#Power Query Fabric

[boonars]

Day 4: Ingest and Transform Data in Microsoft Fabric – No-Code and Pro-Code Guide

Ingest and Transform Data in Microsoft Fabric | No-Code and Pro-Code (Day 4) Published: July 5, 2025 🚀 Introduction Now that you’ve created your first Microsoft Fabric workspace, it’s time to bring in some data! In this article, you’ll learn how to ingest data into your Lakehouse or Warehouse and transform it using both no-code (Dataflows Gen2) and pro-code (Notebooks) methods. Whether you’re a…

[ibarrau]

[Fabric] Integración de datos al OneLake

Ya viste todos los videos con lo que Fabric puede hacer y queres comenzar por algo. Ya leiste nuestro post sobre Onelake y como funciona. Lo siguiente es la ingesta de datos.

En este artículos vamos a ver muchas formas y opciones que pueden ser usadas para añadir datos a onelake. No vamos a ver la profundidad de como usar cada método, sino una introducción a ellos que nos permita elegir. Para que cada quien haga una instrospección de la forma deseada.

Si aún tenes dudas sobre como funciona el Onelake o que es todo eso que apareció cuando intentaste crear uno, pasa por este post para informarte.

Ingesta de datos

Agregar datos al Onelake no es una tarea difícil pero si analítica puesto que no se debe tomar a la ligera por la gran cantidad de formas disponibles. Algunas serán a puro click click click, otras con más o menos flexibilidad en transformaciones de datos, otras con muchos conectores o tal vez con versatilidad de destino. Cada forma tiene su ventaja y posibilidad, incluso puede que haya varias con la que ya tengan familiaridad.

Antes de iniciar los métodos repasemos que para usar nuestro Onelake primero hay que crear una Lakehouse dentro de un Workspace. Ese Lakehouse (almacenado en onelake) tiene dos carpetas fundamentales, Files y Tables. En Files encontrabamos el tradicional filesystem donde podemos construir una estructura de carpetas y archivos de datos organizados por medallones. En Tables esta nuestro spark catalog, el metastore que puede ser leído por endpoint.

Nuestra ingesta de datos tendrá como destino una de estos dos espacios. Files o Tables.

Métodos

Data Factory Pipelines (dentro de Fabric o Azure): la herramienta clásica de Azure podría ser usada como siempre lo fue para este escenario. Sin embargo, hay que admitir que usarla dentro de Fabric tiene sus ventajas. El servicio tiene para crear "Pipelines". Como ventaja no sería necesario hacer configurationes como linked services, con delimitar la forma de conexión al origen y seleccionar destino bastaría. Por defecto sugiere como destino a Lakehouse y Warehouse dentro de Fabric. Podemos comodamente usar su actividad estrella "Copy Data". Al momento de determinar el destino podremos tambien elegir si serán archivos en Files y de que extensión (csv, parquet, etc). Así mismo si determinamos almacenarlo en Tables, automáticamente guardará una delta table.

Data Factory Dataflows Gen2: una nueva incorporación al servicio de Data Factory dentro de Fabric son los Dataflows de Power Query online. A diferencia de su primera versión esta nueva generación tiene fuertes prestaciones de staging para mejor procesamiento, transformación y merge de datos junto a la determinación del destino. Así mismo, la selección del destino nos permite determinar si lo que vamos a ingestar debería reemplazar la tabla destino existente o hacer un append que agregue filas debajo. Como ventaja esta forma tiene la mayor cantidad de conectores de origen y capacidades de transformación de datos. Su gran desventaja por el momento es que solo puede ingestar dentro de "Tables" de Lakehouse bajo formato delta table. Mientras este preview también crea unos elementos de staging en el workspace que no deberíamos tocar. En un futuro serán caja negra y no los veremos.

Notebooks: el hecho de tener un path a nuestro onelake, path al filesystem con permisos de escritura, hace que nuestro almacenamiento pueda ser accedido por código. El caso más frecuente para trabajarlo sería con databricks que, indudablemente, se convirtió en la capa de procesamiento más popular de todas. Hay artículos oficiales de la integración. En caso de querer usar los notebooks de fabric también son muy buenos y cómodos. Éstos tienen ventajas como clickear en files o tablas que nos genere código de lectura automáticamente. También tiene integrada la herramienta Data Wrangler de transformación de datos. Además cuenta con una muy interesante integración con Visual Studio code que pienso podría integrarse a GitHub copilot.

Shortcuts (accesos directos): esta nueva opción permite a los usuarios hacer referencia a datos sin copiarlos. Genera un puntero a archivos de datos de otro lakehouse del onelake, ADLS Gen2 o AWS S3 para tenerlo disponible como lectura en nuestro Lakehouse. Nos ayuda a reducir los data silos evitando replicación de datos, sino punteros de lectura para generar nuevas tablas transformadas o simplemente lectura para construcción de un modelo o lo que fuere. Basta con clickear en donde lo queremos (tables o files) y agregarlo.

Upload manual: con la vista en el explorador de archivos (Files) como si fuera un Azure Storage explorer. Tenemos la clásica posibilidad de simplemente agregar archivos locales manualmente. Esta posibilidad solo estaría disponible para el apartado de Files.

Explorador de archivos Onelake (file explorer): una de las opciones más atractivas en mi opinión es este cliente para windows. Es incontable la cantidad de soluciones de datos que conllevan ingresos manuales de hojas de cálculo de distintas marcas en distintas nubes. Todas son complicadas de obtener y depositar en lake. Esta opción solucionaría ese problema y daría una velocidad impensada. El cliente de windows nos permite sincronizar un workspace/lakehouse que hayan compartido con nosotros como si fuera un Onedrive o Sharepoint. Nunca hubo una ingesta más simple para usuarios de negocio como ésta que a su vez nos permita ya tener disponible y cómodamente habilitado el RAW del archivo para trabajarlo en Fabric. Usuarios de negocio o ajenos a la tecnología podrían trabajar con su excel cómodos locales y los expertos en data tenerlo a mano. Link al cliente.

Conclusión

Como pudieron apreciar tenemos muchas formas de dar inicio a la carga del onelake. Seguramente van a aparecer más formas de cargarlo. Hoy yo elegí destacar éstas que son las que vinieron sugeridas e integradas a la solución de Fabic porque también serán las formas que tendrán integrados Copilot cuando llegue el momento. Seguramente los pipelines y notebooks de Fabric serán sumamente poderosos el día que integren copilot para repensar si estamos haciendo esas operaciones en otra parte. Espero que les haya servido y pronto comiencen a probar esta tecnología.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

AI turns Amazon coders into Amazon warehouse workers

HEY SEATTLE! I'm appearing at the Cascade PBS Ideas Festival NEXT SATURDAY (May 31) with the folks from NPR's On The Media!

On a recent This Machine Kills episode, guest Hagen Blix described the ultimate form of "AI therapy" with a "human in the loop":

https://soundcloud.com/thismachinekillspod/405-ai-is-the-demon-god-of-capital-ft-hagen-blix

One actual therapist is just having ten chat GPT windows open where they just like have five seconds to interrupt the chatGPT. They have to scan them all and see if it says something really inappropriate. That's your job, to stop it.

Blix admits that's not where therapy is at…yet, but he references Laura Preston's 2023 N Plus One essay, "HUMAN_FALLBACK," which describes her as a backstop to a real-estate "virtual assistant," that masqueraded as a human handling the queries that confused it, in a bid to keep the customers from figuring out that they were engaging with a chatbot:

https://www.nplusonemag.com/issue-44/essays/human_fallback/

This is what makes investors and bosses slobber so hard for AI – a "productivity" boost that arises from taking away the bargaining power of workers so that they can be made to labor under worse conditions for less money. The efficiency gains of automation aren't just about using fewer workers to achieve the same output – it's about the fact that the workers you fire in this process can be used as a threat against the remaining workers: "Do your job and shut up or I'll fire you and give your job to one of your former colleagues who's now on the breadline."

This has been at the heart of labor fights over automation since the Industrial Revolution, when skilled textile workers took up the Luddite cause because their bosses wanted to fire them and replace them with child workers snatched from Napoleonic War orphanages:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/26/enochs-hammer/#thats-fronkonsteen

Textile automation wasn't just about producing more cloth – it was about producing cheaper, worse cloth. The new machines were so easy a child could use them, because that's who was using them – kidnapped war orphans. The adult textile workers the machines displaced weren't afraid of technology. Far from it! Weavers used the most advanced machinery of the day, and apprenticed for seven years to learn how to operate it. Luddites had the equivalent of a Masters in Engineering from MIT.

Weavers' guilds presented two problems for their bosses: first, they had enormous power, thanks to the extensive training required to operate their looms; and second, they used that power to regulate the quality of the goods they made. Even before the Industrial Revolution, weavers could have produced more cloth at lower prices by skimping on quality, but they refused, out of principle, because their work mattered to them.

Now, of course weavers also appreciated the value of their products, and understood that innovations that would allow them to increase their productivity and make more fabric at lower prices would be good for the world. They weren't snobs who thought that only the wealthy should go clothed. Weavers had continuously adopted numerous innovations, each of which increased the productivity and the quality of their wares.

Long before the Luddite uprising, weavers had petitioned factory owners and Parliament under the laws that guaranteed the guilds the right to oversee textile automation to ensure that it didn't come at the price of worker power or the quality of the textiles the machines produced. But the factory owners and their investors had captured Parliament, which ignored its own laws and did nothing as the "dark, Satanic mills" proliferated. Luddites only turned to property destruction after the system failed them.

Now, it's true that eventually, the machines improved and the fabric they turned out matched and exceeded the quality of the fabric that preceded the Industrial Revolution. But there's nothing about the way the Industrial Revolution unfolded – increasing the power of capital to pay workers less and treat them worse while flooding the market with inferior products – that was necessary or beneficial to that progress. Every other innovation in textile production up until that time had been undertaken with the cooperation of the guilds, who'd ensured that "progress" meant better lives for workers, better products for consumers, and lower prices. If the Luddites' demands for co-determination in the Industrial Revolution had been met, we might have gotten to the same world of superior products at lower costs, but without the immiseration of generations of workers, mass killings to suppress worker uprisings, and decades of defective products being foisted on the public.

So there are two stories about automation and labor: in the dominant narrative, workers are afraid of the automation that delivers benefits to all of us, stand in the way of progress, and get steamrollered for their own good, as well as ours. In the other narrative, workers are glad to have boring and dangerous parts of their work automated away and happy to produce more high-quality goods and services, and stand ready to assess and plan the rollout of new tools, and when workers object to automation, it's because they see automation being used to crush them and worsen the outputs they care about, at the expense of the customers they care for.

In modern automation/labor theory, this debate is framed in terms of "centaurs" (humans who are assisted by technology) and "reverse-centaurs" (humans who are conscripted to assist technology):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

There are plenty of workers who are excited at the thought of using AI tools to relieve them of some drudgework. To the extent that these workers have power over their bosses and their working conditions, that excitement might well be justified. I hear a lot from programmers who work on their own projects about how nice it is to have a kind of hypertrophied macro system that can generate and tweak little automated tools on the fly so the humans can focus on the real, chewy challenges. Those workers are the centaurs, and it's no wonder that they're excited about improved tooling.

But the reverse-centaur version is a lot darker. The reverse-centaur coder is an assistant to the AI, charged with being a "human in the loop" who reviews the material that the AI produces. This is a pretty terrible job to have.

For starters, the kinds of mistakes that AI coders make are the hardest mistakes for human reviewers to catch. That's because LLMs are statistical prediction machines, spicy autocomplete that works by ingesting and analyzing a vast corpus of written materials and then producing outputs that represent a series of plausible guesses about which words should follow one another. To the extent that the reality the AI is participating in is statistically smooth and predictable, AI can often make eerily good guesses at words that turn into sentences or code that slot well into that reality.

But where reality is lumpy and irregular, AI stumbles. AI is intrinsically conservative. As a statistically informed guessing program, it wants the future to be like the past:

https://reallifemag.com/the-apophenic-machine/

This means that AI coders stumble wherever the world contains rough patches and snags. Take "slopsquatting." For the most part, software libraries follow regular naming conventions. For example, there might be a series of text-handling libraries with names like "text.parsing.docx," "text.parsing.xml," and "text.parsing.markdown." But for some reason – maybe two different projects were merged, or maybe someone was just inattentive – there's also a library called "text.txt.parsing" (instead of "text.parsing.txt").

AI coders are doing inference based on statistical analysis, and anyone inferring what the .txt parsing library is called would guess, based on the other libraries, that it was "text.parsing.txt." And that's what the AI guesses, and so it tries to import that library to its software projects.

This creates a new security vulnerability, "slopsquatting," in which a malicious actor creates a library with the expected name, which replicates the functionality of the real library, but also contains malicious code:

https://www.theregister.com/2025/04/12/ai_code_suggestions_sabotage_supply_chain/

Note that slopsquatting errors are extremely hard to spot. As is typical with AI coding errors, these are errors that are based on continuing a historical pattern, which is the sort of thing our own brains do all the time (think of trying to go up a step that isn't there after climbing to the top of a staircase). Notably, these are very different from the errors that a beginning programmer whose work is being reviewed by a more senior coder might make. These are the very hardest errors for humans to spot, and these are the errors that AIs make the most, and they do so at machine speed:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/23/maximal-plausibility/#reverse-centaurs

To be a human in the loop for an AI coder, a programmer must engage in sustained, careful, line-by-line and command-by-command scrutiny of the code. This is the hardest kind of code to review, and maintaining robotic vigilance over long periods at high speeds is something humans are very bad at. Indeed, it's the kind of task we try very hard to automate, since machines are much better at being machineline than humans are. This is the essence of reverse-centaurism: when a human is expected to act like a machine in order to help the machine do something it can't do.

Humans routinely fail at spotting these errors, unsurprisingly. If the purpose of automation is to make superior goods at lower prices, then this would be a real concern, since a reverse-centaur coding arrangement is bound to produce code with lurking, pernicious, especially hard-to-spot bugs that present serious risks to users. But if the purpose of automation is to discipline labor – to force coders to accept worse conditions and pay – irrespective of the impact on quality, then AI is the perfect tool for the job. The point of the human isn't to catch the AI's errors so much as it is to catch the blame for the AI's errors – to be what Madeleine Clare Elish calls a "moral crumple zone":

https://estsjournal.org/index.php/ests/article/view/260

As has been the case since the Industrial Revolution, the project of automation isn't just about increasing productivity, it's about weakening labor power as a prelude to lowering quality. Take what's happened to the news industry, where mass layoffs are being offset by AI tools. At Hearst's King Features Syndicates, a single writer was charged with producing over 30 summer guides, the entire package:

https://www.404media.co/viral-ai-generated-summer-guide-printed-by-chicago-sun-times-was-made-by-magazine-giant-hearst/

That is an impossible task, which is why the writer turned to AI to do his homework, and then, infamously, published a "summer reading guide" that was full of nonexistent books that were hallucinated by a chatbot:

https://www.404media.co/chicago-sun-times-prints-ai-generated-summer-reading-list-with-books-that-dont-exist/

Most people reacted to this story as a consumer issue: they were outraged that the world was having a defective product foisted upon it. But the consumer issue here is downstream from the labor issue: when the writers at King Features Syndicate are turned into reverse-centaurs, they will inevitably produce defective outputs. The point of the worker – the "human in the loop" – isn't to supervise the AI, it's to take the blame for the AI. That's just what happened, as this poor schmuck absorbed an internet-sized rasher of shit flung his way by outraged social media users. After all, it was his byline on the story, not the chatbot's. He's the moral crumple-zone.

The implication of this is that consumers and workers are class allies in the automation wars. The point of using automation to weaken labor isn't just cheaper products – it's cheaper, defective products, inflicted on the unsuspecting and defenseless public who are no longer protected by workers' professionalism and pride in their jobs.

That's what's going on at Duolingo, where CEO Luis von Ahn created a firestorm by announcing mass firings of human language instructors, who would be replaced by AI. The "AI first" announcement pissed off Duolingo's workers, of course, but what caught von Ahn off-guard was how much this pissed off Duolingo's users:

https://tech.slashdot.org/story/25/05/25/0347239/duolingo-faces-massive-social-media-backlash-after-ai-first-comments

But of course, this makes perfect sense. After all, language-learners are literally incapable of spotting errors in the AI instruction they receive. If you spoke the language well enough to spot the AI's mistakes, you wouldn't need Duolingo! I don't doubt that there are countless ways in which AIs could benefit both language learners and the Duolingo workers who develop instructional materials, but for that to happen, workers' and learners' needs will have to be the focus of AI integration. Centaurs could produce great language learning materials with AI – but reverse-centaurs can only produce slop.

Unsurprisingly, many of the most successful AI products are "bossware" tools that let employers monitor and discipline workers who've been reverse-centaurized. Both blue-collar and white-collar workplaces have filled up with "electronic whips" that monitor and evaluate performance:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/02/despotism-on-demand/#virtual-whips

AI can give bosses "dashboards" that tell them which Amazon delivery drivers operate their vehicles with their mouths open (Amazon doesn't let its drivers sing on the job). Meanwhile, a German company called Celonis will sell your boss a kind of AI phrenology tool that assesses your "emotional quality" by spying on you while you work:

https://crackedlabs.org/en/data-work/publications/processmining-algomanage

Tech firms were among the first and most aggressive adopters of AI-based electronic whips. But these whips weren't used on coders – they were reserved for tech's vast blue-collar and contractor workforce: clickworkers, gig workers, warehouse workers, AI data-labelers and delivery drivers.

Tech bosses tormented these workers but pampered their coders. That wasn't out of any sentimental attachment to tech workers. Rather, tech bosses were afraid of tech workers, because tech workers possess a rare set of skills that can be harnessed by tech firms to produce gigantic returns. Tech workers have historically been princes of labor, able to command high salaries and deferential treatment from their bosses (think of the amazing tech "campus" perks), because their scarcity gave them power.

It's easy to predict how tech bosses would treat tech workers if they could get away with it – just look how they treat workers they aren't afraid of. Just like the textile mill owners of the Industrial Revolution, the thing that excites tech bosses about AI is the possibility of cutting off a group of powerful workers at the knees. After all, it took more than a century for strong labor unions to match the power that the pre-Industrial Revolution guilds had. If AI can crush the power of tech workers, it might buy tech bosses a century of free rein to shift value from their workforce to their investors, while also doing away with pesky Tron-pilled workers who believe they have a moral obligation to "fight for the user."

William Gibson famously wrote, "The future is here, it's just not evenly distributed." The workers that tech bosses don't fear are living in the future of the workers that tech bosses can't easily replace.

This week, the New York Times's veteran Amazon labor report Noam Scheiber published a deeply reported piece about the experience of coders at Amazon in the age of AI:

https://www.nytimes.com/2025/05/25/business/amazon-ai-coders.html

Amazon CEO Andy Jassy is palpably horny for AI coders, evidenced by investor memos boasting of AI's returns in "productivity and cost avoidance" and pronouncements about AI saving "the equivalent of 4,500 developer-years":

https://www.linkedin.com/posts/andy-jassy-8b1615_one-of-the-most-tedious-but-critical-tasks-activity-7232374162185461760-AdSz/

Amazon is among the most notorious abusers of blue-collar labor, the workplace where everyone who doesn't have a bullshit laptop job is expected to piss in a bottle and spend an unpaid hour before and after work going through a bag- and body-search. Amazon's blue-collar workers are under continuous, totalizing, judging AI scrutiny that scores them based on whether their eyeballs are correctly oriented, whether they take too long to pick up an object, whether they pee too often. Amazon warehouse workers are injured at three times national average. Amazon AIs scan social media for disgruntled workers talking about unions, and Amazon has another AI tool that predicts which shops and departments are most likely to want to unionize.

Scheiber's piece describes what it's like to be an Amazon tech worker who's getting the reverse-centaur treatment that has heretofore been reserved for warehouse workers and drivers. They describe "speedups" in which they are moved from writing code to reviewing AI code, their jobs transformed from solving chewy intellectual puzzles to racing to spot hard-to-find AI coding errors as a clock ticks down. Amazon bosses haven't ordered their tech workers to use AI, just raised their quotas to a level that can't be attained without getting an AI to do most of the work – just like the Chicago Sun-Times writer who was expected to write all 30 articles in the summer guide package on his own. No one made him use AI, but he wasn't going to produce 30 articles on deadline without a chatbot.

Amazon insists that it is treating AI as an assistant for its coders, but the actual working conditions make it clear that this is a reverse-centaur transformation. Scheiber discusses a dissident internal group at Amazon called Amazon Employees for Climate Justice, who link the company's use of AI to its carbon footprint. Beyond those climate concerns, these workers are treating AI as a labor issue.

Amazon's coders have been making tentative gestures of solidarity towards its blue-collar workforce since the pandemic broke out, walking out in support of striking warehouse workers (and getting fired for doing so):

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/14/abolish-silicon-valley/#hang-together-hang-separately

But those firings haven't deterred Amazon's tech workers from making common cause with their comrades on the shop floor:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/19/deastroturfing/#real-power

When techies describe their experience of AI, it sometimes sounds like they're describing two completely different realities – and that's because they are. For workers with power and control, automation turns them into centaurs, who get to use AI tools to improve their work-lives. For workers whose power is waning, AI is a tool for reverse-centaurism, an electronic whip that pushes them to work at superhuman speeds. And when they fail, these workers become "moral crumple zones," absorbing the blame for the defective products their bosses pushed out in order to goose profits.

As ever, what a technology does pales in comparison to who it does it for and who it does it to.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/05/27/rancid-vibe-coding/#class-war

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[ghoulishhx]

maybe 21 with our baby switch!frankie? perhaps when hes discovering his subby side for the first time 🤭

-💥

oh YUM yes. this is short bc ive been struggling lately with inspiration and whatnot (part of the reason i asked for these prompts) but i hope you enjoy nonetheless pookie <3

21.) wait- uh- do.. do that again..

18+ MDNI !!

My Masterlist!

──── ୨୧ ────

Pairing: Frank Castle x FemSwitch!Reader

Content Warning: blowjobbb, mildly subby frank, edging, orgasm denial, dirty talk, cumeating, praise, beginning of cunnilingus. frank is moooody at the start, power dynmic switches a lot idk

Wordcount: 1.5k

──── ୨୧ ────

✦ distraction

10.pm. You arise from the confines of your bedroom and walk into the living room as you hear his boots thud along the wooden floor as the front door slams behind him.  

“Frankie! Hi, I missed y-” you're cut off by him walking past you, barely acknowledging you as his shoulder brushes yours, making his way into the bathroom. 

This behaviour doesn't surprise you, the nature of his work is tedious and it takes a lot of energy out of him, and you're more than patient. You sigh and trail behind him, leaning against the doorframe as you watch him clean the dried blood coating his knuckles off, the water in the sink turning from clear to red instantly. 

“Bad day?” you ask, already knowing the answer. He basically snorts at your query, shaking his head as he looks at you for the first time. You notice the way his jaw tightens and pupils expand at the sight of you, wearing a new black silk lounge dress. You blush under his eyes as he opens his mouth to speak. 

“Y'have no idea doll,” he sighs as he grips the porcelain of the sink, knuckles turning white with frustration, adrenaline from the events of the night still courses through his veins. “Just want to be alone for a bit-”

You cut him off, wrapping your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his shoulder. You've known Frank long enough now to know that being alone isn't what he needs right now, he needs a distraction, and boy do you have the perfect way to distract him.  

Your lips trail along his neck as your hands latch onto his belt, unbuckling the leather and unsheathing it from his worn jeans. 

“Sweetheart, what are y-”

“Shh Frankie, lemme take care of you, okay? Help you forget all about tonight, hmm?” you whisper in his ear, eliciting goosebumps to erupt along his skin as he groans, bucking his hips into your hand that is now resting on his bulge. You can't help but bite your lip to subdue a smirk, you know him too damn well, know what his body needs and when. 

“Fuck babydoll, alright alright.” he turns around and faces you, trailing his fingers along your jaw as you place kisses along his fingers. You take his calloused hand in yours and guide him to the bedroom, pushing him down onto the edge of the bed as you sit between his knees. Frank's hand instantly goes to your hair, the other rubbing comforting circles along your cheek as you remove his jeans from his legs, he lifts his hips to make it easier for you without having to be asked. 

Your eyes bulge out of your skull as you see his length through the dark boxers, already impossibly hard and leaking and you've barely even touched him. Without removing the garment, you place your lips at the base of his cock and kiss him through the fabric, running your tongue across the cotton all the way up to his tip. 

“Such a tease.. lookin’ at me like that” he grumbles, pushing himself up towards you, urging you to remove the clothing, desperation apparent. 

“Patience Frankie, just like seeing the effect I have on you.” you softly speak, humming appreciatively at the view before you. He rolls his eyes at your words, shaking his head as he darkly chuckles at how enamoured you are with him.

Lips now nearing the waistband, you take it between your teeth and pull the underwear down his body, exposing his cock to the cool air of the bedroom. Frank hisses at the sudden change in temperature, being as sensitive as he already was making the sensation even more apparent. You bite your lower lip before beginning to kitten lick his dark red tip, collecting his juices on your tongue and swallowing every drop he offered you. 

The noises coming from Frank already are sinful to say the least, he's always vocal in bed however after a bad day, you wish you could record the way he sounds, save the noises forever. His vulnerability shines through on nights like these, and your heart swells with pride knowing you're the person he has chosen to be like this with. Taking his heavy balls in your palm, you begin massaging them as you take his as much of his length as you can into your mouth, flattening your tongue and swirling it around his girth. You feel his cock twitch in your mouth, fresh precum oozing from his tip. You flick your tongue up and down his length while he's still inside the warmth of your mouth, 

“Wait-uh, do.. do that again.” 

You briefly pause the blowjob, moving your gaze and mouth from his throbbing cock as you run your nails teasingly up his thigh.

“What was that, Frankie?” you sultry whisper, cocking your head to the side as you raise your eyebrow and curl your lips into a smirk. Frank’s words took you completely by surprise, his request making your core throb as he cadenced his words with a whimper. His look compared to yours is far less composed, chest heaving as sweat beads along his brow, lips parted as he groans at the loss of contact. His hands leave your hair and move to where he needs them most, pumping his cock slowly in his hands as the tip throbs blood red, precum oozing from his slit.

“No no baby, y’can have me back in a sec.. Use your words f’me, okay?” you firmly take his wrist from his member and place his hand on your cheek. Frank’s thumb instantly moves to your swollen lips, toying with the plushness before you wrap your mouth around his digit, swirling him in your mouth as you take him as deep as possible, reminding him of the same sensation that was once on his cock, the one you denied mere seconds ago.

“Fuck baby- don’ make me beg.” he groans as you nibble his thumb before using your tongue to soothe the slight sting. 

“It’s just, ya felt so.. feel so good. C’mon doll, want y’pretty mouth around me again..” he starts bucking his hips towards your mouth, chasing your warmth once again.

“Use your manners, Frank. C’mon, say please.”

“Shit doll- hmph fuck..” he moans apprehensively, his cock twitching uncontrollably, the lack of control making him questionably more aroused (though he will never admit that to you). He feels safe being this vulnerable with you, willing to let you explore your more dominant side. “P-please baby.. Need you.. Do it again, please-”

“That's it Frankie, easy as that.” you grin, proud as you wrap your mouth around his cock, resuming the pace you had before, running your tongue along his prominent vein before flicking it across the top of his frenulum as you fondle his balls once again with your palm. His hips buck into you, pushing himself impossibly further down your throat as you allow him to fuck your face. 

“That’s it, just like that shit. Good fuckin’ girl, takin’ me so well.” he praises in between moans and gasps, taking back the control, slightly, but you allow it. You got what you wanted, you made Frank Castle, The Punisher himself, beg for you; the realisation sending waves of arousal through your body like electricity. 

It’s not long before he’s emptying himself down your throat, moaning your name along with strings of curse words as his hands firmly grasp your hair. His sticky seed coats the walls of your throat, thick and hot as you swallow every last drop. You pull your mouth from him with an exaggerated “pop” and a string of saliva stays connecting the two of you. You giggle at his form, bright red and whole body tremors encompass him, the sheer force of his orgasm destroying him.

“Y’gonna be the death of me, girl.” he mumbles as he pulls you up to him, kissing you bruisingly as he flips you onto your back, trailing his mouth down your body, stopping at your dripping core. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he places a short kiss on your bundle of nerves, spreading you apart with his fingers as me smirks at how slick you are, dripping arousal all over the sheets. 

“Fuckin’ soaked baby, lemme repay ya f’making me feel so good, yeah? Takin’ my mind off shit so well” you nod desperately as he chuckles, instantly latching himself to your clit as you arch your back into him. He revels in the way you instantly come undone beneath him, humping his face. Despite him letting you take control sometimes, he always reminds you who comes out on top.

──── ୨୧ ────

a/n: idk how i feel ab this, im just really self conscious ab my writing lately. please lmk if you liked it!

my inbox is open!

[ivesambrose]

PAC: 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟

1. 2. 3.

For those who are sleeping on their potential or are unaware of it.

To book a personal reading with me DM or email me at ivesambrose@gmail.com with your query.

Masterpost

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PICTURE 1

Blessed with the gift of restoring or beautifying things beyond repair. This could be an object, a garment or you, yourself. There's not a single ending or grief that you've faced that you haven't bloomed out of. Perhaps some of you have found inspiration in it as well. You can find beauty in the mundane and the macabre. You'll always find or have access to some hidden resources. Be it esoteric knowledge, classified sources, intuition or people not really in the public eye.

You're sleeping on your gifts of acquiring wealth. Some of you may have limiting beliefs when it comes to money. You have the ability of being extremely influential with your words but you shy away or underestimate yourself. You'd do amazing in selling/promoting/teaching something but you might think you're not glamourous or confident enough. Both of them are a state of your mind. Some of you can be incredible cooks too, make something simple look appealing and taste exquisite regardless of whether you want to profit out of it or not. Some of you are excellent designers, can stitch fabrics together or put something together like a puzzle piece and make it fit even if they aren't supposed to. With enough awe and wonder you can make yourself happy, something you've been avoiding in the pursuit of keeping up with ever yone else and constant comparison or choosing things to pursue that you aren't supposed to but you end up doing so to prove a point that never gets assured.

PICTURE 2

Such caring and tranquil souls who don't realise that they create their opportunities as they go. You don't have to go looking for them, the more you do they'll elude you. Think of it as looking for your glasses while you were wearing them the whole time. Blessed with the capability of changing lives and circumstances through their thought, ideas and words alone. But you think of it as a power so simple and you seek out more complicated things then wonder why you feel stuck and devoid of curiousity and fun. You're sleeping on your potential to go and see what the world has to offer you and what you have to offer to the world. You might think it's too little but that's far from the truth. You've gathered your perceived mistakes and failures so much that they have piled up in your subconscious somehow. The moment you switch them to what you have gratitude towards, they too will add up and will keep multiplying. You'll either way be guided towards your destiny no matter what.

You have helped others release their burdens but it seems as though you still keep carrying yours with the addition of other's as well. Why? You think you can't execute an idea, you think too much time has or will pass you think you have no relevance. You think too much, so why can't you think in your favour more than once? You're stubborn, so why can't you be stubborn with allowing yourself too walk on your path?

There's an opportunity in everything. The moment you make everything ever in your favour as crazy as it sounds, is when you are prosper.

PICTURE 3

There is power in the unspeakable emotions that you feel but prefer not to. You have the ability to evoke the same emotions in others too. You're perhaps searching for examples or validation from others in regards to what you want to do, where you want to go and what you want to become. But the truth is that you're supposed to be your own validation.

You're meant to be your own example, be as eccentric and revolutionary and chaotic as you wish to be. Some of you are a cult classic in the making and don't even realize it yet. You're like a lightning strike, the poet and the muse. You have the gift to visualise/picture things into existence. You are someone's real life comfort character despite it all You're capable of becoming a healer, taking all the pain and turning into power, inspiring the same in others, you're capable of becoming a leader and an extremely influential person. Use your power well. You're meant to be expressive, you're meant to inspire, to create, to perform, to travel and likely be as many characters as you wish and live many lives, each that caters to your inner child. You can't really go step by step with this, there's hardly any method to it except bursts of energy and inspiration that leads you to where you seek to be. Deep down, you're aware that the only way to live up to this is being a bit strict with yourself, completely accepting your power and contradicting yourself less.

You can easily transmute energy, think of yourself as an alchemist, surround yourself with people and friends who share this vision as well, likey you already are. Stop holding yourself back.

[starconstruction]

Dynamic Trio of Love

Yandere Chaewon + Yunjin x Male Reader (smut)

smut tag: oral (m/f), riding, threesome, generic smut things

Word Count: 4151

It was a normal day at the Seraphim University, a prestigious university with a ridiculously low acceptance rate. Multiple stories of knowledge, the buildings felt modern. Clean cut angular walls, painted a angelic white and the windows were a oppositional black.

This was the second year you taught here and given its status it paid good enough. The students were okay. For the most part none of them asked questions after school as they were only here so they wouldn't lose their trust funds. The easiest way to get into the school was just to be rich, but you taught them all the same.

"Quiet down class!" You said, hand ruffling through your hair. Loud conversations immediately fell quiet, giving you the stage. You pulled up the power point as you began the lecture.

"So then class why does Mr Gatz use diminutives?" You asked, gesturing towards the awaiting class. The entire class kept their hand down, you never knew if it was out of apathy or confusion. But there was always that one student.

Huh Yun-jin, an elegant student. One of the few who came here to learn, transferring from Korea to come here. She was always attentive, hastefully writing down every word you uttered. Asking every question she had and answering every you had.

"Yes Yunjin." You replied to her awaiting hand, she beamed a bright smile as she begun to speak. "Because of their relationship, Gatsby is his son and he is showing his condolences." Her tone was straight, she spoke prim and proper as she clicked her pen.

"Correct Yunjin, as always." You smiled, turning back to the board as the lecture went on. You wrote notes on the board, these English lessons were always silent. The students acted dead, except Yunjin.

The class wound down and the students frantically dashed out, like prisoners being freed from their cage. Except Yunjin, who lingered near her desk. "Sir, I have a question." She queried. Her arms crossed together as she looked down, she was always shy everytime you saw her. "Yes, Yunjin." You replied.

"Do you think I'm pretty sir?" Her question caught you off guard. Saliva caught in your throat, violent coughs ripping out. "What?! That is highly inappropriate!" You reprimanded her, she put herself on the table. Legs parting slowly giving you vision of her underwear, you gulped. Why was she doing this? "I mean look at me Sir, you could have me right here." She probed.

You looked at her, breath hitching as you truly took notice of her appearance. The way her hair was done up in a neat ponytail, the way her outfits complimented her curves, how smooth her legs were as they were cut off by the skirt that was much shorter than you realized.

You felt guilty, blood rushing to your shaft. Hands gripped the table as you clung onto the wood, Yunjin was smirking. Walking towards you with a seductive stance, she popped out her leg and highlighted her ass. Daring you to give in, she was in front of you now. "I can promise you professor, you won't regret it." She whispered in your ear, teeth finding your lobe. Scraping against it while she bit, eliciting a forced moan from your lips. Her hand found your erect shaft, covered by the fabric which painfully constricted you.

You may have made the first mistake, but you won't make the second. You pushed her off you, her eyes scowling as her treat was ripped away. "I will ignore your blatant inappropriate conduct but you must leave now." You uttered, mere inches from jumping her bones and pounding her into the ground.

"Fine, professor. But I will warn you, I always get what I want." She growled, grabbing her bag and storming out the room. You were shaking, thoughts of her body nestled in your brain.

You left your classroom, heading to the bathroom. Relieving yourself into a tissue before getting ready to go home for the night. What the hell just happened?

-

"Ugh! I was so close!" Yunjin yelled, draped over the side of the couch. Head hanging against the carpeted floor, she was in her professors home. The one that she wasn't trying to jump, Chaewon. "He was rock solid! We nearly had our blackmail chae" She continued, ranting incessantly.

Chaewon was much more composed than her friend, infact she was the one to come up with the plan to blackmail him. "God, it's okay Yunjin." Chaewon comforted, she was laid on the ground. Licking a cherry flavored lollipop, formulating their next plan to get him where they wanted.

"Unless you have another fantastic idea!" Yunjin shouted, taking out her frustration on an u expecting pillow. Launching it across the room. The two of them were madly in love, an unexplainable connection bound you three. "I actually do" Chaewon chimed, picking up her phone. "What if we just isolated him?" She fiddled with her device. "I mean, he lives a reclusive life as it is. We can make it work."

They discussed their plan for hours, talking until the sun set with only one goal. Y/N will be theirs.

-

The week following your altercation with Yunjin were weird, colleagues you got along with simply no longer interacted. If you went near them they would move, it was weird. Even weirder they looked terrified, everyone except one person. Chaewon.

Chaewon was a very good friend to you, both teaching English meant you spent considerable time researching how to teach lessons effectively. Spending time in the break rooms creating lessons together. She stayed put and was now the only person you had to talk to.

"Chae, I wanna ask you something." You said, hunched over your pot of instant noodles. Her body stiffened strangely while she readjusted her top, which clung to her slim body very well. "Everybody has been avoiding me recently, like overnight. Did I do something?" Chaewon sat and thought for a second, taking an extremely long sip of her instant coffee. "I heard a few rumors, but I didn't buy it." Rumors? Did Yunjin spread lies? "What were the rumors?" You asked.

The warmth from the room suddenly faded, Chaewon didn't speak for awhile. The silence was chilling, heart beating against your chest. "They said you assaulted a guy who your girlfriend cheated on you with." Chaewon said plainly, sipping more coffee. Your head recoiled in shock, girlfriend? You wish, assault? You'd never.

The bell chimed, indicating you two had to teach. Chaewon downed her drink and got up to leave. "See you Y/N, just know I'm here." You smiled, there's at least one friend for you.

-

You laid down in your room, something you were very proud with its decoration. Positively you and a manifestation of your interests. The events of the day played through your head again and again, was your reputation on the line over lies? You spent your afternoon texting people, being left on delivered. There was always Chaewon, maybe she was free.

You shot her a simple message, "wassup chaewon I'm just wondering if you wanted to hang out I can come to yours just feeling a bit shaken lmk" You felt a bit pathetic, surprised when the message was immediately met with a response.

"yea come over bring alcohol xx" Well that sounds like a pretty solid night, you grabbed whatever alcohol you had from your last party and headed over to Chaewon's house, you've never been there before, unnecessary paranoia filled your head.

You knocked on her door, lugging a needless amount of alcohol up the stairs. Chaewon welcomed you in, she looked much different to her usual attire in the workplace. A thin white shirt with a black Metallica logo, the fabric was way too small. Exposing her toned stomach, she clearly exercised much more you did. She was wearing black booty shorts and no socks, did you catch her asleep?

You two sat on her couch, her living room radiated the Chaewon you knew. A few cans of lemon sparkling water laid on the tables, the cheap scent of vanilla wafted through the air. She had quite a few trinkets, a realistic plane laid on the shelves. "Sorry for not cleaning up, wasn't expecting company." Chaewon said, legs crossed on her couch as she grabbed a bottom of beer from your bag. "Nice brand, Mr money bags."

You sighed as you joined her in drinking, the disgusting taste of beer going down your throat. "Big fan of planes ay?" You said. Pointing out the various little figures all across the room, giggling a bit as Chaewon followed your eyes. "Yeah, didn't you know I was originally going to be a flight attendant? Really wanted to anyway. Parents didn't want me to, assholes." She said, a hint of discontent and resentment as she recalled the past.

"Neat, probably more interesting than teaching English." You chimed back, Chaewon moved inwards towards you slightly, arm pressing against your leg. You felt a bit of a blush this close, her perfume was equally cheap but pleasant, a mixture of cinnamon and cigarettes.

" English is fun to teach!" Chaewon yelled out. "Just, I wonder how things would have gone." She took a deep swig, nearly downing half the bottle. She was a really good friend to have. You smiled as you two chatted for a bit.

"Want a smoke Y/N?" Chaewon asked, rummaging through her bag as she threw found a lighter. Adorned with a middle finger and a heart, it matched her perfectly. "I don't smoke." You dismissed her.

"Don't care, come stand by me then." She demanded. You two stood outside, the night's chill laid on you two. More so Chaewon, the frail outfit providing little resistance to nature. She was frantically shivering while taking a drag of her cigarette, guilt clawed you. She was nothing but nice to you, a friend who didn't abandon you.

"Take this chae, don't freeze to death on me now." Your hands tugged off your warm hoodie, Chaewon put it on. It hung lose around her, a size or two larger than her body. "Thank you." Chaewon whispered, taking another hit before smirking. "Just one?" Her cigarette held an inch from your face, if it'd make her happy.

You coughed violently as the overwhelming sensation to cough filled every fiber of your being in. Shoving the devil stick back towards her while she laughed. "Wimp." You two went back inside and talked for a long while, teaching, personal life, anything.

"I'm gonna use the bathroom, don't run off." Chaewon said, running up the stairs as you sat against her plush couch. Taking a sip of cider, much more palatable than those beers.

Her phone lit up. a singular message laid on her decorated phone, a black phonecase with various symbols and a key chain.

Yunjin (school one): you finished sharing the.... The text message cut off, you felt confused, staring at the screen while your mind reeled with possibilities. Shared what? You were taken out of your thoughts as loud steps came down the stairs. It wouldn't hurt to ask, just in a roundabout way.

You took a deep breath as Chaewon sat back down. Laying against your leg as you spoke, "You helping Yunjin with English? She stopped coming to my tutor sessions." You were worried you came off nervous, however it seemed like Chaewon didn't notice. "No, she doesn't come to mine. I guess she doesn't need it." Oh.

"So what did you share? Your phone lit up." You pushed forward, Chaewon's skin went devoid of color as she gulped. "Errr..." Her words caught in her throat. "It's not what you think." She continued.

"Then what is it Chaewon." You pried, getting poised to leave. "It's, you - okay. I may have started those rumors but I had a reason! Just hear me out!" You felt betrayed, a knife digging into your back. You got up to leave, walking towards the door. Chaewon's body connected with you, slamming your body into the wall invoking a large slamming noise. Chaewon was mere inches from your face, alcoholic breath catching in your nose as she held you against the wall.

"I had a reason! You were pulling away from me and Yunjin, rejecting her advances! Clearly you had someone else in mind, so we had to act!" She yelled, pressing deeper into your stomach as you gasped in pain. "Chaewon, you are fucking nuts.. Get off of me!" You two struggled against each other, arms pushing for dominance. "It had to be done! Stop struggling and we can just talk." Her leg slammed up against your crotch, knocking you down onto the ground as you writhed in pain. "Always so fucking difficult! We could have had a good night. I got all ready, wore my thinnest clothes the second you messaged me. But no, you have to be awkward." Chaewon rambled, now firmly on top of you as you attempted to push her off. Panting as oxygen left your body, she was way too strong. "I love you Y/N! So does Yunjin, just give in!" She yelled, taking your lips in a stolen kiss, the reeking taste of alcohol entering your mouth as she forcefully gnawed at you.

Prehaps you got lucky, perhaps she got tired. Either way you were thankful as a particularly strong shove got her off you, heart hammering against your chest as you slipped your shoes on half-haphazardly. Running as fast as you could back to your car. Chaewon was in your rear view mirror, a disturbing grin as you drove off. "THIS ISN'T OVER Y/N!"

-

The next two days didn't come easy, sleep a luxury too taxing for you. Every second you weren't distracted brought you back to that night, work was even harder. Chaewon being so close to you made you panic, quality of work slipping away as you struggled to teach.

You couldn't tell if it was your own delusions or if Yunjin was eyeing you up, her smile felt sadistic as she kept asking questions. Watching as you struggle to answer, the other students must have noticed you going mad.

You were at home, eyes closed as you fought for a singular second of sleep. The events replaying yet again, how close you were to an unexplainable horror. The gentle hum of YouTube did nothing to soothe you. Hands clawing the pillow as your heart raced, breathing heavy. You weren't going to be able to sleep like this.

Going outside wasn't going to calm you down, way too dark. Nobody would be able to save you. You opened the window, breathing in the cold fresh air. Your breathing calmed down as you relaxed. You'll be okay. You'll be okay.

You fell asleep for the first time in days.

A loud blaring noise rang out, the sound of your phone's alarm. In your tiredness you had set it to 7pm instead of 7am. God fucking damn it.

You walked downstairs, desperate for a cup of water to nurse your dry throat. Something felt wrong, the air felt colder than it should. It must be your nerves, you breathed out. Heading towards the kitchen.

The water went down your throat, soothing every dry muscle as it coated your mouth. You started to walk upstairs when your jaw dropped. Two shadowy figures were outside your door, a cacophonous noise of scratching metal and muffled talking. Your blood ran cold, rushing upstairs as water splashed on your arm.

Your bedroom provided no comfort now, the creaking of the front door alerted you. They were inside. You breathed erratically, vision blurring around the edges. Footsteps came up the stairs, you scanned around the room looking for anything to use. Nothing, you really shouldn't have cleaned recently.

The door opened and two figures came in, they didn't wear disguises. Chaewon and Yunjin were there in all your glory, faces shocked as you stared at them.

"Hello Y/N." Yunjin said, her hand was holding something. A knife. You gulped, they were going to kill you. "We were hoping you would be asleep. But we can improvise for you honey." Chaewon followed up, her voice sickeningly sweet. They got closer. "Get back! This is insane!" You cried out.

"Insane, maybe honey. But let's talk about this more when we are home, Yunjin." Chaewon commanded, Yunjin got close. Holding a knife against your throat, Chaewon got closer. A needle of a strange liquid in her hand. "Don't do this." You made one last plea, but they didn't listen. Jabbing the syringe into your body.

It didn't take long before the world went black, the last thing you saw was sinister smiles.

-

You woke up, eyes being greeted with a grey basement. Water damaged as the scent of mold filled your nose, you tried to move but the tape shackles locked you in place.

You sat there for who knows how long, bored and petrified of what was about to happen. A loud scuttering down the stairs filled you with new found fear, it was Yunjin, wearing a t-shirt way too big for her and shorts. Her hand was holding a familiar knife. "Morning honey, sleep well?" Her innocuous question made you recoil.

She smiled as she sat on your leg, putting the knife against your throat. "I asked you a question, let's not get off on the wrong foot." You panicked. "Yunjin, calm down.. I slept fine." You had to comply, the knife disappeared from your throat as you let out a sigh of relief. "Okay, good. You'll love it here. But one word of advice." Yunjin got closer, inches from your ear "we don't like to repeat ourselves." You gulped.

Chaewon came down the stairs next, holding a tray of scrambled eggs, toast and orange juice. You couldn't lie when you said it looked good, hunger panged in your stomach causing a burst of discomfort. "I brought you breakfast." She said.

You couldn't accept it, couldn't give in to their desires. "I'm not taking your food." You barked, Chaewon sighed as Yunjin frowned. "Look, I don't know what power you think you have. But I'm feeding you this food to you either way." She gathered some egg on a fork bringing it to your mouth. "Be a good boy so I don't have to force you." Chaewon pleaded, but her voice vowed danger if you didn't comply.

You accepted, opening your mouth slightly as she fed you. Smiling as you ate her cooking, "Good." She was honestly a good cook, but you wouldn't stroke their ego. Yunjin spoke "We can fix up the basement, if you are good we will be so nice. If not, well you'll see." The words filled you with fear as a piece of toast entered your mouth.

-

It has been a long time since they took you, there was no way to tell. They didn't give you a clock, you had roughly gathered a schedule. One of the two would come in and give you breakfast, then after a excruciating long time one of them would come again to talk to you.

You three had a lot of battles, defiant to their actions. You'd always regret it after. Chaewon was the much more brutal one, taking pleasure in your misery. You weren't going to forget when she snapped, dragging her knife through your flesh. Ignoring your pleading to stop, Yunjin was much calmer with her actions. Mostly getting enjoyment from teasing you.

They returned, the atmosphere felt different. They seemed almost playful, not in the same sadistic way as usual. "Hey Y/N, do you know what day it is?!" They said together, hands gesturing enthusiastically. You shook your head, "It's our one month anniversary!" Chaewon cheered, Yunjin carrying on like this was rehearsed. "So we all get a reward! You can get some entertainment! Me and chae get some dick, you wouldn't deprive us of that right?" She smiled. Your mind filled with thoughts, you should say no. But something about the way they looked was bringing you inwards.

"I wouldn't deny you.." You said quietly, they beamed. "Great! We need to prepare something so go shower or something."

-

The sanguine of their LEDs painted the room in a deep red. They had tied you back up leaving you naked, cock hardening as they stripped slowly. They were really putting on a show, Chaewon's hands pulled Yunjin's crop top off, delivering soft kisses to her stomach while Yunjin patted her head. Chaewon's teeth bit down on her skirt. Looking directly into her eyes as she trailed down her legs, revealing Yunjin's panties wet with need.

"Isn't she so perfect? Don't you just wanna fuck your ex-student's cunt?" Chaewon asked, quickly disposing of the undergarments. Yunjin's body now fully exposed, she looked divine. Entire body bathed in red but it did nothing to hide her beauty. Her skin was smooth and perfect from head to toe, her body begged for attention. Her breasts rock solid and pussy glistening. "God. I want to fuck her so hard." You whined, Chaewon smiled as a glint of mischief hit her eyes. "She offered it to you, don't you remember?" She teased, the catalyst of this entire event happening coming back to your head.

"Tell you what, you sit there like a good boy. Maybe you can have my seconds." Chaewon growled, mouth making contact with Yunjin's drooling cunt. Loud sucking noses could be heard as Chaewon treated her like a goddess, putting on a show as she feasted.

Chaewon had no desire to be slow, she had desire to be messy. Yunjin's juices covered her face as she got deep as possible. Yunjin was screaming, "Fuck.. Keep going Chae!" The scene in front of you was intense, bringing you to full hardness as your cock violently throbbed. Hands begging for freedom against the restraints. "She tastes so good Y/N, imagine if you said yes. We could have been doing this together." Chaewon said, taking a small breather for oxygen.

Chaewon's fingers feverishly rubbed Yunjin's swollen clit, tongue fucking her hole as it spewed its sticky juice onto Chaewon's tongue." Fuck! Chaewon I'm gonna cum on that tongue!" Yunjin moaned, legs spasming as she came undone. A shared panting between the two as they battled for precious air.

"Awe, look how needy he is" Yunjin teased. You were leaking precum, shaft standing tall as you begged with your eyes. The room was hotter now, burning with passion between you three.

They got closer, dropping down to their knees as they came eye level to your cock. Eyeing it up like a stick of candy, Yunjin's lips took you in, her mouth warm and wet. Tongue licking up bitter precum as she went inch by inch, Yunjin was refined and elegant. Keeping the mess to a minimum as she sucked you off, a delectful contrast to Chaewon who sucked on your balls. Lathering you up with her saliva, the dual assault made you buck your hips and whine. "You two are so good.. Don't stop."

Your words made them try harder, Yunjin pressing you deep into her throat, gagging up sounds as she did her best. Chaewon licked your balls, the sensations driving you mad. You couldn't last longer like this. "Chae, Yunjin.. I'm bouta cum! Fuck!" You yelled, inches away from heaven as they pulled away. The sudden lack of pleasure caused great discomfort as they edged you.

"Not yet, keep it for later." You whined as Yunjin spoke. Chaewon stripped herself and revealed her smooth cunt, freshly shaved and equally as wet. "Who do you wanna fuck first? Your ex-student or your ex-colleague?" You were given an impossible choice, both looking irresistible. And you'd get to fuck both, so you spoke true to your heart. "Chaewon." You said and she smiled. "You flatter me baby." She removed the restraints, putting you on the soft bed.

"Enjoy this, my cunt is so tight." Chaewon gasped seductively, lips parting as she took you in. Her walls squeezed the life out of you as you two shared a moan, she bounced up and down with an intense vigor. Desperate to prove something, Yunjin didn't remain idle. Laying down next to your bouncing crotches. Her tongue reached out, sinful noises coming out as Yunjin's tongue licked both of you.

"Fuck, Y/N! THIS DICK IS SO GOOD!" Chaewon shouted like a eager hooker, finding solace in your hard length. The earlier foreplay had done a number on you, "I'm not going to last long Chaewon!" You let out a guttral moan. "It's okay! Cum in me!" You obliged, shooting creamy splurts into her body. Yunjin quick to get any that leaked out.

Chaewon got off. Letting you recover, Yunjin looked eager for your length. It was going to be a long long anniversary.

[nyx-umbrakinesis]

When Lucifer gets too horny in public it's not just his boner he has to try to control...

His horns literally start trying to make an appearance... slightly nsfw

You: "So Lucifer, why don't you tell me all about your beautiful wings"

You purr, stroking the stem of your wine glass.

Lucifer: "Well, ah... What about them... I-I've always had them, they're just a part of me."

You: "I mean, how high can you fly, how long, are they really powerful."

Your hand squeezes the meat of his thigh and his small gasp and a flicker of flame appears above his head momentarily, his cheeks fortunately hiding their hue as he feels them burn. As he feels a pulse between his legs.

Lucifer: "Oh, ha ha... Yeah, I can go as high as necessary really... And it's not tiring to fly, I've not really found a limit yet."

You slide even closer to him, the side of your chest brushing his arm, you smirk as you see him tremble slightly and clear his throat.

You: "Oh really? That's very impressive... I wonder if you could use them to give more power into other things... Like, oh I don't know... A thrust in the bedroom perhaps."

Lucifer almost prays for death as the flame erupts above his head, horns sprouting through from his skull, and the utter needy throbbing in his trousers pulls them taught, the fabric brushing the neglected tip causing him to groan and then blush in humiliation as he all but runs from the room, wings sprouting and shielding his exit...

You wink at the others who are all confused and you saunter off after the King to show him just how much you want to find out the answer to your final query.

[blackleatherjacketz]

Nobody's Soldier

Frank Castle x Jack Abbot

Frank never expected anyone else to save him, let alone a doctor who just happened to be strong enough to carry him into his apartment.

Warnings: Mentions of Violence, Field Medicine, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Tension?, Frank Unable to Recognize His Own Feelings, Witty Banter, Jack Abbot's Hands/Arms, Power Imbalance, PTSD, Veterans Being Veterans

Word Count: 1.7k+

Tags: @kat2107 @realfernmayo @elenacarey @likedovesinthewnd @frankcastiglione

The man who stood before him had that battle born glaze over his eyes that he knew all too well. He cut through his shirt like tissue paper, the rip so precise it made him think that he’s done this a thousand times before under much harsher conditions. He wasn't even bothered by the blood that soaked onto his shirt and arms, staining him in his own unique shade of maroon that smeared across his skin. His hands were strong, quick and skilled as he set his scissors down and rubbed them together with alcohol, his veins bulging from the adrenaline pulsing through them as he readied the rest of his supplies.

“Where’d you serve, doc?” Frank winced as the man pressed on the other areas of his chest, groaning as he felt a rib give way before taking in the details of his surroundings. He noticed how perfectly tidy everything in this man’s apartment was, how there wasn’t a single spec of dust to be found. He spotted the police scanner in the corner of the room, the gravely static echoing in his ears between muffled reports as he scoured the room for potential exit routes, a habit he could never quite shake. Everything within this room had its purpose, all function and no fashion with clean lines and dark colors; a simple yet comfortable resting place between shifts, nothing more. It almost reminded him of what he’d like his own place to look like if he took the time and effort to furnish it, but Frank couldn’t imagine that happening any time soon.

“Oh, you know,” the man glanced up at him, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he slid those hands of his into a pair of surgical gloves. “All over the place… Germany, Iraq and Afghanistan. Haven’t been in the sand box for over fifteen years, though, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Yeah,” Frank grunted, leaning back as the man pushed him onto his elbows and pulled his shirt away from his abdomen to better view the gaping wound at his side. “You look like you’ve seen some shit.”

He snorted, shaking his head as he began twisting the cap off a bottle of clear liquid. “That’s one hell of an understatement. How about you, boss?”

“Same as you, all over.” He looked down at his bruised and battered torso, his fresh wound bleeding a slow and steady trickle onto the black fabric of his pants as his whole body seemed to throb. He had been cut by that asshole’s knife a few times, once on his bicep and the other on his shoulder, but this wound really seemed to take the cake. The bullet had grazed through each and every layer of skin and fat, threatening to tear apart his muscle if it had gone just a hair deeper.

“Alright Frank, you’ve got some debris in your wound and I have to clean it out before I can stitch you up, okay?” The man locked eyes with him before proceeding, his hazel gaze practically burning into him as he held the bottle just above his wound. He wanted to make sure that he was ready, wanted to make sure that he knew what to expect so he wouldn’t start swinging the second the pain got too intense. “This is gonna hurt.”

“Frank?” He queried, his hard features twisting in a mix of shock and curiosity before he nodded in understanding, eventually signaling for him to proceed. He hissed as the fluid stung each and every exposed layer of his broken flesh, painfully flushing out the dirt, blood and cloth that had clung to it in the aftermath. “Frank Castle’s dead.”

The man laughed as he set the bottle down next to him, eyeing his wound like a cat would its prey, tilting his head from side to side before finally responding. “Sure. It must have been someone else who completely decimated my twelve dead-on-arrivals last night in the ER. Someone else who saved those women from being raped and beaten within an inch of their lives. Someone else who…”

“Alright, alright.” Frank cut him off with a huff. He took in a slow, steady breath as he watched the man twist the cap back onto the bottle, realizing now that it couldn’t have been a coincidence that this doctor just happened to find him stumbling into a back alley. He had to have been aligned with him on some level to know who he was, to seek him out and still go out of his way to help him, to risk bringing him back to his apartment to save his life. “So you know who I am.”

“Not that hard to figure out if you’re paying attention.” The man carefully opened a white paper package, pulling out a needle and thread between two gloved fingers. “And don’t worry, I’m not gonna turn you in. You’re doing good work out there.”

“Good work, huh? Doesn’t that work go against what you stand for?” He tested him, watching his pulse thrum steadily beneath the graying streaks at his temples. He squinted to watch for any kind of tell to present itself: a twitch of the eye, sweat on the brow, a snarl of the lip… anything to signal that he was bullshitting him. He couldn’t spot any.

“You saved those women,” he shrugged matter of factly, picking up a long pair of tweezers with his opposite hand. “From what I hear, you stop some bad people from doing some bad shit. You put them down so other people can live their lives without fear, and more importantly, you keep them out of my ER. That’s pretty badass if you ask me.”

“You really think all that?” He braced himself as he readied his surgical tools, holding his breath as he watched him step between his parted thighs to get closer to his wound. He could see the freckles on the man’s skin now, smell the subtle notes of his expensive cologne as the muscles in his forearms clenched before he began. This was always the worst part, the rising anticipation of the oncoming pain when it wasn’t his own hand stitching himself back together.

“Yeah, I do.” His eyes darted up to meet his again, this time a little softer as his pupils expanded. “You sure you don’t want any pain meds before I do this? It’s gonna hurt worse than the saline.”

“I can take it.” Frank mumbled, gripping onto the side of the kitchen counter to steel himself.

“It doesn’t mean you have to.”

Frank paused and looked at him sideways for a second, his words washing over him in a gut-wrenching flash of warmth that he didn’t quite understand. His breath caught in his throat, his heart skipping a beat before it began to race beneath his broken ribs as he tried to name the feeling, but it escaped him before he could push it down and bury it. “Just do it.”

“Alright.” He clicked his tongue and pierced Frank’s flesh without a second thought, gliding the curved needle in through his skin before bringing it flush against the other side of the wound. “So what brought you all the way out to Pittsburgh?”

Frank’s knuckles turned white as the searing hot pain glued his grip to the granite countertop, forcing his muscles to clench and beads of sweat to form on his brow. “Trying to lay low, to start over, but I saw what those assholes were doing and I had to step in.”

“You just couldn’t help yourself, huh?” He pulled the thread taut and started in on the second stitch, working a little quicker this time. “I get it. Can’t turn it off, no matter how hard you try, right?” He jerked his chin in the direction of the police scanner.

“That why you helped me, brother?” He bit into his bottom lip as he pulled the string again, each tug feeling like fire biting through his insides.

“Jack.” Another stitch, his eyes so intensely focused on his work that he barely noticed he was resting his elbow on Frank’s hip, holding him steady. “My name’s Jack. And yeah, I guess so.”

Another painful stitch. Frank’s endorphins finally trickled into his bloodstream long enough to dull the stabbing jolts of each penetrating suture. He could feel the gentle tug of his flesh as Jack meticulously repaired his skin, creating a whole new visceral wave of agony every time his tissue collided with itself. At least when he was fighting, he had the adrenaline to amp him up, to keep him going, numbing him to all the hits he was taking before his brain finally caught up with his body. Now it’s just him, Jack and his pain.

“Well Jack, you risked a lot taking me in tonight.” He glanced down to get a better view of how much more jabs he had to take, sweat coating his heaving chest as Jack pulled another stitch through. Thank Christ, he was more than halfway done.

“Just a few more stitches and you’ll be good… you’re doing great.” Jack whispered, practically reading his mind. He couldn’t help his bedside manner from slipping out automatically, even if he knew someone like Frank didn’t need to hear it. Even if he knew that Frank was a fucking monster of a man for taking all this without any anesthetic or pain meds. “Putting in the last stitch now…” He pulled it all the way through and finally tied it off, clipping it off with his scissors. “There! All done.”

Frank tried to get up the very second Jack cut him free and lifted his elbow from his hip, but was quickly met with a strong hand on his shoulder, dashing his efforts. “Stay down, Frank. You’ve got at least two broken ribs from what I can feel, and the last thing you need is to fuck up these stitches I just put in your side.” He stared at him with a pleading look, despite his clenched jaw and stern tone, hoping that the vigilante would listen. “If you need something, I’ll get it for you, but you have to rest. It’s the only way you can heal.”

Frank searched his eyes for any leniency, finding only stone cold resolve behind the brown and gold hues of his irises. “So I’m just supposed to sit on your kitchen counter all night, is that it?’

Jack rolled his eyes and pressed his lips together in a thin, fine line. “Let me help you to the damn couch.”

[presleyslilbaby]

~Take It All Night~

(70’s!Elvis X Reader)

(TW: P in V sex, light slapping, crude language, name calling, rough sex, Daddy used in a sexual way-)

Elvis lay in bed, forearm draped lazily over his eyes. He’d been getting older, heavier, his energy more likely to deplete faster than it would just a few years ago. His career was simply exhausting, though he enjoyed what he did. When he wasn’t being forced to do something he didn’t want to, that is. “What’re you thinking about?” Y/n, Elvis’s beautiful Fiancée, had wondered. “Hm?” He hums in confusion. “You’re frowning.” Realising that she was right, he rubs his mouth as if to dispel his negative thoughts, turning his head to look over at her. “Didn’t realise, Honey.” He says, grunting as he moves on his side, the bed rocking slightly. His eyes rove over her beautiful figure, licking his lips instinctively. “Ya’ look beautiful tonight. But I s’pose you always do.” Y/n smiled at his compliment, laying down on her side as well, propping her head up with her fist. “Thank you.” “What made you wear Daddy’s favourite outfit?” Elvis cooed huskily, reaching out a large hand to trace a long finger over the fabric of her lingerie, then down the apex of her thigh. She doesn’t answer, although she does bite her lower lip rather sensually. He sat up, grabbing her jaw gently and turning her head to face him. “Y/n. Did you want Daddy to give you pleasure? Answer me.” Y/n looked into his eyes, swallowing lightly before finally answering his question. “Yes…”

“Do you want to bend over for me? Take Daddy’s cock?” Hearing his query sent heat pooling down to her already pulsing cunt, causing her to shift, nodding rapidly. “Yeah…I want Daddy’s cock…” She whimpered in want. “That’s nice to hear.” Elvis hummed, pulling her in closer by the hips. “But you’ll have to wait. I want to get you ready for me.” With that being said, he captures her lips in a slow, sensual kiss, his lips moving against hers with intent. She kisses back, folding her arms around his neck so lovingly. A moment or two passes before his tongue swiped across her lower lip, requesting entry into her mouth with which she granted. His hot, Pink organ pushed its way into her mouth, battling against her own tongue as his hands began to wander over the plane of her body. Y/n moans into the kiss when Elvis pushed her onto her back, the plush mattress only serving to remind her of what was to come.

He gently pushed her thighs apart, his fingers finding their way to her core, lubricating themselves with her essence. “So wet…” He growled, pushing a finger into her tight depths. She gasped, opening her legs wider for him. “Elvis…” She whispers his name when he began pumping his finger into her in a steady motion. It didn’t take very long before Elvis slid in another finger, increasing the pace little-by-little, increasing her pleasure. She moans, breaking off their kiss in the process, arching her back when he suddenly started fingering her fast. “Oh-! D-Daddy-!” She squealed out, her walls clenching around his long digits. “Yeah…Sing for me, Birdie.” He murmured against hers with intent ear, feeling his cock stirring awake. “Faster?” He wondered. “I-I want Daddy’s cock…” Y/n whined wantonly, gasping when Elvis lightly slapped her thigh. “Quiet. You’ll get Daddy’s cock when he wants you to have it.” He huffed. “But I want it now…!” She continued to whine like a brat, uncaring of how he was to punish her. He swiftly removed his fingers, practically ripping off her lingerie before flipping her on her stomach.

“You want Daddy’s cock?” He harshly asked, working as quick as he could to remove his clothes, his length springing free, pre-cum beading at the Reddened tip. He tugged her hips upwards, lining himself up at her entrance. “Then you better take it, slut.” Elvis suddenly plunged his cock straight into her awaiting heat, bottoming out in only one powerful thrust. Y/n cries out in a mix of pleasure and pain, gripping the bedsheets beneath her. He began to thrust, only steady for a few seconds before immediately picking up the pace. The lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room, as well as the needy moans spilling from Y/n’s lips. “Daddy!” She cries in pure pleasure, the pain not having mattered anymore. “Yeah, you better take it, Baby…Take it all night long…Fuck, your pussy’s grippin’ me like a vice…” He grunted, already beginning to sweat from the work of thrusting hard into his sweet Fiancée. As much as he knew that his body would hate him for this extensive use of energy, Elvis certainly wasn’t complaining about how good his cock felt inside her sopping wet cunt. “You take me so well, Birdie…” He praises, moving a hand between her legs to rub insistently against her clit with intent, almost as fast as he was thrusting. She howls in pleasure, arching her back against his broad body.

“Gonna come?” He queried, sweat pouring down his forehead where his bangs stuck, dripping from his nose and chin down onto her back. “Y-Yes-! Oohh fuck-“ Y/n nodded rapidly, her walls beginning to flutter around his shaft. “I-I’m gonna- Fuck- Daddy!” Her orgasm swept over her like waves crashing against rocky shores during a storm, her body convulsing beneath Elvis as he eagerly chased his own high. “Shit, I love when you come like that,” Elvis grunted, grasping her hips in an almost bruising hold. Without any precursor to his climax, he cried out in both surprise and pleasure as the sudden hot ropes of his thick and sticky seed poured deep into Y/n’s canal, his hips stuttering as he then fell forwards on top of her, exhausted. But hell, it’s been so long since he’s felt so young again.

[vagabond-umlaut]

parterre

Lord Nanami is a knight, yes. A very esteemed one at that. But does anyone know he is an impressive gardener too? Well, he is— for he is the one, who caused these many flowers of these many hues to bloom in the landscape of your heart— so much so that you've not the slightest idea on how to manage them all well.

▸ knight!Nanami x lady-in-waiting!Reader; Historical AU; Tons of Tooth-Rotting Fluff; Crushes; Pining [is it mutual, however?]; Jealousy; Misunderstandings; Teasing; Did I already say this is so sweetly fluffy, you might end up with cavities? Oh. Okay. Cool :); Reader is so terribly down bad for Nanami, it's become a matter of mild concern; She is called a harmless little nickname by the princess here; THIS FIC WAS WRITTEN AS A LITTLE CELEBRATORY GIFT TO NANAMI NATION, AFTER THE FEAST THAT JJK 2.12 WAS FOR Y'ALL ;))

▸ Behold, the thesis I mentioned to you last night, Julie my sweetest pie. 🤭🤭🤭 Hope you'll enjoy reading this! 🫶🫶 @nanamikentoseyebags

▸ I don't own the characters or image used. Divider is by @cafekitsune. Please don't plagiarize, translate or repost this. Enjoy reading! ❤️

Nanami Kento is no simple man. He is one crafted wondrously by the heavens. A veritable evidence, if there ever were any, of the existence of some greater being— powerful enough to make a man such as the knight. Merciful enough to make him live in the same time frame and place as you do.

A wistful sigh falls past your lips as you begrudgingly tear your focus away from the training grounds and direct it to the scalding coffee at hand, though it takes but two mere two seconds before you find your eyes darting to the open window yet again– skimming over the many heads out there– wanting to find only one blond head– heart beating far too many beats when you hear the name of its owner being yelled out once again—

The utterance of your title in court drags you away from your frantic search, to the mildly smiling face of the princess: Sleepy, yes– But a lot more awake than she was five minutes ago. You rush to offer her your greetings, only to stop when she lifts a finger and tilts her head to the side, brows furrowed a pinch.

"That was Kento's name being hollered, wasn't it, Petals?"

You aren't certain which infuriates you more— that the princess used your childhood nickname well into your adulthood– or that she called Knight Nanami by his first name, a privilege he is known to grant to a very select few—

Compelling your face to shift into a smile, you nod. "I'm afraid it was, Your Highness."

"And was it yet another lady cheering for his victory in a match, huh?" she queries, kicking the covers off her feet and landing onto the floor with a loud thud. Wincing lightly, you quickly shake your head 'no'.

"It wasn't, Your Highness. The voice sounded much like Lord Haibara."

A quiet hum comes in response to your observation– soon shadowed over by the off-key singing of rather... indelicate songs, you're certain no one of an upbringing as royal and guarded as your princess should know— before the lyrics pause– all of a sudden– the moment she sits down at the table and looks out the window.

At the ongoing duel between Nanami and Geto, swords clanging and their bare chests shining in the early morn sun.

The very sight making every drop of blood in your vessels to rush to your cheeks, flooding them with colour– whilst your gaze roves with no trace of shame over the well-built physique of the solemn blond– lingering in particular on the toned muscle of his arms and forearms, flexing and extending as his fingers grasp the hilt of the weapon and the muscles in his legs strain against the tight fabric of his slacks, as the knight moves in a spell-binding dance of danger and tact against his opponent.

A huff of a chuckle escapes you when the former lands a solid hit on the latter; no one can match him in his prowess at wielding a sword; making a tendril of pride unfurl in the centre of your chest, only for it to shrivel in the heat of envy the princess' chortle ignites in that very same place.

You make no efforts to stop the words tumbling out your mouth next. Nor the tense frown which nestles into your tinted lips, throwing your face into lines and ridges.

"Is Lord Nanami courting you, Your Highness?"

"What!?!?" Not even an instant elapses before the exclamation leaves your listener. You continue, pretending to be unperturbed by the way innumerable shades of shock and incredulity colour her countenance.

"I mean, you call him by his first name, and he too does the same for you. Besides, the both of you have often been spotted to be strolling in the gardens together, easily chatting and smiling... not to mention the ball held last winter solstice when you two entered the ball, side-by-side— it is not only me who me who wonders so, milady," you add when you notice her back straigthening and she returning the cup to the saucer, "The court is rife with suppositions, on the nature of your relationship with Lord Nanami."

A beat passes in tense silence in response to your expressed musings— before the hush is disrupted by a very grave-sounding query, from the lady across. "What do you look for in a future life partner, Petals?"

"Me?" you ask, index finger pointed at yourself.

The princess gives a nod. "Yes, you, Your Grace."

Your nose wrinkles at such ill-considered usage of such high-ranking titles— nevertheless, you find yourself brushing those concerns away to mull over much more important matters...

A good while passes before you form a reply. Focus zeroing on a tiny coffee stain on your dress, you begin.

"Someone who is calm and collected, stoic and serious. He should be strong too, not just in brawn but in brain and matters of heart as well. He must be strict and disciplined, but must have a gentle, caring side to him too. Won't hurt if he's a traditional romantic, giving me flowers and sweet compliments instead of the terrible comments men say to the ladies these days. And..."

You trail off, losing yourself in your mind, before resuming, in a muted murmur this time, "It might be really nice if he lets me be of those few who can call him by his name– and he becomes comfortable enough, to call me by my name. And accompany me on walks in the garden in the afternoons. And perhaps, even, ask me to the balls where we may wear matching outfits, and present ourselves as a couple before all."

A hand comes to rest over your folded ones. You look up to find a bit too wide smile resting on the princess' lips. She offers your hands an easing squeeze.

Little does she know it does little to ease your turbulent emotions— a feeling which worsens with the observations she voices to you next.

"I was terrified your beautiful mind was tainted by the disease of idle inquisitiveness, as happens to most in this world with age, you know," she hums, standing up and making you sit in her chair, "I'm very glad to conclude, that's not quite the case. However– I cannot say your so lovely mind is disease-free either, my sweet Petals."

Your brows gather together in confusion as you peer at her, eyes in a narrow stare. She continues– smile growing a touch of tenderness.

"Your mind has been afflicted with the awful ailment of lovesickness. And–" she says, putting greater emphasis on her syllables, when you attempt to protest her statement, "it is usually incurable, unless very great feats of bravery are performed by the patient themselves, or in the off-chance, the fates decide to be helpful and the person behind the mess makes the first move— but I must say, Your Grace, you are very lucky to have me as your consulting physician— for I know what will provide you interim relief until either of them happens— want to know what it is?"

You take a moment to consider before returning a slow, unsure nod.

The princess beams. "It's the knowledge of the fact, there's someone who matches every criteria you mentioned, to a T— and that– he has his eyes reserved for none, except one beautiful lady-in-waiting, who stares at the training ground from the windows of the princess' room every single morning— looking as fresh and vibrant as the nickname, the princess insists on calling her."

Your friend pauses for a beat— not that you really notice it over the thrum of your blood in your ears and your heart in your chest— she inquires, "You understood the prescription, didn't you, Petals?"

A high-pitched squeal– so unseemly, so embarrassed, so jubilant– is the only response you manage, retreating into the cushion, hiding the warmth of your face and the stretch of your smile behind your palms.

▸ masterlist

[asa-do-your-thing]

The rainbow trout

Robb Stark x Frey Reader 18 + MINORS DNI WC: 5,1k Warnings: forced marriage, mentions death, alcohol, dubcon, angst

You knew you weren't his first choice. You also knew what would happen, should Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, not accept your hand, so you did everything in your power to convince him to marry anyone of your female relatives. You sent him coded messages, diguised yourself and warned his pregnant lady... You did everything in your might to persuade him.

That was why it hurt you even more that when he came to the Twins and told you all to stand in a big semi circle ordered by your ages - you stood almost at the farthest end, having only just flowered - and he walked over to your aunts and older cousins, all past the ages of five and twenty. Everything within you itched to call out to him - King of the North, 'tis I who saved you!

But Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, was a man known for his honor and duty. He gave each woman a polite nod, exchanged pleasantries and, with a hint of discomfort in his eyes, moved along the line. You watched him as he went from your eldest aunt, Lady Amarei, a stout woman with greying hair and a face that had lost the battle with age long ago; to your cousin Alyx, then onto Waldene and Wylda - all older than you by several years and already mothers to their own broods, though you supposed it was pleasing for him to see their fertility.

The air in the Great Hall was thick with expectation as the Young Wolf made his way down the line of eligible Frey women. The flickering light from the hundreds of candles gave an ethereal glow to the scene, casting dancing shadows along stone walls adorned with the ancient heraldry of House Frey. The wheels of your father's great wooden chair creaked as he shifted his weight, watching his potential son-in-law examine his flock.

As Robb Stark drew closer to you, your heart pounded in your chest. Despite your best efforts to maintain decorum, your hands were clammy against the lush fabric of your dress. When he finally stood before you, his azure eyes met yours with an intensity that stole your breath away. His face was unreadable; he made no comments about your youth or offered any compliments as he had done for some of your relatives.

He nodded once before moving on to your younger sister - a girl who barely even knew how to keep her hair out of her soup bowl - and then carried on down the line. You could feel the disappointment welling up and looked up in amazement when he went back up to his previous spot. He... knew what would happen should he not accept any one of them? What was he doing?

Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, turned back to look you in the eyes. His gaze caught yours in a strange dance, akin to two foxes circling one another before withdrawing. He thanked your father, Lord Walder, for his hospitality and the introduction to his lovely daughters and nieces. His voice echoed along the stone hall, each word punctuated by silence from the gathered Freys.

"Before I proceed," he announced, raising an eyebrow as if he had just been struck by a sudden thought, "I would like to ask a question about a small rainbow trout." The hall fell silent.

Your heart leapt into your throat. The 'rainbow trout'. The code you had used so many times in your letters to him. You had used it as a symbol of danger, warning him of impending peril. And now he was using it back at you.

The question Robb asked was incredibly mundane in its nature for anyone else. Yet behind those words, there lay a hidden realm of understanding known only to Robb and yourself; its context spread across a plethora of secret letters exchanged between you two under various pseudonyms over the years. The audience stared at him blankly while your mind raced to pick up the hidden message in his query.

Just then, your innocent little sister nudged you and whispered in your ear right below a breath. "Has King Robb gone coo-coo?" You could hardly suppress the laughter that bubbled within you at her naive words. She didn’t understand what was passing between Robb and yourself and for that, you were both relieved and eternally grateful.

"No dear one," you whispered back, patting her small hand. " he's simply curious about our streams."

A hushed murmur passed through the crowd as they tried to comprehend the Young Wolf’s peculiar question. Lord Walder, from his high seat, let out a puff of irritation. "Is this a jest, Stark?" he asked gruffly.

The Young Wolf looked at him, his eyes hardening. "Not at all," he replied sternly. "In fact, it is rather important."

You noticed the subtle change in his demeanor and felt your heart flutter with anticipation. Robb turned his gaze back to you, the hardness softening once more into a look filled with intent and secret understanding.

"Your rainbow trout seems quite interesting." The Young Wolf finally spoke in his clear voice, echoing through the hall, carrying a message for you alone amongst the throng of confused onlookers. His words were enigmatic and carried an underlying layer of significance that no one but you could decipher.

The corners of your lips curled into an involuntary smile as you met his gaze and nodded subtly. You understood what he was trying to say, what he had so bravely alluded to in front of all your family members.

"And what would such a trout want?" asked Lord Walder impatiently. His sharp gaze pierced through Robb Stark who merely smirked and shrugged lightly.

"That’s for the trout to know," replied the Young Wolf cryptically. Before anyone could question further, he bowed courteously towards Lord Walder and then swept an arm towards you in an elegant gesture. "Perhaps your young lady there can provide me an answer?"

"Walderette?", your father croaked out and raised an eyebrow.

A big rumble went through the hall and you blushed up to your roots, not used to being stared at. This was pressure and you needed to handle it quickly and well - so well that your old, disgusting flea of a father would forget about this instance.

"Yes, Father?" You responded, managing to keep your voice steady, despite the thudding of your heart. Your eyes slipped towards Robb who looked at you encouragingly.

Your father huffed, "You'll entertain The Young Wolf's humor about our trout?"

"Of course, Father," you replied softly, your gaze locked with Robb's. An understanding passed between you two, an assurance that somehow he would make things right.

You then cleared your throat and addressed the hall in a voice far more confident than you felt. "Rainbow trout," you began, glancing at Robb who nodded subtly as if urging you to go on. "Is a delicacy in our rivers. It’s versatile and can thrive in different environments. It can be elusive yet it can be caught if one is patient and diligent."

The room was quiet as everyone watched you curiously. Your father squinted his eyes at you while your younger sister nervously bobbed up and down on her feet. He didn't dare suspect anything, or else your fate would be just the same - being slit open by your family.

"It is very good when smoked and lasts long, and it is easy to transport. It goes well with pickles-"

Lord Walder raised his hand and shrugged. "Yes, Wald... Walderette your name was, right? Rainbow trout is good." He looked at Robb, who gave him a relatively neutral look. "And you are sure you want... her? I have girls with prettier faces, bigger tits and that talk less nonesense."

Robb didn’t flinch under Lord Walder’s crude remarks. Instead, his gaze seemed only to harden, a touch of steel flashing in his eyes as he coolly met the old lord's gaze. "Aye," he said, holding your gaze again with a softness that contrasted sharply with the icy tone he had used for Walder.

"I'm sure." His blue eyes glittered with certainty and warmth. Your heart fluttered, nearly missing a beat at his declaration. To have him, Robb Stark, The Young Wolf, choose you in front of everyone felt as surreal as it was exciting.

Lord Walder grumbled something incoherent under his breath, shifting uncomfortably in his high seat. His gaze oscillated between you and Robb before finally settling on the young king with a grudging acceptance. He sighed heavily and grunted out a curt, “Very well.”

A murmur rippled through the hall, turning into excited whispers that echoed around the stone walls. This was unprecedented; a Frey girl chosen to be betrothed to the King in the North!

Your sisters looked at you with wide eyes, surprise and envy coloring their expressions. You could almost feel their piercing stares burrowing into your back, but you didn’t care. Robb had chosen you. And even though this was part of a grand scheme that remained secret from most, an indescribable joy surged within you at being chosen by him.

Robb then leaned slightly towards you, his voice barely audible above the hushed chatter. "I hope I picked the right trout," he murmured to you, a glint of worry in his eyes.

"There is only the one, my King," you reassured him with a small smile and breathed out once everyone went back to their seats - even the women, which gave you the greatest hope of there not being a massacre tonight. "Though if I find out anything that will hurt you or your... uh, friend, I will give you a signal and lots of likeminded trouts will help."

Robb nodded, his gaze fixed on yours. His eyes were the color of a stormy sky - deep, chilling, and deadly if challenged. Without breaking the eye contact, he whispered back, "I am looking forward to seeing what a school of like-minded trouts can do, thoug I hope I shall never feel the need to see them."

A hush fell over the room as Lord Walder straightened in his chair and clapped his hands together sharply. "Enough of these fish conversations," he barked, his voice echoing throughout the hall. "It's time to sit down for the feast. You're to be wed! My grandson shall be a King!"

As the guests began to shuffle towards their seats, you took Robb's arm and led him to the high table alongside Lord Walder and his newest wife. The woman, who was no more than a year older than you, was beautiful in a fragile kind of way. Her honey-coloured hair was bound up intricately with tiny pearls gleaming in between her locks. She shot you an encouraging smile as you both took your seats.

Throughout the feast that ensued, she would lean towards you from time to time, whispering coded words in your ear between bites of her meal or sips of her wine. "Remember," she once whispered casually as she spread some butter on her bread, "the pickles are of a dangerously spicy sort."

"Just the pickles?" You asked just as casually, keeping your gaze focused on your own plate.

She nodded subtly in response before turning her attention back to her own meal.

The night wore on with laughter and merriment filling the air beneath the vaulted ceilings of the hall. Everyone seemed at ease - even Robb appeared more relaxed now. However, underneath the surface, you were still fully ready to run. Your father was everything, but a honest man and nothing could fully guarantee your safety.

As the feast came to a close, Lord Walder rose to his feet with all the grace of a prowling cat despite his advanced years. "May I have your attention!" he bellowed, effectively silencing the chatter throughout the hall. He nodded his approval at the sudden quiet before turning his steely gaze towards you and Robb.

"It seems to me," he began, his voice carrying an uncanny edge that made the hair on your neck stand up. "That we're forgetting one important detail of this evening."

His gaze intensified as he continued, "These two lovebirds are yet to be wed!"

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. You felt Robb stiffen beside you, but your father's newest wife pressed a reassuring hand on your arm. It was, after all, part of their ploy.

A frail old septon shuffled forward from among the crowd. The wrinkles on his face gathered into deep crevices as he smiled warmly at you and Robb. He held out a red silken ribbon - your symbol of unity in this farce of a marriage.

You found yourself whispering vows under his quiet instruction, your voice choked by anticipation and fear while Robb's steady and firm words only added another layer to your pounding heart.

"And now," Walder announced gleefully once you'd both spoken your vows. "Seal it with a kiss."

Robb hesitated for a moment before leaning in, his warm lips brushing against yours in a chaste but lingering kiss. The hall erupted in cheers, and for a fleeting moment, it felt real - like true love had finally found your side, yet you knew that this'd be a farce. But then again, what would a loveless marriage be against dozens of dead innocents?

"Take the lovers away! Undress them!", croaked Walder and grinned implishly as a mass of Frey girls came and picked Robb up. Silencing his prostest with the smallest of nods, you, in turn let yourself be carried by some Stark men.

The crowd of Stark men was like a sea of shadows, each figure blurred into the next by the dim candlelight. The soft murmur of their voices was punctuated by the occasional chuckle or whisper as they carried you away through a labyrinth of stone corridors. The cold, rough-hewn stones beneath your feet were a stark contrast to the warmth and merriment of the feasting hall. The ancient walls echoed with tales of grandeur and battle, each echo ringing in your ears as an ominous forewarning.

With each step, you felt your heart drumming wildly in your chest - this was unchartered territory, a dance with danger and uncertainty. You stole a glance at the jumbled mass of Frey girls disappearing with Robb into another corridor, his eyes locked onto yours for an infinitesimal second before he was swallowed by the throng.

You were ushered up a winding staircase, its spiralling steps leading you to a chamber high above the ground. The door creaked open to reveal a room bathed in soft moonlight. It wasn't chained and barred like the dungeons you'd feared, but rather adorned with silken tapestries depicting intricate hunting scenes.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you entered. The room felt strangely comforting with its high vaulted ceiling and large canopy bed draped in furs. A lone window overlooked rolling meadows bathed in silver moonlight, their serene beauty belying the uncertainty that lay ahead.

The Stark men began to undress you, their roughened hands deft yet respectful on your garments. Your heart pounded in your chest like a wild bird trapped in a cage and only stopped once Robb came into the room, dressed only in a sheet that was held up by your giggling sisters. He quickly excused his men and gave the girls the same, stern look.

"Good night, little fish!", "Have fun!" and "Make sure that you'll make a king tonight!" were their parting words as the filed out, giggling.

The heavy door shut behind them with a reverberating thud that echoed in the silence of the chamber. The echo faded, leaving only your heartbeat to fill the quiet space. You turned to face Robb, his striking blue eyes filled with an uncertainty that mirrored your own. The bronze-toned light of the hearth danced across his features and played in his hair, casting him somewhat divine in your sight.

His broad shoulders lifted and fell in a heavy sigh that seemed to shake the very air around you both. The silence hung between you two like a tangible veil as he slowly approached you.

"We needn't…" he began, his voice gravelly and low – softer than you'd ever heard it. Suddenly, all of his kingly stature seemed to melt away, leaving behind only a boy burdened by expectations.

"I know," you quickly cut in, eager to relieve him of his discomfort. "I could just…" You trailed off, suddenly aware of the crude absurdity of your plan. But you pressed on, forcing out the words as your cheeks burned with embarrassment. "... just scratch myself open…"

Robb's gaze flickered downward before snapping back up to meet yours, a horrified look crossing his face.

"I mean... people just want some proof… or else... or else there will be talk... we could pretend…” You stumbled over your words, unable to keep eye contact with him anymore.

A moment passed where only the crackling flames dared break the silence. Then Robb let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly before he met your gaze again.

"You remind me why I chose you for this alliance," he said with a warmth in his voice that took you by surprise, his hand reaching out to gently cup your face. "You're willing to hurt yourself just to protect our farce, and the people we're sworn to protect."

His thumb swept across your cheekbone, drawing a shiver from you. There was honesty in his eyes - a rarity in this world of duplicity and deceit - and it was startling.

"You don't need to do that," Robb continued, the corners of his mouth curling up into a small smile. "We'll find another way. A better way." He let his hand drop, but the warmth lingered on your skin, spreading like wildfire through your body.

"Robb…" You began, but he cut you off with a shake of his head.

"No need for formalities," he said with a small grin, trying to lighten the mood. "We're married now, remember?"

He was attempting light-hearted banter – an attempt to alleviate the tension hanging thick between you two, and it was surprisingly endearing. Still though, unease crept back into your heart. After all, what other way could there be?

"But they will expect…" You started again.

"We'll be careful," he interrupted once more. "And we'll be smart. Let them think what they will."

A knock resounded at the door then – a single, harsh rap that echoed in the chamber and made both of you jump.

"Shall I pour the wine?" A thin voice floated in through the heavy oak door, belonging to an old servant woman probably sent by Lord Walder himself to see their progress.

"Yes," Robb called back after sharing an understanding glance with you.

The Lady came in and hobbled her way towards a small table, filling two cups with a cheap red wine, one that smelled more like a tincture than a lovely Dornish Red. To add to that, she set down a small dish of pickles. "If you do not manage to do your duties tonight, your Lady sends this dish to bring you back to your senses.

You began to panic slightly and nodded at her, doing your best to mime an innocent. Walking over to the small table, you dismissed her and quickly gave Robb his glass. As soon as the Lady went away again, you stripped and gulped down the beastly drink, positioning yourself on the bed like a bitch in heat.

Robb, for his part, wore a look of sheer surprise as he followed your unceremonious actions with wide eyes. He took a deep breath, setting his own glass down on the table beside him before he turned back to you. His cheeks were flushed a delicate pink - a stark contrast to his usual pale complexion - and he looked almost boyish under the soft candlelight.

"Please," he started, his voice rough in the quiet of the room, "You don't need to do this. Not like this." His gaze was steady and honest as it met yours, and his words tugged at your heartstrings.

But your mind was filled with vivid images of Lady Catelyn's tear-stained face and Rob's pregnant girlfriend - their lives hanging by the thinnest of threads because of you. You swallowed hard, pushing away the comforting warmth of his words. "We can't risk it Robb," you insisted. Your voice wavered despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his mop of auburn hair. But he made no move to stop you from lying back against the bed – your back cold against the rough fabric beneath you. He looked at you then – really looked at you – taking in your determined expression and your trembling hands.

For a moment, all was silent in the room - save for the crackling flames.

Then, without another word, he began to disrobe himself with an air of solemnity that felt too heavy for the occasion. He moved carefully, meticulously even, stopping momentarily to kick away his modesty sheet before he joined you on the bed.

"Lie on your back, Walderette. I needn't take you like an animal," he whispered solemnly as he made sure to keep his eyes on your face.

His voice was low and gentle, a tender lullaby whispered in the quiet of the night. It was an unexpected sweetness that only made your heart hurt with more force, your guilt gnawing away at you like a starved beast. But you nodded, complying with his request and shifting position, your heart pounding in your chest like a war drum.

A silence descended upon the room as he settled down beside you, his broad form dwarfing yours. His muscled arms propped him up as he leaned over you, his gaze never wavering from your face. You closed your eyes, your breath hitching as you felt the cool touch of his hands against the bare skin of your sides.

He stayed silent as his hands began to wander, their slow and deliberate movements adding an excruciating tension to the silence. He explored without hurry; his fingers ghosting over every rise and fall of your body as if committing it to memory.

You could feel the heat radiating off him – a feverish warmth that made goosebumps rise on your skin. Any other night, under any other circumstances, the feeling would've sent pleasing shivers down your spine.

"I…" you choked out, opening your eyes to find Robb hovering over you. His body pressed against yours in an almost comforting manner but it did nothing to dampen the guilt-ridden fear gnawing at your insides. "I… don't know what I'm doing," you admitted softly.

Robb's eyes darkened slightly at your confession but he gave you a small smile nonetheless. "It's alright," he whispered back reassuringly. "Neither do I, really. I've never... had to... take someone."

You blushed and gave him a shy smile. "I am not completely against it. Just... do whatever needs to be done and if we will not manage to create an heir, I am sure we will be able to do this... everything, under better circumtances."

“Are you sure about this?” he asked again, his voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes met yours, the steady gaze filled with an equal measure of fear and determination.

"Yes," you answered just as softly, your heart pounding in your chest. Despite your fear and uncertainty, you knew there was no other option. The lives of those you cared for were at stake. This was a small price to pay for their safety.

Robb nodded, his face a solemn mask. His eyes held yours, a lingering connection in the quiet room. He moved closer, laying his body against yours in a slow, deliberate manner. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the rapid beats of his heart echoing your own.

"Close your eyes," he whispered, and you complied without question. His lips found yours then, a tender kiss that tasted of wine and apprehension. His lips moved against yours gently, coaxing you into a rhythm that was as haunting as it was comforting.

His hands moved up your sides, skimming past the sensitive skin of your torso to rest at the sides of your face. He pulled back slightly from the kiss, his breath warm against your cheek as he began to whisper words meant only for you. They were soft promises of safety and care; sweet nothings that melted your worries away like morning fog under the sun's rays.

In spite of the circumstances, the tension in the room dissipated at his gentle ministrations. Your body relaxed under his touch, fear and uncertainty replaced with a sense of security.

Then he was moving again, inch by agonizing inch. The heat of him was all-encompassing now; a comforting weight pressing down on you with each passing moment. You let out a gasp when he finally pushed forward – a soft sound drowned out by the crackling fire and rustle of fabric.

It was not painful nor pleasurable - merely an odd discomfort that became more bearable as Robb began to move with slow rhythm, whispering soothing words into your ear. His hands never left your body – one rested on the small of your back, the other cradling your face. His thumb stroked your cheekbone in small circles, drawing out a soothing pattern that almost lulled you into a trance.

The room had become warmer, or maybe it was just the heat radiating from Robb — every inch of his bare skin touching yours, filling your senses with his presence. You clung to him, hands clenched on his broad shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh as he moved with quiet determination. You kept your eyes closed, taking in every sensation, every small sound he made as time stretched thin between each heartbeat.

He smelled of wood smoke and winter air. A hint of the strong drink you both had shared still lingered on his breath mixed with the warm scent of his skin. Each breath he drew was a low sigh against your ear, a soft symphony playing under the rustle of linen and crackle of fire.

His movements remained slow and deliberate — no rush, no urgency. He was careful with you, maintaining a rhythm that was mindful and tender. His touch was gentle but firm, holding you close yet giving you space to breathe. His lips found your forehead once more, pressing a soft kiss there.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly once again, pulling back slightly to look at you. His voice was barely audible over the slow rhythm of his body and your combined breaths.

You opened your eyes to meet his gaze. His eyes held an intense mixture of concern and uncertainty, but also a strange form of peace, as if in this moment he had found some sense of purpose.

"I... am," you answered truthfully – Your body was tingling from the strange experience but there was no pain or discomfort anymore - only an odd sense of warmth... and maybe even something akin to contentment.

His gaze held yours, his expression softening at your words. A sigh of relief escaped him as he lowered his lips to meet yours again. His kiss was languid, unhurried, a complete contradiction to the rapid beating of your hearts.

He whispered your name between soft kisses and gentle touches, turning it into a sweet lullaby that danced with the crackling flames in the hearth.

Gradually, your world shrunk until it was made up of Robb alone—the rhythm of his breaths matching your own, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, and his whispered words filling the silence. Time seemed to stretch on endlessly; seconds turning into minutes and minutes into hours as you lost yourself in him.

When he finally pulled back after depositing his hot spend in you, it was slow and deliberate. You felt a pang of loss as the warmth of his body disappeared only to be replaced by the cool air of the room. His fingers lingered on your skin for a moment longer before he moved them away too. He didn’t look at you as he rolled onto his side, putting some distance between you two.

It was understandable, you thought to yourself. His true love was outside, in th tents, worrying about her lover, the father of her babe.

For a long while, there was only silence in the room. You could still hear the faint sounds of Robb's steady breathing and feel his warmth beside you, but there was a sense of melancholy in the air that you couldn’t ignore.

The embers from the fire were slowly dying out and you knew that dawn was approaching; still, neither of you made any attempt to speak or move.

Eventually, Robb broke the silence, "I'm sorry..." His voice was barely audible over the dying embers. He turned towards you again, worry etched on his face, quickly wrapping the towel around himself.

"I don't know why I did that... I shouldn't have..."

His words hung in the air, heavy with regret. You turned your gaze to him, seeing the anguish painted across his face. The light from the dying fire cast a soft glow on his features, emphasizing the shadows of guilt etched deep within his eyes.

"It's okay..." you whispered, laying a hand gently on his arm. "It was necessary."

But even as the words left your lips, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. You were both trapped in a situation neither of you wanted to be in. Each decision made out of obligation, not desire. It was a cruel reality, one that seemed determined to tear you both apart.

He looked at you then, his eyes searching yours for any sign of resentment or pain. When he found none, he let out a sigh, heavy with relief.

"I wish things were different," he said after a long silence, his voice barely audible over the crackling embers. "I wish we could choose our own paths."

You chewed your lower lip, contemplating his words. You knew what he meant. Your lives were dictated by forces beyond your control-- duty, responsibility and a looming war that threatened everything you held dear.

"We can't change what's already happened," you said quietly, meeting his gaze. "All we can do is move forward and make the best of what we have."

He nodded at your words although his expression remained pained. He reached out to take your hand into his own larger one and gave it a comforting squeeze.

"Thank you," he murmured softly, getting up and handing you your dress.

"No, thank you, my King," you said with a small smile. "Let us leave this horrid place."

[idol--hands]

STAR TREK #23: Pleroma PART 4 [pt. 2/2]

🚀 Link to [pt. 1/2] - https://www.tumblr.com/idol--hands/780760538704658432/star-trek-23-pleroma-part-4-pt12?source=share 🙋🏿 QUERY: Trek comics I post on Tumblr don’t get much traction — is there something that could be done better or is it lack of interest?

Lore: “Benjamin, can we talk, you and I? Let’s just act for a moment like the ‘deities’ eavesdropping don’t matter. Because frankly, they don’t.” Lore: “How tired are you of being their cats-paw? Of these blessed few pulling and twisting the fates of the universe to their own capricious ends? Tell me this child is deserving of his power?” Trelene: “You’re a child. I’m as old as the cosmos.” Lore: “Or this legendary relic?” Guardian of Forever: “Guilty as charged.”

Borg-enhanced crew: “The head is right sir.”

Sisko: “Damn you!” Lore: “Oh, we’re resorting to curses now? How disappointingly human.” Sisko: “Not you. YOU.” *points to his mother*

IDOL ⭐️ HANDS: I don’t usually get engagement, but I’ll offer my thoughts, and the Tumblr replies should be open if you care to. So, it’s exciting to have Lore back, but the way this is all playing out feels pretty wonky. As hardcore fans, I think the peak moment for us was the two Soong android brothers interacting with one another (especially fighting together). Then, they have a falling out. Data has major thoughts on that and breaks his brain trying to figure it out — as well as gaining steps towards his own humanity. We have a tremendous and long awaited build-up to him finding the “older” android only to watch Data mostly freeze-up — offer none of his insight or attempt to reach out to Lore. As a head, Data continues to be rather a sissy and that goes on. No clever tactics. No insights. NO attempts to subvert or align with Lore, who frankly has a rather easy time taking over the universe…or *almost* the whole universe. I’m finding it puzzlingly anticlimactic overall. And emotionally unsatisfying. It stays in these themes too. However, the character development for Sisko and Kahless is fantastic; the plot-line works beautifully there — long-neglected story arcs and I’m in favor of explaining “The Sisko” as well as redeeming “The Klingon Jesus” = Kahless — the plots dovetail surprisingly well. Although, the overall themes of agnostic/atheism are heavy-handed and repetitive in modern fandom, considering they recently played out repeatedly in the Marvel Universe (Thanos from The Avengers, Gorr “The Godkiller” from Thor). Worse, where we were at some kind of burgeoning understanding with the android character of Lore…forgiveness is impossible at this point; this version of Lore — discontent with pissing off an entire starship (ep: Datalore), nor all of the Federation (ep: Descent), moves on to destroying & controlling the very fabric of reality — should never be “reactivated” by Trek morality. Our least redeemed character, in a universe toying intently with amorality and enlightenment. I’m not convinced that is worth the trade and can mostly only envision an inevitably bleak outcome for our new God. Which is sad and predictable, what are we continuing to read for? Additionally, the dystopian Trek universe is reticent of the Mirrorverse and Picard series...we’ve seen this kind of thing TWICE without Lore. Please surprise me writers. I like to be proven wrong. Give us something new. Beyond warp drives impossibilities. Pls.

[your-mom-number5]

Raiden (Mortal Kombat) x Elder God Reader

In the eternal realm where the fabric of existence was woven and time itself bowed, you sat with the other Elder Gods sat in your luminous council chamber, your essence intertwined with the very essence of the universe. Among them, Lord Raiden, the Thunder God, stood, his countenance grave, yet his mind vexed by a trivial matter.

"Great Elder Gods," Raiden began, his voice resonating with power, "I seek your wisdom on a matter of utmost importance."

All the Elder Gods, their forms shimmering with cosmic energy, regarded Raiden with solemnity.

"What troubles you, Lord Raiden?" you inquired, your voice a symphony of echoes.

"It is a matter of breakfast," Raiden confessed, his voice containing no sense of sarcasm or embarrassment. "I cannot decide what cereal to have."

You exchanged glances with the other Elder Gods, your eternal wisdom challenged by such an unexpected query. "Cereal?" you said, your voice tinged with annoyance.

"Yes," Raiden affirmed, his expression earnest. "I am torn between the paths of Frosty Flakes and Thunderous Crunch. Each holds its own allure, yet I cannot discern which would be most pleasing to the divine palate."

You facepalmed, frustrated with the folly of The Thunder God. “Every day, you waste our time with your foolish questions. You ask us what you should wear, when you should go to sleep, how to delete your search history, how to treat foot fungus, and other questions of such a deprived nature that I dare not utter them here. We grow tired of your constant pestering.”

"Raiden," spoke one of your fellow Elder Gods, the eldest among you, their voice a gentle breeze that stirred the cosmos, "the choice of cereal matters not in the grand tapestry of existence. What matters is the nourishment it provides for your mortal vessel."

Raiden bowed his head, acknowledging the wisdom of the Elder God's words.

"Yet," another Elder God interjected, their voice carrying the weight of ages, "if you seek our counsel on matters of taste, then know this: the sweetness of Frosty Flakes may bring joy to your senses, but the fortitude of Thunderous Crunch shall invigorate your spirit."

Raiden pondered the words of the Elder Gods, his heart uplifted by their guidance.

“Guys, don’t encourage him!” you yelled, frustrated that you seemed to be the only one who saw how ridiculous this all is.

"Thank you, Great Ones," Raiden exclaimed, ignoring you as gratitude shone in his eyes. "I shall heed your counsel and partake of Thunderous Crunch, that I may face the challenges of the day with renewed vigor."

With a nod of approval, the other Elder Gods bestowed their blessings upon Raiden, their celestial presence imbuing him with strength and resolve.

As Raiden departed the council chamber, his mind at ease and his purpose clear, the other Elder Gods watched over him, their guidance a beacon in the infinite expanse of existence. Once he was gone, you turned to your fellow Elder Gods.

“Y’all, what the fuck?”

[foxgirltail]

Yes, microsoft trying to make a "zero-water" data center (https://finance.yahoo.com/news/microsoft-unveils-zero-water-data-170002064.html) is unambiguously a good thing. Obviously any reduction of pollution or water usage is a good thing. No, I don't think that means that ai's usage of water is something to singlehandedly be up in arms about.

By all means, be upset about ai! Just don't only be upset about ai for this or that when basically every other industry on the planet has the same exact problems.

A single cotton t-shirt requires 2700 liters of water, 5 trillion liters of water are used annually for fabric dying, and 20% of all water pollution is from garment production (source: https://www.wri.org/insights/apparel-industrys-environmental-impact-6-graphics)

This medium article (https://medium.com/@notkavi/stop-acting-like-ai-uses-a-lot-of-water-fafea5573c63) compares the numbers cited in the same study as the latest news articles about ai water usage ("Making AI Less 'Thirsty' by Pengfei Li et al https://arxiv.org/pdf/2304.03271) to the water needed to make beef. GPT-3 used as much water to train as it takes to feed 12 usamericans their average annual burger-patty supply. One quarter-pounder uses as much water as 36k GPT-3 queries or 3.6k GPT-4 queries.

Here is a comparison of Microsoft's water usage in 2022 to the water usage of golf courses:

In 2022, Microsoft claimed it used 1.7 billion gallons (6.44 billion liters) of water. Between 2003 and 2005, the golfing industry used approximately 2.08 billion gallons (7.87 billion liters) of water DAILY for course irrigation. (water usage of golf courses has dropped an estimated 29% between 2020 and 2005 - https://www.gcsaa.org/media/news-release/2022-news-releases/2022/07/26/golf-courses-reduce-water-usage-by-29-percent-according-to-national-survey - this still amounts to ~1.48 billion gallons or ~6.74 billion liters daily. 2 days of golf is more than a year of Microsoft's water usage)

Source for golf water use: https://www.usga.org/content/dam/usga/pdf/Water%20Resource%20Center/how-much-water-does-golf-use.pdf

Source for ai water use: https://www.standard.co.uk/news/tech/ai-chatgpt-water-power-usage-b1106592.html

Yes, the world would benefit from less water usage for ai. But when you posit ai as uniquely evil for it's water usage, I have a hard time believing you actually have an issue with the water usage. Instead it seems like you just want a reason to dislike ai.

My goal is for all of these industries, and many more, to severely reduce their water consumption, or to even stop existing as industries at all! Is that yours as well? If so, why doesn't it feel like it.

[earthshine-moon]

An Unbreakable Bond

Fandom: LoTR: The Rings of Power

Characters: Elendil, Isildur and a secret 3rd one

Word count: 759

I’ll spare you the pain of reading a summary. I can’t write one to save my life

Author’s note: I got this idea from one of the reblogs on my post about Elendil’s tunic in the sea trial scene (s2) looking very similar to Isildur’s tunic in s1. I was so excited and I couldn’t wait to write it!!

The gif and photo I used are under the title. But here’s the reblog anyway in case you want to take a look at the tags

@aadmelioraa thank you so much for letting me use your idea for this fic! I hope I did it justice

————————⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆————————

Elendil had been searching around his bedroom for his wedding ring for what felt like hours. Thinking it had slipped off while he grabbed a tunic out of his dresser earlier that morning, he went back to it and opened the top drawer. He bent over, looking to the back and rummaging through it when his eye caught the sight of some familiar embroidery. Elendil swallowed thickly and pulled the tunic out from the depths of the drawer, dragging with it a memory.

The door scraped across the hard floor as Elendil pushed it open, revealing his wife sitting with her back to him. He stood there for a moment, admiring the way her dark hair fell in waves over her shoulders. He stepped towards her, coming to a halt at her side and looking down at the khaki fabric and needle and thread in her hands.

The pattern that had been skilfully embroidered around the tops of the arms was simple yet beautiful. Arches stretched their way across the fabric, small knots forming dots adorned the spaces underneath them. His wife was working on the beginnings of a more elaborate pattern beneath it when Elendil glanced to his side. His eye caught on another tunic made from the same fabric, the same arched pattern stitched around the neckline.

“What are you doing?” Elendil asked at last, his voice as gentle as the hand he placed on the top of her spine.

His wife smiled softly, turning her head slightly in his direction while keeping her eyes fixed firmly on her work.

“Oh, nothing too strenuous; just stitching a couple of tunics for you.” she sounded light-hearted, despite her obvious exhaustion, “I have to do something otherwise I’ll lose my mind being cooped up in here.”

The hand holding the fabric moved to caress her stomach that had been steadily growing for the last nine months.

“No need to worry. They’ll be along soon; then you won’t have time to lose your mind.” Elendil teased, bending to place a soft kiss on his wife’s cheek.

He kept his face close to the side of hers as his eyes, sparkling with joy, drifted to the tunic in her hands.

“I prefer the other one.” he whispered, making the mother of his child flick her eyes up to his, a small smile forming on her face.

Reality crashed into Elendil, and his throat tightened. A moment’s consideration… then he left his bedroom, the tunic still clutched in his hands.

He found his son sitting on the step outside the back door, staring out across the garden. Elendil hesitated for a moment, his emotions almost getting the better of him. But he thought about how much Isildur loved his mother. How much this would mean to him. And he stepped over the threshold.

At the sound of footsteps, Isildur looked behind him. His gaze landed on his father’s solemn face first, before it dropped to the tunic. Isildur frowned and stood up.

“What’s that?” he queried, nodding at the khaki fabric.

Elendil looked down and forced the words out of his throat.

“Your mother made it for me before you were born. She made two, actually…” he trailed off for a moment to compose himself, “I’ve worn the other a lot but I’d forgotten about this one until today.”

Elendil looked up at Isildur who was now staring unblinkingly at the tunic with glassy eyes.

“I want you to have it, Isil.” Elendil stated softly, holding the embroidered garment out towards his son.

Isildur’s gaze snapped back up, his eyes wide and almost completely full of tears. He shook his head.

“No. She made it for you. I-”

Now it was Elendil who shook his head, raising his hand to stop Isildur’s protests. When he spoke, his tone was light and a small smile graced his features.

“You’ll get more use out of it than I ever did.”

Isildur returned the smile and, eyes still teary, gently took the tunic from his father’s hands. He looked down at it, holding it as if it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Isildur glanced up at Elendil before his eyes shifted away again. His father, who could always tell what he needed most at any given second, pulled Isildur into his arms.

“Thank you.” Isildur whispered, his head resting on Elendil’s shoulder. Elendil held his son just a little tighter.

[stingslikeabee]

plotted starter . @fire-branded

The Rosaria Corporation's commendable efforts were many, according to the glossy and elegantly designed leaflet in Melissa's hands: humanitarian aid for those living in conflict-stricken zones; assistance with affordable housing for those within the country; support in relation to fees for litigation cases for those from low income households; a healthcare program originally developed for their own employees which also extended to those living in any city where Rosaria did business.

The brunette had to turn the piece of paper over to finish reading about everything - it was quite surprising that someone spearheading a corporation did so many charitable endeavors with so little publicity. To be perfectly honest, Melissa had been mingling with the powerful and successful for a while given her career (a specialist in providing extremely selective people with pleasant company - in other words, a very high-class worker of the oldest profession in the world) and yet it was the first time she had been hired to meet up with someone that Melissa didn't feel really needed her services.

There was a little picture of the man sitting at the very top of that corporate pyramid at the bottom of the last page: Elwin Rosfield. Rater than at the forefront and in a heavily edited portrait, the face of the current CEO occupied the equivalent of a footnote, with the emphasis of the materials being on the specific causes they had provided aid to, as well as offering anyone the chance to audit the details if they wished. Closing the leaflet and using it to gentley fan herself, Melissa navigated the busy crowd of that party to track and find her target.

The brunette thought that a man with his name attached to the board of the company footing the bill for that evening would be busy - but the information from Rodney Murdoch, the individual actually paying Melissa for her time, proved to be accurate. Elwin was indeed alone, seemingly distracted with the variety of appetizers offered at one of the most secluded tables of the room, and without his looks suggesting any frustration or annoyance at being supposedly ignored by the masses who readily flocked to the many pleasures offered at his expense.

Interesting - why would a man with so many qualities be so lonely? Melissa found herself questioning the underlying reason for that stint with his best friend (or so Rodney proclaimed), enough to have a sex worker hired to pose as an innocent guest with genuine interest in Elwin. Closer to the designated client of the night, the prostitute could see it was definitely not in the looks that her mark boasted - Elwin Rosfield had striking features, with beautiful dark hair, an elegant body posture and the organic, imposing aura of one used to power.

From Melissa's perspective, it wouldn't be a bad evening at all.

The woman who approached Elwin then was dressed in a way that had been thoughtfully planned in advance - the brunette was dressed in a beautiful mermaid gown that showcased a very classic and timeless silhouette, the strapless dress made of silk mikado and further highlighting the bare shoulders and the elegance of her neck. The color (a vibrant shade of red) and the flower appliqués over the fabric to the right side of her figure were the true homage - a not so subtle nod to the Rosaria Corporation's trademark, but which could be easily confused as a generic preference for crimson roses.

"What would you recommend from all these delightful options?" Melissa queried instead of approaching with a standard introduction, craning her head to look at Elwin and make sure he had realized he was the one she was directing the words to. A smile followed, pleasing but not overly eager - just the perfect opening to allow for further conversation, "I would imagine that as the one ultimately paying for the feast, you would have a favorite. Wouldn't you, Mr. Rosfield?"

And there it was - the name, dropped in a fashion to dissipate any notions that she hadn't singled him out on purpose. Her honeyed eyes twinkled with amusement, and Melissa leaned closer as if meant to share a secret, "A good friend of yours told me as much. He swore that you would be the best source for any tips on what to select from this gorgeous buffet."