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aeth-eris · 9 months ago

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★ what are you known for? - midheaven ★

★ aries midheaven ★ to gain recognition, individuals with aries in the 10th house must put in hard work, taking initiative and being unafraid to stand alone when necessary. their success often comes from their willingness to take risks and be the first to act, whether in starting a business, leading a project, or entering competitive fields like sports, military, or entrepreneurship. they build their reputation by consistently showing their courage and determination, often taking on leadership roles early and demonstrating their ability to manage high-pressure situations. they may face challenges such as impatience or aggressive competition, so they must learn to temper their impulsive tendencies with strategic planning and patience, ensuring that their bold moves lead to sustainable success.

★ taurus midheaven ★ to become known in their field, taurus midheaven individuals rely on their perseverance and methodical approach, often building their careers slowly over time through consistent and steady work. they focus on developing expertise in practical fields like finance, real estate, agriculture, or luxury goods, where they can see tangible results from their efforts. they often gain recognition by proving their reliability and by being the person others can depend on for stability and sound judgment. these individuals often start from the ground up, gradually establishing a solid reputation through hands-on experience, meticulous planning, and a commitment to quality. however, they need to be open to occasional change and innovation, as their preference for stability may sometimes limit their opportunities for growth.

★ gemini midheaven ★ individuals with gemini in the 10th house become known for their versatility and communication skills, but this requires building a network and proving their adaptability across various roles. they often have to work their way up by seizing opportunities in fields like journalism, marketing, education, or technology, where they can showcase their intellectual agility. to establish themselves, they engage in continuous learning, often acquiring multiple skills and taking on diverse projects or positions to build a well-rounded portfolio. they gain recognition by demonstrating their ability to think on their feet and effectively connect with others, but they must work on maintaining consistency and focus, as their tendency to shift interests can hinder long-term achievements unless they find a way to integrate their varied passions.

★ cancer midheaven ★ those with cancer in the 10th house gain recognition by building deep, supportive relationships and demonstrating their commitment to caring for others, whether in healthcare, hospitality, social work, or family-run businesses. they put in years of dedicated service, often starting in entry-level or hands-on positions to build empathy and expertise from the ground up. they work to create a nurturing, emotionally supportive environment in their professional sphere, becoming trusted figures who are known for their compassion and ability to connect deeply with clients or colleagues. the challenge for them is to maintain professional boundaries and ensure that their work doesn’t become overly personal, as they risk burnout if they become too emotionally invested without managing their energy effectively.

★ leo midheaven ★ for leo in the 10th house individuals, gaining recognition involves harnessing their natural charisma and creativity, often through careers that put them in the public eye, such as entertainment, politics, or leadership. they typically start by showcasing their talents, whether through performances, public speaking, or creative projects, and invest time in building a strong, noticeable public presence. they must work hard to build their brand, often taking bold risks and embracing opportunities for visibility. over time, they earn their status by consistently delivering high-quality work and inspiring others with their confidence and passion. however, they must be careful to balance their need for recognition with genuine contribution, ensuring that their pursuit of the spotlight is accompanied by hard work and substance rather than just the desire for fame.

★ virgo midheaven ★ virgo in the 10th house individuals gain recognition through precision, efficiency, and a meticulous approach to their career. they often begin in roles that allow them to develop specialized skills, such as healthcare, research, or administration, where attention to detail and problem-solving are critical. they build their reputation by consistently delivering accurate, high-quality results and improving systems or processes within their workplace. their path to success involves continuous learning, self-improvement, and taking on increasingly complex tasks that demonstrate their reliability and expertise. however, to rise to higher levels, they must overcome their tendency toward perfectionism and learn to delegate and trust others, avoiding burnout and overwork by finding a balance between their standards and practical realities.

★ libra midheaven ★ individuals with libra on the midheaven become known for their diplomacy, social skills, and ability to create harmony in professional settings. they often work in fields like law, public relations, design, or diplomacy, where they can showcase their talents in negotiation, aesthetics, and partnership building. to rise to prominence, they must put in the effort to develop relationships and build networks, positioning themselves as valuable connectors and mediators. they work to refine their image and approach, cultivating a professional reputation based on grace and fairness. however, to gain greater recognition, they must overcome indecisiveness and learn to make firm decisions, as their tendency to seek balance and please others can sometimes prevent them from taking decisive action when needed.

★ scorpio midheaven ★ scorpio in the 10th house individuals gain recognition through their intensity, resilience, and ability to transform challenging situations into opportunities for growth. they often begin their careers in investigative fields, psychology, finance, or crisis management, where they can delve deep into complex issues and emerge as experts. they put in the effort by embracing difficult, high-stakes roles that test their strategic thinking and emotional strength, building a reputation as powerful and capable of handling adversity. to achieve success, they must master their own tendencies toward secrecy and control, learning to collaborate and trust others while maintaining their authority. their career growth often comes from their ability to face and transform professional crises, turning obstacles into stepping stones for advancement.

★ sagittarius midheaven ★ sagittarius midheaven individuals gain recognition through their openness, optimism, and thirst for exploration. they often pursue careers related to travel, education, international relations, or publishing, starting out by seeking experiences that broaden their perspectives and expand their skills. they put in the work by immersing themselves in diverse cultures, learning new languages, or gaining knowledge that they later share through teaching or writing. to build their reputation, they must demonstrate their ability to adapt and thrive in different environments, often positioning themselves as experts on global or philosophical topics. however, to achieve long-term success, they must learn to focus their energy and commit to a specific path, as their restless nature may lead to frequent changes or an inability to settle into a stable career.

★ capricorn midheaven ★ capricorn in the 10th house individuals achieve recognition through hard work, discipline, and a strategic approach to career advancement. they often begin their professional lives by taking on structured, entry-level roles in fields like business, law, or government, where they can gradually climb the corporate ladder. they dedicate themselves to long-term planning, setting clear goals, and steadily building their reputation as reliable and competent professionals. their success comes from their willingness to take on responsibility and prove their leadership abilities, often working long hours and taking calculated risks to achieve their objectives. however, they must learn to balance their ambition with personal life, as their intense focus on career achievement may lead to burnout or neglect of other important areas of life.

★ aquarius midheaven ★ individuals with aquarius in the 10th house gain recognition through innovation, independence, and a focus on social change. they often begin in unconventional fields such as technology, science, activism, or social reform, where they can use their forward-thinking ideas to make an impact. they work to build their reputation by pushing boundaries, questioning established norms, and embracing new technologies or methods. to become known, they must network with like-minded individuals and become active in communities or movements that align with their values. however, to achieve greater success, they need to learn how to balance their need for freedom with the demands of professional environments, ensuring that their innovative ideas are effectively communicated and accepted within their field.

★ pisces midheaven ★ pisces midheaven individuals gain recognition through their creativity, empathy, and spiritual insight. they often pursue careers in the arts, healing professions, social work, or spiritual practices, where they can channel their sensitivity and imagination into their work. they must work hard to develop their talents, often starting with personal projects, artistic expressions, or voluntary service that allows them to gain experience and build their portfolio. they become known for their compassionate approach and the emotional depth they bring to their roles, often earning a reputation as intuitive and inspiring professionals. however, they may struggle with the practical aspects of professional life, requiring them to establish structure and boundaries to ensure that their idealistic pursuits are sustainable and not draining their energy or resources.

#astrology #astrology observations #astro observations #astrology aspects #10th house #astrology 10th house #midheaven #astrology midheaven

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hope-for-the-planet · 26 days ago

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Perhaps it's just me. But right now, with the rapid global transition towards green energy, reforestation and conservation efforts, laws, genuinely crazy and huge innovations that can help us adapt to the changing world... it feels like we're on the right track.

Perhaps it's just me. But the geopolitical insanity that I see and learn from my peers all over the world, doesn't feel like the end. No, it... it feels like change. The last horrible and panicked gasps of the dying old, because it refuses to accept that it is not sustainable anymore, and the world is moving towards the better, through protests and unity and human goodness. I've seen this before - in stories from the older generation, and in history books.

But I also feel terribly guilty whenever I start thinking like that, for some odd reason? I feel guilty whenever I try and rationalize that despite it all, the world will continue existing, and even in the worst case scenario (which we already have avoided), there would be forests and oceans and species and biodiversity and ecosystems and people and cities and countries to see and love, because after all, nature is resilient and adaptable - just like our species are.

I feel guilty for feeling this cautious curiosity about what the future might hold for us, the bad and the good. Because I feel like I am obligated to be grieving and panicking and angry, like many people are - but that's just... so tiring.

Hi Anon,

This is going to be a long one because I think your ask gets at something difficult that I have a lot of thoughts about.

Your phrase “cautious curiosity” made me think of psychology researcher Jamil Zaki’s idea of “hopeful skepticism”. Which is not assuming that everything will inevitably get better, but open to the possibility that it could and curious to see the paths it might take to get us there.

Our society tends to view a cynical outlook as more intelligent or even more moral, but research shows that a cynical outlook actually makes people worse at predicting outcomes, worse at cognitive and problem-solving tasks, less likely to vote or protest, and even measurably harms their physical and mental wellbeing.

I think the guilt you describe is likely coming from the feeling that while we have been significantly improving conditions for humanity on this Earth and will likely continue to do so in the long run, in the present there are many real humans suffering--it can be hard and uncomfortable to hold these two truths together.

Even if this last dying breath is temporary and brief, it is destroying real people’s lives and many more live in fear that they will be next. The fact that child mortality has absolutely plummeted even just in my own lifetime is both a miracle of humanity and means little to the parent who has lost their child to a preventable death. To quote the philosopher Max Roser, “The world is much better; the world is still awful; the world can be much better.”.

You don't need to feel guilty for having hope for the future. Carrying feelings like hopelessness, grief, and fear all the time is entirely valid, but like you said it is also exhausting—and there is nothing inherently moral about emotionally suffering particularly if it’s harming your ability to live your life or take positive action.

You are right that we are still making progress in the correct direction in many ways. You are right that history is rife with examples of forward momentum provoking a reactionary backtracking but that the forward momentum usually ultimately prevails.

The key here, is to understand that the future path you describe is possible—even likely more probable than a lot of people think—but it is not inevitable. We still have to take action to make it happen. The arc of history bends towards progress only because so many millions of mostly unnamed unknown people have put the work in to bend it in big and little ways.

I’ll end with one of my favorite quotes from Rebecca Solnit: “Hope is not a lottery ticket you can sit on the sofa and clutch, feeling lucky. It is an axe you break down doors with in an emergency. Hope should shove you out the door, because it will take everything you have to steer the future away from endless war, from the annihilation of the earth's treasures and the grinding down of the poor and marginal... To hope is to give yourself to the future - and that commitment to the future is what makes the present inhabitable.”

Reminding others that progress is still happening and that there is hope for a brighter future is important work in getting members of your community to pick up their own axe and make that future happen. Hope in dark times is not just ok or reasonable--it is a precious, vital tool.

#ask #anonymous #hope #cynicism #doomerism #climate change #global warming #climate anxiety #future #inspiration #climate action #hopepunk #hope for the future #hopeful skepiticism #optimism #radical optimism

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devilish-cherry · 2 months ago

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ᨳ♡₊➳ how they react to your bad cooking

ᨳ♡₊➳ feat. gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, higuruma, shiu

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: request from this ask!

₊⊹. Satoru Gojo

It started the day you proudly handed Gojo your newest culinary creation. A dish you confidently described as 'innovative'. Gojo, sitting at your kitchen table like he’s about to be on Hot Ones, stares down at the plate you just served like it’s an unexploded landmine.

You made spaghetti. Or, rather, a version of spaghetti that would legally have to be called 'Tomato-Inspired Pasta Chaos' in 36 different countries. The noodles are sticking together. The sauce? Questionable. Chunky in places it shouldn’t be chunky. Is that… is that cinnamon?

Gojo pokes it with his fork like it’s going to fight back. “So, like, was this cooked under normal human conditions? Like, with fire? Or a curse technique?”

“I followed a recipe!”

"Is it supposed to be smoking?"

"That's steam," you assured him. It definitely wasn't steam.

He takes a deep breath and dramatically scoops up a forkful with the bravery of a man about to bungee jump into an active volcano.

The second the food hit his tongue, he paused. Like, really paused. Statue-still. Then, ever-so-slowly, he chewed. And chewed. And continued to chew.

"Is it good?" you asked hesitantly.

He swallowed with a visible struggle. That bite physically transported him to the astral plane. He saw God. God told him to DoorDash. "Define 'good'."

₊⊹. From that day forward, Gojo developed an impressive array of tactics to cope with your cooking. He masters the art of distraction, pointing dramatically out the window, yelling, "OH MY GOD, IS THAT A CURSE?!" When you inevitably look away, your carefully cooked food mysteriously teleports from his plate into a potted plant or the bin. After a while, you begin to wonder why all your houseplants suddenly keep dying.

₊⊹. When Yuji enthusiastically comes over for dinner once, Gojo immediately redirects your culinary efforts onto the unsuspecting student. And Yuji, gullible and perpetually hungry, bites in, only to instantly make eye contact with you, looking betrayed, scandalized, and utterly tragic. Gojo laughs, completely unfazed, and offers a sympathetic pat. "It's a growth experience!"

₊⊹. At one point, your cooking gets so atrociously bad that Gojo begins miming Oscar-worthy death scenes every single time he takes a bite. He staggers across the kitchen floor, clutching his throat, gasping, "Tell... Megumi... I’m proud of him... and Yuta... he was always my favorite!"

You just sigh, rolling your eyes while he fake-collapses on the floor, legs sticking straight up like a cartoon character. After about ten minutes of complete silence, he peeks one eye open and whispers, "Are you grieving yet?"

₊⊹. Eventually, after another disastrous culinary experiment leaves Gojo dramatically collapsed against your kitchen chair, you cross your arms with an exasperated sigh. "Satoru, seriously, it can't be that awful every single time."

Peering at you over the rims of his sunglasses, Gojo groans theatrically, as if the very idea pains him. "You’re right. Sometimes it’s worse."

You glare at him, mock offended. "It's not THAT bad."

He scoffs, draping himself across your lap like a giant, overly dramatic cat. "The curses I’ve fought pale in comparison. But don't worry," he smirks, eyes twinkling behind his sunglasses, "I'll always heroically sacrifice myself to your cooking disasters. It’s what the strongest sorcerer does."

"You’re an idiot," you mutter, gently running fingers through his messy hair.

He smiles smugly, tipping his head back to meet your eyes. "Yeah, but I'm your idiot."

₊⊹. Suguru Geto

When you first present Geto with your cooking, he observes the plate with his typical calm, pleasant smile. The one that hides a thousand judgmental thoughts. His eyes flicker subtly to you, then back to the suspiciously grey lump on the plate.

"Interesting," he starts slowly, cautiously prodding the meal with his chopsticks as though testing a highly volatile chemical. "Did the recipe specifically mention this color?"

"Well... it said golden brown," you mumble sheepishly. "I improvised."

He nods gently, like a supportive parent acknowledging a child’s drawing that looks suspiciously like nightmare fuel. "Ah, creative liberty. Bold choice."

Then, without hesitation, he pops a chunk into his mouth.

You hold your breath, watching anxiously as he chews. But Geto’s face doesn’t change. Not a single twitch, not the slightest grimace. He swallows smoothly and nods at you approvingly. "Interesting texture. Reminds me of... something familiar."

₊⊹. From then on, it becomes painfully clear that your cooking doesn't faze Geto at all. No matter how horrendously bad your dishes are, Geto remains unfazed. One day, after tasting a stew with the exact consistency of glue, he remarks calmly, "You know, this might actually pair well with zaru soba."

When you doubtfully ask, "Really?", he smiles peacefully, eyes closed. "No, not at all. But it's the thought that counts."

₊⊹. At one point, he decides to teach you basic recipes. Simple stuff like miso soup or rice balls. Unfortunately, his instructions become increasingly cryptic and philosophical, like, "Cooking is much like life. Just throw it all together and hope no one notices the mistakes."

You stare at him blankly, ladle in hand. He smiles reassuringly. "Just kidding. Please follow the recipe exactly. I'm begging you."

₊⊹. You start finding mysteriously placed cookbooks everywhere. On your pillow, in the bathroom, even tucked inside your bag. When confronted, Geto merely shrugs, sipping tea elegantly. "It must be fate gently nudging you toward culinary salvation."

₊⊹. One night, Nanako and Mimiko visit. Your attempt at cookies turns into charcoal disks. The girls stare, wide-eyed and silently horrified. Geto, completely unfazed, picks one up and crunches loudly, maintaining full eye contact with you. "Crispy. Like edible charcoal. Good for digestion."

Nanako whispers softly to Mimiko, "He’s built different," as if witnessing a supernatural feat.

₊⊹. Finally, you corner Geto one day, genuinely confused and slightly insulted by his immunity to your horrible cooking. "Suguru, seriously, how are you never grossed out? Are your taste buds, like, broken?"

He looks at you fondly, calmly setting down his tea. "Nothing you could ever make would come close to the culinary horrors I have willingly endured. Trust me, this is child's play."

You gape at him. "What kind of culinary horrors have you experienced?"

He pauses, serene smile unwavering. "I have eaten things," he says carefully, "that make your cooking seem Michelin-star worthy."

You don't fully understand, but he seems so genuinely sincere that you grudgingly accept the compliment.

Geto pats your head affectionately, amusement glinting softly in his eyes. "But if it makes you happy, keep experimenting. I will endure it all. For science. And love, of course."

₊⊹. Kento Nanami

Nanami always imagined a peaceful life: coming home from work, cooking dinner, sipping whiskey, and peacefully reading a book. Until he met you. Now, coming home meant playing culinary Russian roulette and hoping tonight’s dinner wouldn’t send him directly to the ER.

The first time you cook for Nanami, he walks in looking uncharacteristically hopeful. He neatly folds his blazer, rolls up his sleeves, and sits at your tiny kitchen table like a polite guest at a hostage negotiation.

You place the food in front of him. “Tada!” you announce proudly.

Nanami’s eyebrow lifts slightly as he observes your creation with the intensity of a forensic scientist. He quietly adjusts his sunglasses, then softly mutters under his breath, “Well… it certainly has personality.”

You beam at him. He sighs internally, offering a solemn prayer to whatever god looks after tired salarymen-turned-sorcerers.

He takes a bite, chewing carefully. His expression barely shifts, except his jaw tenses slightly. Finally swallowing, he sets down his chopsticks, clears his throat, and nods solemnly. "It's edible."

“That’s it? Edible?” you pout.

He stares at you very seriously. “Edible is good.”

₊⊹. Your dishes become a battlefield. Each night, Nanami quietly eats, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, face unreadable. It becomes almost impressive how calmly he approaches your meals, treating them like yet another inevitable overtime shift. When Gojo asks how he survives, Nanami calmly responds, "My previous job prepared me for this level of suffering."

₊⊹. You ask for feedback once. Big mistake.

After thoughtful chewing, Nanami calmly delivers his verdict. "Your meal tastes like how overtime feels. Painful, unnecessary, and slightly disrespectful."

You stare, offended but strangely impressed. He pats your hand reassuringly. "I appreciate your effort. But next time, let's stick to recipes."

₊⊹. One night, after tasting yet another questionable casserole, Nanami hands you a fancy cookbook wrapped neatly with a bow. "What's this?" you ask, smiling sweetly.

"A gentle suggestion," he says plainly. "For the safety of our digestive systems. And relationship."

You stare blankly, and he nods solemnly, "It's a romantic gesture. Trust me."

₊⊹. You overhear Nanami murmuring quietly to himself as he suffers through another of your meals.

"Malaysia," he sighs wistfully, eyes distant and dreamy. "White beaches. Street food stalls. No kitchen appliances. Peace."

₊⊹. One night, after yet another tragic dinner, you sigh dramatically, slumping across from him. "Kento, I appreciate that you put up with this every night. Why haven't you left me yet?"

He pauses, carefully setting down his utensils, face impossibly serious. "If I survived being a salaryman and daily exposure to Gojo Satoru, surely your cooking won't break me."

You frown. "That's sweet but… rude?"

His lips twitch into a tiny, almost invisible smile. "Take it as a compliment. My continued survival speaks volumes about my dedication to you."

You can't help but laugh. He reaches across the table, squeezing your hand gently. "Besides," he murmurs, his voice surprisingly warm, "a life without minor inconveniences wouldn't be realistic."

You smile softly. "Are you calling me inconvenient?"

"Only your cooking," he clarifies immediately. "You, on the other hand, are extremely worth it."

You're stunned into silence. Nanami clears his throat awkwardly, avoiding your eyes, the tips of his ears slightly pink.

"Aw, Kento!" you tease, "That was almost romantic!"

He sighs deeply, pretending to be irritated. "Don't get used to it."

You lean forward, grinning smugly. "Too late."

He groans quietly, but the tiny smile that quirks his lips betrays him entirely.

₊⊹. Choso Kamo

Choso is… different. Sweet, earnest, adorably intense, but still fundamentally… different. Because even though he theoretically knows how being a human works, thanks to the vessel he took over, he still hasn’t quite mastered the whole actually existing as a human thing. And it really shows when it comes to your cooking.

The first time Choso experiences your culinary 'skills,' he sits stiffly at your dining table, staring blankly at the plate in front of him with a carefully neutral expression. You smile proudly at your concoction: it's grey-ish, ominous, and vaguely smoking, but hey, you tried.

He frowns slightly. "From my vessel’s memories, I remember food typically being... less aggressive?"

"Choso, it's not aggressive. It's innovative," you insist, holding a fork up to his mouth encouragingly. "Go on, try it!"

He stares suspiciously at the fork like it personally insulted his brothers, before dutifully opening his mouth. His eyes widen slightly, eyebrows furrowing as he chews slowly, cautiously. Then he swallows and takes a deep, slow breath.

"I see. My vessel's memories must be incomplete," he murmurs very seriously, meeting your expectant gaze. "I don't recall humans regularly eating food that tastes like cleaning agent?"

Your horrified look makes him pause. "Ah. Social tact. I apologize, I’m still adjusting."

₊⊹. Yuji stops by unexpectedly and reaches to try a bite from your suspicious casserole. Choso instantly intercepts his hand, expression gravely serious. "Little brother, you mustn't. Your human body can’t withstand this."

Yuji looks bewildered. You look betrayed. Choso calmly explains, "It's my duty as eldest to protect you."

₊⊹. Choso, genuinely concerned, secretly browses the internet for solutions. You catch him on your laptop at 3 a.m, gravely searching 'is cooking supposed to make people sad'.

You sigh dramatically and close the laptop gently. "Choso, please stop."

He nods solemnly. "I understand. Truth hurts."

₊⊹. Gojo casually jokes, "So, did their cooking try to assassinate you again?"

Choso instantly goes rigid, glaring intensely at Gojo. "Do not speak negatively about their efforts."

Gojo raises an eyebrow, amused. "Oh? So you enjoyed it?"

"Absolutely not," Choso deadpans. "But only I can acknowledge their food’s threats to my existence."

₊⊹. After an especially questionable meal, you jokingly sigh, "Maybe cooking just isn’t for me. I'm a failure."

Choso looks genuinely distressed, immediately reaching across to grip your hand. "Please don't be upset. Failure is natural. Humans fail constantly."

You blink slowly. "Thanks?"

He squeezes your hand encouragingly. "Yes. Failing is part of human charm."

₊⊹. Eventually, feeling guilty for repeatedly poisoning your sweet (if socially inept) partner, you timidly ask, "Choso, do you actually enjoy anything I cook?"

He takes a long pause, genuinely thinking, before responding solemnly, "Humans appreciate effort more than results."

You sigh. "Choso, that's not answering my question."

He tilts his head thoughtfully, dark eyes softening slightly as he looks at you. "I enjoy that you try. I believe that's very important. I will eat anything you create."

"That's sweet," you mumble shyly.

He shrugs earnestly. "It’s simple logic. If Yuji can withstand Sukuna, surely I can survive your cooking."

You burst into laughter, feeling strangely comforted that no matter how badly you fail in the kitchen, Choso will be there. Awkwardly and confused, but unwaveringly supportive.

₊⊹. Toji Fushiguro

Toji is many things. Cold assassin, ruthless gambler, the bane of the Zenin clan's existence. But above all, he's a man who appreciates good food. Meat, offal, a juicy steak grilled just right. Your cooking, however, is none of those things. Your cooking is the culinary equivalent of stepping on a Lego. Painful, distressing, and definitely not something you signed up for willingly.

The first time Toji sits down to dinner with you, he eyes the questionable lump of 'food' you've proudly placed before him, dark brows furrowing skeptically.

"You made this?" he asks, voice devoid of emotion, poking the dish suspiciously as if it might leap up and attack him.

You nod excitedly. "It's my special recipe!"

He leans back, crossing muscular arms over his chest. "Huh. Special. You sure that's the word you wanna use?"

You glare. He shrugs casually, picking up his chopsticks and bravely placing a bite into his mouth without hesitation. The moment he tastes it, you see a rare expression flash across his usually unbothered face.

Genuine shock.

"How is it?" you ask nervously.

Toji slowly swallows, locking eyes with you seriously. "Y'know, people've paid me good money to assassinate others. Next time someone hires me, I'm just gonna send you with this instead."

"Toji!"

He smirks lazily, raising an eyebrow. "What? It's more efficient than knives."

₊⊹. One afternoon, you discover Toji suspiciously packaging leftovers into small containers. When confronted, he smirks calmly, completely deadpan. "Selling 'em on the black market as poison. Client said it's more effective than cyanide."

You glare at him flatly. He chuckles dryly. "Relax, I'm kidding. Not about the poison part, though."

₊⊹. Even the worm-like inventory curse that literally lives inside Toji’s body refuses to consume your cooking. The first (and only) time Toji tries feeding it leftovers, the creature spits it back out immediately, squirming dramatically on the floor.

Toji just stares at it blankly. "Traitor," he growls.

₊⊹. After another catastrophic meal, Toji sighs, rubbing his temples like he just lost yet another bet. "Eating your cooking is like gambling. Low odds of survival, but damn, what a rush."

You roll your eyes. "Thanks."

He smirks. "Welcome. I'm starting to see why I keep losing all those horse races. I'm using up all my luck surviving dinner."

₊⊹. One night, after forcing down yet another questionable casserole, Toji leans back in his chair with a heavy sigh.

"You know," he begins dryly, "the Zenin clan threw me in a pit full of curses when I was a kid. Thought it was the worst thing they'd ever done to me."

You pause, staring at him. "And?"

He smirks lazily, dark eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. "Then I tasted your food."

You toss a spoon at him in outrage. He dodges smoothly, chuckling softly. "Relax. I’d still pick you over them any day. At least your cooking doesn't monologue about cursed energy."

You pout, reluctantly softening. He notices and reaches across the table, tapping your chin gently with his finger, voice low and teasing. "Besides, I thrive in dangerous environments. Keeps things interesting."

"You mean dangerous because of the food or dangerous because I'm gonna kill you if you don't shut up?"

He grins slyly. "Bit of both."

₊⊹. Hiromi Higuruma

Higuruma has always had a knack for calmly handling high-pressure situations. Defending impossible court cases, facing certain doom within cursed games. Piece of cake. But facing your cooking? That might actually kill him.

The first time you cooked for him, Higuruma’s weary eyes regarded the food with gentle apprehension. He politely inspected it from all angles, as though carefully examining an obscure piece of evidence.

You nervously watched him. “Is it alright?”

He paused thoughtfully, tilting his head, brows knitted slightly. "Interesting."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Interesting… good?"

"Interesting," he repeated carefully, "in that this dish defies several established laws of physics."

"It's supposed to be pasta," you admit, deflating slightly.

His eyes widen just a fraction, a hint of panic briefly flickering across his tired face before he schools his expression into a supportive, blandly reassuring mask. "Of course," he murmurs smoothly, gently patting your shoulder. "Let's... try it together."

You both eat silently. After an incredibly tense pause, Higuruma slowly swallows, sets down his fork, and politely coughs. "Creative," he states seriously. "Certainly breaks conventional culinary laws."

"Is that good or bad?" you ask anxiously.

He smiles tiredly, but fondly. "We'll call it a mistrial."

₊⊹. Higuruma starts keeping a small notebook near the kitchen, diligently taking notes after each new dish.

You sneakily peek one night, horrified at what he’s written: "Experiment #26: Soup (?). Temperature: Lukewarm. Flavor profile: Deeply unsettling. Observations: Possibly sentient."

You gasp loudly, "Hey!"

He looks up calmly, “It’s purely objective documentation. I’m sure the food appreciates my honesty.”

₊⊹. When asked how your meal tastes, he often sidesteps elegantly, offering cryptic answers instead.

"This stew," he begins thoughtfully, holding a spoon dramatically, "makes me question if objective reality even exists."

You blink suspiciously. "Hiromi. Did you just say my stew makes you dissociate?"

He nods gravely. "Precisely. Quite impressive, actually."

₊⊹. “Sometimes,” he murmured after a particularly unhinged omelet, “I think your cooking represents the postmodern condition.”

You stared. “What?”

He motioned vaguely with his chopsticks. “Chaotic. Absurd. Unapologetically hostile to meaning. I respect that.”

₊⊹. One evening, genuinely frustrated, you slump across from him. "Hiromi, just admit it. My cooking sucks."

He carefully sets down his utensils, eyes softening slightly. "Perhaps. But everyone has their strengths. Yours simply… manifest in areas other than cooking."

"Like what?" You challenge, skeptical.

He pauses, then gently answers, "Like persistence. It takes remarkable tenacity to continue creating edible tragedies night after night without losing hope."

You groan, laughing despite yourself. "That was the weirdest compliment ever."

He smiles faintly, one of his rare, genuine smiles, and quietly admits, "Truthfully, your enthusiasm makes even the most terrifying meals bearable. At this point, I’d miss it if you stopped."

You smile softly, genuinely touched. "Really?"

He nods solemnly. "Yes. My life would feel disappointingly stable without your daily culinary chaos."

"Aww," you tease. "You’d miss the food poisoning?"

He tilts his head, eyes glinting with quiet humor. "I’d miss the thrill of surviving it."

Laughing, you throw a napkin at him, which he catches effortlessly, setting it down carefully, lips twitching upward gently.

₊⊹. Shiu Kong

Shiu Kong is a man of questionable morals, minimal expectations, and plenty of street-smarts. In his line of work, he’s seen some serious stuff: curses, assassins, shady deals, Toji Fushiguro’s unpaid ramen tabs. But none of that could’ve prepared him for your cooking.

Your cooking is… controversial. Shiu knows it, you know it, the smoke alarm in your apartment (which screams in agony every night) knows it. Yet somehow, against his better judgment and entirely by accident, Shiu has become your unofficial food critic.

Shiu sits at your tiny table, suit jacket carefully hung on the chair behind him, cigarette extinguished (mostly out of concern that your food might spontaneously combust if exposed to open flame). He stares at the plate you present him, face unreadable.

“Wow,” he finally says dryly, raising an eyebrow at your oddly gelatinous creation. “Did your fridge explode, or was this deliberate?”

You pout indignantly, arms crossed. “It’s an authentic recipe from the internet.”

He hums skeptically. “Was the internet angry at you personally?”

You glare at him, and he sighs deeply, picking up the fork cautiously, as though it might detonate upon contact.

“I better get hazard pay for this,” he mutters, bravely stabbing a fork into the dish. He hesitates, briefly staring at the forkful as though making peace with his life choices, before finally taking a bite.

Chewing slowly, he nods thoughtfully. "Honestly? Tastes like crime."

You glare. "Excuse me?"

"Crime," he repeats casually, shrugging. "Illegal. Punishable. Possibly violates human rights."

"You're exaggerating," you mumble, arms crossed.

He gives you a genuinely amused half-smirk. "Sweetheart, I've worked with criminals for twenty years. Believe me, this is criminal."

₊⊹. From then on, Shiu’s sarcastic yet charmingly detached responses become a routine part of your questionable cooking.

He watches you cook once, genuinely puzzled.

"Strange," he muses out loud, "I always thought curse users were my most dangerous clients."

You look up, offended. "I'm not dangerous!"

He gives you a deeply skeptical look. "That's exactly what someone dangerous would say."

₊⊹. One evening, Shiu walks in, cigarette dangling from his lips. He pauses at your kitchen doorway, staring blankly at the mess. Pots, pans, unidentified stains everywhere. He whistles softly. "Wow, I’ve seen actual murder scenes cleaner than this."

You turn, unamused. "Very funny."

He shrugs easily. "I'm serious. You want me to call a cleanup crew, or is the carnage still ongoing?"

₊⊹. Shiu, ever the career criminal, genuinely ponders using your dishes to extort information from his underworld associates. After tasting another tragic attempt, he eyes you seriously. "You ever considered a side job in interrogation?"

You roll your eyes. He insists gravely, "I know guys who’d spill their guts after one spoonful."

₊⊹. Eventually, your bad cooking becomes weirdly endearing to him. Somehow, choking down your meals each night becomes his strangest, most irrational sign of affection.

"You don't actually have to eat this, you know," you say softly one evening, watching him calmly choke down burnt stir-fry.

He glances up, eyes surprisingly soft. "I've willingly babysat Toji’s kid. This isn't even top ten worst decisions I've made."

You laugh despite yourself. He sets down his fork and reaches out, awkwardly patting your hand with surprising tenderness. "Listen, I handle curse users. Compared to that, your cooking is... charmingly manageable."

You snort loudly, shaking your head. "Shiu, that's literally the worst compliment ever."

He smirks gently, voice dropping to a playful whisper. "Fine. Your cooking sucks, but you're kinda cute. Better?"

You grin, nudging him playfully. "Better."

He sighs dramatically, lighting another cigarette. "Just promise me you'll never cook professionally. I don’t have enough shady connections to bail you out from mass poisoning charges."

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mysteryshoptls · 3 months ago

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Self-Study Voice Lines

HEARTSLABYUL

Riddle

Begin: Now then, I'll begin. End: I was able to get everything done, as usual. End with high quantity drop: This is all to stay at the top of my class.

Ace

Begin: Time to bang this out in a flash～ End: Finished! Now it's me-time. End with high quantity drop: Mmm, I think that went real good!

Deuce

Begin: Right! I'm gonna give it my all! End: Even if it's difficult, just take one step at a time. End with high quantity drop: Am I closer to being an honor student now!?

Cater

Begin: Time to start studying ♪ End: I just wanna chill at a café～ End with high quantity drop: Ya boi Cay-kun can do anything ♪

Trey

Begin: Try to overcome any weak subjects. End: I've finished what I set out to do. End with high quantity drop: I'm tired, but... I feel a sense of accomplishment.

SAVANACLAW

Leona

Begin: What a pain... End: I did what I was supposed to, didn't I? End with high quantity drop: Feels like I got more use out of that than going to class.

Jack

Begin: Time to focus up! End: I should review everything I did just now while I exercise. End with high quantity drop: It'd be lamer if I didn't even try.

Ruggie

Begin: All this's for makin' more money in the future～ End: This's more tirin' than work... End with high quantity drop: All the effort I put in was time well spent.

OCTAVINELLE

Azul

Begin: I should do everything according to plan. End: A proper pace is required for proper studying. End with high quantity drop: There is so much to learn even by my lonesome.

Jade

Begin: Time to gain deeper insight. End: Knowledge from the surface world sure is fascinating. End with high quantity drop: Heh, what a fantastic time.

Floyd

Begin: I'm feelin' like studying today～ End: Ugh, I'm bored now. I'm done. End with high quantity drop: I think I got real hooked on learnin' there!

SCARABIA

Kalim

Begin: Let's seee, what should I do first? End: Whew, I'm beat! End with high quantity drop: I did my best, so time to go have fun!

Jamil

Begin: This is a prime moment. Time to focus up. End: I think I was able to study everything pretty evenly. End with high quantity drop: Everything learned will one day come in handy.

POMEFIORE

Vil

Begin: Intelligence is just another form of beauty. End: I will reach even further heights. End with high quantity drop:I've been refined further.

Epel

Begin: I'ma smash this! ...Ah, I mean, I'll do my best... End: Mmaahh, I just really wanna stretch my whole body! End with high quantity drop: Glad I put my all into it!

Rook

Begin: Now then, time to sally forth on this educational journey. End: Oh my, I completely lost track of time. End with high quantity drop: Très bien! A fine accomplishment!

IGNIHYDE

Idia

Begin: Self-study, huh... Well, I'm already used to it. End: S-So, can I go back to my room now...? End with high quantity drop: Solo grinding is the best way to gain exp～

Ortho

Begin: Study timer on! End: Data has been updated. End with high quantity drop: I think I understand humans a lot more now!

DIASOMNIA

Malleus

Begin: I wonder if I'll encounter any interesting bits of knowledge. End: There are quite a many fascinating topics. End with high quantity drop: Human knowledge is not something to scoff at, I see.

Silver

Begin: I should strive to improve myself further. End: Ah! ...I must have fallen asleep midway. End with high quantity drop: This was beneficial. I would like to continue this some other time.

Sebek

Begin: There are so many things I wish to learn! End: Heh, that went quite well. End with high quantity drop: It all comes down to how learned knowledge is applied.

Lilia

Begin: Oookay then, time to study. End: It's just as fun to learn about the modern innovations. End with high quantity drop: I won't let any youngster get the better of me～

Grim

Begin: Studyin's easy-peasy! End: I used my head so much that I'm hungry now～ End with high quantity drop: I'm gonna totally blow through the next test! Myaha!

Requested by Anonymous.

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skye-obsolete · 10 months ago

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Kitchen

ʟᴀᴅs ʙᴏʏs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᯓ❅ ┆ synopsis┆ : How does the LADS boys handle themselves in the kitchen?

ᯓ❅ ┆ tags┆ : prompt, soft, fluff & possible OOC

──────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫

Xavier in the kitchen was almost a disaster waiting to happen—no exaggeration. He had a knack for forgetting to turn off the stove or neglecting to set a timer, leaving his meals charred and inedible more often than not. While eliminating Wanderers with effortless precision was second nature to him, cooking seemed to be his weakness. Typically, Xavier gravitated toward quick, easy meals—cup noodles, ready-to-eat options—and never fussed over what he ate.

Despite his mishaps, he genuinely put in the effort to learn, committing to recipes and working to improve. With time, practice, and a few burned pans later, he eventually became efficient in the kitchen. Once he mastered the basics, he started preparing large meals, focusing on quantity so you’d never be short of options, making sure you had plenty of your favorites to choose from.

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

Zayne embodied the perfect image of husband material. Though his job as a Linkon doctor kept him busy with back-to-back surgeries and long hours at the hospital, he never failed to make time for you—especially if you were craving his cooking. Despite his demanding schedule, he made it a priority to prepare meals whenever he came home, often late into the night, just to see your face lit up with each bite.

Zayne was meticulous in the kitchen, his precise nature extending from surgery to the ingredients he handled. Aside from his disdain for carrots, he had an impressive knowledge of different vegetables and how to bring out their natural flavors in every dish. Whether he was baking or cooking, he always followed the recipes to a tee, ensuring every detail was perfect, particularly when trying something new. His care and precision in the kitchen mirrored the way he treated you—attentive, thoughtful, and deeply considerate.

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

Rafayel may come off as bratty and spoiled, but beneath that exterior, he harbored surprising culinary talent. It wasn’t something he flaunted, considering that most of his meals were either prepared by Thomas, brought or ordered online. But when the mood struck him, Rafayel could whip up a dish with flair, though he often relied on instructions and recipes to guide him. His creativity shined through, however, as he loved experimenting and adding his personal touch to any recipe.

You were always his first taste-tester, the one he’d eagerly present his latest creation to—sometimes a surprisingly delicious innovation, other times an odd combination that left you questioning his choices.

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬

Sylus, much like Zayne, could easily be considered husband material, though he typically didn’t need to lift a finger in the kitchen thanks to his personal chef. Yet, when the occasion called for it, Sylus was more than capable of preparing a meal. Confident and knowledgeable, he rarely consulted recipes, instead relying on his sharp memory and expertise.

While patience wasn’t his strong suit, he made an exception when you were involved. If you were there to taste his dish, Sylus would put his full effort into crafting a meal that catered to your palate, making sure each seasoning and flavor hit the right notes. For someone who thrived on power and control, cooking was one of the few activities where he allowed himself to slow down, focusing intently on every detail. After all, he wanted it to be perfect for you.

──────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

╰｡ Author's Note: There's significant parts that are definitely inspired by Infold's Special Chapter; "Ways Of Making Chocolate" chibi report on this prompt.

I'll be working on some requests (specifically a continuation of Grief) by next week since preliminaries are approaching soon, I'll be off from writing for a few days.

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gabrielsbubblegumbitch · 1 year ago

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At VOXTEK Enterprise, we are proud to celebrate Pride Month and honor the incredible contributions of the LGBTQ+ community. This month, we not only reflect on the progress made toward equality but also reaffirm our commitment to fostering an inclusive environment where everyone can thrive. We believe that company that slays together, stays together 👑

Diversity is at the heart of our values at VOXTEK. Our strength lies in the unique perspectives and experiences of our team members. By embracing our differences, we unlock the potential to learn from one another, sparking innovation and driving us forward as a company.

Our People and Culture department works tirelessly to advocate for equality and create an environment where every individual feels valued and respected. Through continuous efforts, we strive to build a culture of inclusivity that empowers everyone to bring their authentic selves to work.

Join us in celebrating Pride Month and in our ongoing mission to create a workplace where diversity is celebrated, and everyone has the opportunity to succeed. Together, we can build a brighter, more inclusive future.

Happy Pride Month! 🏳️‍🌈

Warm regards

VOXTEK Enterprise Team

#for the record it's a parody #i put my all corporate skills into this one #hazbin hotel #vox #vox hazbin hotel #voxtek #pride month

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srbachchan · 6 months ago

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DAY 6164

ManO,Mu,O Jan 2, 2025 Thu 11:48pm

Isolated philosophy occupies a unique place in the intellectual landscape, offering a path to profound self-discovery and innovative thinking. However, its benefits are balanced by significant drawbacks, including the risks of intellectual stagnation, detachment from reality, and the absence of collaborative critique. For thinkers to achieve the fullest potential of their philosophical pursuits, a balance between solitude and engagement with others is essential. By integrating isolated reflection with communal discourse, the strengths of both approaches can be harmonized, fostering a richer and more impactful philosophical journey.

the search completed .. the write recovered .. the error unknown as in the errors of life .. do one , search another for the errored of the other .. only in the isolation of mind body and soul .. and philosophical oblivion ..

when in the mind of the self, delve into that before thee .. in form and mind and thoughts ..

waiting .. the insolence of the modern misinformative element ..

Come .. embrace me such that you do speak when the speak is through the vocals of mine ..

be it an evil or a virtuous act , never have I done any half heartedly .. nor did i accept a half defeat from defeat , nor celebrated victory half heartedly .. but i do completely lift my words in unison in continuous words .. from words with words that have descended to their peak .. embrace .. so that you do speak with my vocals ...

so what is that special within that i wish to place in express .. special be that that i refuse any kind of specialness .. i be not gold, nor silver, nor any enlightened valued gemstone .. of any distinction, nor be pearl or diamond .. but I do go .. summon .. to cry to the God's , with a simple bowl of the mud of the Earth .. speak then with this thought through my vocals from my throated voice ..

they be not my gods, my blessed souls of reverence , that reside in the heavens above .. they that have with their greatness and value left the common human society lurching , nor have not believed or trusted them .. they that are my God's are they that struggle with life difficulties each day , that sing song, smiling .. and they that extend their hearts, to those hearts that have existed and survive in hurt and .. pain ..

come join in embrace with me , so you express yourself through my vocals .. my feelings of my hate and love of my beliefs and disbeliefs .. for that is my reality .. the reality of life ..

they never understood the greatness of Babuji .. nor will they .. for he never accepted greatness halved .. it was either full or none ..

it shall be my dawn to extend the effort for NO half hearted greatness ..

My love and affection .. full hearted and never halved .. or none .. if none it shall be your heart and your none .. not mine ..

Amitabh Bachchan

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zilabee · 1 year ago

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Tony Bramwell on Brian:

- Brian dropped in at the Cavern and, spoiled for choice, fell in love at first sight with each of the Beatles in turn

- Brian almost promised to love, honour and obey them.

- He never publicly showed his embarrassment with poor deals, but one could tell something wasn’t right because inside, he anguished. Chewed his knuckles and grew pale.

- He was a fiercely loyal and honourable friend to those he loved, and ruthless toward those he despised

- He was shy to the point of blushing and stammering, and theatrical to the point of ranting and frothing at the mouth

- His biggest problem, perhaps his only real problem, was that he was homosexual in a still very unenlightened era. It kept getting in the way. Whenever he sat down for a meeting with heavyweights like Sir Joseph Lockwood at EMI, or whoever, he felt they all knew. “They’re talking behind my back, Tony,” Brian said. “They don’t respect me.”

- Paul was fond of Brian and thought he was the best possible manager: one who was courteous, who didn’t interfere with their private lives, but achieved all he said he would do. He never criticized him—none of us did. Brian was a god. (It was only later that the façade cracked a bit, but even then we loved him. He was like family, and you accept your family for what they are and forgive them most anything.)

- his wonderfully fertile mind continuously thinking up innovative ideas and then worrying about them

- Brian was so different when around his beloved protégés. He became one of them. He was a friend, a chum, charming, trustworthy and kind. He set out to do what he promised and they all said it would never have happened without him.

- Brian bought an off-the-shelf company named Suba Films, which I virtually ran. It was way ahead of its time, the only independent company in England making music videos

- Whenever things got raunchy and out of hand around us, he would make his excuses and leave. At times, he almost ran.

- [on writing his biography]: “You don’t think John will think I’m raining on his parade, do you?” he asked hesitantly.

- I believe that Brian’s paranoia over the Beatles’ contract and his heavy use of drugs led him to think that it was only a matter of time before everything came tumbling down and he would be left standing in the ruins, with people pointing their fingers like kids in a playground.

- He was seriously ill and desperately sought to escape from the circus of his own creation.

- He was tormented by the idea of letting down his beloved Cilla and the Beatles, particularly John.

- He underwent deep sleep therapies at the Priory, being put under for days at a time with heavy drugs.

- Whether he managed the Beatles or not, he would still get 25 percent of their earnings from record sales for nine years. This subtlety had somehow escaped the Beatles, but it bothered Brian. It gnawed at his conscience because in his heart he knew he had conned them.

- [He] was abnormally distressed, convincing himself that they weren’t going to sign up again because they loathed him. Going through months of paranoia, he looked for reasons and forlornly asked the question, “Don’t they like me anymore?”

- It was so silly because it wasn’t like that at all. At different times, all of them commented to me that they would never have signed another contract as “Beatles” but they would have signed individually with Brian.

- “No, I think John hates me now. I don’t know what I’ll do if they don’t sign. What will people think? I can see the headlines now: EPSTEIN DUMPED BY BEATLES.”

- He was now seriously unhappy, not just troubled. His personality had radically changed.

- Brian had resident nurses, doctors who stayed, psychiatrists who lived in, all crowded into that little doll’s house, getting on each other’s nerves. At times he’d make an effort. He would sweet-talk everyone and then escape when they weren’t looking.

- [after Brian's death] Joanne was in shock. She had seen him first. The doors had been broken down and there he was, curled up on his side in bed with Saturday’s mail lying next to him. “We all knew at once that he was dead, but I heard myself say, ‘It’s all right, he’s just asleep. He’s fine,’ ” she said.

- It was unbelievable that the man who had got all this going—the vast money-making machine and the culture shock that had changed the world—was gone.

- The Summer of Love was over and autumn coming.

- I have been asked many times why it was that the Beatles didn’t just hire an office manager to handle their business affairs and pay him or her a salary. It would have made sense. But it never occurred to them. They just went blindly on, trying to find someone to replace Brian, like it was some kind of law. They seemed to think that they had to have a manager, to whom they had to give 25 percent of their gross income, or they’d be arrested or drummed out of the Brownies.

#knowing that joe lockwood was gay changes so many little things about the beatles dealings with him #brian epstein #tony bramwell #beatles books #the beatles

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sexy-monster-fucker · 10 months ago

Note

going absolutely crazy there is absolutely no sub!hoffman x reader in the world… so I am very humbly asking.. for brat Hoffman and dom female reader… pretty please with a cherry on top

I have been thinking about this Fic ever since it got submitted and just haven’t been able to bring myself to write it. happy to finally be able to dedicate the effort I wanted to for this! :D

Brat Sub!Mark Hoffman x Dom!Reader

CW: bondage, choking, hair pulling, biting, unprotected p in v, creampie,

a/n: Mark Hoffman is most definitely the ultimate switch

~~~

You stood at your table tinkering with one of your newest traps for your next game. Following the instructions John had left for you. You were always good at following orders.

The man who stood in the room with you on the other hand was not.

Mark Hoffman. One of the other many workers for John Kramer, a.k.a. the Jigsaw killer. He had been alongside him much longer than you. That fact made him cocky. Holding himself to a higher standard than you and the others. Unlike the rest of you, he had not been given a traditional game to play and win. Simply being taken under John’s wing.

Mark was kneeled down inspecting some of the loose parts under his table. Trying to find a way to make this trap his own.

“He gave you instructions for a reason, you know,” you chimed in still focused on your trap in front of you. An annoyed look was shot over his shoulder as he rose to his feet. Scoffing at your statement and walking over to you. “I’m aware of that,” a simple statement as he hovered over you. Mark had a habit of going off book. Something you knew better than.

You continued with your work, ignoring the looming man. Attaching parts to the chair for the upcoming game. Squatted down in his shadow. He admired your ass in front of him. Loving the days he got to be here alone with you.

Mark had taken a liking to you when you were first introduced to him. Surviving a game and becoming one of Jigsaw’s apprentices was no easy task. You were special to him. Not like Amanda or Lawrence. Something about you made him crave you. You were innovative, brilliant, and beautiful on top of it.

Often spending late nights in the shop together. Sometimes leading to some rather intimate moments. You sat up on the table leaned back trying to take a break. Mark stood directly in front of the table. Finding his place between your spread legs. Hooded eyes darting up to him. Stiffening your posture to be face to face with him. One of his large hands caressed your cheek, falling into his touch. Your hand joining his. Lips finding their place on yours.

“Can you hand me that screw driver over there?”

Mark snapped back into reality. Passing the screw driver over to you. Intently watching you work on the contraption. Your knees were growing uncomfortable on the cement floor. Feeling Mark’s eyes on your ass and how your tight jeans hugged it. You leaned forward really stretching yourself to make sure he got the best view possible.

“Mark…” you doed your eyes up at him, “Can you help me?”

“What do you need?”

“I just really want to make sure this trap works right. Can you sit down and let me attach it to you?”

Mark laughed at your question. Mockery written on his body language. “As if I would ever do something like that.”

Rising to your feet, you held your hands in front of your body, swaying back and forth slightly. Puppy dog eyes staring up at him. You saw his expression lighten softly.

“It’s not fully operational yet. I just want to make sure you can’t get out of the hand locks without the key,” you fluttered your lashes at him.

You watched as his nostrils flared. Internally fighting himself from giving in to you. But you looked so innocent and sweet batting your eyes up at him. He growled to himself.

You danced your fingers up his exposed forearm. Nails grazing his skin softly. “Please, Mark?”

Heat ran through his veins. A soft glow painting his cheeks as his lips tightened together. Heavy eyes staring into yours.

“Fine,” Mark grumbled. Stomping over to the chair you had been working on. Sitting with his arms behind his back. You gleamed squatting behind the chair and guiding his hands into the confines. A loud locking mechanism confirming that his hands were not getting out on their own. Mark tugged and fought against the cuffs. Groans and grunts fell from him. Showing you that no one was getting out of them.

“Alright. You got what you wanted. Unlock me now,” Mark growled. You twirled the key ring around your finger. You tapped your finger against your cheek pretending to debate his demands. “Hmmm. I dunno. I kinda like how you look tied up,” you teased. Sensual eyes meeting his.

“Ha Ha. Real funny, Y/N. I’m not playing around, let me out,” Mark bared his teeth at you. Shit-eating grin painted your face. His eyes widened seeing the thought behind your eyes. Growing more frustrated by the second. You walked around the back of the chair, resting your arms on his shoulders. Hands running over them and lying against his chest. A soft moan being pulled from him at your touch. You rested your torso against his back, lips finding their place by his ear. Breasts pressed into his back, arousing him. You pulled his earlobe between your teeth. “You’re gonna have to earn your freedom, pretty boy,” you whispered. Chills ran down his body. Thoughts of you going to his cock. Breath hitching in his throat with your touch.

You ran your fingers through his hair, softness painting his demeanor. You locked your fingers in his hair, tugging his head back revealing his neck. A whimper fell from him. Your eyes lit up at the noise he made. Not thinking he was the type for whimpering. You pressed your lips to his neck, sucking and kissing at the soft flesh. Leaving purple marks all over his neck. Mark moaned meekly. Eyes squinted shut, enjoying the feeling of you.

"I didn't know sounds like this would come out of you, Detective," you whispered in his ear. Walking around the chair, his lust blown eyes tracking your every move. You gripped the arms of the chair, leaning down to be nose to nose with him. Lips mere inches apart. Soft, desperate eyes stared into yours. His lips slightly parted as he stared at the bit of cleavage that showed through your tank top. Your finger led his gaze up to your eyes. "I'll keep looking where I want," Mark smirked as his eyes fell back to your chest.

Your lip twitched. There was the asshole Mark you knew.

You wrapped your hand around his thick neck, manicured nails digging into his soft flesh. A loud moan falling from him, vibrating your hand. Blue eyes meeting yours. "Good boy," you grinned. His eyes fluttered with your words, the pet name clearly to his liking. You planted a sweet kiss against his plump lips. His body chased yours as you pulled away. His eyebrows furrowed.

Your fingers tugged at the tie around his collar. Loosening the knot and pulling it from his neck. Small breaths fell from Mark as your fingers found the buttons on his shirt. Undoing them one by one until you were on your knees in front of him. The last button directly above his belt buckle. Sensual eyes glancing up at him. Slightly hunched as he stared slack jawed at you. You bit at your lip as you stared at the outline of his hardening member through his slacks. Placing a soft kiss on it, pulling a groan from Mark.

"You want me to..."

"YES" Mark interrupted you. His face flush from his clear excitement.

You smirked up at him. Sitting back on your legs and straightening your back. "Awfully eager. I wanna hear you beg for it," you teased him.

Mark rolled his eyes, throwing his head around with them. Ignoring you as he pushed his lips together. A slight twitch on his brow. You frustrated him, but that's what made it fun. His brow told you he was not going to play along with you. You sat with a look of waiting on your face.

Mark wrapped his thick legs around you. Trapping you in his grasp against his groin. You shot a look of frustration up at him. “This is not how you’re going to get your way with me,” you gritted your teeth. A deep chuckle escaped him. You were beyond annoyed with him. "Please, Y/N," he began, "I need you to..."

You grinned ear to ear. "Need me to what, Mark?"

"Need you to touch me," he admitted.

Your hands undid his belt, pulling it through all the loops and throwing it behind you. Staring as you watched his cock grow harder as you toyed with the button of his pants. Pulling the zipper down and pulling his clothed cock from his pants. Mark's legs quivered with your touch his head thrown back loving the feeling. You placed an open mouthed kiss on him. His boxers already damp with his pre-cum. You traced his member with the tip of your finger. Loving how his cock would twitch when you would hit that certain spot he liked.

"Are you just going to play with me or fuck me already?" Mark groaned with a roll of his hips.

You cocked an eyebrow up at him, "No patience at all." You wrapped your hand around his cock, stroking him through his boxers. His body jerked at the sudden friction, eyes widening as he looked down at you. "Oh fuck," he moaned bucking into your hand.

"You better quit moving or I will stop all together," you gritted your teeth. Wanting to be the one taking care of things on your own terms. Mark's body froze, a shaky breath escaping him. Swallowing heavy as his face contorting in pleasure.

"There you go, pretty boy. Let me take care of you for a bit," you kissed the tip of his cock. Licking over the moist fabric feeling the slit on his head through it. You twisted your wrist around his throbbing member.

Pulling away and rising to your feet suddenly. An angry grunt coming from Mark at the loss of contact. You leaned over, freeing his cock from its confines. The cold air making him jump. You licked your lips at the sight of him.

"Please. I need you," Mark's eyes were squinted shut. Cock throbbing and leaking, begging you to come take care of him. You slowly stripped your lower half down, stepping out of your pants and panties. His mouth was agape at the sight of your bare pussy. Practically drooling, his eyes unable to look away from you. You strutted over to him, straddling his lap. His arms fighting with the confines, instinctively wanting to caress your curves. A mild look of frustration painted him now.

You grabbed his cock by the base, sinking down on the hard member. Mark's eyes rolled into the back of his head. Any prior frustration washing away. Lost in how you engulfed him. You hopped up and down on him, his thick cock stretching you perfectly. Watching how his face contorted with every movement of you. Moans poured from his sweet lips. Curses and your name gambled together.

Both of you lost in ecstasy for a moment. Mark's eyes found their place on your chest, watching your breasts bounce with your thrusts. Hooded eyes begged to be buried in them. He leaned forward, his face finding itself in your cleavage. Lips kissing and biting at the tender flesh. Your hands tangled in his hair holding him against you. Teeth grazing your nipple through your shirt. Your head thrown back as you fucked him. You felt his cock twitch inside you.

"You gonna cum in me? Gonna fill me up? I want you inside me, pretty boy. Come on, I know you can do it," you encouraged him. Speeding up your motions, his hips meeting your thrusts half way. You felt your walls contorting around him, his head hitting a perfect spot inside you. The friction of his pelvis against your clit edging you along.

"We can do it together. Come on, Mark. Be a good boy for me and cum," you purred. Your walls spasmed with each smack of hips. Mark nodded aggressively, "I'll do anything for you. Promise I'll do it for you. Fuck, please, Y/N. Feels so fucking good."

"Good boy. Fill me up," you kissed his lips. Sharing in your moaning as you felt your orgasm rip through you. Walls milking his cock. Mark's hips buckled up flush against you as he came inside you. Small erratic thrusts as he finished. Lips kissed through your highs. Your hands held both sides of his face, foreheads pressed together. You felt his cum and your slick pooling around the base of his cock. You remained in your same position.

Mark smiled breathing heavily. It was not often a smile painted his face so genuinely. You enjoyed seeing him so happy.

"Did I earn getting out?"

"Of course you did, handsome."

~~~

[END]

// Thank you for reading! This is only my second work for Mark Hoffman and I would love to write more about him. If you want to be tagged in the future, please let me know. Requests are always open! //

{tags}

@sleepybunnybobby ~ @lacvkart ~ @vics-chick ~ @heif ~ @mrsmandylor ~

#mark hoffman #mark hoffman x reader #saw franchise #saw movies #costas mandylor #costas mandylor x reader #fanfic #writing #sexymonsterfics #requests

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illuminatedquill · 2 months ago

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Story Summary: Ursa Wren faces a dilemma: since her daughter, Sabine, is now of age, several high-ranking clans now seek to win the favor of Clan Wren by offering her potential suitors. With the political pressure mounting, Ursa has no choice but to acquiesce to the invocation of an ancient rite that will determine which of the suitors will have Sabine's hand in marriage. It's a risky game: turning any of the clans down has the potential to create new enemies that Clan Wren can scarcely afford as they continue to wage war against the Empire. To win this game, Ursa will need to rig it in Sabine's favor and choose a candidate of her own. But this candidate will need to have more than luck on their side . . . which is why she summons a certain plucky young Jedi named Ezra Bridger to Krownest.

Part 1 of 4

Mandalorians were taught since birth to only use beskar for armor and weaponry. That has always been the way. To use it for anything else, according to custom, was to waste it. But one person did not see it that way. They saw beyond, to what it could be. What did they see, you ask? Beauty. And so, they fashioned rings of beskar. The first of their kind. Who would be crazy enough to do such a thing? To go against established Mandalorian custom and change something considered immutable and derive a different purpose? You guessed it. It was a Jedi. - From the personal diary of Countess Ursa Wren

"To be seen is to be loved." - Unknown

~ the call ~

Fenn Rau rapped three times on the heavy wooden door and waited, taking a few moments to marvel at the craftsmanship in its design. Most Mandalorian clans loved to imbue their castles or fortresses with the latest tech to showcase how impregnable their stronghold was to guests. But not Clan Wren - here they still stood on tradition and the old ways but not in a manner that stifled innovation. It had been some time now since he had arrived on Krownest in service to their matriarch and it felt more like a home than anything else he could remember in his life.

"Enter." The commanding voice of his benefactor, Countess Ursa Wren, recognizable even through the thick wood, still full of authority and steel even at this late hour.

With a grunt of effort, he pushed the door open and entered Ursa Wren's bedroom.

Fenn Rau would never confess out loud, but he did harbor a curiosity regarding Clan Wren's matriarch - especially considering Sabine's strained relationship with her. But after meeting the woman himself, he immediately understood where the younger Wren got her fiery resolve from. Both of them were more alike than either were willing to admit - an observation that Fenn Rau decided was wise to keep to himself after witnessing one of their arguments.

Glancing around the matriarch's bedroom, the veteran warrior noted that it seemed to match the woman's personality: it was spartan, utilitarian, with no room given for personal effects that would reveal anything about Ursa herself. The walls were painted a light, neutral green shade that seemed to be an attempt at instilling calmness or serenity in the room's occupant, but Fenn Rau instead found it somewhat nauseating to look at for too long.

Pressed up against the wall to his right was a simple bed with plain grey bedsheets, accompanied by a single lonely pillow that had been flattened due to years of use. To his surprise, the bed was unmade - the only sign of life in the otherwise sterile feeling room. It seems the Countess really was human after all, he thought, feeling amused.

Other than the bed there was a large arch window that overlooked Castle Wren's grounds; a bookcase filled with thick, leather-bound books with the titles written in ancient Mando'a worn away on the spines; a medium sized wooden closet that presumably held Ursa's armor and other sets of clothing; and the only other piece of furniture in the room - a small, round table that had a tiny, delicate vase containing a red rose sitting upon it. It was an oddly personal touch of beauty that immediately suggested to him that it was not placed there by Ursa's hand. Perhaps Sabine, he wondered.

Next to the table, sitting in a wide-backed chair with one leg crossed over the other was the Countess. Ursa wore casual sleep wear: a simple, form-fitting long sleeve shirt and pants that were the same slightly nauseating green as the bedroom's walls, complete with comfortable house shoes. Her hair still remained tied in a tight, professional bun, but she was casually scrolling through a data-pad, her sharp, intelligent eyes raking over the information being shown.

Fenn Rau waited for her to acknowledge him. Finally, after a few seconds of silence, she sighed and tossed the data-pad gently onto the table next to her. With a weariness rarely seen by him, Ursa hunched over and massaged at her temples, eyes closed in deep thought.

"Countess," he said, concerned. "Are you alright?"

Ursa straightened herself with a wince and fixed him (Fenn Rau charitably ignored the faint popping noises that emitted from her back as she did so) with a grim stare.

(Pictured above: Ursa Wren contemplates her next move.)

Fenn Rau forced himself to stand upright against the weight of that intimidating stare.

A few tense seconds passed before Ursa finally relented, a small smile flickering over her face. "At ease, Rau," she said. "Just feeling the weight of my years."

"You're younger than me, Countess," he replied.

The smile grew. "Flatterer," she said.

"It's the truth."

She sighed. "Perhaps so," she said. "I suppose it's more to do with the mileage, rather than the actual number of years."

He nodded in understanding. Fenn Rau had his fair share of wear and tear from the long, hard years of life but by all accounts, Ursa Wren was far more accomplished and battle-worn in her early adulthood than he had ever been at that age.

And that was before she had become the leader of her clan. The stories he had heard about Ursa Wren over the years . . . well, it was enough to chill the blood of any Mandalorian.

"Is there anything I can do to assist you this evening?" he asked. "You did call for me."

"Yes," she answered. He suddenly caught a gleam of mischief in the woman's eyes that sent a spike of anxiety coursing through him.

"Fix my daughter's love life."

Out of all the requests she had ever given him, this was by far the craziest one yet.

Feeling somewhat unsteady on his feet, Fenn Rau asked, injecting a calm that he did not feel into his voice, "I beg your pardon, Countess?"

She gestured at the data-pad laying on the table. "More offers continue to come for my daughter's hand in marriage."

"Ah," he said. "I take it she's responding to them in her usual manner."

Ursa snorted. "Brief and colorful, as always. I'm somewhat proud."

Rau frowned. "You don't wish to see her married?"

"I wish to see her married, yes. Securing Clan Wren's future, especially in these precarious times, is among my top priorities."

"Then why - "

"Because," the Countess interrupted, "I would see her married to a suitable partner of her own choice."

He raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't your own marriage arranged, Countess?"

Ursa grinned. "Yes. By me. My parents threw a fit, of course, over my choice of Alrich. They had to save face somehow, insisting to the wider Mandalorian hierarchy that it was their doing."

Rau laughed. The Wren matriarch frowned at him. "What's so funny?"

"It's very . . . you, Countess."

"It should be," she responded. "I don't know how to be anyone else."

The data-pad suddenly chimed, indicating a new message. Ursa glanced at it and let out a soft groan.

"Another offer, I take it," observed Rau.

"Worse," muttered Ursa. "An invocation from three of the more insistent clans. They are demanding to invoke a Rite."

"Which clans?"

She checked the data-pad, eyes scanning the message. "Clan Eagan, Clan Cobel, and Clan Reghabi."

Fenn Rau grimaced. He had heard of these three - they were sharks in the water, smelling blood. They were ambitious, competent, and looking to claw their way up to the upper echelon of Mandalorian clan hierarchy. Outside of the larger war against the Empire, these three clans had been on the rampage, absorbing smaller clans under their respective umbrellas through back-door negotiations - or by force.

An invocation was a way for the smaller, less powerful families of Mandalore to force a response from the higher, elite clans. There always had to be at least three of them, Rau remembered.

Politically speaking, Ursa was in a bind. Yes, she could turn down the invocation, but it would weaken Clan Wren's stature in the eyes of Mandalorian society. Even during wartime, it could be a death knell. They were spread thin enough as it was and with the continued absence of Alrich - itself a weakening blow to the clan's political stature - their alliances were shaky at best.

It was only due to Ursa Wren's steely resolve that Clan Wren stayed ahead of their rivals, her efforts bolstered by her daughter's timely arrival with the legendary Darksaber.

However, there was a catch . . .

"You can still choose the Rite, if I remember correctly," he said. In the interests of fairness, the clan challenged could choose the manner of challenge.

"Yes," Ursa said, smugly. "And that is how I will settle this matter, once and for all."

His stomach sank. "You intend to go through with this?"

She shook her head. "I have no choice. Clan Wren can ill afford new enemies during this time. Desperate times, Rau."

Rau pursed his lips, thinking. Ursa eyed him. "Speak your mind," she prompted.

"You're playing games with your daughter's life, Countess," he pointed out - gently. "It's unlike you."

"Am I?" she asked, her voice whisper soft. A smile appeared on the matriarch's face - a surprisingly evil one, in fact.

He studied her, feeling the anxiety spike through him again. "I'm assuming you have plan for these games."

"Obviously," she replied. "I never would play games with my daughter's life."

Rau asked, "How do you intend to win?"

"How do you assure victory in anything?" she asked. "You rig it in your favor."

He considered Ursa's words. "That depends on the rite you choose. Which one will it be, Countess? The rite of woe, frolic, malice - or dread, perhaps?"

The evil smile grew wider. "I was thinking the Rite of Hearts."

He frowned. "I don't quite remember that one."

"I pose a question to the suitors," she answered. "How they answer will prove the winner of Sabine's hand in marriage."

He arched an incredulous eyebrow. "I remember now. It's not that simple. Isn't there a vote by each of the clans to declare the winner?"

The Countess laughed. "I don't intend to make it simple. You'll be helping me in that matter, Fenn Rau."

"I see." He really didn't but assumed that Ursa would explain later.

At least he hoped so. In her own way, the Wren matriarch was as unpredictable as her daughter.

"How do you intend to rig this in your favor?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Each of the clans will choose their suitor," Ursa explained. "I am allowed a choice, as well."

"Seems odd," he replied. "Regardless of the outcome, each of the clans will only vote for their own suitor."

"Unless they can be swayed to vote outside their own choice," Ursa corrected. "It can happen."

"I've never heard of it happening," he said. "Not in my lifetime."

She shrugged. "Depends on the candidate."

"Your candidate, you mean," he said. "Who would be brave enough to go along with this?"

She eyed him, the evil smile returning in full force.

A horrible thought occurred to him then: the image of a young man, piercing blue eyes, a scarred cheek, brandishing an emerald bladed lightsaber in the thick of combat.

"You can't be serious!"

"Deadly serious, Rau," Ursa confirmed. "He's the one."

Rau's mouth gaped open, his mind working furiously through the implications. "Countess - choosing him surely is against the rules?"

"I make the rules," she replied coldly. "It's my game now. We are at war - not just against the Empire but for my daughter's freedom. And that boy is my best bet against these sharks swirling around us."

He stared at her. It was a bold move indeed.

Rau didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Maybe when his wits caught up with him, he could decide on that later.

"Shall I make the call, then?" he asked her.

"Yes, if you please," responded Ursa. Her face turned serious. "Get me a secure channel to the Ghost. I suspect Hera Syndulla will still be awake at this hour."

_ _ _ _ _

~ the suitors ~

Three days later

This was the worst day of Sabine's life. She stood in the hallway outside the Wren throne room, awaiting the summons. It felt like she was going to her execution.

On the wall in front of her, Sabine studied the painting hanging there. A portrait of her mother, commissioned by her father, Alrich, as a gift for their wedding day. She initially started to do so as a way to distract herself from the feeling of impending doom but as the minutes passed Sabine came to appreciate the details her father put into the work.

A labor of love, he had called it. Even then, he would privately admit to his daughter later, it did not do his wife's beauty justice.

(Pictured above: Alrich Wren's portrait of his wife, Ursa, given as a gift on their wedding day.)

"Feeling nervous?"

Sabine turned to find Fenn Rau, dressed in formal Mandalorian attire. A sleek, form fitting outfit that was militaristic in style, dyed in the traditional colors of Clan Wren. Sabine felt awkwardly out of place, wearing her customary beskar armor since she owned no dresses. It was hard to get any shopping done in the middle of an active war zone, she had come to learn.

Despite wearing his usual stoic expression, there was a glimmer of humor in Fenn Rau's eyes.

"I'm planning to vomit in front of everyone gathered in that throne room shortly," Sabine responded seriously.

He eyed her. "You don't trust your mother?" he asked.

"How can I trust her after this?" she asked. "She's bargaining away my freedom and - for what - a few meager alliances with some has-been clans?"

Rau's face became pained. "Sabine. If your mother thought this wasn't necessary, then you wouldn't be doing this. We are at war."

"We're always at war," she shot back. "Why now? These offers have been coming in since I got back a few months ago. She didn't seem to mind me turning them down then."

He sighed deeply. "Things change. Listen, Sabine - you know our resources and strength as well as she does. Tell me honestly that we do not need this."

Sabine bit her lip. She could not lie, not even to herself. Things were looking grim for Clan Wren. Even with the strength of the Darksaber backing up their clan, the Empire was everywhere with resources that far outstripped their own. And the Mandalorians were still scattered to the far reaches of the galaxy, hesitant to answer the call to take back their homeworld.

But still, she had hoped it would not come to this. Her mother had never been shy in expressing marriage as a viable future for Sabine, but Ursa had always been insistent that it would be her choice - and no one else's.

She thought of Ezra suddenly. The image of her best friend, far away on the Ghost or in the middle of some crucial mission for the Rebellion, brought a lump to her throat.

I miss you, goober, she thought miserably.

If it could have been my choice, Ezra . . .

She let that thought trail off, not daring to follow through with it. It was too late for that.

Far too late.

Duty calls.

Sabine came out of her reverie to find Fenn Rau looking at her with a surprisingly gentle expression. "You alright?" he asked.

"No," she said, her voice rough. "None of those people will ever love me the way I want. Nor will I ever love any of them."

Something almost like a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. She was immediately suspicious. "What is it?" she demanded.

He shrugged, the almost smile vanishing instantly. "Trust your mother, Sabine," he said again.

She opened her mouth to reply with a snarky answer - and then a horn resounded through the hallway.

It was time.

Sabine took a deep breath, looking up at the portrait of her mother one last time. Once upon a time, Ursa had to go through an arranged marriage set up by her own parents. But that had resulted in her marriage to Alrich, the love of her life.

It worked out for you, she thought bitterly. I doubt it will do so for me.

The doors to the throne room opened. Fenn Rau offered his arm, a formal gesture reserved for Mandalorian royalty. Sabine took it gratefully and let him lead her out.

Sitting on her throne was Ursa, dressed in a sleek silver gown, similar to the one depicted in the portrait Sabine had just been studying. Her mother's eyes watched her carefully, flashing coldly in a warning that only her daughter would pick up on: Behave.

It took every fiber of restraint not to dash out of the room right then and there, but Sabine did it. Her clan was at stake.

This is the right thing to do, isn't it Ezra?

But her best friend was not here to console her. Sabine wondered if she would ever see him again after this.

They reached the center of the room, Ursa behind them on her throne, and faced the candidates from the different clans.

The three suitors were hidden beneath shimmer-silk cloaks, bequeathed to only the most important guests. Behind them were the clan heads, she assumed, also wearing cloaks to hide their faces. The introductions would begin shortly, each candidate and their sponsor lowering their hoods to reveal their faces.

Fun, fun, fun, Sabine thought. I might really puke from all this fun I'm having.

"Welcome," boomed Ursa's voice from behind her. "Welcome, honored guests, to Krownest and Clan Wren."

The three hooded clan heads responded in unison. "We seek an invocation, Countess Wren."

Sabine glanced behind her to see Ursa nodding in acknowledgement. "I accept this invocation."

They spoke again. "What rite would you ask of us?"

"The Rite of Hearts," Ursa said calmly.

There was a pause. The hooded clan members exchanged hidden looks with one another; Sabine caught some murmurs of surprise being whispered.

"I take it they're not happy about that choice," she whispered to Rau.

He shook his head, cutting off any further commentary from her. "Just watch."

But she caught that almost smile from him again. She's planning something, Sabine thought. Fenn Rau knows about it.

A small flicker of hope began to quietly burn inside her. It wasn't much, but she clung to it.

What are you planning, mother?

"We accept, oh gracious Countess," came the unified reply, albeit a tad reluctantly. Sabine got a sense of satisfaction from hearing it.

"Good to hear," Ursa said cheerfully. "You are all gathered here today to contest for my daughter's hand in the hereby declared Rite of Hearts. Are there any other challengers that wish to make themselves known?"

The front doors to the throne room blew open in a frigid gale of bitter wind. A person stood there, dressed in a humble hooded cloak of brown homespun wool. They were just a dark silhouette against the frozen tundra in the backdrop, unrecognizable - but Sabine caught a flash of their eyes beneath the hood.

Familiar, piercing blue eyes.

Sabine felt her pulse spike. It can't be.

The figure stalked forward, only to be met by a pair of Krownest guards, brandishing their pikes threateningly in his direction. He paused before them.

Ursa's command cut through the air. "Wait."

The guards stilled their approach but kept their weapons pointed at the new guest.

"Who are you to interrupt these proceedings?" she asked.

"A challenger," came the reply. "As you called for, I am here to make myself known."

Ursa arched an imperious eyebrow. "You wish to challenge against these others for my daughter's hand?"

"I do."

She stared at him for a few tense seconds - and then Sabine caught a smirk flashing across her mother's face for the briefest of moments.

"Very well," Ursa said. "I accept your challenge. I will be your sponsor, as is my right."

The clan heads snapped their hooded faces towards Ursa in shock and anger but didn't dare to raise a complaint. This was, after all, her house. They would obey her rules - or face the consequences.

The guards removed their weapons and went back to their posts. Fenn Rau hurried forward to close the front doors before returning back to Sabine's side. The guest stepped forward and took their place awkwardly next to the other suitors.

They glared at him. He gave a little polite wave only to be met with more glare.

"Seeing as though you came in such a dramatic fashion," Ursa continued calmly. "Why don't you introduce yourself first?"

There was a pause. "Oh, I'm supposed to do that now?" asked the guest.

Sabine stared at him - and then at Fenn Rau.

He shrugged. "Desperate times," he said quietly, in answer to her look.

"Yes," replied Ursa, sounding annoyed. "Unless you're waiting for something else?"

"Oh, uh. No. I guess I'll do that," he replied nervously.

And the guest carefully lowered the hood of his cloak.

There, in the throne room, presenting himself as a challenger for her hand in marriage was Sabine's best friend, Ezra Bridger.

"Hi, everyone," he said in greeting. Ezra caught Sabine's stare and gave her a sheepish smile. "I'm Ezra Bridger. A Jedi. And, uh, Sabine's friend."

The silence in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Sabine took a shaky step forward. Then another one.

Towards Ezra.

"You," she breathed. "It's you."

"Hey, Sabine," he said. "It's been a while - gah!"

She tackled him to the ground.

"Are you an idiot?!" she yelled, grabbing the front of his cloak and shaking Ezra. "Do you know what you've just agreed to, di'kut? Do you have some sort of death wish - "

"If you would just let me explain - glack!"

"Guards!" barked Ursa.

From behind her, Fenn Rau sighed deeply. "All according to plan, I suppose," Sabine heard him mutter, before the guards came to pull her away.

TO BE CONTINUED

#sabezra #sabezra fanfiction #sabine wren #ezra bridger #ursa wren #fenn rau #star wars rebels #stars wars #oh boy here we go #I promised i would never do another multi-part story #yet here we are #this one will be finished #i swear on my life #if you're wondering why there's a random picture of Dichen Lachman in here #it's because I think she's the perfect live action version of Ursa Wren #I am starting that campaign for her to be in Star Wars right here and now #I hope you all can see the vision

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whenindoubtfangirlitout · 3 months ago

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Be Sweet - Chapter One

A/N: I'm so sorry for how late this came out 😭! I meant to post sooner, but I had schoolwork and medical school interviews. I also decided to make it multiple chapters, so here it is ☺️. I hope you enjoy!

The air was crisp; each stinging inhale filling Bruce's lungs with the obstinate reality of his languishing city. Watching the thick tendrils of smog billow from his nose to just dissipate into nothing only further reminded him of his failed efforts all those years ago. Every chip, every dent disappeared the instant he hung up the cowl. It was as if he'd never put it on at all. Like he had never existed…

Various technological advancements taunted him, making sure he remembered what forces were really in power, who was on the forefront to halt the city's progression. They acted as poorly wrapped bandages, Gotham's attempt to conceal its rampant crimes that continued to plague its streets. It seemed as if after every news report on a robbery, assault, or domestic attack there was word of a new gadget or building to draw citizens' eyes away from the travesties that surrounded them. Like a dog, they were being trained to ignore their realities and look forward to the occasional treat that would be tossed their way.

A gust of wind blew through and he shivered, shoving his gloved hands deeper into his pockets as he buried his nose further into his scarf. Ace's leash hung loosely around his wrist as the dog walked obediently beside him. Snow crunched with every slightly unsteady step, the sounding causing his jaw to clench and grinding his molars. He could already feel a tension headache building behind his eyes.

Poorly plowed paths left little room to walk. His shoulders bumped into almost every stranger he passed as he made his way through Robinson Park. As the city's infrastructure increased, the small outdoor spaces for citizens to relax slowly diminished — and so did the city's will to upkeep them. He would've brought his cane had he'd known the walkways were shit.

He paused as Ace sniffed a particular spot in what he assumed was snow covered grass. Though with the direction the city was heading, it could've been some new innovation to update the primitive areas within its perimeters.

His gaze trudged over the encompassing cityscape. The city in which he slaved over for years,nitpicking and agonizing over every little detail in his mission to make its streets safe. Despite his preference for isolation seclusion in his old age, he'd occasionally visit his old stomping grounds and ponder over whether his efforts ever really did make a difference. Did he ever inspire reform? Did he ever instill resilience? Did he ever really mean something to this city?

But every time, he'd come back, and without fail, he would witness one petty crime after another. Sometimes he'd even catch a glimpse of a larger, more organized illegal act — maybe something from the Jokerz or the Royal Flush Gang — forced to watch helplessly as he was now just some random face in the crowd. It was as if the city wanted him down, mercilessly barraging him with scenes he so desperately wanted to put a stop until he couldn't bear anymore. It had already forced him to break his moral code and now it was just mocking him as he settled into what he hoped were the last years of his life. The life he never really thought he'd live to see.

Sighing, he looked back to Ace, his eyes tracing over the mutt's silhouette. He was his only companion. The only thing he kept around after he walked away from the others when he hung up his cape. The only thing Bruce deemed worthy of keeping by his side as his once seemingly invincible body slowly decayed into a decrepit shell of what it once was. The only thing that saw him as what he wished himself to still be.

In the midst of his self loathing, something he'd found to be increasingly more frequent, a repetitive shout broke him from his contemplation.

"Sir!"

"Excuse me, sir!"

Bruce turned to look at the figure lightly jogging toward him clad in a bright yellow winter coat that was a stark contrast to Gotham's naturally dreary aesthetic.

You stopped in front of him, breathing slightly erratic as the cold scraped down your throat and pierced your lungs. "S-sir, you… you dropped this." Holding up your hand, you revealed a hickory brown wallet. You gripped the object precariously — between the pads of your thumb and two first fingers — almost as if the Italian leather burned to touch.

Bruce blanched as recognition slowly settled in as he observed the item in your hand. His wallet. His hand tightened into a fist in his pocket. That was his wallet. His lips thinned as he snatched it from your grasp, hastily shoving it back into his pocket as he grumbled out a "Thanks." He couldn't believe it. The day had finally come where his mind has begun to slip as well.

Completely unfazed by his rather curt attitude, your gaze shifted down to the large and vigilant canine beside Bruce, interest slowly piquing. Pulling your headphones around your neck, you gestured to Ace. "He yours?"

"I'm holding his leash, aren't I?" His brows furrowed in annoyance. What kind of question was that? Were you stupid?

"Doesn't always mean he's yours." Your eyes thoughtfully examined Ace, a small smile spreading across your lips. "What breed is he?"

Bruce huffed, having hoped the conversation would have been over by now. You'd returned his wallet and he thanked you. End scene. There was no other reason you needed to further interact. Though he mildly entertained you anyway. "Dunno. I just found him in an alley."

"Damn," you muttered, "all I ever find in alleys are weirdos and dog sized rats…"

Not waiting for a response, you suddenly knelt before the mutt, holding out a hand reddened from the cold towards him.

"Wait, he doesn't really like—" Bruce's words died on his tongue as he watched his dog nuzzle into your palm after a couple sniffs.

"Aw, what a big baby." You cooed at him, your other hand coming to fully encircle his head in a gentle embrace. It was like shoving a square peg into a round hole. Cropped ears stood at attention, his warm and sleek coat almost soothing your chapped hands. "Such a handsome boy, aren't ya? Unfortunate about your ears, but you're still pretty."

Bruce simply stood there gobsmacked as he took in the sight of some stranger baby talking his 140 pounds dog who seemed rather privy to the high pitched praise and gentle affection.

Giggles escaped you as Ace gave your cheek a sloppy kiss, using her sleeve to wipe off the excessive slobber. You stood as you lightly patted his head. "What a good boy."

"You have no survival instinct." The words tumbled out of his mouth before he had time to register what was happening.

"Huh?" Your big eyes turned to him, blinking as you tried to understand the implication of his words.

"You openly approached a stranger with a large animal with absolutely no regard for the potential consequences the situation could have posed to you." He scolded you like a parent would a child. "I could've easily dropped my wallet on purpose to lure you to me."

"Did you?"

Bruce paused, momentarily taken aback. "Well, no, but the point still stands that I could've had nefarious intentions." He huffed, narrowing his eyes at your retort. "And besides, you're supposed to ask the owner before you pet their dog."

"You look like you would've said no." You shrugged as if that was a valid enough reason to just pet Ace without consideration for the dog's possible temperament that would've determined how the interaction played out. You'd deemed him friendly enough to approach.

He could feel a familiar vein pulsing in his forehead, a dull pressure slowly building behind his eyes as he pressed his forefinger and thumb into the sockets. He hadn't felt this kind of annoyance in a long time. "I'm going to walk away now."

You lifted your headphones back into place, nodding. "Okay, I gotta go anyway." You looked down at Ace, giving him another smile and wave as you began down the path again. "Bye, boy! Hopefully, I'll see you soon."

The old man's eyes lingered on your retreating figure, face pulled tightly into a scowl. A grumbled irritation slipped past his lips before he continued on his walk.

A/N: Again, I hope everyone enjoyed and thank you so much for reading! I'm still a novice at tumblr, but hopefully my posts will be more aesthetic with time. Also, I will be cross posting this on AO3 if you'd prefer to follow the fic there! I hope to get Chapter Two out in a more timely manner, but I'm about to graduate so I make no promises. Until next time ☺️!

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dostoyevsky-official · 6 months ago

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The Second Trump Presidency, Brought to You by YouTubers

In an effort to understand the media diet of a generation, Bloomberg watched and analyzed over 2,000 videos from nine prominent YouTubers.

To hear them tell it, America is in a desperate place, destabilized by soaring inflation, migrants streaming across the border and the beginnings of a third world war. Gender politics have gotten out of hand while schools and the medical establishment duped the public. The same messages were communicated in Trump’s inaugural address on Monday. Now that Trump is back in power, the broadcasters are well-positioned to help build support for his political agenda, transforming grievances into policy that could have lasting effects even beyond Trump’s term in office.

In the months leading up to election, hosts had more politicians and pundits on their shows and discussed the issues more frequently. Of the broadcasters’ videos that reached over 1 million views on YouTube during the time span Bloomberg reviewed, more than a third of videos mentioned voting or the US elections — often with the host explicitly calling on listeners to vote.

None of the broadcasters style themselves as political pundits, and their conservative talking points were sandwiched between free-wheeling discussions of sports, masculinity, internet culture, gambling and pranks — making the rhetoric more palatable to an apolitical audience. Still, their popularity is sparking a “very big sea change in terms of who are the voices that matter,” Mark Zuckerberg, Meta Platforms Inc. chief executive officer, said in a conversation with Rogan published Jan. 10. “There’s this wholesale generational shift in who are the people who are being listened to.”

According to Edison Research, close to 50% of people over the age of 12 listen to a podcast monthly. Rogan’s three-hour interview with Trump in late October drew about 50 million views on YouTube.

[...] Exit polls have shown that Trump received more support from young men than any Republican candidate in more than two decades.

[...] Above all, the broadcasters described American men as victims of a Democratic campaign to strip them of their power — a comforting message to a disspirited audience. These days, young men are lonelier than ever, with those aged 18 to 23 the least optimistic about their futures, and having the lowest levels of social support, according to Equimundo’s 2023 State of American Men report. Trump and his allies showed up for young men in the places where they were already spending their time — and supplied them with answers.

Trump is expected to continue prioritizing the broadcasters once the administration gets underway, treating them like an “alternative press corps,” said Aaron Ginn, CEO of AI infrastructure startup Hydra Host, and co-founder of the Foundation for American Innovation, a center-right think tank for conservatives in Silicon Valley.

[...] Thirty percent of videos discussing transgender identity also mention children. Hosts criticized public schools for letting children explore their gender identity, and staunchly opposed gender-affirming care for minors. [...] In one April 2024 discussion on Fridman’s show, the former US Representative Tulsi Gabbard argued that advocating for the rights of transgender individuals infringed on the rights of women.

Matt Fitzgerald, a 35-year-old stonemason from a suburb of Boston, started listening to Rogan during the Covid-19 pandemic. He said he now listens to more than a dozen podcasts, including by Von and Bet-David, most of which he discovered through Rogan and his guests.

Once a registered Democrat who voted for President Barack Obama, Fitzgerald supported Trump in 2016 and has stuck with him ever since. Fitzgerald said he is better informed because of the podcasts he listens to.

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frogspond200 · 2 years ago

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𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝙿𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚔𝚘𝚟

Requested by: Anon

Ask: Hey, I really REALLY. enjoyed you Simon Hcs, Could you do one for just normal and not yandered, please😫🙏🙏💓

Warnings: None

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Simon absolutely adores you. He worships the ground you walk on, your presence has brought a sense of stability and warmth into his life that he thought was lost forever.

Simon loves reading with you. Whether it's ancient scrolls, magical tomes, or simply a good storybook, he enjoys the companionship and discussions that come with it.

There is some residual angst in the relationship due to Simon's deep longing for Betty. While he's found happiness with you, he still carries the pain of losing his beloved Betty. Your understanding and support help him through these moments of melancholy.

Simon is a fan of cuddling. He finds solace in your arms, and the physical closeness reassures him that he's not alone in his struggles. It's a way for both of you to express affection and provide comfort.

Simon occasionally lets you in on his scientific projects. He trusts you enough to share his findings, inventions, and research. Your curiosity and insights often contribute to the success of these projects. You and Simon make a dynamic team when it comes to problem-solving. Your fresh perspective and his vast knowledge often lead to innovative solutions to the challenges you encounter in the Land of Aaa.

While he continues to grapple with the effects of the crown and the loss of Betty, your presence serves as a source of hope and emotional support.

Simon occasionally surprises you with his musical talents, playing the guitar or singing songs he's composed. It's a beautiful way for him to express his emotions and share moments of joy with you. You help Simon regain his sense of self and independence. While you support him, you also encourage him to pursue his own interests and passions beyond his past and the crown.

Despite the complexities and challenges of your relationship, the love you share with Simon is unwavering. Together, you navigate the ups and downs of life in the Land of Aaa, always by each other's side.

Simon Petrikov tends to take things slow in a relationship, especially considering his complex past and the emotional baggage he carries as a result of the Ice King's crown. He's likely to proceed with caution, prioritizing emotional intimacy and trust-building before rushing into anything too fast. Simon values stability and a sense of security, so he would be mindful of not overwhelming the relationship with speed.

Simon Petrikov can indeed be a romantic partner who appreciates the beauty in small gestures. While he may not always have access to traditional roses, he would find creative ways to express his love and create romantic moments. For example, he might use magical flowers or other enchanting elements to create a path leading to a warm, cozy bath for you to enjoy together. Simon would certainly put effort into making your time together special and memorable…

To set the mood, Simon would light scented candles or diffuse essential oils with calming fragrances like lavender or vanilla. The soothing aromas would fill the air, creating a serene and peaceful environment for you to relax and unwind.

Simon is also a fan of playing board games or card games. He finds that they not only provide entertainment but also help to foster a sense of togetherness and friendly competition.

You can spend hours laughing, strategizing, and creating fond memories while staying warm and cozy indoors.

And of course, Simon's musical talents come into play here as well. He might serenade you with a beautiful song on his guitar or share some enchanting melodies on the piano, adding a touch of magic and romance to the cozy atmosphere.

#x reader #simon x reader #simon petrikov #simon petrikov x reader #simon petrikov x reader adventure time #adventure time x reader #fionna and cake #simon x reader adventure time #Simon x reader fionna and cake #Simon Petrikov fionna and cake #Simon Petrikov x reader fionna and cake #simon fionna and cake #simon adventure time #Simon Petrikov adventure time

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whencyclopedia · 5 months ago

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How the Hopi Indians Reached Their World

How the Hopi Indians Reached Their World is the creation story of the Native American Hopi nation (the Hopi tribe of Arizona) located today within the Navajo Nation reservation. The legend details the ascent of the Hopi from below the earth to its surface and how they learned to live in their new world.

Abandoned Hopi House and View from Oraibi Village

Promking (Public Domain)

The Hopi myth includes an odyssey through subterranean worlds toward the surface of the Earth (the Great Mother), and how the world was then shaped. As with many other Native American creation stories, the tale emphasizes the importance of the land as integral to the Hopi nation's identity and culture.

Symbol & Meaning in the Myth

The Hopi (translated as "civilized" or "mannered" or "peaceful") lived in the region of modern-day Arizona since at least c. 1100 and, before the arrival of the Spanish in 1540, observed their traditional cultural practices, including storytelling. How the Hopi Indians Reached Their World not only explains the creation but aspects of daily life, such as why the coyote looks as it does or the appearance of mountains and streams, and also clarifies the Hopi understanding of death and the afterlife.

The discussion of death in the story is an allusion to their god Maasaw (Masauwu), "the ancient caretaker", recognized as an agent of transformation who, after the spirit of life has left the body, returns it to its place of origin. Maasaw is understood as a friend and guide, and so death is understood as a transition from one state to another, not something to be feared. The Two Brothers represent the concept of balance, a common feature of Native American literature generally, and symbolize the importance of maintaining harmony and working together toward a common goal. The phrase "Let it be tried and seen!" epitomizes the progressive attitude of the Hopi, an innovative people, and so the story also explains the origin of this outlook.

After the arrival of the Spanish and the European colonization of the Americas, the Hopi way of life was affected at every level. They preserved their cultural heritage, however, and one of the most important aspects of that effort was telling the old stories of their people – including how they came up from the ground to the lands they then called home.

#History #Hopi

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deoreoo · 10 months ago

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hi i really like your writing!! i was wondering if you could do like subspace x reader snd the reader is a rivaling scientist or engineer from a different faction like playground or something, i think that would be cool have a nice day!! :3

LITOST

Subspace × Engineer Reader!

Okay so uhm... im not really busy now ish??? BUT YEAH IM BACK!!

Under the dim light of a solitary desk lamp, You were furiously scribbling notes onto a stack of paper the room around you filled with a haphazard array of discarded prototypes and crumpled drafts.

The clock on the wall ticked past midnight, its rhythmic cadence almost mocking the sense of urgency in your movements. Each stroke of the pen brought forth ideas that, while promising in the moment seemed to fall short of the breakthrough they desperately sought

With a frustrated groan You tossed the latest draft into the trashcan, but it missed its mark, fluttering down to join the scattered debris on the floor

The pile of crumpled papers, filled with half-formed theories and abandoned dreams, continued to grow a silent testament to the countless hours spent chasing the elusive spark of innovation.

A few seconds pass before you slammed your own forehead onto the desk with a dull thud, the impact barely registering over the throbbing frustration that seemed to pulse in temples. The room was eerily quiet, save for the soft rustle of papers and the low anguished murmurs that escaped from your lips.

"Maybe this is like karma for choosing engineering..."

As the minutes dragged on you felt your eyelids grow heavier with each passing second. The relentless strain of the long hours began to weigh on them, pulling your own thoughts into a foggy haze

Your poor attempts to stay awake became more desperate punctuated by occasional, futile slaps to their cheeks and half-hearted sips of cold coffee- jumping up in down inside your apartment, and even walking around playground's park

Despite the best efforts, you return back to your apartment the room's dim light seemed to blur and waver as your eyes struggled to stay open.

Soon enough your head drooped slightly, chin resting on the crumpled notes spread out on the desk. Breathing slowed, becoming more rhythmic and even, as the exhaustion began to overtake their frustration The ideas that had once seemed so vital now floated in the periphery of their mind, merging with the dreams of sleep that beckoned irresistibly.

"Maybe just a little bit..."

Amid the scattered papers and discarded blueprints, Your own body finally surrendered to fatigue. Their breathing became a soft, steady rhythm, the room’s quiet now embracing the stillness of their unintended rest

BANG

Your deep sleep was abruptly shattered by a series of sharp taps against the window most likely pebbles, thrown with a persistent urgency.

groggily and sitting up properly, the remnants of frustration quickly giving way to confusion. The pebbles continued their insistent patter, echoing through the quiet room.

Groaning, You pushed aside the scattered papers and shuffled to the window. pulling the curtain just enough to peer outside. Only to get flashbanged by the sun making you quickly close the curtain back

"Dear illumina..."

You whisper under your breath before looking back outside again, your eyes adjusting to the now bright sky only to see people... 2 people... people frlm blackrock to be exact- but it did make you think where the other one is-

The unexpected intrusion yanked you fully awake as your mind races with questions and disruption.

"HEY LOOK WHAT I MADE PEASANT"

Was what Subspace yelled at you, you could tell he was grinning behind that mask as he was playing with pebbles on his right hand.... you assume he was the one who threw it on your window...

"What is wrong with you?? Cant you give me some sleep??"

Glaring at him he just let out a snicker before pulling a Biograft infront of him as he booted the robot alive again, that made you a tiny bit curious

"So what-"

"TARGET LOCKED, ENGAGING INTO BATTLE MODE"

Your eyes widen as your breath hitches when you heard what Biograft had said as you make a mad run away- hearing Subspaces manic laugh and the sound of an engine and metal clanking right behind you as you jumped down on a window on the other side of your apartment

"THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE PERFECT SCIENTIST IN ALL OF INPHINITY. DIE"

with Biograft's glowing orange sensors and a deadly retractable blade pursued relentlessly. As it swung its arm, the blade sliced the air dangerously close. You yelped and ducked, narrowly missing the strike. weaving through crossroads your mind racing for a way to out wit a strong tincan-

As You rounded another corner you were abruptly yanked to the side by a familiar figure. Hyperlaser- as he presses a finger to your lips to silence you. They remained still as biograft trundled by, its heavy footsteps reverberating through the alley

Hyperlaser leaned in, whispering harshly, "This is just out of pity. Don’t think too much about it nor expect me to help you ever again."

With that, he stepped back and left you, allowing You to regain footing and organize your thoughts.

"Maybe i do need to move to another city...or maybe just anti-blackrock my house..."

You mumble since you did not want to get your head chopped off... and also did they just walk all the way here to playground-

#phighting!#phighting x reader #phighting subspace #subspace x reader #x reader

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