glancing down at her notebook, biting her lip. “what if we expressed that desire? what if we were brave enough to put it into words?”

the silence stretches, thick with anticipation. you both know the unvoiced truth as well as you know every chord on your guitar. you’re no longer just bandmates; you’re two souls on the precipice of deeper connection, caught between friendship and something intoxicatingly new, dangerously thrilling.

“then we should be brave,” you say softly, inching closer on the carpet. the air thickens, charged with an energy you can almost taste. “just like the music we create.”

the silence that follows is charged, both of you holding your breath while the world spins outside your bubble. you can’t help but notice how her gaze flickers between your eyes and your lips, a magnetic pull mirrored in your own gaze as you take in every feature that makes her jimin—her tousled hair, the glint of determination in her eyes, those lips that seem to provoke a longing you didn’t know was possible.

you lean forward instinctively, drawn like gravity. “what if we…” you murmur, but you don’t quite finish the sentence. instead, your heart races ahead of your mind, and you find yourself inching closer, the distance collapsing between you.

just then, jimin's breath quickens; she takes a sharp inhale that slices through the electrically charged atmosphere. her eyes widen a fraction, and in her gaze, you see an invitation strung between confusion and that intoxicating desire.

slowly, jimin leans forward, eyes locking onto yours. there’s a shift in the atmosphere, an understanding that dances in the silence—an unbreakable thread tethering you to this moment. and then, in a heartbeat, the distance collapses.

your lips meet, tentative and ignited by the electricity pulsing between you. the kiss is soft at first, exploratory, as if you are both testing the waters of this new territory. it’s warm and lingering, sending shockwaves through your body. there’s a hunger, a desperate need to explore the intimacy that’s always been lurking beneath the surface of your friendship.

as you deepen the kiss, time seems to lose all meaning. the world outside the studio fades away; it’s just you and jimin—everything you’ve ever wanted. every secret glance shared during practice, every lingering touch of fingers in an accidental brush, all the pent-up emotions spill over. her hands find their way to your hair as yours cradle her face, and the kiss transforms, blooming into something fierce and intoxicating.

the kiss feels forbidden, electric—a culmination of all the moments you’ve shared, the chemistry that had always clouded your interactions. everything that had remained unspoken now dances into the open, painting the walls of the studio with a vivid hue of realization.

moments stretch into infinity, lost in the rhythm of each other’s breathing and the distant echo of the life outside the studio. when you finally pull away, foreheads resting together, both of you are breathless, hearts racing as you hold onto this fragile moment of truth.

“wow,” she breathes, laughter bubbling at the edges of her words. there’s a mix of disbelief and wonder in her gaze, and you can’t help but smile.

“i guess that’s one way to write a song about desire,” you murmur, teasing as you catch your breath.

jimin chuckles, her cheeks flushed, and for a moment, the weight of the world falls away, leaving only lightness and possibility. “let’s make it a good one then,” she agrees, eyes sparkling, and you both know that this is just the beginning.

as you sink back into the rhythm ,,,,,,,of creativity, the lines of your collaboration shift and blend. this time, though, it’s filled with a beautiful new tension, a music born from uncharted desires that will carry you through the creation of a masterpiece—together. and maybe, just maybe, what started in this studio would reverberate far beyond the notes, echoing through the very hearts of your songs to come.

[haechoxo]

[9:58 pm]

haechan was a mess, the last encounter with you haunting his mind. no one had seen him in weeks, his self isolation driven by the humiliation and regret.

how’d he let it get this bad?

he’d ruined the one good thing he had going for him, the one thing that could've ever gone right in his life, gone.

he caused you so much pain, so much anguish, you were sick of him, quite literally. all for what? because he couldn’t admit he wanted to be yours?

it was his turn to make himself sick. walking down to the 7-Eleven for the fourth time this week to stock up on booze, he glanced out the storefront window as he waited for his transaction to complete, and spotted you, hand in hand with choi yeonjun, as you exited the bistro across the street.

it felt like a punch to the gut, a harsh reminder of what he lost. you deserved happiness, he knew that. but the thought of you finding it with someone else, while he suffered in his own misery, was almost too much to bear, he deserved this.

all haechan could do was sigh, grabbing his items and heading back to his apartment, a sort of walk of shame, as he dialed up minjeong.

“...hello? haechan? it’s almost 10 pm.” her deadpanned tone rang through the receiver.

“y-yeah… sorry,” he croaked. she was the first person to hear from him in a while, not that she of all people was worried. “just wondering if you were maybe free tomorrow, just to hang out… i guess.”

minjeong only sighed. “listen, haechan, i don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

“o-oh, yeah, i guess… i guess you're right.”

“it’s not you! well– no, yeah, it is you,” ouch, “but we both know it just wouldn’t have worked out, right? you’re too focused on y/n, and we were both clearly just using each other as a distraction.” he could only listen as she went on, too afraid to say anything, to face the truth.

“the same reason you and i would never work out is the same reason mark and y/n won’t work out. we don’t have feelings for each other, haechan. it was never there.” he sucked in a breath.

“you gotta figure yourself out. we both know you can do better.” the line went dead.

haechan slumped against his front door, the weight of minjeong's words crashing down on him. the silence of his empty apartment echoed his loneliness, the low light from the streetlamp outside mocking him as he sat there. every sip of alcohol burned down his throat, but it didn’t numb the ache in his chest. the empty bottles around him were a testament to his attempts to drown out the guilt, but no amount could wash away the regret. he needed to change, to make things right, but where could he even start? he replayed your last conversation in his mind, your tear-streaked face, the hurt in your eyes. how had he been so blind?

unlocking his phone to scroll through his unopened messages, stumbling on his chats, or lack thereof, with you. they’d been dry, barren of any feelings for weeks. and it was his doing.

the unopened voicemails, mostly from jaemin about missing cafe dates and more of johnny’s parties, but there was a new one he hadn’t noticed before.

from mark.

hesitantly he pressed play, mentally bracing for the new lecture he was about to endure.

”hey man, uh— i’m not calling to apologize or anything, just so you know, i don’t feel bad for the things i said, neither does jun. i’m still really mad at you, we both are, but you're still our friend just as much as y/n is, even she’s a little worried, renjun told her not to be and i probably shouldn't have told you but whatever. the guys have been asking about you and no one really has an answer. uhm,” mark clears his throat, “jeno said he saw you outside 7-Eleven a couple nights this week already, smoking a new pack of cigarettes each time…” he sighs, pausing for a moment. haechan can feel the lump forming in his throat from the embarrassment.

“dude just because we ‘sided’ with y/n, doesn’t mean we don’t care about you and your well being anymore. obviously you feel stupid finally, and you clearly know you were wrong, but you’re going about things the wrong way, again. you can’t keep living like this, hurting the people you care about, hurting yourself, in the process.” he pauses for a bit, and haechan thinks maybe the message had ended like that, “whatever, uh, i don’t know what else i’m supposed to say bro, just let us know you’re okay, i guess, bye.” the beep signaling the end of the voicemail rings loudly against his ear, sighing shakily as he shut his phone off.

previous - next

a/n ; this one took waaaay longer than anticipated,, i just wasnt sure how well id be able to convey his feelings as well as mark’s lovely words since I HATE HIS STUPID ASS RN 💔

[healpimp]

#FixTF2 Masterpost: Important Information Regarding the Movement

As promised, here is a comprehensive post about the #FixTF2 movement, the issues it tries to bring up and where to find more information and follow developments.

It is now day 7 of the protest with no response form Valve. Either this is them trying to wait for this to blow over or waiting for the signatures of the petition to be printed out and brought to their office, or they are still preparing a proper response to the movement. Regardless, this protest is still ongoing.

❓What's going on with TF2?❓

I'm sure everyone and their grandma knows by now, but TF2's most popular game mode, Casual, has been plagued by bots for several years by now. This is in fact not the first attempted protest and you may have heard of the one conducted two years ago named #SaveTF2. The movement wrested a response from Valve, which since the first protest has earned infamy and a status as a blatant lie among the game's players.

However, this task has seemingly been abandoned entirely. The last time in recent memory with no bots was when the game upgraded from 32-bit to 64-bit, which seemed to break the bots for a while. This was something the bothosters remedied a few days later, and no steps to remove them from the game has been made ever since.

It is worth mentioning that TF2 has had updates to battle the bot issue many times after #SaveTF2. They did indeed move to make TF2 a bot-free game for a while.

❓Why is this even bad?❓

Now, this might seem like a non-problem; TF2 is a video game and no more than that. People could simply move on and play similar games, like Overwatch, Paladins, Splatoon, etc. This would certainly be an easy solution but this has roots much deeper than simply playing a game.

For one, this game has been around for about 17 years by now. Ancient by FPS standards, but that the game is still played and talked about to this day stands as a testament to the love and passion the playerbase and general fandom has for it. The playerbase is loyal, the potential for content is seemingly endless and many are willing to pay money for the game. And therein lies some issues.

TF2 has millions of dollars invested in it by the playerbase. Loot boxes, MvM tickets and any sale made in the community market all gives Valve a steady and reliable revenue stream. This is significant, because you will have to make the assumption that this money will come back to sustain the game from imploding in on itself and remain functional. In the case with MvM, the PvE mode (that has not been updated in QUITE a while), the chances of receiving valuable loot from the missions is actually so small that there is no way to feasibly make any of your money back.

Additionally, any content updates added to the game every event (Summer Update, Scream Fortress and Smissmass) is community made. This means Valve picks and chooses cosmetics, emotes, unusual effects, warpaints and maps made by fans in the workshop.

While the creators of these items are compensated for their work, Valve naturally profits from these content updates.

In shorter terms: Valve profits off a game that has been in a near-unplayable state for more than 5 years by doing next to nothing.

And that isn't even the end of it. This is just the general negligence of Valve. It gets a lot uglier when delving into the punishable crimes conducted by the bothosters.

This video by TheWhat Show talks about this in depth, focusing on a particularly important case that involves MegaScatterBomb, who was harassed, doxxed, impersonated and swatted for trying to develop a working anti-cheat for casual.

This video is also in a document form for those who would rather read.

A more recent development with the bots has been their blatant advertising and promotion of CSAM, which you may better know as CP.

After #FixTF2 started, bots have been found spamming links in text chat that they claim is CSAM, while micspamming disturbing audio into the voice chat that is either edited to sound like or is legitimately CSAM. Valve has yet to respond to these reports, but good amount of players on Twitter/X have already started notifying FBI about this situation.

Another thing worth noting is that the bothosters have actively attempted to take down the petition website by DDoSing it and by filing a fake DMCA claim, both which are punishable crimes.

So to summarize:

It is wholly unsafe to play the game due to the bothosters and their willingness to commit crimes in the name of ruining the game experience.

Valve is profiting from keeping this broken product running, yet refuses to put any meaningful effort into fixing the bot problem.

The community actively contributes to the game by designing cosmetics and maps, and while they are compensated for their work, Valve are the ones who profit the most from their contributions.

Real people have been and are being harmed by the bot problem, and as far as we are aware, no one has been held accountable.

This is wholly unacceptable, both from a professional and unprofessional standpoint. If Valve fancies themselves a corporation worth using money on, their choice to simply ignore the problem speaks volumes of their priorities.

As Valve is releasing their new game Deadlock, there are serious concerns about the security of this game. TF2 is far from the only game that has bot/cheater problems. CS2 has had a similar problem for a long while as well and there is a clip of a Chinese bot farm that has been going around and which has even breached into the #FixTF2 movement.

❓What should we do?❓

Sign the petition while it is still up. At the time of this post, the petition has reached 270k+ signatures. The website has more general information as well.

Add to the #FixTF2 tag on mainly Twitter/X. Tag your posts with it, retweet and like posts in the tag and put the focus on the bots and ONLY the bots. One of the issues of the last movement, #SaveTF2, was that it wasn't focused enough on any particular problem and Valve could get away with making no promises. So, post clips, fanart and rants to your heart's content, so long it is specifically about the bots.

Watch youtube videos with #FixTF2 as the subject. Here are some good places to start:

4. Boycott any transactions in TF2. While Weezy was against this method in his video above, he has since changed his opinion. It has been established that Valve is very unlikely to shut down TF2, since the TF2 community market has millions of dollars invested in it and shutting down TF2 would render all items useless, thereby fully taking away any and all investments any players have put into the game. This would not just be devastating to the general economy of Valve's marketplaces, but a huge blow to their reputation if they want to remain reliable in the eyes of consumers.

5. Don't interact directly with bothosters. This includes harassment and any attempts at doxxing/swatting. These individuals are bigoted and some are even criminals. They have no remorse for their actions and talking to them would be a fruitless endeavor. Refrain from mentioning their names/aliases, as they are fond of attention and are getting just about enough of it since #FixTF2 started.

6. Don't give up.

❓Where can I keep up with any news?❓

Here are accounts to start with if you want to follow any important proceedings regarding #FixTF2:

Weezy (One of the biggest voices for #FixTF2 and spearhead of the protest):

Weezy's Youtube Channel

Weezy's Twitter

TheWhat Show (Similar to Weezy, outspoken supporter and spearhead):

TheWhat's Youtube Channel

TheWhat's Twitter

Shork (Outspoken supporter and generally active in the fandom)

Shork's Twitter

MegaScatterBomb (Creator of the TF2 cheater database and attempting to make a working anti-cheat for casual)

Mega's Youtube

If you discover new information, inconsistencies, broken/repeated/wrong links, etc., please speak up! Use the comments section, reblog with a comment or DM me!

[pookalicious-hq]

˚₊‎‧welcome to the all-japan youth summer games‧₊˚

description: the all-japan summer league is a prestigious event that runs from may to the end of august, with only the best players from various sports associations, leagues, and clubs from across Japan receiving invitations. we hope to see you there.

guidelines: - only sfw // there will be suggestive things but no smut - you are free to send in requests about a certain character - each reader insert will be specific to their own story/fic (differentiated by last names) unless otherwise specified - this IS a crossover au

˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ welcome - 0.0 (intro)

For years, a vast stretch of land just outside Tokyo’s beating heart had been draped in secrecy. It sat quietly, like a slumbering giant, only fifteen minutes from the city’s restless hum, yet worlds away from prying eyes. Tall walls and guarded gates kept it hidden, while the murmur of construction whispered through the air. It was as if the earth itself had been stirring beneath the surface, preparing for something grand, though no one quite knew what. Rumors danced through the city—some claimed it was the site of a new stadium, others a corporate headquarters.

Then, as if the secret could no longer be contained, the truth was finally revealed.

The land had been transformed—not into a simple complex, but into a world of its own. A sprawling, exclusive sports facility, rivaling anything ever seen before. This was no ordinary venue. The gates would not open to the public, nor would casual spectators ever stroll its paths. Instead, a self-contained village now stood where dirt and machinery had once ruled—a place carved out for only the best of the best.

Here, in this enclave, Japan’s finest young athletes were to be housed, nurtured, and tested. Handpicked from high schools across the country, they came not just to compete, but to stake their claim on something far greater. This was the All-Japan Youth Summer Games—where talent would be sharpened to its finest edge, and where the fire of competition would burn hottest under the summer sky.

sports clubs to watch out for:

haikyuu (the monsters)🏐

MonstersJV is a Japanese volleyball league that spans from U14 to U19. This elite, non-profit organization represents the pinnacle of Japan’s youth volleyball scene, showcasing the nation’s top players on a global stage. Athletes from across the country go through rigorous tryouts, where they are selected to form a rotating roster of elite teams. These teams compete against one another within the league, constantly pushing the limits of their abilities in preparation for international exposure.

miya atsumu... ˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚first glance... 2.6k words: atsumu realizes love at first sight is a real thing when he falls victim to it himself. tags/tws: crossover au, insta stalker atsumu, swearing, fighting, love at first sight, jjk!mma!reader ˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ loading...

blue lock (the infinities)⚽

Blue Lock Academy earned its invitation to the All-Japan Youth Summer League following its explosive success in the Neo-Egoist League. Known for its revolutionary approach to developing strikers, Blue Lock has handpicked its top players to form elite teams that will represent the academy in the AJYSM. These players, already sharpened by fierce internal competition, now stand ready to showcase their unique talents on an even larger stage, further solidifying Blue Lock’s claim to producing Japan’s next great soccer prodigies.

˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ loading...

kuroko's basketball (the miracles)🏀

KNGenBasket was established to spotlight the key players who transformed Japan’s youth basketball landscape. Over the years, the league expanded, bringing together more exceptional individuals to form elite teams. However, its true rise to fame came with the emergence of six extraordinary players, each possessing unique strengths that captivated the nation. Now, these teams represent the very best of Japan’s youth basketball, standing as a testament to the league’s evolution and the incredible talent it has fostered.

˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ loading...

jujutsu kaisen (the curses)🥊

The Jujutsu Kaisen Curse is an elite MMA gym that exclusively trains and houses the top fighters in Japan. Known for producing ruthless and extraordinary athletes, the gym has earned a fierce reputation within the global MMA community. After years of dominating the sport, The Curses were invited to the All-Japan Youth Summer League to showcase their raw talent and unrivaled power on a new stage. Each fighter that steps into the ring under their banner carries the weight of the gym’s legacy, feared for their relentless strength and skill.

sukuna ryomen... ˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ bestest friend... 2.5k words: they've always been best friends since anyone could remember, what's changed now? tags/tws: crossover au, childhood friends to lovers, swearing ˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚loading...

attack on titan (the titans)👟

AttackElevate stands as Asia’s most elite and expansive Track and Field club, rising from Japan’s competitive landscape to earn international recognition. From the age of 10, the club selects only the most promising young athletes, putting them through rigorous training with one goal in mind: to reach Olympic-level excellence. These athletes, forged through years of intense discipline and competition, represent the pinnacle of track and field talent. Now, AttackElevate has been invited to the All-Japan Youth Summer League, where their relentless pursuit of greatness will be put to the test against Japan’s finest.

˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ loading...

more coming... (send an ask)

[professional-spectator]

Okay, a disclaimer and heads-up: I don't own Hoyo, Genshin Impact, or any related properties. Also, please be aware that this story will explore serious and sensitive themes.

This work is inspired by SAGAU (Self-Aware Genshin Impact Alternative Universe), isekai tropes, various isekai settings, creation myths, and fanfiction in general. Consider this my standard warning.

This is a short piece , not sure if I wanted this be series. Tell me what you think?

This story takes place after the Reader has been exiled rather kicked out from Teyvat for being the "fake creator."

The Reader is not the actual creator, but just a Genshin player who has been wrongly labeled as the imposter. It's a Cyno x Reader story, as there isn't much content featuring Cyno in the Sagau. I've only come across a few. Consider this me adding more to the pot.

After the end:

The weight of unearned titles pressed down on me, each one a brand: "imposter," "creator." A fraud, that's what I was. He was out there, safeguarding me, while I penned a farewell. I couldn't keep running, hopping from country to country, dragging him along. He deserved a life free from the chaos I attracted. Our relationship wasn't romantic, not really, save for that one blurred night. So why did leaving him a note feel so much like a "Dear John" letter? Tears welled in my eyes, blurring the ink as I signed my name, but I left it nonetheless. I couldn't keep endangering everyone; I wasn't worth it. I knew he'd come after me, so I set off to meet my fate head-on.

Days bled into weeks, and to my surprise, he didn't find me. I reached Dragonspine, the biting cold seeping into my bones. Would the cold claim me before they did? A wave of nostalgia washed over me, sharp and unexpected. This world...it had once been a game, a digital escape called Genshin Impact. This was Teyvat. Yet, here I was, branded an imposter, a false God of some creator I'd only heard whispers about. I ascended to the ruins, each step heavy with dread. They were waiting. My executioners. Zhongli, or rather, Morax. Venti, in his Barbatos form. And Ei, radiating power as Beelzebul. Had I not known what was about to happen, I might have been starstruck. But these were my personal grim reapers, come to punish me for sins I didn't commit.

"Wait..."

His word caught me, his voice. I turned, tears stinging my eyes, and there he was. He had found me. But it was too late. The divine blast was already hurtling toward me, a searing light that promised oblivion.

"I'm sorry..." My last words to him.

The world dissolved. I don't remember the immediate aftermath, only a jumble of confused voices. Then, a new sound, sharp and insistent. Someone was calling 911. I was back. Back on Earth.

The hushed tones of the doctors drifted from the room, carrying a weight that settled heavily in the air. I could hear the tremor in my mother's voice, a rising panic that clawed at the edges of my awareness. My father, usually a bastion of calm, was radiating a palpable anger. And why wouldn't he be? Their missing daughter had stumbled back through their lives, a broken thing adorned in unfamiliar clothes, a testament to some unseen violence.

The word hung in the air, a single, devastating syllable.

"Pregnant..."

Speech deserted me. I had clawed my way back from the brink, barely escaping with my life. The cruel irony was almost unbearable: one night of stolen solace, and this was the price. This was the aftermath of seeking comfort in the arms of someone I shouldn't have.

"I'll find the man who did this to you..." My father's voice was a low growl, laced with a protective fury. But the truth was a tangled knot in my chest, a secret I couldn't bear to unravel. "The man" hadn't forced me. How could I possibly explain that the father of my child was a figment of digital code, a character ripped from the shimmering screen of a video game?

My mother's arms encircled me, a haven of warmth in the storm raging within. "We'll get through this..." she murmured, her voice thick with unshed tears. But I was drowning, swept away by a torrent of conflicting emotions, a maelstrom of thoughts that threatened to consume me whole.

The sterile scent of the hospital room hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of my current predicament. Dad had just stepped out, leaving me alone with my thoughts, a dangerous combination. The hospital said, I needed a few days of observation. Mom had put up a valiant fight to stay by my side.

I'd been flung back to Earth, a jarring return after… well, after everything. And pregnant. The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. I looked at Mom's face, etched with worry, and a pang of guilt twisted in my chest. Had she always looked this old? The thought was a fresh stab of pain.

"What happened?" she begged, her voice thick with concern. But the words caught in my throat, refusing to form. I couldn't speak, couldn't explain the impossible. She simply held me then, her arms a familiar comfort in a world that had suddenly tilted on its axis, and I sobbed, the pent-up emotions finally breaking free in a torrent of tears.

For weeks, the reality of the pregnancy was a wrestling match in my mind. Each day bled into the next as I prayed for guidance, endlessly contemplating the situation I found myself in. I wasn't a teenager anymore, but still a young adult, and let's face it, any pregnancy can feel like a tidal wave. Especially when the father was a character from Genshin Impact.

In the end, I chose to keep my child. Did I truly love the father? That's a complicated question, one I'm not sure I have the answer to even now. I was fond of him, yes. I loved him as a character I once mained in a game, poured hours into mastering his every move. But that affection is a world away from the one I actually made with him.

The years spun by like a top, and my little girl grew, each day a new adventure. Today, she's three years old, a whirlwind of energy and curiosity. She inherited my complexion, but it's her eyes that truly capture attention—his eyes. Those distinctive orbs, reminiscent of the evening sun setting over the desert in sumeru. The doctor diagnosed it as a form of Heterochromia, a harmless anomaly. But I knew the truth, didn't I?

I named my daughter Hala. It wasn't a name from my culture, but his. That one night, after "that" night, the memories still echo, sketched vividly in my mind. It was my one and only intimate moment with anyone. We hadn't meant for it to happen, curse those mushrooms.

"Mm?" I remember the feeling of laying on him, his hand warm on my back.

"Hala?" I asked, breaking the comfortable silence. He'd been going on about the moon, lost in his own world.

"It's the aurora around the moon..." He explained, his other hand extending, fingers forming a circle in the air.

"You really are a scholar..." I muttered, a hint of amusement in my voice. He was definitely smarter than me. It was something that shouldn't have happened between us. And I still blame it on the mushrooms.

I listen as my daughter plays among the boxes I’m sorting through. She's rummaging through my belongings, unearthing remnants of my Genshin merchandise: a vibrant wall scroll, a fan jacket that mirrors Furina's attire, and a few delicate pieces of jewelry.

Hala dresses up, adorning her little head with colorful hairbands, the oversized jacket slipping off her small shoulders. Her sweet, melodic humming fills the room, echoing the simple tunes. Then she discovers a slime and an Aranara plushie, immediately claiming them as her own. A smile spreads across my face, but it’s tinged with a hint of sadness. As a child of both Earth and Teyvat, she’s blissfully unaware of the world that exists.

Mama..." she calls out the only word she knows, clutching the plushie that represents a character from a world she knows nothing about—her father's world. Her bright eyes drift to its colorful features, and in that moment, I can't help but notice how they mirror his. She points to the eyes, her innocent curiosity shining through.

"You have the same eye color…" I reply softly, watching as Hala squeezes the plushie tightly. She’s laid claim to it now, yet she knows nothing of the man it represents. My heart aches at the thought; how do I explain this to a three-year-old?

"That’s Cyno," I say gently, guiding her imagination.

"He’s the General Mahamatra. He protects Sumeru from threats, even from rogue scholars..." I know she’s too young to fully grasp the weight of my words, but she delights in a good story. So, I told a tale for her, letting my daughter escape into the world of Teyvat while she clings to her newfound treasures.

To be continued maybe....

[violettwrites]

hi!! will you please write another fic about daryl x reader

reader seeing/experiencing something traumatic and she’s shaking and tears rolling down her cheeks and daryl sits down in front of her trying to comfort her.

safe in your skin 🏹 daryl dixon

a/n: hi nonnie than you so much for this request !! ( and sorry it took so long 😭 ) i listened to the song linked while writing this and highly recommend you guys do too !! it’s beautiful and tigers jaw is one of my fave bands 🫶🏻 anyway i hope you enjoy this !! and as always, don’t forget to like/reblog if you enjoyed this and feel free to follow me to see more of my stuff !! x

i also just realised gregory is the fkn asshole from hilltop but this is NOT him i just couldn’t think of names apparently i am so sorry

as always, my ask box is open !

( intended lowercase )

summary: reader and daryl go on a supply run, but are separated from someone close to them— when they do eventually find them, they must learn to deal with the unforgiving curse that is life.

warnings: mentions of death

word count: 848

the woods were eerily quiet, the usual rustle of leaves and the distant calls of wildlife had been replaced by a thick and heavy silence. you and daryl had been split from gregory during a supply run, someone you had been through the fall with since the start. your best friend in this unforgiving world. but you had known he was smart enough to survive on his own until the two of you found him. or so you thought.

the sun was starting to breach the horizon, the soft glow casting an almost angelic light over the town daryl had led you to in search for your best friend. if it was anyone else, he probably would have told them it wasn’t worth risking their lives to look for him, but you were different.

making your way towards the warehouse you all were supposed to go to so you could find supplies, you stopped once you reached the parking lot, spotting a group of walkers, all crouched down as they feasted on something— someone.

gregory.

you knew that brown coat he had worn since the start, now covered in blood and guts— the remains of what was once your best friend. the sight was too much, causing you to drop to your knees, mouth open to speak but nothing came out.

the brutal reality hit you like a tidal wave— all at once. sure, you had lost people before. people that were close to you, but there was something so much different about losing your best friend. your confidant. the one you told everything to. just taken away from you like that. he was gone. his last moments presented to you in a gruesome way— a way he never wanted to go out.

your hand shakily came to your mouth, tears clouding your vision as they freely streamed down your cheeks, choked sobs coming from your lips as you tried to process what happened, but you couldn’t. you couldn’t get your head around the fact he was truly gone. it was a sight that was haunting, knowing it would be imprinted in your mind for the rest of your life.

daryl, ever the stoic figure he was, had been beside you, at a loss for words. he watched as you struggled to keep yourself together, but the sight of you silently breaking down next to him made his heart wrench. you didn’t deserve to see your best friend’s end like that. no one did.

he took a deep breath, crouching down slowly in front of you, fearing that any sudden moment or words might shatter you further.

“hey,” he spoke softly, his rough voice carrying a tenderness that was rarely heard. he reached out, placing his hands on your shoulder in attempt to ground you— to bring you back to this reality, as much as you didn’t want to be here.

you looked up at him, eyes red and glassy, struggling to form words. daryl didn’t push; he simply stayed there, his present a silent testament to his support. he wasn’t asking you to speak or pretend you were okay, he was just there, a steady presence in the midst of your storm.

as the minutes ticked by, daryl slowly pulled you into a gentle embrace, arms tightly wrapped around you. you rested your head against his chest, body still trembling as you tried to come to terms with the loss you had just suffered suddenly. you tried to focus on the beat of his heart, steady as you listened, a small yet significant reassurance. he stroked your hair with one hand, the other still holding you close.

“i know,” he murmured into your hair, his voice rough yet filled with emotion. “it ain’t fair, it ain’t right.” he paused for a moment, swallowing hard as he tried to find the right words. “but we gotta keep goin’. for him. for everyone we lost. we gotta keep movin’.”

you nodded against him, the closeness offering a fragile sense of comfort. you knew daryl was right, the world didn’t stop for anyone. and the dead wouldn’t stop for anything. not even your tears and cries. but the ache in your chest was still painful. yet his presence was a lifeline, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, you weren’t alone.

eventually, you pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. there was a shared understanding in his eyes, an unspoken bond formed through loss and survival. everyone had experienced the same thing. but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

daryl offered a small, encouraging nod, and together, you stood up, ready to face the rest of your journey— knowing it would be filled with more moments like this. as much as you wish it wasn’t— that cruel things didn’t have to happen to such kind people.

the road ahead was uncertain and filled with the echoes of loss, but with daryl by your side, you took your first step forward, carrying the memory of gregory with you— not his gruesome death, but the light he brought to your life.

[sonamytrash]

Like that, Levi....

Warnings: MDNI, Smut, Oral Sex, Female receiving, Cunnilingus, Orgasm.

Levi's breath hitches as your nimble fingers make quick work of his shirt, exposing the toned, corded muscle beneath. He catches your hands before they can venture any lower.

"Easy there, brat." His voice is gruff with barely restrained desire. "I want to take my time with you." Leaning in, he captures your lips in a searing, possessive kiss, his tongue delving deep as his palms slide up your thighs, hiking your dress higher.

Pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, Levi's steel-grey eyes smolder with unbridled lust. "You've begged me to make you mine..." His fingers hook into the flimsy fabric of your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs. "And that's exactly what I'm going to do."

His gaze is utterly captivated by the glistening, swollen folds now on display before him.

"Look at how wet you are for me..." he rasps, his thumb brushing teasingly along your slick, sensitive flesh. "Fuck, I can practically smell your arousal." With a guttural groan, he leans in, his warm breath fanning across your most intimate areas. "I'm going to savor every single drop."

Without warning, Levi's mouth descends, his skilled tongue delving into your slick, pulsing heat. He licks and sucks with unbridled hunger, determined to bring you to the heights of ecstasy.

You moan loudly, gripping his hair, "Ah! Yes, Levi, like that...."

Levi's grip on your thighs tightens as he devours your glistening, slick heat, his tongue relentlessly lapping and swirling against your most sensitive spots. Muffled moans and guttural growls reverberate against your trembling flesh as he loses himself in your intoxicating taste and scent.

"Fuck..." he rasps, briefly pulling back to catch his breath, his steely eyes smoldering with unbridled desire. "You taste even better than I imagined." His lips and chin coated in your arousal. With a predatory grin you have never seen from the captain before, he dives back in, his tongue plunging deep as his thumb begins circling your swollen clit in a steady, firm rhythm.

"Levi.." You mewl, "I-I'm close."

Your words send a jolt of pure, carnal hunger through him. With a guttural growl, he doubles his efforts, his tongue plunging deeper as his thumb strokes your swollen clit in rapid, firm circles.

"Then cum for me, sweetheart..." he rasps against your trembling flesh. "I want to drink down every last drop." His free hand slides up your body, fingers closing around your breast and kneading the sensitive mound. "Let go for me, baby. I've got you."

It doesn't take your body much more to come undone for him.

Levi's eyes widen in awe as your orgasm crashes over you, your hot, slick juices gushing against his relentless tongue. With a deep, guttural groan, he laps at your quivering flesh, greedily drinking down every last drop as promised until your trembling subsides.

Slowly, he drags himself up your body, his steel-grey eyes smouldering with naked desire. With a possessive growl, he captures your lips in a searing, claiming kiss, allowing you to taste your own arousal on his tongue.

"Fuck...." he rasps breathlessly, his calloused palms roaming your flushed, quivering form. "I could do that all damn day."

His hips grind against yours, the hard, insistent bulge in his pants a testament to his own raging need. "But I'm not nearly done with you yet..."

[youryurigoddess]

I was minding my own business and analyzing another part of the A. Z. Fell & Co. bookshop from the Radio Times footage when I noticed something interesting on Aziraphale’s desk. It looks like the angel was studying a handwritten copy of someone’s last will and testament and left in a hurry, with a bronze medal and a fountain pen on top of it. And… an attachment of a land registry plan, barely visible underneath.

Obviously that’s when my South Downs obsessed brain turned all of its alarms on and decided to read the whole thing. And look for the missing parts, since only a portion of the original document was visible on screen. Unfortunately the full text is much longer and less exciting than anticipated, and — spoiler alert — related to a different area of the country, but still relevant to the Good Omens universe. We’ll look into that in a moment.

Let’s start with the struck bronze medal — acting here as a paperweight, which makes the documents in question already stand out from the usual bumph and bric-a-brac accumulated by Aziraphale over an unknown period of time on his desk.

It’s a very interesting rendition of the mythological scene centered around Daedalus fastening the wings onto his son Icarus (little does he know that this attempt to escape imprisonment will lead to his son’s demise). Contrary to popular sentiment in the history of art, this particular version of Icarus isn’t depicted as a child or teenager, but as a warrior donning a helmet and preparing himself to battle. Which makes perfect sense after discovering that it was made for the Royal Air Force Athletic & Cross Country Association’s WAAF Athletic Championships in 1945. There’s some poetic irony in the fact that the medal was apparently given to the third place winner in a high jump category.

Apart from its obviously military style, this concept seems inspired by a 1885-86 medal by Auguste Patey commemorating the experimental flights at the first French wind tunnel at Chalais-Meudon, a town on the banks of the Seine near Paris. On 9 August 1884, engineers Charles Renard and Arthur Constantin Krebs made the first controllable free flight there when they piloted their airship, La France, over a course and returned to their starting point. From 9 August 1884 to 23 September 1885, La France made seven flights and was able to return to its starting point five times.

The last Will and Testament of Josiah Wedgwood

The last Will and Testament of me, Josiah Wedgwood, of Etruria, in the County of Stafford, made the second day of November, in the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and ninety-three, in manner and form following (that is to say): I give and bequeath unto my dear and affectionate Wife, Sarah Wedgwood, all that messuage or dwelling-house situate at or near Etruria aforesaid, with the buildings, gardens, and appurtenances thereto belonging, late in the holding of Mr. Thomas Wedgwood; and also all that field or piece of land in which the same stands, containing eight acres or thereabouts; and also all that close, piece, or parcel of land lying contiguous to the said dwelling-house, called the Horse Pasture, containing by estimation twelve acres or thereabouts; and also all that piece or parcel of land situate at Etruria aforesaid, heretofore purchased by me from Mr. Hugh Booth; To have and to hold the said messuage or dwelling-house, pieces or parcels of land, hereditaments and premises, with their and every of their appurtenances, unto my said Wife, Sarah Wedgwood and her assigns, for and during the term of her natural life. And from and after her decease, I give and devise all and singular the said messuage or dwelling-house, pieces or parcels of land, hereditaments, and premises, with their and every of their appurtenances, unto my Son, Josiah Wedgwood, his heirs and assigns for ever. Also I give and bequeath the sum of three thousand pounds unto my said Wife, to be paid to her within twelve months next after my decease. Also I give and bequeath unto my said Wife so much and such part of my household goods and furniture as is mentioned and specified in the Schedule or Paper Writing hereunto annexed, marked with the Letter A. Also I give and bequeath the sum of ten thousand pounds unto my Executors hereinafter named, upon trust that they, my said Executors, do and shall place the said sum of ten thousand pounds out upon some good and sufficient public or private security or securitys, at interest, to be approved of nevertheless by my said Wife, and do and shall pay to, or permit and suffer my said Wife to receive and take the interest, dividends, and produce of the said sum of Ten thousand pounds, as the same shall from time to time become due to and for her own use and benefit for and during the term of her natural life.

And from and after the decease of my said Wife, I direct that the said sum of ten thousand pounds shall be applied for and towards payment and satisfaction of the several legacys or sums of money hereinafter given by me. And I do hereby direct that the provision hereinbefore made or intended for my said Wife shall be in lieu, bar, and satisfaction of dower and thirds at Common Law. Also I give and devise unto my said Executors, for the use of my said son, Josiah Wedgwood, his heirs and assigns for ever, that part of Etruria Estate which I now occupy, upon the north side of the Turnpike Road leading from Newcastle to Leek, with the house I now live in, the outbuildings belonging to the same, with the pleasure grounds and all appurtenances thereto belonging, being about sixty-five acres; and also another part of the Etruria Estate, now in the occupation of Richard Hall, being about sixty-eight acres; And also another part of the Etruria Estate, now in the occupation of Thomas Ford, being about forty-five acres; and also the Estate late a part of the White House Estate, on the south side the Turnpike Road leading from Newcastle to Leek; and likewise the land purchased from Thomas Heath, with a small meadow on the north side the said Road, and lying in the Parish of Woolstanton; and likewise a meadow lately purchased from John Mare, of Handley, — all in the holding of Richard Billington, being altogether about eighty-one acres; and also a piece of land on the south side of the same Road, now in the holding of Daniel Haywood, being about two acres; and also an Estate bought from George Taylor, and now in the holding of Jonathan Adams, being about nine acres; and also a small piece of land adjoining the land bought from Hugh Booth, together with a part of the Hough Meadow, and now in the holding of John Ryder, being about four acres; and also an estate called the Spittels, situate in Penkhull, in the Parish of Stoke upon Trent, and lately purchased from James Godwin, containing sixty-three acres or thereabouts; and also an Estate adjoining to the Spittels on one side, and to Stoke Lane on the other, situate in Penkhull aforesaid, in the Parish of Stoke upon Trent, late in the holding of Humphrey Ratcliff, containing fifteen acres or thereabouts; and also a piece of land called the Woodhills, situate in the Parish of Stoke upon Trent, lately purchased from Ralph Baddeley, and now in my own occupation, being about eleven acres; and also all buildings, tenements, houses, farmhouses, outhouses, pot works, warehouses, workshops, and other buildings, of what kind soever they may be, situate, standing, and being upon any of the land or premises above named, and not hereinbefore devised; and also all my share of the models and molds of the Manufactory in Etruria aforesaid. Also I give and bequeath the sum of thirty thousand pounds unto my son John Wedgwood. Also I give and bequeath the sum of twenty-nine thousand one hundred and ten pounds, and likewise twenty shares in the Monmouthshire Canal, unto my Son Thomas Wedgwood.

Also I give and bequeath the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds unto my daughter Susannah Wedgwood; and which said several legacys or sums of thirty thousand pounds, and twenty-nine thousand one hundred and ten pounds, and twenty shares in the Monmouthshire Canal, and twenty-five thousand pounds, so given to my said Son John Wedgwood, and to my said Son Thomas Wedgwood, and to my said Daughter Susannah Wedgwood, I do hereby direct shall be paid to them as soon as conveniently may be after my decease, together with interest for the same in the mean time, after the rate of four pounds and ten shillings per centum per annum. Also I give and bequeath the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds unto my Daughter Catharine Wedgwood, to be paid to her as soon after her age of twenty-one years, or day of marriage, which shall first happen, as conveniently may be, with interest for the same in the mean time after the rate of four pounds and ten shillings per centum per annum. Also I give and bequeath the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds unto my Daughter Sarah Wedgwood, to be paid to her as soon after her age of twenty-one years, or day of marriage, which shall first happen, as conveniently may be, with interest for the same in the mean time after the rate of four pounds and ten shillings per centum per annum. Provided always, and I do hereby direct, that in case my said Daughters Catherine Wedgwood and Sarah Wedgwood, or either of them, shall happen to die unmarried before the age of twenty-one years, then that the legacy or legacys of her or them so dying shall sink into and become part of the residue of my personal Estate, and be applied and disposed of accordingly, as shall hereinafter be mentioned. Also I do hereby declare it to be my will that all the rest, residue, and remainder of my said stock in trade, goods, wares, implements, materials, and utensils of trade, and other matters and things used by me, in or belonging to my said Manufactory, except the models or molds therein used or kept, shall, at the time of my decease, sink into and become part of the residue of my personal estate, and be applied and disposed of accordingly. Also I give and bequeath all and singular my household goods and furniture not hereinbefore given to my said Wife, together with all my books, prints, books of prints, pictures, and cabinets of Experiments, of Fossils, and of Natural History, unto my said Son Josiah Wedgwood. And I do hereby commit the Guardianship and Tuition of such of my said children as shall not at the time of my decease have attained the age of twenty-one years unto my said Wife and my said Son John Wedgwood, until such children shall attain the said age. And I do direct that the fortunes or portions of such of my said children shall in the mean time be managed by my said Wife and my said Son John Wedgwood, and a competent part of the interest and produce thereof be applied for their maintenance and education, and the residue of such interest and produce be suffered to accumulate for their benefit and advantage in such manner as my said Wife and Son John Wedgwood shall in their discretion think most meet and proper.

Also I givo and bequeath one annuity or yearly sum of twenty pounds unto my Brother in Law, Philip Clark, for and during the term of his natural life. Also I give and bequeath one annuity or yearly sum of Twenty pounds unto my Niece, Sarah Taylor, for and during the term of her natural life. Also I give and bequeath one annuity or yearly sum of twenty pounds unto Mr. Alexander Chisholm, for and during the term of his natural life; recommending it to my Son Josiah Wedgwood to give him any further assistance that he may stand in need of, to make the remainder of his life easy and comfortable. And I do hereby direct that the said several and respective annuitys of twenty pounds, twenty pounds, and twenty pounds shall be paid and payable quarterly, at the four most usual feasts or days of payment in the year, (that is to say) on every twenty-fifth day of March, twenty-fourth day of June, twenty-ninth day of September, and twenty-fifth day of December, by even and equal portions, free and clear of and from all taxes, charges, and deductions whatsoever; the first payment thereof to begin and be made on such of the said days as shall first and next happen after my decease. Also I give and bequeath the sum of ten guineas unto the said Alexander Chisholm, as a testimony of my regard for him. Also I give and bequeath the sum of two hundred pounds apiece unto all and every the children of my Nephew Thomas Byerley, who shall be living at the time of my decease, to be paid to them at their respective ages of twenty-one years: Provided always, and in case any one or more of the said children shall happen to die without issue before he, she, or they shall attain the said age, then I direct that the legacy or legacys to him, her, or them so dying shall go and be paid unto and amongst the survivors or survivor of them equally, share and share alike, in case there shall be more than one, at such time and in such manner as is hereinbefore directed and expressed of and concerning the said original legacys or sums of two hundred pounds: Provided also, and in case all the said children shall happen to die without issue before they shall attain the said age, then I direct that all the said legacies or sums of Two hundred pounds so given to them as aforesaid shall sink into and become part of the residue of my personal estate, and be applied and disposed of accordingly. And I do hereby expressly direct and declare that no interest shall be allowed or paid upon the said respective legacys or sums of two hundred pounds in the mean time from my decease to the time that the same shall become payable by virtue of this my Will; such legacys or sums of two hundred pounds being given by me in lieu of legacys or sums of one hundred pounds, which it was originally my intention to have directed to be placed out at interest, and to have accumulated for such children of the said Thomas Byerley as aforesaid until they should attain the age of twenty-one years. Also I give and bequeath unto each of my Nephews Thomas and John Wedgwood, Sons of my late Nephew Thomas Wedgwood, of the Upper House in Burslem, the sum of two hundred pounds each, to be paid to them at their respective ages of twenty-one years: Provided always, and in case they shall either or both of them die before they arrive at the age of twenty-one years, I direct that the legacy or legacys of the party or parties so dying, of two hundred pounds so given to them as aforesaid, shall sink into and become part of the residue of my personal estate, and be applied and disposed of accordingly.

Also I give to my Servant George Jones the sum of twenty guineas, as a token of my remembrance of his faithful services to me. Also I give and bequeath to the several persons whose names shall be mentioned and comprised in the Schedule or List hereto annexed, signed with my name, and marked with the letter "B," the mourning Rings or other small legacys or sums of money which shall be therein specified and expressed. Also I give and bequeath unto James Caldwell, Esq., of Newcastle under Lyme, in the County of Stafford, the sum of one hundred pounds, which I desire he will accept as a testimony of my friendship and esteem for him. And I do hereby direct and appoint that my said Nephew Thomas Byerley shall, under the direction of my Executors, settle my accounts and manage and conduct the collection of my debts and other matters relating to the settlement of my concerns in business; and that a Salary of one hundred pounds per annum be allowed and paid to him for such particular service, so long as he shall be employed therein, over and above all charges and expenses attending the same. And it is also my Will that an estate at Burslem, late in the occupation of Joseph Wedgwood, consisting of a newly erected dwelling house, a set of pot works, with other buildings, and a field called the Cross Hill, containing altogether about two acres; and likewise an estate in the Parish of Astbury, in the County of Chester, called Spengreen, and now in the holding of Thomas Johnson, containing about seventy-five acres or thereabouts; and also a piece of land on the east side of the Bridge in Congleton, in the said County of Chester, being about two rods; and also all the rest, residue, and remainder, messages, lands, tenements, hereditaments, and real estate, money, securities for money, debts due and owing, personal Estate and Effects of what nature or kind soever or wheresoever, not hereinbefore particularly devised or disposed of, together with such or so much of the several sums of money hereinbefore mentioned and bequeathed as shall, by means of the contingencies and directions hereinbefore expressed, shall all of them sink into and become parts of the said residue of my personal Estate. And I do hereby give, devise, and bequeath the same unto my said Executors, for the payment of the legacys and annuities hereinbefore mentioned; and provided there should be a residue after the above mentioned payments, then I direct that such residue shall go and be divided unto and amongst my said children, John Wedgwood, Thomas Wedgwood, Susannah Wedgwood, Catherine Wedgwood, and Sarah Wedgwood, their heirs, executors, administrators, and assigns, equally, share and share alike, as tenants in common, and not as joint tenants; and if there should be any deficiency of real or personal estates for paying the said legacys and annuitys, such deficiency shall in that case be born equally amongst and made up by those my said children above named, (that is to say) John Wedgwood, Thomas Wedgwood, Susannah Wedgwood, Catherine Wedgwood, and Sarah Wedgwood, share and share alike, in proportion to the amount of the legacys to them herein left and bequeathed. And I do hereby nominate, constitute, and appoint my said Wife, my said Son John Wedgwood, and the said James Caldwell, Esq., Executrix and Executors of this my Will. And lastly, I do hereby revoke all former or other Will or Wills by me at any time heretofore made, and do declare this only to be my last Will and Testament.

In witness whereof I have to this my last Will and Testament, contained in six sheets of paper, and have to each of the first five sheets thereof set my hand, and to the sixth and last sheet thereof my hand and seal the day and year first before written. — Jos. Wedgwood (L.S.)

Signed, sealed, published, and declared by the said Josiah Wedgwood, as and for his last Will and Testament, in the presence of us, who in his presence, and in the presence of each other, have hereunto subscribed our names as witnesses thereto; the several following words being first interlined: money—my—happen—said. — Alexr. Chisholm, Thomas Mitchell, Joseph Mitchell, Joseph Rutland

John Wedgwood, of Etruria, in the County of Stafford, Esquire, maketh oath, and saith that he has searched among the papers and writings of his late Father, Josiah Wedgwood, late of Etruria aforesaid, Esquire, deceased, in order to find certain Schedules or Paper Writings referred to in the last Will and Testament of the said Josiah Wedgwood, and therein mentioned to be annexed thereto, and respectively marked A and B. And this Deponent further saith that he has not been able to find such Schedules or Paper Writings, or either of them; and this Deponent further saith that he has never heard or been informed, nor does he believe that the said Josiah Wedgwood ever wrote or made out, or caused to be written or made out, such Schedules or Paper Writings, or either of them. — John Wedgwood

Sworn at Newcastle under Lyme, in the County of Stafford, the 29th day of June, 1795, Before me, John Lloyd, a Commissioner.

Proved at London, 2nd July, 1795, before the Judge, by the Oath of John Wedgwood, the Son, one of the Executors, to whom Administration was granted, having been first sworn by Commission duly to administer. Power reserved of making the like grant to Sarah Wedgwood, Widow, the Relict, and James Caldwell, the other Executors, when they shall apply for the same.

That was… certainly a lot of words. Let’s see if they mean anything! Turns out that this isn’t another John Gibson, rural postman and shoemaker from New Cumnock, Scotland, but a prominent historical figure with close familial connections to someone whose name you definitely know.

Josiah Wedgwood (12 July 1730 – 3 January 1795) was an English potter, entrepreneur and abolitionist. Founding the Wedgwood company in 1759, he developed improved pottery bodies by systematic experimentation, and was the leader in the industrialisation of the manufacture of European pottery. He is credited as a pioneer of modern marketing, specifically direct mail, money back guarantees, travelling salesmen, carrying pattern boxes for display, self-service, free delivery, buy one get one free, and illustrated catalogues.

As well as pretty, decorative vases and crockery with aesthetics and technology rooted in antiquity, Wedgwood put his designs to a more radical use. He was elected onto the Committee of the Abolition of the Slave Trade and designed an anti-slavery medallion which became the most famous image of a black person in all of 18th-century art. Covering the costs of distribution and production himself, Wedgwood ensured that it became a powerful symbol of public support.

Josiah was also a founder of the famous Darwin–Wedgwood family and the grandfather of Charles and Emma Darwin. It was the considerable inheritance Josiah left to his son, Josiah II, that enabled young Darwin’s survey voyage aboard HMS Beagle and, consequently, the development of his theory of evolution.

Okay, but what links the “Prince of Potters” to Aziraphale and his bookshop?

In 1774 Josiah Wedgwood and his longtime business partner, Thomas Bentley, opened a new warehouse, enamelling rooms and most handsome showrooms at 12-13 Greek Street, Soho. In 1795, after Josiah’s death, the Wedgwood studio moved to 8 St. James’s Square and the buildings were later occupied by coachmakers, writers and other artists.

Now, through Word of God we already know that Aziraphale spent the 1600s using his personal savings to gradually buy out portions of the neighboring land in order to build the original bookshop “on Greek Street just off Old Compton”, which finally opened in its current form in 1800.

This means that for the time Josiah’s company operated in Soho, they were at least neighbors.

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

tht finale thoughts--

+ that was very slow motion-y and contemplative and self-indulgent, which honestly, i'll take over a finale where everybody dies! i thought it was just, like, okay, but it didn't ruin the entire show for me retroactively, so i'll take it!

+ however: june and moira not having a big last scene???? moira not getting one last big moment?? moira, one of the great loves of her life????? lame, tacky, hated that. are you serious?????? such a bad choice. just a gaping hole where her last big scene with moira should have been. booooooooooooooo. so disrespectful to their friendship, the character, and the great and too-oft-underutilized-here samira wiley. i wanted one last june and moira moment to weep at, ok.

+ serena being like "if he had ever been free to choose, he would have chosen you" or whatever ... girl!!! she's not talking about nick!!!! she's talking about herself!!!!!!! serena joy "i have a big lesbian crush on june" waterford!!!!!!! I SEE YOU, LADY. FOR ONE LAST TIME, I SEE YOU. i figure her ending was about right. she lost everything except the one thing she truly wanted, which means she got more than she karmically deserved. may she do better with it! it seems like she will. i feel like she and noah are going to have SUCH a weird dynamic; hopefully more lucille and buster bluth than the mom and dude from psycho, i guess. and at least tuello's out there somewhere, having the lowkey hots for a beautiful war criminal and vowing to find her, and june's out there somewhere, and she and serena will probably run into each other again someday under the weirdest and very slightly sexiest circumstances possible. maybe they will edit june's book together and june will be like "ha ha i made you old and bitter and a weird televangelist."

+ so pleased to see the surprise return of emily!!! i watched the first episode this morning to prepare, which was great, because that meant i really caught that parallel. emily and her family are doing okay!

+ i feel like the landslide karaoke fantasy is going to get soooo panned, but i thought it was sort of sweet as june's trauma-informed wild daydream of what she and her girlies would've been doing in a gentler, better world. and i liked seeing alma back! and janine's other eye! edit: apparently this was a reference to a line on the show about them doing karaoke, which i had forgotten because i haven't ever rewatched this show, so! i like the resonance this takes on with that context!! girls just wanna have stevie nicks karaoke instead of the horrors!!!!

+ june and luke had a before and they'll have an after!!!!!! they're gonna go get hannah, i guess maybe in the testaments sequel series!!!!!! (sidenote: god, they should just make it a one-season miniseries if they're doing it at all. PLEASE. enough!) i enjoyed their last conversation and the way things have changed so inevitably and dramatically between them but they're also -- in whatever way, shape or form -- not over because their family is forever. i'm okay that they're not really in a kissing place because her other lover just died at her hand, but hey, maybe again someday. to me. the internet's one and only june/luke shipper, signing off from a better place than i ever would have dared to dream of during any season of this show. 🫡

+ this dialogue vs. the dialogue back when they had atwood to draw from is honestly a shocking contrast. the "cutting edge" line felt legit out of place because the dialogue's gotten so boring and predictable in the seasons since. (not to be mean! just keeping it real!) this has definitely become one of those shows where i can predict literally everything they're gonna say before they say it, which is too bad. but like, whatever, i can live with it. i just would've loved to see a version of the show that had sharper dialogue all throughout, esp. for the series finale.

however: i liked the mirroring of the beginning and the ending! i was suspecting that might be their choice for the end when i rewatched the first episode earlier today, and i thought it bookended nicely. it felt really interesting to see her speaking the words of the voiceover aloud after so many years of interpreting that as her silent inner voice.

+ the tapes! the tapes are happening!!! was there a post-credits scene of the future academic conference? i stopped watching before i could find out for sure. i'm assuming not. but ... maybe?? i might go watch the rest of these credits. bye, guys!

[gumballavocadoharry]

The messiness:

The rain had stopped, but the city air held a damp chill that seemed to seep into Yn’s bones, a familiar echo of the coldness inside her. She found herself at the familiar red door of ‘From the Restaurant Table’ more often now, not always for a meal, but often just to exist within its warm, fragrant bubble. The scent of roasting garlic, slow-simmering broth, and freshly baked bread was a constant, gentle presence, a stark contrast to the sterile emptiness that often clawed at her from within.

Her worn copy of ‘The Elements of Style’ lay open on the small table near the window, pages dog-eared and underlined. Around it were scattered notes for her advanced fiction workshop, scribbled ideas for short stories teeming with characters whose emotional landscapes felt less complicated than her own. College was relentless. Her writing courses, in particular, were demanding, requiring a brutal honesty about narrative and form that she found excruciatingly difficult to apply to her own life.

Professor Weaver, her workshop instructor, was a brilliant but sharp-tongued woman who tore apart weak prose with surgical precision, pushing Yn to strip away artifice and find the raw, beating heart of a story. It was the kind of challenge she craved, the kind that ignited her ambition to be a real writer, to craft sentences that hummed with truth and resonance. But the pressure was immense, another weight added to the already precarious balance she maintained.

Harry was a constant, comforting presence amidst the academic storm and the internal turmoil. He’d wander over during lulls, wiping down tables or polishing glasses, his dark brown hair falling across his forehead, his green eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiled. He never pressed her about ordering a full meal if she wasn’t ready. Instead, he’d bring her a glass of water infused with cucumber and mint, or a small bowl of olives, or a single, perfect warm roll with a pat of herb butter she could nibble at under the table. He understood, instinctively it seemed, that sometimes just being there was enough.

Tonight, the restaurant was quiet, the last diners having departed an hour ago. Yn was bent over her laptop, trying to untangle a particularly knotty plot point, the glow of the screen illuminating the faint shadows under her eyes. Harry was clattering softly in the kitchen, the rhythmic sound a soothing backdrop.

The kitchen door swung open, and Harry emerged, wiping his hands on his apron. "Still at it?" he asked, his voice soft.

Yn stretched, wincing at the stiffness in her shoulders. "Just one more paragraph," she lied, knowing she’d be there for at least another hour. "Professor Weaver wants these revisions by tomorrow morning."

"Rough night?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly. He walked over, pulling up a chair opposite her without asking, a testament to the comfortable familiarity that had grown between them.

"Just... demanding," she admitted, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Writing is supposed to be freeing, but sometimes it feels like building a house with toothpicks."

Harry chuckled, a warm, rich sound. "I get it. Cooking is like that sometimes. You think you’ve got the recipe perfect, but then one ingredient is off, or the heat’s too high, and the whole thing collapses." He paused, looking at her, his expression growing a little more serious. "Hey, I was thinking of whipping up some of that chicken and ginger soup you liked the other week. It’s late, but I don’t mind staying to make a small batch. It’s good for the brain food, you know?"

Yn’s stomach twisted. The thought of the soup, light and flavorful, was appealing on one level – a memory of a positive eating experience. But the ingrained response, the automatic calculation of calories, the fierce whisper of the "inner demons" telling her she was being weak, greedy, out of control, was louder. It was a constant, insidious soundtrack in her mind, a cruel critic that never slept.

"Oh, Haz," she said, trying to keep her voice light. "That’s so sweet of you, but I think I just need to power through this chapter and then get home. I’m wiped."

Harry’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. He studied her face for a moment, his gaze lingering on her cheekbones that seemed just a little too prominent lately, the slight slackness around her eyes. He’d noticed. He’d noticed her pushing food around her plate, picking at salads, leaving most of the heartier meals untouched. He’d noticed the way her favorite sweater seemed to hang a little looser on her frame compared to when she first started frequenting the restaurant months ago. He didn’t know what he was noticing, not really, but his protective instincts, honed by years of taking care of his younger siblings and now his customers, were buzzing with quiet alarm.

"Yn," he began gently, his voice low. "Are you... are you eating enough? You seem a little... tired."

The question, gentle as it was, landed like a punch. The fortress of fear, the careful facade she maintained, felt like it was cracking. Her heart hammered against her ribs. He sees. He knows. The inner demons shrieked, telling her she was exposed, a failure, that her lack of control was visible to the world.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine," she said quickly, too quickly. She closed her laptop with a snap, shoving it into her bag along with her notebook and pen. Her movements were jerky, agitated. "Just the college grind, you know? All-nighters and caffeine." She stood up, pulling on her jacket, avoiding his gaze.

Harry stood too, his expression etched with confusion and concern. "Yn, wait. I didn't mean to pry, I just... I worry about you."

"I know, Harry," she said, already halfway to the door. Her voice was strained. "And I really appreciate you. You're the best. But I really do need to get this done. Professor Weaver is ruthless." She fumbled with the lock, her hand trembling slightly. "I'll, uh, I'll see you soon?"

It wasn’t a question that invited an answer. It was a desperate plea for escape. Before he could say anything else, she was out the door, leaving him standing alone in the quiet restaurant, the faint scent of spices still lingering in the air, a silent witness to her hurried departure and his growing unease.

The walk back to her apartment was a blur. The chill of the night air did nothing to cool the heat rising in her cheeks or the frantic pounding in her chest. Each step felt like she was running from herself, from Harry’s kind eyes that saw too much, from the simple, terrifying question he had asked.

She slammed the door shut behind her, the sound echoing in the small, sterile space. Dropping her bag onto the floor, she leaned against the wood, exhaling a shaky breath that was more of a sob. And then the tears came, hot and relentless, blurring the familiar lines of her living room.

She sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees, the sobs wracking her body. The guilt was a suffocating blanket – guilt for lying to Harry, guilt for wasting his concern, guilt for being so fundamentally broken. The inner demons, momentarily silenced by his question, surged back with renewed vigor. You can’t even handle a simple question. You’re weak. You’re out of control. This is why you have to be vigilant. This is why you can’t trust anyone, especially not yourself.

The image of Harry's worried face, his gentle voice asking if she was eating enough, was a painful counterpoint to the cruel whispers in her head. He represented possibility – the possibility of warmth, of nourishment, of a life where food wasn’t the enemy. But her illness, the insidious grip of the eating disorder, was a formidable opponent. It wasn’t just about food; it was about control, about self-worth, about years of internalizing the subtle messages that her body was something to be policed, a canvas of imperfection that needed constant correction. Her grandmother's voice, though silenced by death, lived on in the cruel judgment of the demons.

She thought about Professor Weaver's latest critique of her story – "You're holding back, Yn. You're afraid to show the messiness. Art isn't clean." How could she show the messiness in her writing when she spent every waking moment trying to hide the chaotic, terrifying mess inside herself? The pressure to excel in her studies, to prove her intelligence and worth on paper, felt inextricably linked to the pressure to control her body, to make it conform to an arbitrary standard of perfection her illness demanded. It was a vicious cycle, each stressor feeding the other.

Crying didn’t offer catharsis, only exhaustion. She felt hollowed out, physically and emotionally drained. She wanted to reach out, to call Harry, to somehow articulate the tangled knot of fear, shame, and desperate longing that was her reality. She wanted to tell him about the grandmother who had turned meals into battlegrounds, about the feeling of being swallowed whole by anxiety, about the food that tasted like ash in her mouth even when her body craved it.

But the words wouldn’t come. The secret felt too heavy, too ugly to share with someone so vibrant and kind. How could she invite him into this darkness? How could she reconcile the sunlit world of his restaurant, a place dedicated to joy and nourishment, with the starved, fearful landscape of her inner life?

She curled tighter on the floor, the cold seeping into her clothes. She was tired. So incredibly tired of the constant battle, of the vigilant hiding, of the relentless noise of the demons. Harry’s concern, while terrifying in the moment, also offered a flicker of something else – a fragile sense of being seen, and despite that, not immediately rejected.

The path ahead felt impossibly long, shrouded in the shadows of her illness. But for the first time, the thought of not travelling it alone, of somehow finding the courage to reach out, felt less like an impossibility and more like a desperate, aching need. She just didn’t know how to build a bridge between her world of fear and his world of warmth, how to whisper her secret across the chasm that separated them.

The barrier remained, silent and seemingly insurmountable, leaving Harry standing in the quiet restaurant, wondering, worrying, while she was alone in her apartment, the sound of her own quiet weeping the only thing breaking the silence.

[apilgrimpassingby]

Hi! I'm a fellow young guy in America discerning converting to Orthodoxy from Methodism, and I was wondering if you had any advice pertinent for someone from this tradition. The question is this: I know you said before you dislike Calvinism, but how do you feel about Protestant Arminianism? What do you feel Wesleyan-Arminianism lacks when compared to Orthodoxy theology?

Thanks.

This is a really fun ask, thank you!

I don't know a lot about Methodism and what I do know I like (entire sanctification, giving to the poor and working for social justice, free will), so this will be a more general overview of my problems with Protestantism.

The biggest one - sola scriptura. Specifically, I oppose any idea of there being one authority to which all the others must submit, whether that authority is Holy Scripture (in Protestantism) or the Magisterium (in Roman Catholicism). Rather, what's authoritative is what's part of the received body of teaching and practice of the Church, whether that be Scripture, the Fathers, oral Tradition or the Ecumenical Councils, and none of them need to be "proved" by the others, because the Holy Trinity, not any of Their teaching, is the "final authority".

My other problem with sola scriptura is that they need to argue for a specific version of the text (usually a reconstructed "original text" based primarily on the Masoretic Text) as "the authoritative one", because if Holy Scripture is being used to judge everything else then you need to be very clear what is and isn't Holy Scripture. But that's simply not what I see in Church history - in the Patristic period, Greek Christian communities used the Septuagint, Latin Christian communities used the Vulgate, Syriac Christians used the Peshitta, and so on, without viewing each other as any more or less valid for it. And that's before getting into the issues of different canons or with the Masoretic Text's position as "the original text" being dubious, or the problems with the idea of "the original text" at all (on the last topic, Fr. Stephen DeYoung has a very good article).

On the other big sola (sola gratia, solus Christus and sola Dei gloria would, at least in some form, be affirmed by everyone), sola fide has, to my mind, been effectively discredited by the New Perspective on Paul; if you haven't heard of it, it effectively says that the passages Protestants interpret as teaching sola fide are instead teaching that faithfulness to Christ saves, and Jewish identity markers ("the works of the Law") do not. I think this makes more sense on pretty much all counts. (If you want more on the New Perspective, Fr. Stephen DeYoung's Bible study podcast, The Whole Counsel of God, goes over St. Paul's works from the New Perspective).

One of the most common arguments against Protestantism, and one that I do think is good, is that the New Testament and the Fathers give no mandate for establishing your own church, and indeed, evidence to the contrary. St. Paul never told the Galatians or the Corinthians to split off from the messes that were their churches, and St. Athanasius never tried to found his own church despite being expelled by the Arians multiple times. The standard issue YouTube classical Protestant apologist (if you don't know what I'm talking about, I envy you) will reply that the Reformers agreed, which honestly makes me respect Protestantism less; their position amounts to "schism is always wrong ... except when the Reformers did it!"

Most Protestants don't use typological exegesis, and those who do don't use it as their primary mode of exegesis. Which I vehemently disagree with - St. Peter (1 Peter 3:20-21), St. Paul (Galatians 4:21-31, 1 Corinthians 9:8-12) and Christ Himself (John 3:14) all used it, as did the Fathers from the earliest days (for example, the Epistle of St. Barnabas). Even the Fathers who sometimes get cited as opposed to it, such as St. John Chrysostom, still used it (for example, Homily 27 on Hebrews), they just had reservations about how widely it could be used.

The saints. The beauty of an eternal communion of love and prayer, unbound by time or space, is something not to be underestimated. Particularly the Theotokos; the Theotokos has done so much good for me and brought so much beauty into my life that I don't think I'd tolerate Christianity without her.

Almost every Protestant church in the West is modernist, from Evangelicals going "our traditional theology has rock music and a pastor in jeans!" to mainline Protestants going "our traditional liturgy has social justice and progressive theology!" This is exactly where the standard-issue YouTube Protestant apologist will say #NotAllProtestants. But it's most of them, and almost all of the ones who are culturally visible. Related to this, I think the attraction of the thoroughgoing traditionalism of Orthodoxy isn't solely or even mostly about "retvrn to tradition" (despite what the media and much of internet Orthodoxy says); it's that, in a world supersaturated with people trying to sell us things, a church that makes no effort to attract people is, paradoxically, profoundly attractive.

There's probably more, but that's it for now. Thanks for the ask!

[acrinyx]

The Scapegoat Jester

AAAAAHHHHHHH HERE'S MY TAKE ON ACE OVERBLOT

Edit 06/19/2025: COMPLETED 15/15 chapters, ~30k words

This fic will update every Monday hopefully if not I will apologize profusely and lock in (finals are coming up so updates might be irregular)

Here's the first chapter free of charge :)

Listen. Ace wasn’t perfect. He knew this. Every flaw he had was so painfully obvious that he was sure a part of his soul came from Hell. Everyone else seemed to think so. No one was particularly jumping at the chance to be his friend, and he hit a goldmine with Deuce and Yuu, who introduced him to the rest of their friends. He’s managed to keep them despite all the trials their friendship has been through. He’s maintained his grades pretty well all things considered, with only one C+ in one of his subjects. His reputation wasn’t the best, but that was fine. Everything was going well. It wasn’t perfect, but Ace liked the way things were.

But nothing good for him lasted forever, and the cracks were already starting to form.

It started when Deuce discovered his Unique Magic. It was selfish, Ace knew, and he was happy for him, truly. Having Unique Magic at all was an accomplishment and testament to the power of a mage, and discovering it this early just set Deuce on a path for him to get even stronger. It was all his roommate talked about, which was understandable. It was amazing.

But then it was all anyone was talking about, and he couldn’t help but feel left out. Every conversation was about UM and how cool it was and how awesome it was to finally have one and oh it was like being an upperclassman and Great Seven could someone just shoot Ace right then and there?! It was like it was everywhere, and the redhead didn’t like being left out of conversations. He missed having stupid conversations about whatever TV show one of them was currently obsessed with or ragging on their housewardens.

He wasn’t alone in this though. He had Epel to talk to and Yuu of course. He was able to get a lot closer to Epel, since whenever the others would talk about their signature spells, Ace would pull him aside and make sure neither of them were left out. He could see that the Pomefiore freshman appreciated it more than he let on.

And then Ace lost even that when Epel had run off with Rook and Yuu to rescue the overblotted students and discovered his UM. He smiled and congratulated the boy when he found out, the realization that he was now the only person without his signature spell in his group not hitting him yet. It was only after he would turn to Epel during the conversations of UM and find him engrossed in the talk did he realize that he was being left behind.

Which… sure. That was a thing that was happening. Didn’t mean he had to like it. In fact, he hated it. Even when just talking to Yuu it seemed like all they could do was just praise the others’ achievements. It bothered him, and not just because it wasn’t him who didn’t have his magic. He felt selfish for being envious. He shouldn’t be jealous of his friends. He should be proud of them for making impressive strides as up and coming mages. Discovering signature spells was already a feat, and even more impressive as a freshman no less.

So why couldn’t he stamp down his jealousy for them?

“You’re Unique Magic is so cool Jack!” Epel praised the beastman. “It must be pretty nice to just transform whenever you want.”

“Yeah, and you can run so much faster as a wolf!” Deuce followed with excitement.

“Not as fast as lightning though,” Sebek commented.

Ace was sick of being there for a conversation he couldn’t be a part of. A sick part of his mind started to think that they were doing this on purpose. Starting up conversations just to make sure he couldn’t get a word in. He didn’t know why they would do this. They were nice people, but maybe that was the issue. They were nice and he wasn’t. They were all team players with a need to stick together. Ace wasn’t like that. Sure he craved companionship, not that he would ever admit that to anyone, but he was completely fine on his own. He was always the odd one out of everything. Maybe this was their way of trying to phase him out subtly and without hurting his feelings. It wasn’t that subtle in Ace’s opinion. He’d feel better if they just outright told him.

“What about you Ace?” Yuu suddenly asked.

“What about me?” the boy echoed. If this was Yuu’s attempt at bringing him into the conversation, it was pretty stupid.

“Your Unique-” Yuu suddenly cut themself off, as if realizing why Ace hadn’t been speaking. The air at the lunch table suddenly became thick with tension and the Heartslabyul troublemaker felt like either running or hitting something. He could probably do both if he left now.

He tried to play it off with a chuckle and a smile. “Did you seriously forget that I don’t have a signature spell?” Everyone’s silence was deafening. Ace could feel his heart crack. Did they all seriously forget?

“Sorry Ace,” Deuce mumbled.

The redhead just smiled and rolled his eyes, but inside he was seething, heart cracking. “Whatever. I’m getting more food.” He kept his tone light and cheery as he took his tray and walked towards the lunch line again. His knuckles turned white as he took slow, calming breaths. The rest of the freshmen’s eyes were on the back of his head, and it only made Ace want to break something.

They couldn’t have seriously forgotten right? Did they all really expect him to chime into the conversation when he had almost nothing to contribute? The only things that he could’ve said would only be praises his friends have all heard time and time again. Nothing new could be said about his friends’ spells, and he himself didn’t have a spell so he’d be contributing nothing. He understood why they all wanted to talk about it. It was a huge achievement that not even all mages could pull off, and Ace was happy for them, truly.

If the topic wasn’t brought up every single day maybe Ace wouldn’t have cared so much.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his friends go back to their conversation, attention shifting away from him. Ace took that as his cue to dump the rest of his tray and slip out through the side door. He hated the way he felt his chest tighten and fists clench at his sides. He didn’t have the right to feel so angry. He should be happy for his friends. Being jealous did nothing but hurt everyone.

He continued to breathe in and out methodically, counting to four with each inhale and exhale. He was fine. He just needed some space from everything for a minute. The heaviness in his heart would go away after he cleared his head.

Right?

[a-court-of-lust-and-stardust]

Love on Ice Chapter 26: The Hot Springs

We've almost made it to the end, ya'll. I hope you love this chapter, and once again, please be gentle. I haven't written smut in over three years LOL.

3 Days before Competition

Azriel had one more surprise up his sleeve for Elain before the big day, and he was thrilled she had gotten to a place mentally where she didn’t berate herself for taking a break. It was a testament to her growth that Elain was agreeable to spending some time off the ice, rather than insisting they stay and rehearse their routine until their ankles gave out. 

Elain had tried to drag the surprise out of him at first, even going as far as to entice him with her mouth around his cock earlier that morning, but he’d held firm and kept his lips sealed. She’d worked incredibly hard over the last two months, and he wanted to give her a chance to truly relax away from all the pre-competition commotion. She deserved it more than anyone. 

As Azriel pulled up to the small resort and parked in the designated lot, he glanced at Elain from the corner of his eyes. Her face morphed into one of recognition, a gasp slipping past her lips. “Shut up.” 

His mouth twitched. “I didn’t say anything.”

Elain’s head whipped toward him, a dazzling smile on display. “The Sun Valley Springs?” 

The hot springs and steamed pools were staples in the Day Region, and quite possibly one of the most luxurious attractions in all of Prythian. It was the perfect weekend getaway, especially for an athlete who sought requiescence.   

Elain launched out of the car just as Azriel cut the engine, running around the hood to fling herself into his waiting arms. Her laughter vibrated throughout his body, her kisses on his face loud and smacking. “You are spoiling me, Azriel. Really, you didn’t need to do all of this.” 

He set her down gently on the gravel, ghosting his lips over hers. “What did I tell you? I want to do these things for you. You deserve it all, Elain. I’m going to give it to you.” 

She kissed him hard, tongue snaking into his mouth. Their kiss was heated and would have led to other raunchy activities, but a throat clearing behind them forced the couple to pull away, cheeks flamed. 

Elain shot a sheepish look toward the woman, whose features were screwed up in a teasing manner. Her accent was thick as she said, “That’s what the bungalows are for.” 

Azriel huffed a laugh, sliding an arm around Elain’s waist. “Alba, this is my beautiful woman, Elain. Elain, this Alba Sol. She’s the manager of the resort here. And she’s cousins with Helion, goaltender for the Sun Valley Scorpions hockey team.” 

Elain extended a hand. “A pleasure, Alba.” 

Alba winked. “Likewise. Now come, let me show you around.”

Later that night, Azriel and Elain made their way to the hot springs hand in hand, plastic glasses dangling from Elain’s free hand and a bottle of wine clasped in Azriel’s. They had changed into swimwear shortly after a hearty dinner with exquisite Day Region delicacies, now seeking some time to wind down in the warm water near their bungalow and enjoy each other’s company in quiet solitude. 

Together they descended into the water, letting the heat seep into their muscles and soothe the aches from the last few days of practice. As Elain swept her golden hair atop her head, a few stray wet curls framing her face, Azriel popped the wine and poured two generous glasses. 

“Are you nervous?” Azriel asked softly, passing a glass to Elain. He didn’t need to elaborate further on his question. There was only one thing he could have been referring to. 

Elain sipped the wine, sweet and thankfully not too dry. A small crease formed between her brows as she considered his question. “No, not really. I don’t have a reason to be. There’s no…pressure. As much as it would be nice to finally win, it doesn’t feel like a do or die situation anymore.” She licked her lips, savoring the flavor. Her features softened. “It’s freeing. Knowing that in a few days I’ll be stepping on the ice for me. No one else. And whatever happens at the end of all this, I can skate off that ice knowing I gave this sport every damn piece of my heart and soul, and I did it with the best skating partner in all of Prythian.” 

Azriel’s cheeks warmed, sipping his own taste of wine. Elain chuckled at the color blooming beneath his skin. “I know I’ve said it a thousand times, but expect me to say it a thousand more. I am so proud of you, Elain. I’ve always believed in you, but watching you start to believe in yourself was one of the most special moments I could ever witness.” Azriel blew out a breath, liquid swirling in the glass. “You have no idea how grateful I am that you showed up on my doorstep that night and asked me to be your partner. It was the easiest yes I’ve ever given.” 

Elain smiled faintly, recalling the memory all those nights ago when she had marched to Azriel’s home with determination coursing through her veins. She hadn’t even thought about what would've happened had he said no. But she was glad she never had to find out.

The couple sat in content silence for a while, only accompanied by the sound of sloshing water and a soft breeze. From across the pool, Elain stared longingly at Azriel, whose gaze was tilted upward toward the inky sky, eyes flicking between the stars. She’d never seen him as peaceful as he was now. 

He looked ethereal under the glow of the moon. High cheekbones, sharp nose, strong jaw. Water droplets slid down his neck, his chest, giving the illusion that his tattoos were somehow a shade darker than black. Elain watched his throat bob with each sip and swallow of the wine, and when he observed her surveying him and offered a gentle upward tilt of his lips, she decided right then and there exactly how she wanted to spend the rest of their night. 

Steadily, Elain stood, the water splashing against her navel. Azriel watched her movement, his pupils dilating at the sheer beauty of her. And then with nimble fingers, Elain reached a hand behind her back and untied her bathing suit top, never breaking eye contact as she set it on the edge of the pool. The slight breeze in the air grazed over her exposed breasts, nipples tightening at the soft caress. 

Elain watched Azriel’s teeth capture his lip, grip tightening on his wine glass, as she reached beneath the water, tugged off her bathing suit bottoms, and dropped them beside her top. There she stood, naked in the middle of the hot springs, with the steam wafting around her like shadows. 

Azriel’s voice was thick as he drank in every feminine curve of her body. “Elain.” 

She drifted toward him until she was close enough to settle in his lap, one hand wrapped around the back of his neck. Instinctively, Azriel spread his legs wider, grunting softly as her flesh settled over the tent in his shorts. She rocked her hips against him, eliciting a moan from his lips. “Sweetheart.” 

Elain’s fingertips grazed the band of his swim trunks. She brought her mouth down to his ear, making sure her breasts were firmly pressed against his chest and murmured, “I want these off.” 

The speed at which Azriel removed his swim trunks would have been comical had he not been so painfully hard and desperate for her. He practically threw the shorts onto the pile of wet clothing at the opposite end of the pool. Completely bare in the water, scarred hands skimming the skin of her hips, the underside of her breasts, Azriel gazed at Elain and asked, “Now what?” 

Her eyelids fluttered as his thumbs rolled over her taut nipples. Under the water, she wrapped her free hand around his cock, pumping him once, twice. With the same gentle breath, she whispered, “I want you to make love to me.” 

Azriel stiffened, eyes snapping up to her face. 

Her expression was open. 

Honest.

Fearless.

“Say that again,” He begged, hands cradling her face earnestly. Beneath his chest, his heart thumped erratically at the prospect of claiming Elain in the most intimate way fathomable. 

“I want you to make love to me, Azriel,” Elain repeated, the words a ghost touch over his skin. Her brown eyes glimmered and whether it was from unshed tears or the moonlight, Azriel couldn’t be sure. But they were bright, beautiful, and trusting. “Right here in the water, under the moon and the stars in the sky.” 

Azriel’s blood thrummed. His palms went to her waist again, keeping her in place as his eyes continued to scan her face. No signs of hesitation were present, but he needed to be positive. “Are you sure, Elain?” 

She dipped her chin, pressing a tender kiss to his mouth. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. I want you and I want this and I want it right here.” 

Something cracked wide open in Azriel’s chest at the conviction in her voice, the undeniable truth in her words. 

She wanted him. 

She was ready to take that final step with him. 

His heart constricted. 

Azriel surged forward then, capturing Elain’s lips in a crushing kiss. She kissed him back just as fiercely, matching each stroke of his tongue. Elain clutched his shoulders as his mouth deviated from her lips to her neck, lapping up the water droplets on her skin before using his teeth to bruise and nip and claim.

When his fingers found her clit and rubbed deliberately lazy circles, she bucked against his hand until his fingers sunk into her. Elain moaned into the night sky, nails digging into Azriel’s tan skin. 

“Please…” 

“Please what?” Azriel taunted, cock twitching at the way her cunt fluttered around his fingers. When his thumb grazed her clit again, Elain’s thighs quivered beneath the water. 

“Oh, shit–.” 

Azriel’s lips twitched, fingers fucking into her faster until she was writhing in his lap. “You’re always so beautiful,” He began, clasping the nape of her neck until her eyes were pinned to his. “But you look fucking exquisite right before you come.” 

To Azriel’s surprise, Elain paused his ministrations by snatching his wrist, chest heaving as she caught her breath. “Wait!” 

He stopped abruptly, withdrawing his fingers. Concern etched itself into his features, eyes roaming over her body. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” 

Elain shook her head, eyes blown wide as she sucked in a breath. “No. I–no. I uh,” Elain swallowed, a sheepish smile playing on her lips, fingers twirling the ends of his ebony hair. “I just…want to come together.” 

Azriel blew out a relieved breath, connecting their lips slower this time. Elain smiled into the kiss, caressing his cheeks and neck as he used his hands to drag her across his cock, groaning at the arousal covering his length.  

“Tonight is about you, baby,” Azriel said sincerely, dusting kisses along her collarbones. “You tell me what you need and I will give it to you.” 

This time, Azriel was sure the shine in her eyes was brought on by tears. Elain nodded, hastily brushing a tear from her cheek before wrapping her arms around his neck. “I want you just like this,” She proclaimed, resting her forehead against his own. “Just like this.” 

Azriel fisted his cock beneath the water, lining himself up with her entrance. His eyes flickered toward hers. “I want this to be so good for you, Elain. If you’re hurt or want to stop, we stop.” 

Elain nudged her nose against his. “I trust you, Azriel. Nothing in the world could ever make me want to stop.” 

Elain reached under the water, taking his cock in her own hand, at her own pace. With her eyes locked on his, she offered him an easy smile as she slowly sank down until he was fully sheathed inside her, pussy clenching as he filled her.  

They sat there together, unmoving, letting Elain adjust to the new feeling. Azriel assessed her face, but no signs of pain were present. Warm brown eyes were glazed, pink mouth hung open in unadulterated bliss. 

Slowly, Elain lifted her hips, whimpered at the guttural sound that erupted from Azriel’s throat, and filled herself once more. Azriel’s fingers gripped the edge of the hot springs pool, only sheer willpower holding him back from fucking up into her. 

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Azriel grit out, groaning when Elain surprised him by circling her hips. He let her take what she needed, enthralled by the way her breasts bounced each time she fucked herself down on his cock. He reached out to cup them, thumbs pinching and soothing her nipples. 

“You feel so good,” Elain’s moan was loud, unashamed. Nails bit into his shoulders, scratched at his toned chest, and she knew he’d wear the marks proudly. Her cunt throbbed with each gyration, whining softly when her clit rubbed against the coarse patch of hair at the base of his cock. 

“Look at you, Elain,” Azriel murmured, brushing the stray hair that had fallen loose from her updo. He wanted to see every detail of her face. The scrunch of her brows, her lustful gaze, every piece of her that had succumbed to pleasure. “Look how well you’re taking me. Fucking yourself on my cock like you own it. You do, sweetheart. Every part of me.” 

The flush to her cheeks was noticeable even in the dark of the night, and Azriel smirked at the realization that he could rile her up so easily. “You like being praised, don’t you baby? Like hearing how good you are for me?” 

“Y-yes,” Elain sputtered, circling her hips almost frantically with each compliment that rolled off his tongue. “Shit, yes.” 

“Absolutely perfect,” Azriel breathed, hand snaking between her thighs. His thumb pressed against her clit, and she cried out, clutching at his skin. 

“You said you’d give me anything,” Elain mewled, hands moving from his chest to clasp her own breasts. She bounced faster, revealing in the way her pussy stretched to accommodate the size of him. He felt better than anything she could have conjured up in her mind. 

“I did,” Azriel confirmed, eyes so dark they might as well have been black. “And I meant it. Every damn word.” 

Elain bit her lip, smiling coyly. “Then give me more.” 

Accepting the challenge, Azriel bucked his hips upward, testing the waters, delighted by the broken moan that fell from her lips. He did it again and again, still applying sweet pressure to her clit until he felt the familiar tremors in her thighs, the clench of his own abdomen. 

“I want to come,” Elain whispered, mouth falling open at a particularly deep thrust of his cock. “I want to come with you, Azriel.” 

“Anything baby,” He grunted, tugging her close against his chest. Elain’s arms wound around his neck again, the feeling of being safe and loved overwhelming. 

Elain’s head whipped back as her orgasm hit, and Azriel’s arms tightened around her body as he pumped himself into her until his own orgasm subsided. Clinging to each other in the warmth of the hot springs, they kissed gently, tongues exploring lazily, until calmness settled deep in their chests. 

And then Elain felt herself being lifted from the pool, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. Azriel carried her carefully across the small bridge that led to their bungalow, closed the door with his foot, and tenderly laid her on the bed. 

Elain propped herself up on her elbows, a pretty flush to her cheeks. “Az?” 

His eyes darkened to near black as he crawled on top of her, using a hand to pin both of Elain’s above her head. Her shallow, anticipatory breaths hit his cheeks as he leaned down to whisper, “I'm not finished with you, yet.” 

Elain’s drawn out moan filled the once silent bungalow as Azriel slid himself inside her again, this time softer, gentler. Her legs locked around his hips, pressing him impossibly deeper into her body. 

Azriel’s movements were slow, intentional. He rotated between dusting featherlight kisses across her skin and gazing into her tearful eyes as they made love together. 

A rogue tear slid down her cheek, and Azriel smiled warmly as he used a thumb to brush it from her face. “Sweetheart?” 

Elain sighed. “I’m so happy,” she whispered, maneuvering a hand out of Azriel’s grip to delicately cup his cheek. “I’m so happy with you.” 

Azriel felt a slight sting in his own eyes but did his best to focus on Elain, her pleasure. But the joy Elain felt was burrowed into his own heart. There was never a time, never a moment, when he was happier than right here with her. This night, this woman, meant everything to him. 

And Azriel and Elain knew, even if it was too early to say it, that love had bloomed between them. Gentle, undeniable, unbreakable love. And no matter the outcome of the competition, Elain would sleep peacefully the next few nights knowing Azriel would always be in her corner. 

Win or lose, he was in it for the long haul. 

And she loved him even more fiercely because of that. 

ART FOR THE CHAPTER BY @chachachai17: Here

DIVIDER BY: @saradika-graphics

[ilybeam]

“Tat my name on you so I know it’s real”

—

You jokingly tell him to tattoo your name so you know he’s serious about your relationship.

—

Various x Gn!reader

Gun Park, Dg/James Lee, Hudson Ahn, Samuel Seo, Vasco, and Jake Kim

—

Content Warnings - Established relationship, unintentionally manipulative reader?

A/n - Didn’t add all my favorite characters so if people enjoy this I might make a part two.

—

Doesn’t tat it

Gun park -

- Definitely scoffed at you when you said that.

- I mean are you crazy? His body is a temple, of course he’s not going to go through with something that he could potentially regret in the future.

- Told you to get his name first and then he’d think about it. Was not serious about that proposition when he said it.

- Has semi realistic expectations of romantic relationships.

- Scolded you even after you said it was a joke.

“All jokes have some truth to them, [name].” He chided

“God you sound like my mother.” You bit back.”

—

Dg/James Lee-

- Looked at you like you had three eyes.

- He’s an idol, his image is everything. A tacky tattoo of his lovers name would not slide.

- Doesn’t even matter if he thinks y’all would last forever, a tattoo is just too much.

- Would try to compromise by buying a chain with your name on it.

—

Didn’t agree to it, but definitely thought about it

Hudson Ahn-

- The man reeks of commitment what can I say.

- His devotion to relying on his right hand is a testament to that.

- But even with all things considered a tattoo of your name is a bit much.

- Definitely thinks it’s a bit tacky as well.

- Not to mention, your significant others name as a first tattoo is a lot.

- All things considered, you should be thankful he even thought about.

—

Samuel Seo -

- Laughed at you when you said it.

- But even so, it definitely took him a minute to think about it.

- I mean his whole body is tatted up, how’s one more going to make a difference.

- Would also be very easy to cover up or incorporate in the design of his whole body’s

- But a king with his significant others name tattooed on his body, I’m not sure if that’s a great idea.

- Told you he’d tattoo your name, if you tattooed his.

- But unlike gun he wasn’t joking.

“Okay I’ll do it-“ he smirked, he’s definitely up to something.

“Wait really?” you interrupted, not actually thinking he’d agree.

“But only if you tattoo mine aswell”

—

Agreed to tattoo your name, no regrets.

Vasco-

- Didn’t think of the nuances of tattooing your name.

- I mean look at him, what’s one more tattoo.

- Not much more to be said.

“Vasco?” You called out, gaining his attention.

You both sat in the park whilst Vasco was in between sets.

“Hmm?” He replied, slowly catching his breath after completing his ridiculous workout regimen.

“You should get my name tattooed” you tried to hide the smile forming on your face.

“Huh, get your name tattooed, why?” His whole attention was on on you now, he was genuinely confused.

“So I know it’s real” it was really hard to contain your laugh now.

His face fell some more, even more confused than before. An adorable display of his emotions.

“Let me rephrase that, so I know you’re serious about me .” You pouted as those last words came out of your mouth, attempting to add sincerity to your words. You knew Vasco was serious about you, from your first, albeit, disastrous date.

“Okay” he smiled as his reply came out, full of real sincerity.

“Okay?” Now you felt bad, you didn’t think he’d actually agree.

“Mhm, I’m real serious. I’ll have to set an appointment for it then. Sorry if it takes too long, my artist might not have any availability.” With those words he turned back to his set, ready to complete the rest of his push-ups.

Okay, now you felt really bad. His face when he said that made you take pause when telling him it was a joke. You forget how sincere your boyfriend really is. One to always wear his heart on his sleeve.

“No, no Vasco. I was joking. Don’t get my name tattooed please.”

—

Jake Kim-

- What can I say, he’s as committed as they come.

- Would only get into a relationship if he’s completely sure he wants to stay with you forever.

- A tattoo is for ever and so is your love.

- Would hope you’d get his name tattooed aswell, but wouldn’t force it. Especially if you don’t have any other tattoos.

- Definitely pouted when you said it was a joke.

- Told you he was going to get it done anyways now that you put the Idea into his head.

—

m.list

A/n - got a bit carried away with Vasco’s one, I’m not sure how it happened but I wanted to add a bit of a Drabble since his was so short and it turned into that. Hope y’all enjoy anyways.