#it's supposed to be stupid and irreverent

[boysbeware2]

all the old tptm girl journal entries w the new (if anyone wants to see them again and compare them)

please proceed with caution as many of these could be upsetting to read

disposable girl (jordyn)

(old)

i cant fucking stand this. i try so goddamn hard to make friends, to be attractive to people, to be even somewhat appealing to them etc etc. it never works. i thought it would get better the older i get. thats what i was told. guess what! i was fucking lied to!!! im alwasy left out of EVERYTHING i never get invited to shit and my own friends ignore me all the time. everyone looks at me weird. i cant go in public anymore im so fucking terrified of everyone. nobody fuckinf wants me, man. im so close to doing something stupid i feel so gross and ugly and dumb i should actually just die id be doing everyone a favor LOL

(new)

man, i havent been on here in forever. the internet is kind of dumb. what is there to say? my friend group celebrated our outpatient graduation anniversary the other day, that was pretty nice. we’re all trying to figure out housing stuff, nora’s been helping with that. freyja + mayra + kairi found a place already (how are they so responsible??) and the rest of us are trying to find places near them so we can visit more often. i never expected to have such a big group of friends. if you told me 2 years ago that i’d be living like this, i wouldn’t believe you. it’s still surreal to me. i’m not sure what i did to deserve them. same goes for my girlfriends. i don’t wanna say who just yet, we’re still figuring things out, but i’m just so thankful for them. i feel so lucky to have a second chance at life. i really didn’t believe people when they said it would get better, and then it did. how funny…..

irreverent girl (kairi)

(old)

I do not want God to see me anymore. I do not want anymore eyes on me. This is near unbearable. I have no one to turn to. My mother is in the church. Many of my friends are in the church. They would tell me to find hope through Christ. They would tell me to pray to Him. They would tell me that He will save me. He must not remember He made me, and if He does, He simply does not care. I know this is unbecoming of me, and I don't mean to be dramatic. I am simply depressed, nervous, and I cannot tell what's real and what isn't anymore. I know I'm supposed to hear God speaking to me, but I do not, and I am tired of straining my ears. I just want to see a doctor. I want some kind of tangible solution. I do not want to pray anymore. Praying hurts. I only do it when I am afraid, but I am afraid much of the time. I don't want to be unheard anymore. I do not want to hold out hope for someone who does not act like they're there. I am hurting. I am hurting. I am hurting. Belief is hurting me. The idea of God is hurting me. I need an out. I am hurting.

(new)

When I have a job and money and I can move away from my shitty Mormon parents

splitter girl (tahira)

(old)

theres something so broken in me thats beyond saving. so i dont know why i keep trying to be saved. i meant to kill myself when i was 18. i didnt. all ive wanted to do lately is kill someone or something. i havent. im too much of a pussy to plan anything concrete, no matter how much i hate everyone around me. no matter how much i get off to videos of people dying or how much i love cutting myself i cant actually take action against other people. i am fucking purposeless. i was born from evil and i will always be evil and i cant even live up to that. i hate myself i hate myself i HATE myself and the universe hates me too. i dont know what to fucking do at this point. i talked to one of my friends about wantingto die and they said smthn about hospitalizing myself. maybe. i dunno. i dont know what else there is for me/. my eyes are fucking burning from lookign at my computer for so long adn not getting any goddamn sleep. i am not a good person. i dont think i can be helped but i just dont wanna fucking keep goign to school and being around people and pretending like everything is norma;l. i cant keep doing it. what the fuck is wrong with me whagt happened. why cant i be loved or feel love for other people when did something change in me that switched the aggression and affection parts of my brain. im hyperventilating ill be back. maybe

(new)

getting myself onigiri from this one good boba place 2nite bc im 8 months clean…… its the little things~ ^^

fainéant girl (freyja)

(old)

i know i dont hate being disabled... i just hate being disabled in a society that makes existing difficult... but sometimes i really just dont want to be disabled anymore. i dont want my family to lecture me about how i could be helping out more, or how i should get a job. i dont want teachers to keep asking me whats wrong or the fuckin uni counselor to try to get me hospitalized. i dont want to be in so much pain anymore, to feel so exhausted that i cant even do so much as prepare food for myself, let alone do anything meaningful or fulfilling. its not fair. i shouldnt have to stay inside and sit in the dark all day,. i should be able to have friends. to talk to people and to go out with them and to feel like i am alive. its lonely and traumatic to suffer through this and on top of that no one around me understands, and they never fully will. i am tired of trying to justify my existence to everyone, to explain the pain that i am in and why i shouldnt have to experience it. i know the problem isnt me. i know i live in a world that isnt built for me. but if the world cant change then sometimes i truly feel that i should just stop living in it. my lifespan is already shorter than everyone else's anyways. what difference does it make

(new)

my qpps didnt seem to appreciate me playing Alien Kids Alien Rap for them. Do they even love me

caliber girl (nora)

(old)

唉～It is 3 AM and I should go to sleep but I can’t. I have a work zoom meeting early in the morning and I gotta hit the gym also because I haven’t done leg day in like… weeks. Oh well, it doesn’t even matter. My value is depleting but I don’t think I care anymore. The turnaround date for my code is also in a couple of days and I haven’t made any progress. I keep getting the same error and I’m too tired to figure out what’s wrong. I might get fired at this rate LOL(笑). If that happens, I think I’ll just consider ending it all. Not that anybody will miss me. God I sound so weak and pathetic right now. When did it get like this. How did it get like this. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse before and this is nothing. Ugh, why is it so hard to breathe? My chest hurts and I feel like something is wrong but I don’t know how to make it go away. Should I call someone about this? No. No one is awake or around to help. I’ll be fine. I’ll just sleep it off. Shake it off… shake it off…

(new)

My Tamagotchi beeped during a meeting fml

chocolate box girl (morgan)

(old)

i thought i was doing better but i cant stop thinking about them. their touch, their interests, their smile, everything. the worst part is that i miss them, after all of what they've done to me. i was 13. i dont even feel justified calling it rape since our relationship was so muddy... they never yelled at me or was angry at me, they just got so sad when i tried to speak my mind, and got all my friends to hate me when we finally broke up. i never said no so i feel like im insulting actual survivors by feeling violated. i wasnt even trying to get into a relationship with them, it just happened... i feel like everyone around me wants me in the same way they did, even though im an adult now and i dont even try to make myself appealing. i wish i could trust people not to take advantage of me, and i feel disgusting and selfish for feeling like everyone has ulterior motives of getting me to fall in love with them, or worse. that's so self centered of me. i dont know how long i can keep doing this

(new)

girl help i cant stop looking at anime figures on japan yahoo auctions !!!!!

taxidermy girl (mayra)

(old)

I don't remember ever not having a sex drive, is that normal ? I was born and then it was all downhill from there, something happened to me sexually i think, I don't know what happened, because I don't remember much, but something happened and I was beaten for it and yelled at and my mother hated me, and now I am an adult and I try to have sex, and I'm not there mentally, even if my body is participating, I feel like I am in the past again, being beaten and yelled at . I want to keep trying, I want to have fun, to feel safe in someone else's arms, to reach the heights of pleasure, but my mind scares me so much, I haven't been able to eat anything today because I feel so horrified by my body . If I was good I would have been born as a nonsexual being, no parts, no desires, no instincts, a blank slate, too empty to be enjoyed . Do you know what it feels like, to have your mother tell you people want to sexually abuse you when you are a child, and then to be made fun of by your peers for being so ugly, to have your middle school and high school classmates joke about how much they don't want to have sex with you ? I am illicit and undesirable at the same time, I am everyone's last option, I am nothing and still too much, rotting deer meat on the side of the road . I wish I had been born as something beautiful and pure, I wish I could start over, that whatever that initial sin was had never been committed .. I want to start over

(new)

Went to a kink event the other night and everyone was so nice … The low lights were fucking with my vision so one of the hosts helped me navigate the place . I ❤️ you random disabled ally with a pup mask on

chemical girl (joy)

(old)

LMAOOOOO im too angry and miserable to be around. i think i just need to give up at this point because theres clearly like. something broken inside me that cant be fixed. that has 2 be it because i try to talk and i just sound cold, i try to make a joke and it comes out overly edgy and unfunny, i try to be like everyone else but its too much. i cant even be a collection of the positive traits i see in others, i try to replicate it and it comes out warped and wrong. im either fucking enraged or in abject misery or way too happy and nobody can keep up with me. the thing is i dont even blame them. i wouldnt want to be around me either. do u know what thats like? being someone you wouldnt want to know? i keep hoping that one day ill wake up and suddenly be normal, the mood swings will be gone and everyone will like me and i wont do stupid shit that pisses them off. but i know that day isnt coming. theres no hope for me and i want to say sorry to everyone who has ever had the misfortune of knowing me but i know it wouldnt do anything. theres nothing i could ever do to make myself right

(new)

i need to convince my gf to take me to Round One again soon

refraction girl (nataana)

(old)

i don't want to do this anymore. i'm going somewhere better

(new)

talked with my psych and i’ll be starting TMS soon, it’s some thing where they put magnets to ur brain and it’s supposed to treat depression.. trying to temper my expectations bc i’ve tried so many treatments that just do nothing for me, but i’d be lying if i said my hopes weren’t riding on this. i want to confidently say i’m glad to be alive. i feel like i’m getting closer to that

nurse parallel/machine girl (xiomara)

(old)

I am so excited... Tomorrow my experimental outpatient treatment plan begins!!! I'm beyond delighted. I have complicated feelings about my DID being in remission, but it's nice to feel stable enough to be in charge of something this big, and to not have terrible gaps in my memory anymore. I still don't remember everything that happened to me, but maybe I don't need to. At this stage of my life, I feel content. I can confidently say everything was worth it. I want to help others feel that way, too. I think I can.

(new)

I’m meeting up with a new friend tomorrow… I feel nervous, but it’s a good nervousness, I think!

[inkedinshadows]

Say My Name

Day 12: Hate fuck — Eris x f!reader

Warnings: unprotected sex, p in v, one instance of name calling, language

Word count: 2.354

A/N: ahhh I'm so excited for this one! It's actually the first Eris fic I've ever written (before the one for day 8) and I had so much fun. It's probably my favorite out of all kinktober fics!

As the emissary of the Night Court, you often had to deal with members of other courts, some more polite than others. And though you loved your job for the most part, you had come to hate when you had to meet with Eris Vanserra, which happened a bit too frequently since Rhysand had agreed to help him scheme against his own father.

You despised the male.

Eris was nothing but an arrogant, self-assured prick who thought he was better than anyone else. But even more than that, you hated the way your body reacted to him. You always had to keep a few feet of distance if you didn’t want anything inconvenient going on between your legs.

“You’re late.”

You rolled your eyes at that familiar voice as you closed the door behind you. Your meetings took place in a small, abandoned cabin Azriel had found along the border between the Winter and the Autumn Court. It was a single room with a small bed in one corner, a few kitchen counters on the opposite wall and a table with two chairs at the center of the space. Not much, but perfect for secret meetings.

Eris was currently leaning against one of the dusty counters, arms crossed over his muscular chest, scowling at you.

Forcing yourself to meet his gaze and not stare at the way his brown tunic perfectly hugged his biceps, you shrugged irreverently. “I’m here now, so let’s get this over with. The less I see you, the better.”

His jaw ticked. “I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes.”

“And?” You took a few steps forward, leaning against the table to mimic his position. “I had better things to do, Vanserra.”

Not exactly true. You had arrived late because you wanted to. You relished the sight of his anger, savoring the knowledge that you could get on his nerves so easily. The thought of him growing impatient while he waited for you to show up brought a little smile to your lips, especially since you knew that he needed the Night Court’s help more than you needed his.

Eris pushed off the counter and stalked toward you, his arms now at his side. You kept your eyes on his face, watching as that dormant fire power inside him sparked to life in his gaze. All of a sudden, you were breathing slightly faster.

“Allow me to make one thing clear, darling,” he drawled, stopping mere inches from you. You cringed at the pet name, though something fluttered deep in your stomach as he continued. “This is not a game. I don’t care what you or your preening High Lord and his oh-so-perfect friends believe about me. He promised his help.”

His hands were on the table behind you now, trapping you between the furniture and his body. He leaned closer, his scent engulfing you, until he was snarling directly in your face. “So if you can’t even bother to show up on time to do your job, tell him to send someone else. Someone professional.”

You were supposed to snap, to put him in his place, to yell and get angry at him. And deep down you were. After all, he had just insulted your friends and family, and not so subtly called you incompetent. But he was so close to you that you could feel his warm breath on your face and his chest brushing against yours with every inhale.

And then you made the stupid mistake of glancing down at his lips.

You didn’t know what happened next. You didn’t know who moved first. But one moment you were glaring at each other, and the next it was a whirlwind of tongues and teeth as your mouths collided.

There was nothing gentle about the kiss. Eris groaned, you moaned, both of you tried to take the lead and not submit to the other. But then he pushed you back against the table, his hips flush with yours, and suddenly there was just the hard bulge in his pants pressing against you.

Eris slid one of his hands in your hair to tilt your head back, drawing a whimper from you and exposing your neck for him to bite.

“Is this what you want?” he growled in between nips that you knew would leave a red mark. “Is this why your thighs clench together so often when you’re around me?”

“Shut up, Vanserra,” you grumbled, not caring how he had noticed that detail. All you wanted was to feel him, to give in to this unwelcome desire just for once, hoping it would be enough to make it go away. The wrongness of it all, the hate you harbored for each other, should have been a deterrent, but it only fueled your need instead.

Your fingers were on his pants, making quick work of undoing the buttons. Before you could go any further than that, you yelped as Eris spun you around and unceremoniously bent you over the table.

You turned your head toward him. “What are you—”

“Shut up,” he snarled in your ear. “I’m giving you what you’re too ashamed to ask for yourself.”

You didn’t know how to answer that. You did want this, and your pride stopped you from admitting it out loud. But shame? You weren’t ashamed of how you felt. You simply hated it with all your being.

“You’re so wet already,” he drawled, brushing its tip on your clit. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

Eris didn’t give you the time to come up with a different answer than another grumbled ‘shut up’. Your skirt was already being pushed up around your waist, your panties dropped to your ankles, and a moment later the head of his cock rubbed against your folds, making you both groan.

“Eris…” you whined. You didn’t even care how desperate and needy your voice sounded anymore. You just wanted to feel him inside you.

But he stopped and pulled away. His mouth was at your ear again, his breath hot on your skin. “How did you call me, sweetheart?”

You froze too as realization hit you. He had always been Vanserra to you. You had never uttered his name in front of him, just like he had never said yours. It just slipped out in the heat of the moment, and you certainly wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“I thought that was your name,” you replied, your voice going back to the scornful note it always carried when talking to him.

“It is.” Eris ran his hands along your body, and his tone became demanding. “Say it again.”

“No.”

He grabbed your hips, fingers digging in enough to bruise. “Say it.”

“Fuck you,” you spat. You wanted to turn around and give him one of your disdainful glares, but he was leaning over you, pressing you between his chest and the wooden surface beneath you.

“Oh, darling, I will fuck you.” You felt him smile against your ear. “And you will be screaming my name by the time I’m done with you.”

The words were already on your lips. Like hell I will. You opened your mouth to say just that, but a cry came out instead as Eris pushed his cock inside you with a single thrust. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was pounding into you.

“Fuck, you feel better than I thought…” he sputtered, nibbling on your earlobe. “Tight little cunt squeezing me just right.”

Every thought or concern faded from your mind at the punishing rhythm he set. There was only the heavy drag of his cock sliding in and out of you, and when he lifted himself off you and stood to his full height behind you, the new angle allowed him to hit your most sensitive spot just right.

“Say my name.”

Eyes closed, mind foggy, you somehow managed to bite out, “No.”

His hand fisted your hair to pull your head back. You groaned, your back arching off the table, holding on to the edge hard enough that your knuckles were white.

“I want to fucking hear it,” he panted, each word accentuated by a thrust that made your eyes roll back.

But you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction, not even now. Your pride and stubbornness wouldn’t let you go farther than letting him fuck you over a table.

“Keep fucking dreaming, Vanserra.”

Apparently, it wasn’t the right answer. His grip on your hair and hip only tightened and he slammed harder inside you, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust, but at least he didn’t ask again and neither of you said anything more. The only sounds that could be heard were moans and groans—yours or his, you could no longer tell—, the wet noise of his cock sliding in your dripping cunt, and the occasional creaking of the table beneath you.

You weren’t sure how long you kept going. It could have been a few minutes or a few hours, and it would have made no difference at all: by the time you were reaching your climax, you were so fucked out it was hard to breathe or think straight. And Eris probably noticed it too, because he pulled you up until your back was pressed against his chest.

He let go of your hair only to tease your clit, gently drawing circles around it as he let up a bit until he was thrusting at a torturously slow rhythm. Your release had been so close, yet it was slipping away.

“Will you say my name now, darling?” he murmured in your ear. “Then you can come.”

You didn’t know why it mattered so much to him, but you were too lost in the pleasure, your mind too hazy to even try and fight him this time. “Eris,” you mumbled softly.

Your head fell back against his shoulder, eyes closing again when his fingers moved a bit faster on your clit. You were ready to come, and you waited for him to pick up the pace, but his thrusts remained too slow, too gentle.

“A little louder, sweetheart,” he ordered. “I couldn’t hear you.”

You sighed, the sound a perfect mix of frustration and bliss, and squirmed in his arms to try and get more than what he was giving.

Eris simply stopped what he was doing. His hand left your clit and he pulled out until only the tip of his cock was still inside you. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

“Eris, please…” you whined, loud enough that he couldn’t complain about not hearing it.

“You said my name and you’re begging?” His teeth grazed your neck. “Now, that’s a good little slut.”

You should be outraged, ashamed, shoving him away after such an insult, and a small part of you was, because you breathed out, “I fucking hate you.” It didn’t come out as angrily as you intended, though, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You weren’t even sure you said that because of the insult or to try to preserve some semblance of dignity.

Eris had the nerve to laugh. “Oh, I know you do, darling. I bet you also hate how good my cock feels inside you.”

He pushed you back down over the table, his hands finding their place on your hips as he finally thrust back into you.

“But I don’t see you complain about that,” he growled just before he began to relentlessly pound into you.

If possible, he was fucking you even harder and more roughly than before. Your cheek was pressed against the wood, and soon your legs were shaking, barely able to hold you up. Moan after moan tumbled out of your mouth, each one louder than before, until Eris slammed into you particularly deep and you screamed his name as your orgasm barreled through you.

His thrusts became frantic, his grip firmer, and it was only a matter of seconds before he came with a groan, filling you with his warm seed, your walls still clenching around him.

For a moment, you were both still. You were panting, body slick with sweat, and when Eris at last pulled out, you felt his absence inside you. But you would be damned if you let even the slightest whimper leave your lips now. Instead, you stood up straight as if that obnoxious desire had been sated rather than fed.

You pulled your panties back up and fixed your skirts, trying to ignore the remnants of your combined releases smeared over your inner thighs. You fixed your hair with your hands as best you could, and only then did you turn to face Eris.

He was watching you with a smirk on his annoyingly beautiful face. He looked as if nothing had happened—perfect hair, smoothed tunic, pants already buttoned up.

“What?” you snapped.

“I told you you’d scream my name and you did, didn’t you?” He prowled closer, reaching out a hand as if he wanted to touch you. “Just like I said.”

You batted his hand away and took a step back, arms crossed over your chest. “So what? It doesn’t change anything. I still hate you.”

“Good. Because I hate you just as much.”

“Good.”

You stared each other down for a whole minute before you crumbled and looked away. You swore you could see a smug smile appear on his face, but it was gone by the time you glanced back at him.

“This was a horrible mistake,” you sighed. You aimed for the door. “It will never happen again.”

Eris only smirked. “We’ll see.”

You winnowed away before you could punch him on that marked beautiful jaw of his. Only later did you realize you hadn’t asked why he had called for a meeting in the first place.

But Eris had been right, as it turned out. Because you still had to meet with him, and it did happen again. And again. And again. Until you didn’t fight it anymore.

Until you came to love the way Eris Vanserra hated you.

General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings

Kinktober taglist: @thyellablackk @p1nkfluffysocks @maddieboo8 @a-courtof-azriel @whataenginerd @loviseamms @chaconnelatte @okaytrashpanda @scarsandallaz @velarisdusk @olive-main @krispypotato @scorpioriesling

[preeningpisces]

♡ Too Sensitive - Part Two ♡

Telling the JJK men you get too sensitive right before you cum and always have to stop, effectively ruining your orgasms. 

A/N: basically Choso is sweet—the other two are not lol

Includes: Choso, Kenjaku, and Sukuna Part One sorry for lumping you in with the baddies, Choso

Content: masturbation, fingering, cunnilingus, p-in-v, bondage, monsterfucking, dacryphilia, degradation, praise

Petnames: whore, my lord

TW: dubcon, sadism

18+ Content below, mdni, implied chubby f!reader - enjoy!

Choso is earnest & helps you through it. He wants you to cum, it’s one of the best parts of sex. Denying yourself every time, even if it isn’t intentional, has to be frustrating. He'll do whatever you need to get there.

♡ ♡ ♡

With how new relationships are for Choso, you haven’t added sex to the equation yet. Everything about intimacy is a learning curve, and even though the two of you agreed to take things slow, Choso has shown a clear yearning and interest in sex. So when he walks in on a failed masturbation attempt, all thoughts of easing into sex flew out the window. How was he supposed to forget the sight of your legs spread, head thrown back, and fingers working to make yourself come? 

He crawled up the bed, and with pleading eyes, asked what was wrong. You insisted everything was fine, but Choso isn’t stupid: he knew you were masturbating, and it didn’t go how it was supposed to for whatever reason. Eagerness alone isn’t enough to make up for a lack of knowledge, however, and Choso feels almost as frustrated as you when he accepts he doesn’t know how to help. 

It’s then you learn of Choso’s persuasion skills, because you now rub your clit for your boyfriend to watch. His gaze is heavy and irreverent—transfixed by your wet pussy.

“It’s so pretty,” he says when your hole twitches, and the compliment makes warmth flood through you. “Can I touch you?”

“A-ah, yeah, go ahead.” The scenario wounds your pride: you don’t want to struggle in front of Choso. How is he supposed to trust you as a guide when you can’t even give yourself a basic orgasm? A tentative touch to your labia interrupts these thoughts, appreciating its shapes and feeling your wetness. 

You whimper when his curiosity leads him to tracing your hole—not penetrating, only running the tip of his finger through the rim. He looks at you in question before he slowly breeches you, amazed by the sight and sensation of you parting for him. 

It isn’t until you shift your hips that he grazes your g-spot, and your pussy squeezes his fingers so hard he briefly wonders if he hurt you. Uncertainty fades away as he caresses the rough area, his excitement growing as you move against his hand with a moan. It’s wet and warm, and the thought of it surrounding his cock makes him bite back a sound. 

“Choso, you’re doing so good,” you pant, your voice tight with effort. “You can put another in.” 

He does as told, mouth hanging when he sees your pussy stretch to accommodate his fingers. Over-eager, he relentlessly strokes your g-spot, his hips grinding against the bed. You cry out and match his intensity by circling your clit quickly. It doesn’t take long for your legs to tremble, and your body to stiffen. Whether by accident or knowing more than you thought he would, his fingers scissor, and you’re brought to the door of stinging pleasure.  

“I can’t—I’m sorry,” your hand flies off instinctively, but he catches your wrist. 

“Keep going,” he says lowly, and covers your fingers, moving them to glide over your clit beneath his own. “Let me help you.”

It’s an odd sensation: your familiar fingers moving in unfamiliar ways. He intensifies your touch, and resumes stroking your g-spot, shooting red-hot nerves through your body. 

“Oh, my god, Choso! That’s too fucking—” you wail when you come, muscles cramping from the tension. Choso’s touches never falter as he leans over to connect your lips. It’s a sloppy, noisy kiss, and he moans almost as much as you. When you thrash to get away from him and tears well in your eyes, he removes his fingers and pulls you close. You pant in unison, and when you glance down, you see Choso had come in his pants. Only minutes pass before you feel his erection poking your ass. 

“Can I do it again?” 

Kenjaku is curious & tests you through it: what makes you so sensitive? Is it a certain technique? Would different stimuli make it more or less intense? He wants to explore until he knows the ins and outs of the issue to sate his curiosity.

♡ ♡ ♡

If you were told that you would spend your Saturday evening tied down with your leader’s head between your legs, you would assume they mistook you for someone with a much more colorful sex life. In hindsight, it shouldn’t have come as a shock with his unpredictable nature, but you assumed he had no interest in sex–or anything that isn’t about cursed energy, really.

Your legs strain against the straps as you come with a voiceless scream, mouth hanging open. Kenjaku only licks at your cunt twice more before removing himself, his face expressionless as he watches you twitch and convulse. With his thumb he absentmindedly wipes residue from his jaw, only to lick it from his finger and lips–the display makes your cheeks heat, even though he just ate your pussy. When he remains silent, you know he’s mulling over something, and prepare yourself for the incoming rant as your high dissipates. Instead, he slides two fingers into you. He wastes no time locating your soft spot, caressing the area with deliberate strokes. His cool demeanor makes you feel foolish for making any noise, whether they come from your mouth or your pussy.

When he ate you out, he focused on your clit, his tongue flitting over your opening once or twice, but never penetrating. Now, it seems, he’s doing the exact opposite. Thick fingers part so widely it almost hurts, but so turned on it only makes you mewl, and raise your hips for more. This seems to herald your end, as he sets a rhythmic pace, pushing you further and further along. Like before, the pleasure skyrockets to a harsh burn, and you squirm in your restraints.

“Where does it hurt?” You stare at him stupidly, unsure what he said. It’s the first he’s spoken since strapping you down. “You said it gets over-sensitive before an orgasm. Where is that happening now?”

“My clit,” you manage. His fingering doesn’t slow even as you’re trying to speak. 

“Is it internal or external?” A choke interrupts you before you can ask him to clarify, as another orgasm knocks the wind out of you. His fingers are still, but continue to pulse against your g-spot as your pussy clenches. Sensing your confusion, he continues.

“Does it happen in the head of your clitorus,” his thumb swipes over it cheekily, making you yelp. “Or is it internal?” He presses against your g-spot with an exaggerated force. Kenjaku’s voice is slow and condescending as he explains, as if you’re a child. You’re still trembling through your orgasm, too overwhelmed to think, let alone answer. Miffed by your silence, he pulls your nipple with his free hand. 

“External! Fuck!”

“Interesting,” he says to himself, and continues to toy with your nipple until your eyes water. Two fingers straddle your clit, not touching, and rub the entire area in slow circles. A loud gasp tears from deep in your lungs, your body unsure what to do with this development. 

“No, you can’t be serious,” your voice warbles when a pinch to your clit chastises you. “Fuck, fuck–no!” You jerk against the restraints, and your hips try to run away from his touch. “Stop!”

“Tell me, was it worse the second time, or the same?” A muted whimper is your only reply. “Oh, don’t be like that. You’re fine. I have more methods to try, after all.” 

Sukuna is sadistic & forces you through it: normally he doesn’t care if you cum, but the thought that it’s too much and overwhelms you very much appeals to him.

♡ ♡ ♡

How your Lord became privy to such information you’ll never know for certain, but you have an inkling of how it happened. You were a simple servant, tasked with trivial duties like laundry and sweeping in the courtesan’s quarters. You had sequestered a bottle of liquor to be shared with those you consider friends, and the four of you drunkenly giggled as you shared your racy experiences.

Apparently, one of your ‘friends’ is a fucking narc, or just an idiot with loose lips and no sense. Because a handful of days later, you’re being summoned by Sukuna himself, and find yourself propped on his lap.

The tongue is waterlike, curling and rolling between your thighs, leaving thick saliva in its wake. It doesn’t take long for your pussy to leak and for pathetic sounds to spill. Does he prefer silence? You fist your robes, unsure if you’re allowed to even touch Sukuna; you have no clue how you’re supposed to behave.

“I’m going to kill the fool that sent you to the servant’s quarters,” he says. One of your breasts stills from your robe, and he is quick to palm it with his massive hand, and more terrifyingly, pull your nipple. His other hand squeezes your pliant thigh, and another molds against your hip, thumb digging into your lower belly–clearly appreciating how soft you are.

Barely, you resist rolling your hips in tandem with his licking. Despite it all, the large slippery tongue feels unlike anything you’ve felt before. The roll of his tongue is passionate enough that it swipes at your ass as well, making you gasp and clench every time. The pleasant sensations bleed into discomfort as you get close–what you’ve feared ever since you came into his throne room–and you stiffen as you try to bear through it.

His tongue never stops its languid stroking, and despite your best effort, you thrash and twist in his hold, trying to escape the burn. A plea for him to stop bubbles at your lips. You have no choice but to take it, and after a few moments of unbearable rubbing on your clit, you sob as an orgasm is ripped from you. The tongue never stops. It laps wildly, trying to drink everything your body offers. Tears spill from your eyes, as the prickling in your clit spreads.

“That was fast,” he muses, lazily eyeing your quivering body. “I’ve never seen a whore cry because she got her cunt licked.” His tongue flicks your clit sharply, and he chuckles when you nearly topple over. “Sensitive?”

“Yes, my lord.” You tremble all over; the weight of his attention is enough to terrify.

“Good.” Suddenly, he lifts and positions you over his cock—the one furthest from his pelvis. Your heart drops to your ass. It’s humongous, surely, it will kill you! You don’t have time to fear, because he presses you down immediately. It pushes against your entrance for several moments, unable to slide in despite how lubricated you are with his saliva and your juices, but eventually, your hole succumbs to the pressure from Sukuna’s hold and it breeches you violently. The size of his cock knocks the wind out of you, and its twin grazes the your pussy. Your clit feels like it’s on fire.

“Cry for me, whore,” he lifts you up and drops you back down, the slap and your yelp echo through the throne room. “It’s all you’re good for.”

[pavlovianfuckery]

throw me down the stairs but sexually

A/N: Re-uploading all my fics after having a slight mental breakdown and deleting everything so this is kind of old, but bone apple tea and all that anyway

AO3

The Master-masterlist

Fandom Masterlist

Summary: Just indulging Dreams shitty little power fantasy so he'll feel better, because why not?

Pairing: Dream/F!Reader

Notes: Kind of rough sex, a dash of boot licking for my mental health, no use of y/n

Length: 1900~ words

When your usually gentle lover had brought the request to you, it had taken you by surprise. He was always so considerate, rarely asking anything for himself, and the nature of the request itself gave you pause. You had given up control to him before with no hesitation, but this would be different.

"This will not be gentle. This will not be tender. This will break you," he'd cautioned you, wanting you to be sure what you were agreeing to. The thought of refusing never crossed your mind, not really. You'd seen the cold fury he'd directed at those who had wronged him before, and you couldn't deny the illicit thrill it had brought you. The thought of even a sliver of that being directed at you, even as make-believe, made your stomach twist. His parting words echo in your mind even now.

"I do not wish to truly harm you," he had said, covering your hands with his. "Should you at any point need me to stop, simply call out the word "nightmare" and it will end, no questions asked."

But that was days ago. After he'd left you had paced your quarters, equal parts aroused and afraid. Not knowing when it would happen compounded the feeling until you felt like you were walking on eggshells, ever vigilant of an encounter that never seemed to come.

⁂

Sprawled across the throne irreverently you admire the huge windows, trying to distract yourself from your racing thoughts, doing your best not to fidget. 

"What exactly do you think you are doing?" 

Not hearing him come in you startle badly, nearly falling from your perch with an undignified yelp. 

"Christ! Don't sneak up on me like that!" You feel a bit silly, but won't let that deter you as you blink at him, feigning ignorance. "I'm allowed to sit, aren't I?"

"Get down from there or I will remove you," he warns, tone venomous as he glares down at you.

"Or what?" You cross your arms defiantly, chin high. "Not like you could do anything. This is just a dream, nothing here is real anyway."

Not deigning to respond, he simply clamps his hand across the back of your neck and gives it a warning squeeze.

"Move."

Glaring at him you do something potentially stupid and swing at him. Despite missing quite badly it goads him on, and before you know it he has you on the floor in an undignified heap at his feet. Squirming experimentally, you try to get up, but he doesn't let you. Instead, you feel the weight of his boot settle on your back, keeping you down as lust coils low in your belly.

"Does this feel real to you, little mortal?"

He hums thoughtfully, watching you wriggle and swear, adjusting his stance until his other boot is in front of your face.

"Maybe this is where you truly belong, at my feet." He nudges your cheek with the tip of his boot, smirking slightly as you flinch away. "You should put that foul mouth to better use."

You start struggling in earnest, indignant. "You can't be serious!"

"Do not doubt that I can make you do it, because I will."

The faint taste of boot polish is acrid in your mouth. Thankfully the task is a fairly short one even though he makes you do both of them, not letting you stop until the smooth leather is shining with saliva. He yanks you roughly to your knees by the back of the neck, with no regard for your comfort, making you splutter.

"I suppose that was a passable effort," he rasps, and despite the almost bored-sounding delivery, you can tell that he's enjoying watching you debase yourself.

Dragging you to your feet he pushes you up against the cold stone of the throne, your struggling no match for his sinewy strength, maneuvering you with ease until you're bent over the armrest. The sharp stab of arousal at the rough treatment almost makes you feel sick. He grinds up against you, his growing erection pressing into your backside.

"How about this, is this real enough for you?"

Not bothering to wait for a response he simply rucks your dress up, the fabric bunching around your waist. Not giving up that easily you fight against him until he simply twists one of your arms behind your back, making your shoulder twinge uncomfortably.

"You humans are all the same," he sneers, holding you down, "not one of you realizing how little you truly matter."

Straining against his grip your breaths echo in the empty hall as he grinds himself against you, nearly driving you onto the tips of your toes.

"Tell me, what purpose could you possibly serve, if not this?"

"Let me go!" Surprisingly he's actually got you working up a bit of a sweat now, and you don't bother holding back from yelling. After one last attempt of wrenching yourself free fails, you do the only thing you can think of.

The kick doesn't really connect, glancing off his leg, but it catches him off guard, making him loosen his grip just enough for you to wiggle loose. You bolt in the direction of the stairs, fully intending to make him chase you, but he manages to grab the hem of your dress, making you stumble and fall, pulling him down with you. Thankfully you only roll down a handful of steps, but it still knocks the breath out of you. Somehow he landed further down and you see your chance to get away, scrambling back towards the top ungracefully on your hands and knees.

Too slow. He grabs hold of your leg, hand around your ankle like a snare, unyielding. Satisfied that he's caught you he wastes no time crawling over you until you're trapped between him and the stairs. Caged by his arms, his coat covers you both like a shroud, its warmth almost oppressive. Your final attempt to get away is half-hearted at best and he simply presses you down with his whole body, making the marble dig into your ribs nearly to the point of bruising.

"Why do you fight me?" The softness of his lips against the side of your face is almost making you forget all about your little game as he pulls your now torn dress out of the way. "It will not save you."

Still struggling to catch your breath you don't hear him undo his fly, but you certainly feel it as he spreads your wetness around with the tip of his cock. He teases you mercilessly until you all but melt into him, angling your hips to try and get him inside you faster, but to no avail. He doesn't acknowledge your frustrated little whines until you think you might actually start crying. When he speaks, his breath is warm against your ear, his words making you tremble.

"Ask for it. Beg your king to make it hurt."

"Don't be gentle." It barely sounds like you, it's too quiet and the words hang in the air, dripping desperation, but you don't even care anymore.

"Please don't be gentle. I want to feel you even after I wake up."

You're not sure if that's what he wanted to hear, but it seems to be enough. He thrusts into you, making you howl incoherently as he bottoms out in one merciless stroke. It's raw and hot and so damn good, the sheer ruthlessness of it making your mind go fuzzy at the edges. Not letting you rest for even a moment, he trails his hand up your exposed neck before grabbing your chin firmly, forcing you to look right at the empty throne as he takes you.

"Never forget," his usually smooth voice is almost reduced to a snarl as he pushes into you again and again, "that you are beneath me."

His words might have hurt you at some other point in time, but by now you're too far gone. You try snaking a hand down to touch yourself as the sharp pleasure coils tighter inside of you, all it would take is just a tiny nudge...

And he grabs your wrist, pulling your hand back up and pinning it down at shoulder level, his grip like iron as you can't help but mewl in frustration.

"You think you deserve to come?" He slams into you so hard that black spots float across your vision, making you wince as pain briefly overrides pleasure, pulling you back from the brink.

"You will come like this or not at all," His tone leaves no room for bargaining as he drives into you, angling himself just so, leaving your walls fluttering around him as you teeter right on the edge. What eventually pushes you over is the brush of his lips against the side of your neck, tongue darting out to lap at the droplets of sweat there, tasting you.

The intensity of it leaves you mute, barely able to breathe, and you almost do buck him off of you this time without even meaning to. As you tighten around him it's his turn to moan, barely able to keep himself from spending right then and there, self-control hanging by the thinnest thread. He manages to hold back though, not letting you off easy, giving you what feels like only a few short moments of respite.

"Again."

You briefly panic. You can't, it's too much, there is just no way. But your entire world is reduced to the way he feels inside you, hitting every sweet spot with inhuman focus, possessing you utterly. It's almost painful and you can't get enough, if he could crawl under your fucking skin you'd let him, and oh. 

As violent and sudden as your last orgasm was this one is slow and dragged out. It feels like it might never end as he fucks you through it, his pace soon faltering as he pushes as deep as he can go, spilling into you with an almost broken sound.

When you finally catch your breath and manage to mostly stop shaking, he folds the dreamscape around you both until you're in his bed, the softness of it a welcome balm after the hard stone of the stairs. Cradling you in his arms like the most precious of treasures, he holds you to his chest, neither of you entirely sure what to say so you simply lay there together, breathing in each other. Eventually, uncertainty gets the better of you, breaking the silence.

"Was I...did I do alright?" Despite everything, you're unable to keep worry out of your voice. "I hope I didn't disappoint you."

"You did very well," He assures you, covering your face in the tenderest kisses, "This exercise has been...cathartic. You really are too good to me, my love." 

Brushing away the tears you hadn't even noticed falling, he goes on, "I can only hope that this has not made you doubt my feelings for you. After all, that was never my intention."

His words assuage any fears you might have had as exhaustion creeps in, making your eyelids droop. You burrow into his chest, needing to be closer to him in every way you can.

"Would you please just...hold me? Until I wake up?"

He does, letting you cling to him until morning arrives and you slip back into the waking world, to your own empty bed.

⁂

The Master-masterlist

Fandom Masterlist

If you liked this spicy snack even a little, please consider supporting your local smut-slinger and hitting the reblog button on the way out, perhaps even drop a comment if you're feeling generous, it really helps with the motivation side of things a lot!

[randomthefox]

An absolutely legendary boss intro cutscene. And another one that people have brain rotted themselves on by perpetuating it out of context. "LOL THIS IS SO SILLY, WHY ARE THEY BEING SO THEATRICAL AND HAVE SPOTLIGHTS SHINING ON THEM? THIS COMES OUT OF NOWHERE AND IS NEVER MENTIONED AGAIN!"

Like, first of all, the cutscene before this was Dante getting the Lucifer weapon and making a giant heart shaped explosion while saying a lot of sex innuendos. One of the weapons in this game is a shapeshifting briefcase that turns into six hundred and sixty six guns. DMC3 had a main villain who was a demon Jester who sang "Jester's gonna spank your butt, spank you on the butt~" The main characters favorite food is strawberry sundae ice cream and everything pizza. These games are camp. Sometimes campyness is its OWN reason. Irreverence and subversion of social norms can be a rebellion and commentary in and of itself. The queer community embraces camp for that very purpose. "This is the way things are supposed to be? I say no, I'm going to put giant peacock feathers on my headdress instead, because I don't fit into YOUR box." That can BE the reason in and of itself. The DMC games employ camp for its own sake frequently.

But in this scene, the camp is actually serving a narrative purpose. Please note that the scene OPENS on Agnus initially taking things seriously. Yes there's a spotlight, but he's not talking in an exaggerated way, he's treating Dante's arrival with grave importance and is trying to initiate a legitimate pre-boss fight dialog. But he only gets one sentence out before Dante COMPLETELY HIJACKS THE SCENE with goofy music accompaniment while he starts monologuing as if reading off a script with deliberately exaggerated affect.

Dante is MAKING FUN of Agnus. Agnus thinks this whole demon research thing is serious business, and Dante thinks that's fucking stupid. So he's acting as stupidly as he thinks Agnus is, deliberately playing up his rebuttable to make a mockery of the Order and their demonic research. Note how when Agnus next speaks, he's STILL trying to keep the tone serious. Holding a skull like he's talking about poor yorick, alas. Crushing the skull to try and present an air of menace. He's playing along with Dante's charade, because Dante IS a big deal to his organization and they know he's just Like This, but he still wants to be taken seriously.

But Dante is not having it. He thinks Agnus is not worthy of any amount of respect, in fact he is worthy of disrespect. Dante is being flamboyant and theatrical to exaggerated effect to mock him and dismiss him and everything he is as unimportant and unworthy of existence. It's only after Dante doubles down that Agnus succumbs and starts playing along, GOING INTO HIS DEMON MODE before yelling out about Yamato. Dante has won the boss fight before it's even started, because he's dragged Agnus down to his level. The level Dante thinks he deserves to be at. Dante thinks that Agnus is a pretentious clown, and he's right. Agnus IS a pretentious clown. Which is why he completely gives up trying to be taken seriously and devolves into a petty competition to hog the spotlight away from Dante, going back and forth with their grand theatrical line delivery until the tension builds to the point of violence.

Think about what they're ACTUALLY saying here in this scene.

Agnus:"I knew those demons would be no match for you, Dante."

Dante:"So then what was the point? You sacrificed all those innocent lives and drove yourself insane just to be as powerful as a demon?"

Agnus:"Humans are weak and pathetic, we have to unleash hell upon them to get them to recognize us as their rightful rulers. Ironic, don't you think?"

Dante:"Blah blah blah I don't care, give me my brothers sword back."

Agnus:"You want Yamato? You'll have to go through me to get it!"

Dante:"Yup, that's the plan! I was looking forward to killing you anyway."

And instead of just delivering that same pre-boss banter in the same straight forward but amusing way Dante always does, the developers elevated the entire scene with campy delivery. Now so much MORE is being communicated than simply the dialog being spoken. Dante is conveying his absolute disdain for Agnus and the Order with his theatrics, acting like a buffoon in the very room where he shot the Pope in the face at the beginning of this whole story, and pushing Agnus to the point where he gives in and starts playing along because he really is THAT petty and self important. AND the cinematography, blocking, editing and line delivery from the voice actors is IMMACULATE making for an incredible scene of pure camp.

This scene is amazing, do not dismiss this analysis with some anti intellectual "you're overthinking it" response. The developers created the scene like this ON PURPOSE for a REASON. The voice director told Reuben Langdon and T.J. Storm to deliver their lines that way in this scene, which is unlike their delivery in every other scene in the game including the scene after the boss fight is over, FOR A REASON. They adjusted the lighting of this pre-created level environment that also has other different scenes with different lighting taking place in it for the purpose of this scene FOR A REASON. And that hard work time and resources spent on crafting this scene, and the artistic purpose that it was intended to convey, deserves to be acknowledged and appreciated.

Please do not let yourself be so brainrotted by meme culture that you can't pay closer attention to what is actually happening in this scene beyond the superficial surface level appraisal of "they're talking and acting silly" and thus conclude that that sillyness must be for "no reason."

[alexaloraetheris]

Judaism never ceases to amaze me. A couple days ago I ran into my friend and former DM, visiting his family for Rosh Hashanah (and subsequently hiding from them when the full house got rowdy) so we sat and chatted. He explained how Rosh Hashanah is about reminding themselves that humans serve god and that god rules humanity and in the same breath complained how his dentist was going to kill him after eating that much sugar (honey, but still), that his ears were still ringing because he stood in the wrong spot when the shofar was blown. All in this tone like 'I'm gonna do it well and gladly, but I reserve the right to complain'.

It always blows my mind a tiny bit how he talks about god with this cheerful, affectionate irreverence, like god is a decent but distant boss of a unionized workforce. Like yeah, he assigns the work and gives your paycheck, and on Rosh Hashanah he does an annual review of everything you did wrong (and on Yom Kippur everything the workplace has done wrong) but you have to remind him that you're doing the work and sometimes his ideas are stupid and you have to argue with him how it's supposed to be done. And if you win the argument your coworkers throw you a big party, and if the party has good food and the argument was decent then your boss joins in and celebrates with you. Even if if you lose you get a party because hey, it's god after all. Here's some amazing food to console you. And at least half of the celebrations are actually like that.

Talking to him is always an Experience. No wonder he's the best DM we ever had. He also gave me some apfelstrudel, and yeah, now my dentist is going to kill me too. It was damn good tho.

[raccoonfallsharder]

not an ask more paying respect lol, i did the ask abt showing rocket more terran references/ goth music and you did it amazingly thank you so much. i like how it made me think differently too! i bet rocket wouldn’t like too much horror thinking abt it now but stuff like supernatural/ creepy sound better than gore for him. i bet stuff like the toxic avenger is right up his alley lmao. i love how you included reality tv and video games and just showing rocket other genres. i loved what you did with it! i feel like rocket would like rupaul too for the drama and art. i feel like like they could make their own drive in/ outdoor theater on knowhere and can watch anything in the galaxy lmao😭. and i loved how you wrote rocket w music he is the definition of listens to everything <3. i completely loved this thank you <3

you are SO fucken kind (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥) holy shit i will cry now. like, just how sugarsweet are you? thank you bby ♡♡ also i am going to just take a moment to cosign your drive-in/outdoor theatre idea! this was absolutely EXACTLY what i was imagining in the second bulletpoint on this #marvel critique post. i want a whole stupid disney+ show of this, mst3k style

also, you are so right about rocket loving drag and you should fucken say it.

that furry bastard is such a dramatic little punk in his own way. you just know he likes shiny gems and glittery shit far more than he says (i have a ton of headcanons about this but it comes down to — rocket craves lovely, luxurious things and also doesn't believe he deserves them. and also believes most people who have them don't deserve them, and thus, he has few qualms about stealing them. but also never trusts he'll be able to keep them. look, our lil guy is so conflicted.)

the first time you take him to a drag show, i hope you keep it a surprise. let him gripe and complain the whole way there until the uber driver looks like he wants to scream. look, it's not rocket's fault. he frickin told you he'd had a shitty three cycles since he'd seen you last, and now he just wants to crash on your couch with you and order in sushi and rewatch edward scissorhands (you're not sure how that last part's supposed to help — he always ends up silently crying into his fur two-thirds of the way through). he gets even grumpier when you have to wait outside in the relative cold. once you're finally seated at a small table house-left, he's still sulking and snarking, to the point that you almost wanna wring his furry neck yourself.

but then the music starts. maybe a little aretha franklin. gloria gaynor, or some classic cher. yeah, i'm guessing the show stars with cher. slow, silky, low notes pouring out over the stage. strong enough, maybe. when the first queen steps out, rocket's jaw actually drops. by the time the bright pop of disco-synth hits the song, you'd swear the mirrorball is reflecting little stars and hearts into his candied-apple eyes. he's drinking it all in: the drama, the sly and exaggerated winks that put his own oversized winking habits to shame — the gowns, the sequins, the feathers, the heels. the long lashes and sultry stagecraft, the pageantry, the snark, the fun. the music, the theatre of it all, the spotlights and the perfections and the imperfections — and the brightness, like staring into the spiritual equivalent of an anulax battery explosion.

you leave him at some point, just for a moment —making your way to the bar, bringing back the sugary tequila cocktails he's lately taken to liking so much — and he doesn't even touch it. maybe takes a sip, but forgets it's there. it's probably the first time you've seen rocket ignore an opportunity to get at least slightly buzzed (hey, he's made progress in recent years). but this time, the temptation isn't even present. he's staring at the stage, swaying and bopping to the lip-synced lyrics — completely glitterdrunk. he's fixated on the satin corsets and the braying laughter and the ribald jokes, the irreverence that somehow feels like coming home, and all the while he’s wondering what his own long claws would look like if they were painted that color.

it's not like rocket hasn't seen theatrical gender performance before. it's a common-enough phenomenon in deep space, where there are as many expressions of identity as there are stars in the sky. a lot of cultures are far more chill about crossing gender lines or leaning into extreme caricatures, for a kaleidoscope of reasons. some planets don't even have lines to cross, either because gender is a nonconstruct or because it's so extremely flux that it might as well be superfluid helium.

but there's something about this kind of performance that just hits different for rocket. he probably doesn't know enough terran history to understand what he's picking up on. sure, in the far-reaches of the galaxy, diverse gender expression may be the norm — but here on terra, there are conservatives and bioessentialists and police raids and worse. what rocket sees — folded in between the blade-sharp eyeliner and the spun-sugar wigs and the gunmetal-glint of sequins — is rebellion. it's the core blazing fire of demanding the right to be exactly who you are or who you want to be, even if only for a moment. it’s throwing fists when you have to and protecting your people when you can. it's the freedom to give an acrylic-tipped middle-finger to anyone who ever thought they had the right to reinvent you according to their idea of perfection.

it's a fuck-you to every high evolutionary out there, herbert e wyndham or otherwise.

and — maybe more importantly — it’s not just the struggle. in the face of every hostile neighbor and violent lawmaker, it’s taking back some fucking joy.

rocket can taste it.

which is probably why he doesn't want to leave, even after the show draws to a close and someone's yelling about last call. by the time you finally convince him to go out to the sidewalk and wait for your uber back home, a small number of the queens are departing as well — clustered on the sidewalk like gems snatched from taneleer tivan's jewelry box. you don't think you've ever seen this damn raccoon treat an adult-humie-stranger with anything softer than semi-polite suspicion — yourself included — but suddenly, he's turning up the charm, sidling up to the ladies to thank them for their performance.

the queens, of course, are immediately smitten. who's this handsome fucking dreamboat, and how’d he get those biceps, and does he want a selfie? rocket lets them coo over him with exaggerated, syrupy delight — not even snapping when one of them scritches his ears. he shrugs and juts his thumb at you and gives one of them your goddamn phone number, and they squish in for the aforementioned snapshot. he's got big ol' lipstick-prints in his fur already and when someone raises a paint-arched brow and comments suggestively on the many possible uses of his tail, rocket finally sinks into that familiar shit-eating smirk.

you breathe a sigh of relief when you see it. for a couple seconds there, you’d barely even recognized him.

the uber pulls up and the queens pout — how did the surly jackass who steals your pillow and eats all your lucky charms manage to dazzle them all in less than five minutes? — and when rocket gets in the vehicle, he immediately goes quiet in that way he does — suddenly pensive. thoughtful.

your phone buzzes. it's the selfie of him and the goddamn queens. you lean over and show it to him, and he nods, the corner of his mouth curving faintly. His tail flicks on the seat between you, and his ears twitch as he turns to look out the window.

thanks.

you startle when he speaks, despite the fact that you usually can't get him to shut up. but the quiet gratitude sits between you on the bench like a third passenger in the backseat of the car, studded with distant stars and the receding lights of the city.

no problem, you say slowly. i knew you'd like it — i just didn't know how much. you tilt your head. maybe trust me the next time i tell you i wanna take you somewhere.

he scoffs quietly, but the sound is only made of soft camaraderie and old habit. and then — slowly, like the words are hard to find between stoplights and midnight shadows — he adds, this was... special.

you can hear him swallow. his head is still turned to peer out his window, but you can see the ghost of his reflection in the glass: eyes red as lollipops and sour candy, sometimes turning flat-gold with the passing light. His eyelids flicker shut, then reopen.

some asshole once told me— he starts. stops. swallows again. clears his throat. some asshole once told me we all had this — this sacred fuckin' mission to — to take a cacophony of sounds and turn it into a song.

you can hear the words he's quoting, and his voice drips thick with disdain — and also maybe some uncertainty. some vulnerability. whoever it was who'd said this thing to him — it had cut deep, and put down venomous roots. but you don't respond. not yet. you've learned to wait in moments like this — to let the silence curl around you both, low and comforting as old quilts.

but this, he says finally, four blocks later. this was like... taking songs and turning them into a cacophony. but of — of good things. his brows crease in his reflection, and you an see his eyes flick back and forth, searching the darkness.

a cacophony of liberation, you suggest quietly. and of — joy, and reclamation, and — togetherness, i guess.

he lets out a breath so heavy that his shoulders drop when they're free of it. you stretch across the bench-seat, and you know he's watching your hand reach for him in the window's reflection — but he doesn't draw away from you, not even when you card your fingers through the soft fur at the base of his ears, tousling a soft cloud of pixie-dust sparkle into the air.

and of glitter, you add lightly. you hear the uber driver muffle a grunt of dismay.

but rocket just smirks out the window.

yeah, he says, and it takes a second for you to realize that even though he's agreeing with you, he's also confirming something he's been turning over in the privacy of his own head — all night, maybe. when he repeats himself under his breath, it sounds — it sounds like a soft new bandage, almost. like he’d gone to check on a wound he’d thought had turned to rot, only to learn the the scar’s looking clean and smooth and healthy, and healing up just right.

yeah. that fucker was frickin' wrong.

as per frickin' usual.

headcanons & imagines masterlist | navigation | fanfiction masterlist

raccoon & star dividers by @/thecutestgrotto support banners by @/saradika-graphics

gotg rocket

[faelapis]

so i watch wwdits. and i gotta say. that was the worst episode i've ever seen of not just this show, but maybe any show. ever. wow. i'm actually impressed with how bad it was.

i'm considering doing a more serious dissection of how Not to do a character arc or narrative framing. but for now, let me just share some general thoughts:

undoing guillermos vampirism totally shits on his character arc of standing up for himself and taking what he wants regardless of the morality of it. i hate it and it sucks.

also, the reasons make no sense. guillermo has had zero problem killing people until now. the roundabout way they try to explain it, like wow, he could smell someone's shampoo and imagined him picking it out and felt their mutual humanity... why would that not apply to any of the other people he's killed? he's even had somewhat of a relationship with some of them. yet all he's ever done when they die is give a distressed frown AT MOST.

guillermo is a killer and always has been. lately, he's even proud of it. that has, metaphorically, been part of him "embracing who he is."

but what bothered me even more was nandor. we all know this situation (guillermo being turned by someone else) is his fault for neglecting turning guillermo for 13 years... but instead, everything is framed as guillermos own fault for having someone else turn him. like - look at how mad you made nandor, guillermo. look what you've caused, guillermo. look what you made him do.

which, yikes. i feel like i dont need to say how bad that is.

even worse than nandors jealous rage.... i really hate the stupid condescending "forgiveness" afterwards. thats actually worse. like guillermo was right to be meek and apologetic for this, like it IS something he needs to be forgiven for. but its "okay" now because nandor "forgave" him. lets just move on. no need to interrogate nandors entitlement over guillermo.

you can argue theres the unstated idea that nandor is overreacting. sure. we, the audience, dont want guillermo to die, and thats part of the irreverent way the show treats death and killing.

but still, yknow?

i feel like i'm taking crazy pills, because the real question isnt whether nandor should "forgive" guillermo. in this context, guillermo has done nothing wrong. nandor totally reneged on their agreement as vampire-familiar. guillermo is supposed to serve nandor, and in return, nandor is supposed to turn guillermo. but he keeps not doing it, and in general being shitty towards guillermo. so guillermo takes matters into his own hands.

that COULD be a great character beat. it could confront nandor with his selfishness, and this uneven power relationship where he gets guillermo to stay by not fulfilling his promise.

but the question of whether guillermo should forgive nandor for not turning him, or for throwing a fit when someone else does? not even brought up. even though that really seems like the most pressing question. its crazy how subservient and apologetic guillermo suddenly is, like its S1 all over again. he does some token yelling at nandor, but his primary emotion is clearly guilt. its not enough to remotely change the shitty framing.

look. this show doesnt exactly have much "morality", and i dont want it to. i dont want any of these guys to become upstanding citizens. i like the irreverent tone and how theyre all killers.

but i do care about character arcs and agency.

guillermo has been treated like hes inferior the whole time hes been a familiar. and hes put up with it because he wanted to be a vampire. so by becoming a vampire, he forces the relationship to become equal. he also finally gets what he wants. which is ESPECIALLY poignant when it happens regardless of what nandor wants. it takes back his own agency over the situation, because nandor CAN'T hold it over his head anymore.

and then nandor doesnt like it. and goes into a murderous rage because of own entitlement at being the one to turn guillermo. thats fine as a starting point to a character arc, but guillermo doesn't even stand up for himself. he doesnt fight back as he should - or really, would, given how he's evolved to be more assertive. and then its reinforced by the stupid "forgiveness", like nandor has any right to forgive someone who did nothing wrong. it sets up this convenient scenario where nandor is not confronted for being a shitty master, but guillermo IS confronted for taking control of his own life.

and now, just as conveniently, guillermo just... doesnt like being a vampire, either. so nandor gets to further be a "good friend" making amends by helping "unturn" him. all framed like its about guillermo finding out what he "really" wants.

this is lame and it sucks. not only because guillermos reasons make no sense (again, he's been a killer this whole time? if anything, his arc is more accepting his own lack of morality), but because it resets the chessboard in a way where nandor doesnt have to learn anything.

nandor doesnt have to confront the sting of guillermo having agency to make this choice without him. he doesnt have to deal with the fact that it never got to be him who turns guillermo. he doesnt have to be forcibly confronted with the fact that he now has to treat guillermo as an equal, because guillermo now doesn't need anything from him.

and it sucks because all that could actually be a great jumping off point for them to, despite everything, start a real relationship. maybe even a romantic one. they could mutually realize they actually care about each other. regardless of this pact.

and you can say that by guillermo deciding to be human (as extremely lame and deeply uncool as that is), it also gives them this "equality." because he would stay with the vampires because he wants to, not because he needs something from nandor.

but you're missing the point - its NANDOR who needs to learn. its HE who needs to be confronted by guillermo making his own choices.

so guillermo just... conveniently changing his mind because he was a full vampire for one (1) fucking day and suddenly decided he's too good to kill people?

it robs nandor of that entire arc. and no, i'm not counting his stupid "forgiving" guillermo as learning to treat him like an equal. that would require a lot more introspection about his own entitlement. that would require him to actually say with his chest that guillermo had every right to make this choice, and its not on nandor to forgive him, its on guillermo whether he would forgive nandor.

that doesn't happen. what actually happens is nandor decides to show guillermo "mercy," which, again, firmly places the agency in nandor's hands. at no point does he have to be vulnerable and accept that guillermo might not want to be with him. at no point does he have to introspect about how he's treated him this whole time.

also. there is a long, proud line in patriarchal thinking of husbands "forgiving" their wives for perceived "disobedience," which only reinforces the husband as the head of the household and that said wives "should" have been more obedient. forgiveness is not always an act of kindness. sometimes it's very condescending. which it is here.

(same for the interpretation i've seen from some, that nandor "always knew" guillermo wasn't cut out to be a vampire. like that's why he didn't turn him. what a horrible, condescending idea. i don't know how you can look at nandor being like "i'm not going to give you what you want, because i know better than you" and not think it's shit.)

yes, i'm aware of the cheating metaphor. but its a bad metaphor. at least, not without acknowledging that its been an unequal relationship for 13 years where one partner has been neglecting the other constantly. at that point, the nuance should really come out and maybe the partner "cheating" isnt the worst here.

but that doesn't happen.

also... it's just a bad episode. like. in general. like the whole thing with the guide, where you think she actually gets to assert herself? sounds great. too bad its totally undone by gaslighting her into thinking they do like her and are nice to her. like the problem is they just didnt verbalize that "enough." thats yet another bullied or ignored character whose arc of standing up for themselves (even by immoral means, because its an immoral fantasy show) is undercut.

it sucks. guillermo sucks for losing his defiant streak (and metaphorical empowerment through vampirism), nandor sucks for being entitled. this whole show sucks. i suck for bothering to stick with it so long. i'm done. i'm out.

[oddlyunadventurous]

Hey, are you ok? I noticed you haven’t been typing like a 15 year old teenage girl lately.

I mean you remember how it used to be, right? I recently went to a website from 2003 and it reminded me of you so much I started wondering whether or not you had forgotten. To quote a paragraph:

Let me introduce this little piece. You see, preps and goths are classic enemies. The preps attempt to bully the goths for looking funny, and the goths write angsty Livejournal entries about the preps in return. It's an endless cycle. I see the heated rivalry all the time at my school! So I figure, someone needs to mediate this war. And so I chose the greatest person ever - myself. Yes that's right, the preps and goths will be rated on a number of superficial categories. Are you ready for this extreme ride? This is based solely on the preps and goths I encounter at my school, so unless you go there, no challenging my authority!

It’s wonderful, I have to say. It’s so hard to describe the literary style of a child pretending to be a grown-up that a real example is the only way to make my point, like the Indian mathematicians who would motion at geometric proofs and exclaim “Behold!” in order to convince their students. Truth, certain kinds of it, to them, could really be self-evident.

Your angles also used to add up to 180° but since rigor demands a formalization in the scientific field of living your own life, I suppose you need me to type more, don’t you? Well rigor it is, really, and how is your back by the way? Do you need a stretch? See, I know. And I’m sorry, really. Look, everybody hates their life now. I understand! And I get that you hate looking back at how stupid it used to be, how gullible and self-important you were, how you thought everything was gonna turn out peachy. And then you got fucked. It’s really quite a slap in the face, enough to make anyone despise it. IT! The credulous past! Ah, but it! Who will sing its praises? Not you, you jaded idiot. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come off mean.

Here is text that believes in itself. It holds opinions about meaningless things but is overawed at its own ability to hold anything at all. It’s amazed by its own humanity. It bounds around on the screen, irreverent and happy. It knows, just as well, that its humanity is periled, under threat. It hides its existential dread under a guise, the old childish habit of play-acting. Here’s a mask, now there another. A pretense meant to entertain, to take the mind away, rather than to fool, a sexless coquetry, a thinly veiled admission that one’s own trust in one’s own power is waning, quick turning, really, into a sort of desperate and pleading hope: Please, world, don’t swallow me completely! I know that everybody hates their life now. I know what happened. It is so traumatic that the literary scientists of centuries ago even created a whole genre - the coming of age story, the Bildungsroman - that is supposed to guide and encourage you through your painful, cringey adolescence. To me, I mean, it’s a bunch of bull. More than feeling like some sage advice, it feels like the whole of humanity rather is consoling you through some unspeakable grief, convincing you it couldn’t have gone any other way, assuaging your infinite disappointment with a shrug. You have a corpse in your memory but it’s okay, so do we! Christ. These people are insane!

Insane! Insane, I tell you! And you believed them! I really am afraid you’re one of them. You haven’t been typing like a teenage girl lately and it upsets me because I truly fear you lost it. What horror. Have you taken ill? How is your temperature? You know I care about you, right? And there are happy people out there, yes, but I can’t be happy because I am kept up in the small hours of the night thinking about you and how you might find it all intolerable sometimes. Do you even realize that there are goblins at the bottom of the earth? They dig a bunch of tunnels and kiss each other while doing it, and put pipes in the tunnels so our poop can flow happily into the sea, perhaps into a whale’s big mouth, like a water slide. Yippie!!!

See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I mean it was, but look at you. You’re red in the face from second hand embarrassment because I typed something so incredibly stupid out of nowhere. And, I mean, it’s not even funny, I didn’t even try, I will admit. But you’re the idiot, there was no first hand embarrassment, I was too busy trying to prove a point. You used to be stupid and unfunny, too, and do you know what? It was the smartest and funniest you ever were in your life. If I had met you then, well, I know this might be an emotional blow below the belt kind of deal, but if I did, you may have endeared yourself to me, so much so that I would’ve become your friend. I don’t know about now. Now you’re 48 and you hate children, forgot where you came from, now you straight illin’, don’t fight the feelin’ you gotta deal with it. Tisk. I bet you can’t seamlessly integrate a Deltron 3030 lyric into your rant about, oh I dunno, why modern day marxists should read more primary sources, or whatever dumb shit is on your mind today. See what I mean?😪 Sorry, my autocomplete thought it fitting that I should flourish that last sentence with a crying emoji so I did it cause I thought it would look funny and it does. Do you need me to make you some soup, by the way?

It’s terrible, it’s really terrible, I’m shaking my head in disbelief. Preps and goths are classic enemies and you don’t even care! I understand that I can dominate the passive income market by making 2 ETH daily through chatGPT, I know that I need to increase my penis size with these 3 jelquing exercises, my fucking teeth are falling out and I’m so tired of worrying that I really am starting to believe, I’m caving in to the honeyed promises that Aquafresh’s patented formula of 23 selected spices and high fructose cherry taste can unfuck the terrible decisions of my past! But after a long day at the factory where you play Russian roulette with a 100-chambered revolver, cocksure that your chances of dying are statistically low while blissfully unaware that the lead-laden metal that the weapon’s body is composed of is slowly poisoning you through skin contact, I like to come back home (that’s the full name of the factory btw, don’t make fun of it), crack open a cold case of tap water, and think about how dramatic the goth and prep rivalry really is. That is because, for a 15 year old teenage girl, which I am not, I admit through week-old stubble, everything is monolithic and incredible. You don’t have to reach, like Gotthold Ephraim Lessing in Laocoon, beyond the mortal veil, to pine for the unlived past of the ancients, in order to experience that quality the Germans of his time so prized: the sublime. You have only but to peer down your own past and you will find that you, too, felt it. The goths and preps are, to a teenage girl, as sweeping as Greek myth is, as terrifying in their thunderous impression as the marble statue of man and offspring being swallowed up by snakes alive. She feels herself, like the wanderer above the sea of fog, a particle in a fathomless world she can’t help but humbly sing the praises of, after her own fashion, on her shitty Web 1.0 angelfire website. You are, au contraire, like the Wanderer above the Sea of Fog, able to be printed on a mug, a tote bag, or a unisex tee, or other items even, on an online marketplace the affiliate link to which I should’ve duly given you but have sheepishly misplaced out of my clipboard in the vain interest of keeping you around a minute longer, perhaps hoping that out of your own accord you will extract from memory, you will resurface, that factoid you once learned about the epic orators and how they would recite the works of Homer for twenty hours straight in front of captive audiences using these long and run-on sentences which - against all sense - should not have worked, yet through their innate and awesome gift of prosody they see-sawed with the spoken word, made sensible the world of gods and monsters to the simple, needy and alone in front of them, and so they brought them comfort.

Please go to the doctor. Or have your girlfriend give you a beej, look- I don’t mean to be lewd, whatever works for you is what I’m saying. Parenthetically, if your girlfriend is a doctor too, well shit, I figure, your chances of getting better have just doubled maybe. But anyway, I’m sorry, where was I? You have got to start typing like a 15 year old teenage girl again. It’s imperative, I beg of you. I honestly can’t stand talking to you these days and the thought of growing old with you around is driving me up the wall. Up the wall indeed I’ll scratch-scratch-scratch, and through the joists and there’s the attic, a fitting place to hide, for I will be able to look out the skylight then without you bothering me. I plan on learning how to visualize Orion’s Belt as many different-fashioned belts, adding and removing stars from the celestial vault as I wish, changing up the big boy’s style like he’s my little darling dress-up doll in a 2003-era flash game. I think he’ll love it.

By God I don’t know if we can be roommates for much longer.

Sincerely,

Me.

[fizzyginfizz]

First off, I love your fic!! but if we’re going book accurately and age accurately, Ginny’s voice seems almost too intelligent…..(Complimenting your writing 100%, it’s almost too good!) But the language and word choices she uses seem to be inconsistent with the way the majority of young kids talk, she’s supposed to be what 12-13? Maybe I just haven’t been around enough 12 year olds, but your writing is so good, I feel like it’s too smart for a young ginny.I love her and she’s obviously smart, but she’s also still very young. Is this something that’s gonna be explained/explored?

I've been writing this story while parenting two high IQed kids about the same age and I've done my best to model some of the patterns and developmental leaps.

In the recent chapters, 12-year-old Ginny's speech and inner voice are much different than the beginning of the story when she's 10. I've specifically tried to work in a couple observable boosts and surges- she definitely got a post-diary vocabulary and maturity boost after writing back-and-forth with the brilliant and erudite Tom Riddle for a year. I imagine he specifically used words she'd have to ask him to explain or go look up, just to make her feel smaller and stupider.

Manipulative asshattery, yes. But it probably leveled her up.

Then she spent all summer in Egypt playing Weasley one-upsmanship with her chill, yet extremely high achieving older siblings. The competitive sport that is "getting a word in edgewise" at dinner contributes to Ginny's quick wit - but in my opinion she's always been verbally precocious, given that Ron refers to her as "the girl who never shuts up normally" and she's spent her entire life conversing with people older than her.

This recent chapter has yet another shift at the end, a gravity with her speech as she finally starts putting her innermost feelings into words - what she's dealing with is heavier and verbalizing these more abstract concepts allows her a more mature moment. I hope it's earned. But it's not a straight lift- she goes right back to referring to the setting as "that wankers lamearse starter lair" so she's still irreverent in ways that would make Tom Riddle or Hermione Granger cringe.

I think you're correct inasmuch as I'm not writing this story at the same reading level as the first Harry Potter books. But most fanfic writers don't - I'm writing a story about a tween, but I'm absolutely writing for adults and I don't pattern my writing according to JKR's particular style.

Now, am I probably guilty of sacrificing authentic age-appropriate vocabulary in service of setting up a good joke? Yeah, I'll cop to that one and take the note for future reference.

But, I'd also like to point out that Ginny has a different life experience than most modern kids and as such is probably a better speaker, listener and reader. She's never watched TV. Never binged YouTube videos. She's never scrolled, she's never surfed. She has spent most of her life conversing and like anything, the sheer number of hours' practice makes her pretty good at it.

[cocoscurios]

The Hour, the Spot, the Look, the Words Chapter Commentary

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Meeting the Family

Upon the whole, Elizabeth found that she liked her husband’s Darcy relations. There was a streak of unconventionality in the Darcys, a glimpse of dry wit that suited her, and one that she had seen in Fitzwilliam, even in the midst of her early dislike for him. After she had met his aunt Darcy, shrewd and irreverent and wickedly sharp, she knew very well where Fitzwilliam had come by the part of him that had commented, rather boldly, that he enjoyed the opportunity to sit by the fire at Netherfield and admire Elizabeth’s figure. I have not explored my Headcanon Darcys enough, but I love them a lot. Also, that comment from Netherfield does not get enough appreciation. 

Her introduction to the Fitzwilliams began much less auspiciously. I've got a lot of unexplored headcanon about them, too. There was, of course, already the breach between her husband and Lady Catherine, and this led to a further rift: the earl was displeased by the quarrel and thought it best not to meet with Fitzwilliam’s new wife. 

This had provoked from Fitzwilliam the harshest and most heated words she had ever heard him speak; a shocking, though somehow endearing, discovery.

“At this rate, I will cut you off from this entire branch of your family,” she said.

���If they do not accept you, then good riddance to them,” he said firmly. With how quickly he wrote his letter to Lady Catherine (and what I wouldn't give for a peek at it), I just know Darcy is willing to cut off anyone who has a problem with Elizabeth. 

It was not a complete rupture. The earl’s children agreed to see her - Colonel Fitzwilliam because he liked her, and the rest out of what Elizabeth supposed to be morbid curiosity - and they were all to dine at the eldest daughter’s house.

Colonel Fitzwilliam greeted her warmly; surprised but delighted to hear that she was to be his cousin’s wife, he had been at their wedding and had spoken disdainfully about his family’s attitude towards her. He and Fitzwilliam were close (like brothers, Georgiana had told her) and he would never side against him, even if it meant upsetting the rest of the family. Canon basically tells us that these two are BFFs (sorry, Bingley). I feel like we all sleep on Colonel Fitzwilliam a little bit. 

She did not think she was going to be so well-liked by the colonel’s brother and sisters. They met her with manners that were polite but cold; she was comforted, at least, that they were not any warmer to Fitzwilliam. Headcanon that the Fitzwilliams are a cold people in general, but they're even frostier than usual here. 

It was abundantly clear, seeing these cousins, where her husband came by his imposing stateliness. The colonel was the marked exception; his sisters were as serious and lofty as Fitzwilliam at his haughtiest, and his elder brother was so pompous and superior that he made Fitzwilliam seem downright playful.

Her husband was younger than his cousins - the future earl was a full fourteen years his senior, and the three sisters (Lady Margaret, Lady Mary-Catherine, and Lady Annemarie Rhi and I spent way too long on those stupid names) were all beyond five-and-thirty  - and they felt their superior ages and ranks keenly. Their spouses were all quiet and forgettable, cowed in the face of the Fitzwilliam family hauteur, but everyone seemed to view Elizabeth as a vulgar interloper. She had rarely been the focus of so many scornful eyes.

Fitzwilliam was both defiant and vaguely hostile in the face of this, daring them to say anything that would make them go the way of Lady Catherine. It was evident that, by the Fitzwilliam family’s standards, her husband was considered rather impetuous, with his odd, modern ideas and his curiously inconsequential wife. She had never thought of it in these terms, but Fitzwilliam might just be the rebel of his family. Even the colonel, after all, would not have dreamt of marrying so imprudently. A favorite little mental image of mine.  

Elizabeth was not easily intimidated, despite the obvious disapprobation of her new cousins, and she was as lively and chatty as ever at dinner. Fitzwilliam kept smiling at her, warm and encouraging, so she knew she had the approval of the only person whose opinion mattered. One of the most fun parts of revisiting these early chapters is seeing how I used to write about Darcy and Elizabeth's relationship as wish fulfillment, only to find myself in a very similar relationship. I can only conclude that I manifested Jake. ;)

“This must all be very strange to you,” said Lady Margaret halfway through the meal, gesturing around as if to indicate the magnificence of both the room and its occupants. “One imagines that it is not what you are accustomed to.”

“Oh,” said Elizabeth, “one gets used to opulence, living at Pemberley. And I am a quick study.” Love her. 

The colonel grinned at her appreciatively; Fitzwilliam was looking down at his plate, his shoulders shaking slightly. He peeked up at her with sparkling eyes. Also love imagining this. 

After that, she was largely ignored.

The period after dinner was awkward, but it saw no decrease in her courage. Lady Mary-Catherine made very stilted conversation with her, but their silences lasted so long that Elizabeth was able to overhear what the other sisters were saying.

“I never thought he would marry Anne,” she heard Lady Margaret whisper, “but I did not imagine he would marry so… misguidedly.”

“It is the Darcy blood,” sniffed Lady Annemarie. “That is what makes him so reckless.” I see the Fitzwilliams - including Lady Anne - being a little snobby towards the Darcys (and I see the elder Darcys' marriage as being Very Complicated).

Elizabeth had not been able to hide her amusement at this picture of Fitzwilliam, and was forced to disguise her laugh with a loud and hasty coughing fit. Lady Mary-Catherine looked a little horrified and moved a few steps away. She does not want to catch germs from A Poor. 

When the gentlemen returned, there was a noticeable absence among them and Fitzwilliam looked peevish.

“Darcy had some words with my brother,” said the colonel to Elizabeth, his lips twitching, “so I am afraid that is another of the family he has alienated.” Darcy can and will fight. He is tall. He is strapping. He will punch his cousin right in the face (though there were no fisticuffs on this occasion).  

...That reminds me of when Rhi and I wrote the Austen Hunger Games back in the day. I should go dig that up. 

“Oh, dear,” she said, feeling less concerned than she probably should have.

They left soon thereafter; Fitzwilliam was in a temper and not concealing it - odd for him - and their early departure was for the best.

“You seem to be hacking away at the family tree, my love,” Elizabeth said, holding his arm and resting her head on his shoulder.

“Perhaps some pruning is necessary,” said Fitzwilliam darkly.

“I am sorry that I am such a disappointment,” said Elizabeth, smiling up at him.

“They are a disappointment. You are a triumph.” Sometimes some Poldark just slips out, okay. 

“I am glad that you think so, but it is unfortunate that we cannot all like each other better. I do not mean for you to have to choose.”

“It is no great struggle. I will choose you, Elizabeth, every time.” Fitzwilliam Darcy, everyone. *"Whatta Man" plays in the distance*

She already knew this but it was nice to hear, and she kissed him on the cheek as they rode away.

[zmwrites]

Writemas 2024: Day 10

I think we're on day 12 now but I'm in the middle of a very busy stretch of time at work and personally, so we're taking our time to get these done! As always, thank you to @agirlandherquill for the prompts!

WIP: Pine Hollow

Prompt(s): "I wouldn't have done it if you were honest with me." + A lake

Words: 817

Notes: These two are really bad at talking about their feelings and that is why this one is so long. I would apologize, but honestly? More of a treat for y'all.

Gin crossed her arms and surveyed the dark waters of the lake. October was hardly an ideal time for swimming, but someone was going to have to search for the gun her suspect had thrown as soon as he’d realized she was going to catch him. The sun was already starting to set, though, so it would have to be a problem for the next day. She hated getting into the lake, and she refused to do so after dark. Besides, it wasn’t like she’d be able to find anything using just a headlamp.

“Are you jumping in, or am I?” Frey asked with his usual irreverence.

She didn’t look at him. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Okay, Gin, this is—” He stopped, giving a low growl of frustration. “Why are you angry with me?”

“Who says I’m angry with you?” she asked. She was, but she was more angry with herself for the reaction she was having, and opening that can of worms wasn’t something she was interested in doing without a steady supply of alcohol available.

“It’s been four days since you’ve looked at me, spoken to me about anything other than the case, or laughed at my jokes. Something is going on.”

“I never laugh at your jokes.”

“You pretend not to laugh at my jokes then look away so I don’t see you smiling,” he argued. “Now it’s like you’re ignoring them completely.”

She pressed her lips together in annoyance. Why did he have to turn his observational skills on her? Wasn’t she exempt from this level of scrutiny as his work partner?

“Why can’t you talk to me about this?”

“I’m dealing with a personal issue,” she said. Deflection usually worked with him, or at least he recognized it and respected that she didn’t want to talk about it. 

“Are you sure?” He stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the lake. “Because it all started after you walked in on Fiora and I—”

“I remember what I walked in on,” she interrupted. She needed one of the witches in town to invent a memory bleach to forget it.

He frowned. “Why are you upset about that? I wasn’t at work, I wasn’t on the clock, and you broke into my house!”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. And I didn’t break into your house, the door was unlocked.” 

“Gin—”

She stepped away from him and towards her truck. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well I do!”

She stared at him, taken aback by his outburst.

“You’re angry at me and you won’t tell me why.” He closed the gap again, with that stupid sad expression that made him look like a kicked puppy. “Gin, we’re supposed to be partners. We’re supposed to be friends. 

“We are friends! That’s the prob—” She swallowed the rest of her sentence.

Frey blinked a few times, then his brow crumpled. “How is that the problem? What else would we be?”

“Exactly! I should’ve known better. You flirt with everyone; it doesn’t mean anything to you.”

The kicked puppy expression deepened.“That’s not fair.”

“I don’t want to argue with you, Frey. I want to go home, take a hot shower, and get over my embarrassing crush on you so things can go back to normal.”

“You have a crush on me?” he asked, the kicked puppy look fading into a sly grin.

“That’s not the point of what I just said,” she replied. Heat rose in her cheeks and she wondered if it was too late to start searching the lake just to get out of the conversation.

“I have been flirting with you for months and have gotten nothing but amused eyerolls in response. You can’t expect me to pick up on signals that aren’t there. I assumed you weren’t interested.”

“I’m not supposed to be. I’m your partner,” she said. “Technically I’m your boss, which is worse.”

“Kind of hot, though.”

She covered her mouth to hide her smile. “No.”

“There she is,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Gin, I wouldn't have done it if I’d known you were even remotely interested in me. I flirt with everyone, but I only mean it with you.”

It was her turn to stare at him as she processed his words. “That’s dangerous knowledge.”

He closed the distance between them to just a step.

“I’m not—I have so much shit to figure out. I don’t expect you to wait around for me,” she said. She wanted to curse their timing. Of course this would all come to light when everything else in her personal and professional life was blowing up.

“I’m a patient man.”

She raised a brow. “No you’re not.”

“For you I will be.” He was smiling again.

“That’s the cheesiest shit you’ve ever said.”

“Thank you.”

Gin snorted. “Let’s get back to town before the sun sets.”

“Can I drive?”

“No.”

[ran-orimoto]

[ Look, you have to thank @ teclajellymon if today I have remembered to post this here, because, like always, I forgot to do it yesterday at the same Ao3 publishing time and I would have probably forgotten about it forever.

Ehm, *cough*. Today I’m offering you another future Junzumi headcanon of mine in the shape of a very stupid, silly story. The essence of the matter is that I have given them a saluki hound, ok, or better, I have given Izumi a saluki hound who will eventually becomes Junpei’s as well, to his utter joy, I guess ahahah.

Why a saluki hound? Simply because they look like Izumi, I wanted an active, sportive dog for her and, most of all, they are called the singing hounds of the wind. Honestly, my first choice had been an afghan, because her appearance would have clashed even more with Junpei’s and they are the most stylish dogs I have ever seen, no lie about this ahahha. I’ve eventually found a good compromise, though, indeed, the perfect Junzumi dog because of that definition of theirs 🤣💕.

Context: We can place this story after the seamstress one, in spring. Izumi has moved in, has started her life in Venice along with Junpei, but she left a little… Furry problem behind in Japan. ]

• Liù •

People rarely claimed a man and their beloved partner were supposed to look similar, if not identical, -hell, it would have been such a scary world, if that had been true-, whereas when it came to men and their dogs, well, it was just a different story. He had heard and, recently, he had also started seeing all sorts of things, everywhere, and they wouldn’t disappear like mirages in the mist after obstinate rubs given to the lens of his sunglasses.

Therefore, he had started doing the opposite, embracing that irreparably odd reality with open arms and…And quickly regretting his choice.

Staring for too long, with too much intensity, too much curiosity . It wasn’t that ideal when it came to middle-aged women minding passers by’s business, drawn by the beauty of their dog, which, though, -better to highlight it not twice but three times!-, would never be as charming as their own.

That was objectively a bit of a stretch , in his opinion, because that Swiffer broom obediently sitting by her side wasn’t minimally comparable to his principessa . His …No, she was Izumi’s, what was he saying? It had just been a present from him and he hadn’t even been that fully convinced about her peculiar pick back then.

Whatever, in Piazza San Marco the reciprocal introduction of two furry friends, the proud echoes of refined names soon got replaced by very sharp noises. He should have glued his orbs onto the regal four-legged figure next to him, instead of focusing on the stranger’s long silhouette, on how it extraordinarily matched her pet’s.

The pigeons peacefully pecking at crumbs of bread thrown by some tourist immediately took flight at the sound of wood colliding with resistant coconut husk. He couldn’t really blame her, but he wished she hadn’t decided to use the handle of her umbrella to punish his naive irreverence. And then , icing on the cake, a chorus of annoying yapping and more powerful, -modestly speaking-, barks predictably joined the commotion, offering a musical base to a vivacious and incomprehensible ritual of curses.

This is so lovely, He had shaken his head in pain, This is so, so, so, lovely, And it really was, taken in account he hadn’t told Izumi about what he had been up to during that week off yet.

He was aware she had been too busy with her new restaurant adventure to be interested in discovering about that, about his new favourite game in which he was no one but a gentleman strolling through the streets of Venice, along with his elegant dog he didn’t share any resemblance with.

Now that he thought about it, though, every respectable detective owned a loyal companion scampering after them. Perhaps, she would look like him if he made her wear a baggy yellow raincoat.

__________________________________________

“I swear, you should have seen her. She had this enormous bob hardly covering her ears and it was so bloated, like a cloud. I don’t know why, but I think she might be a high school professor, even if she was speaking in a heavy dialect. I mean, a high school professor wouldn’t speak dialect like that. Especially in that way. But ok, this isn’t the point. She-“

He unwillingly arrested that blabbing of his only when Izumi placed a hand on his forehead.

“This is where it hurts?” She asked with a worried frown, her green eyes squeezed as the tips of her fingers touched the reddened spot.

“Yeah. And it hurts so much I could pass out, eh eh,” He had never been that skilled at hiding the pleasant and soothing effect any physical contact with her would provoke in every fiber of his being. Thus, his impetuous voice calmed down completely, the waves of chocolate in his eyes turned into a quiet swinging tide, his entire body abandoned itself to the miracle of her beauty…Until the gentle, impalpable wind started throwing sharp knives against him.

“Ouch!” He whined, taking some steps backwards and opening his mouth at that sudden change of mood. It had been so unpredictable and now seemed to be mirroring the shifting sky darkening outside. Her nails were so long and neatly-trimmed, so sleek, utterly perfect from the perspective of a lucky man who could hold those soft hands and observe them in bliss. However, they could also transform into the claws of an angry feline, a feral lynx and hurt without needing her to put that much effort. “What was that for?”

“ Ma io dico,” She hissed at him, her index and its minuscule weapon still raised in the air, near to the scratch they had just teased. They both were there, resting on the thumb that had helped them gain momentum. “What were you thinking…?! I have left you alone for a week, just a single week…!”

His lips protruded in a startled perplexity, he blinked twice before her scolding expression, not sure if he would find a point in coming up with a lie. Actually, there would never be one in her presence. Any attempt to hide something from her through the art of deception would get a vain result, would be an occasion to turn into a clown. It was fine to him, though, because he didn’t like the idea of telling her a fib.

“I was looking at her dachsund,” He explained with a pure externalization of sincerity and now her turn to goggle like he had before, but with even more confusion, arrived.

“At her…Dachsund?”

“Yes, her fur was all black just like her hair and she also had a very long mouth like her face. So, I was actually looking at both the dog and the woman, but I lingered on the latter for too long because, oh boy, I couldn’t believe it,” The more he talked the more it sounded like he was chatting with himself in a comical monologue, occasionally gluing his pupils to the wall of the kitchen or, -more fitting for the core of his spirit-, to a dish full of biscuits awaiting him on a drawer. He was so certain they were doing so, at least.

“Oh,” Izumi would have liked to fade at the sight of him approaching the furniture.

“And I’m still holding onto my theory it is nothing else but some weird urban legend that got way too much attention through centuries,” Only the contours of those patient delicacies finally took him to Earth and reminded him of his interlocutor. Still, Izumi understood she would be the one having to push him even more downwards, to the firm ground.

“It’s not still clear what we are exactly talking about, but what I am sure about is that I would rather have a boyfriend singing,” She managed to pull the dish away from his reach in time. “Than one barking,” And then she put it on the floor, to his puzzlement, bewilderment, utter bafflement.

“I have risked eating dog biscuits…” The realization hit home in a jiffy like a boulder fallen on him. His gaze got lost in a world where the kitchen had melted in a general nothingness. “Izumi, I have risked eating dog biscuits!” After an instant of shock, he brought himself to repeat that by adding his usual bizarre emphasis.

“Yes, you have,” She bursted in a breeze of giggles washing over his concerned expression but surpassing it, ignored. Their gusts failed at stealing his voice and chuckles through that powerful tenor register of his. “You wouldn’t have died, don’t worry. I’ve cooked them.”

“Eh…?” Joining her on the floor, he allowed his exaggerated worry to get replaced by a mixture of skepticism and soft surprise. “You can cook dog food too? You’re-“

“Don’t say that, please!” She promptly raised a palm in front of his nose, haughtily averting her gaze on purpose to make him roast on the grill. When she was sure her steak was ready, she winked at his slightly disappointed grimace. “Or better, don’t say it yet . This is my first attempt and I don’t know if she will like it. I’ve added some slices of strawberries here and there in the mixture because she adores them. Hm…” He instantly shrieked when Izumi reached out to put one of those biscuits in her mouth. Got so close to passing out when she picked another one and offered it to him, seriously proposing him to jump into her absurd sommelier experience. “Here. Taste it and tell me what you think. Is it wet or dry, in your opinion?”

“I-Izumi…! Don’t eat that stuff, c’mon,” He slipped on his backside far from her, near to biting his nails. If he had been a cat, his fur would have been rippled from his head to the tip of his tail. Observing that scene through a more entertained filter, he had to admit their interactions were really reminding him of the ones of a cat and a dog: weirdly, he was being the most reluctant, if not the most repulsed between them, whereas Izumi was the joyful dog…Doing certain kind of stuff without a care in the world.

“Aren’t you the one always telling people, My girlfriend is the most brilliant cook in the world. I would eat anything prepared by her: even, - guess,what-, dog food ?”

“I-I,” He didn’t know if he was stuttering because of her impeccable imitation of his gestures and tone or because it wasn’t her spinning fantasy that was speaking. Yes, he had, he seriously had: naively believing they would never turn up against him, he had pronounced those exact words in his confessions of endless love for her cooking. He had so many times, thousand and more. “Okay…I guess you won. There’s nothing I can do,” He sighed in defeat and extended his arm to her complacent smirk and the snack she was swinging back and forth. Next time he would have to be more careful about his hyperbolic compliments in her regards, -hyperbolic ones to the rest of the world but absolutely realistic to him-. “And after this”, He gave an uncertain glance at her before grabbing it. “Can I be the one calling her after this?”

“Hm, why not ? You two need to bond and I need to bond more with her too, after having…Abandoned her at Mamma’s and Papà’s for months…”

He knew she was still coping with persuading herself that had been the best choice she could ever do for her sake. He had tried reassuring her Liù would have suffered from a more drastic detachment from her usual life, if she had moved in at the same time Izumi had. She would have had lot of trouble adjusting without them around, spending her days alone in an unknown apartment while Izumi was too absorbed in finding her own place in the world of Venice, and he was drowning in rehearsals. It would have been kinda egoistical from their part, so Izumi’s parents had convinced her to leave Liù with them for a while, until they were ready to give her the house and family she really deserved. Now Izumi might be busy with the first weeks of her newborn restaurant, but she wasn’t fretting and rushing any more and could count on Junpei’s support, on the fact he was just at the beginning of another of his adventures at la Fenice theatre.

“Hey,” He chirped a bit too abruptly but with the sweetest intention to cheer her mood up, unnoticed. “Can I do it, now? Like, now, now, now?”

“What are you talking about?” She giggled as he got so close she risked to fall backwards.

“Can I call her now?”

“Oh, that ,” Her precarious pose propped up on an elbow, she pretended to be wanting to slither away from his grip. “Okay, but you need to follow my instructions,” She sneezed at some locks falling on her forehead as he brought her closer with an effortless pulling of his biceps.

“I don’t need those, Izumi. I have got my own method,” Once ensured she was safely sitting upright, he grinned at her sending a shivering hunch down her spine. “Look. No, listen, listen.”

“Junpei, I’m not…” She petrified with her hand opening and closing in the tense silence he created. She was blatantly aware about what was about to happen, but she found herself stuck before the view of a familiar routine of actions, with the exception of that scary ending phase in which he sent his hands next to the corners of his mouth, well splayed.

Oh no…

“Jun-!”

“Liù? Liù?” Junpei improvised a silly melody she thanked Heavens it wasn’t being chanted in his usual rumbling projection.

“Junpei…!”

“Liù, don’t you want your pappa? Liù ? Where is the bimba? The sweetest bimba ? Liù-Chan?”

His grin didn’t vanish under the might of her irritation. He only hopped on the spot, all of a sudden, having got startled by the glasses of the window being shaken by the howling mistral. To think it was almost spring!

“Liù hates noises and, most of all, hates noisy people,” Not stunned due to his loud song in the slightest, he could easily tell she wanted to slap him. Yet, some unknown force he thanked from the depths of his heart kept her from doing that. “She’s a lady and she needs to be treated as such. Are you listening to me? This is a serious matter.”

“I know it is, but I don’t think she hates noisy people that much,” He dared to shrug and the naughty shimmer challenging her anger gradually tiptoed to his right, accelerating when it felt it was being chased by her glare.

Izumi emitted a gasp, “But…Liù…!”

Silently, on her slender legs, Liù had stepped into the kitchen and closer to the dish. Scompering in that skinny body of hers, structured like a sleek curve culminating in the slope of a luscious tail, she had approached them ,unnoticed, and had sat down in front of the two humans like a well-mannered medieval damsel. Now she was obediently staring at them from her statuesque pose, blatantly trying holding her excitement in her bony bosom but being betrayed by her dashing heartbeat, which was making her ribs expand and contract; by her blonde ears; by her humid nose unstoppably sniffing in the relatively new environment.

In Junpei’s opinion, Liù was the most perfect specimen of female saluki existing in the world, -and also the first one he had ever seen-.

“Maybe she hates people not singing well, I guess?” He sniggered with too much confidence and Izumi gave him a harsh nudge right under his sternum.

“Have you already done this in the past?”

“Of course, I have,” He took a while to recover from the pain she had provoked him, but managed to reply her sooner than both had expected. “I know you had said I needed to learn one thing or two before starting feeding her. And I also remember you had told me she has got her own schedule, but, I mean, Izumi, I was sitting at the table, eating my pasta ai piselli and she was there, looking at me with those deer eyes… What kind of cold-hearted man would do something similar?”

“You fed her with pasta ai piselli ?! “His pupils almost got out of his orbits, noticing the futher point her more vicious elbow was going to take off from.

“No, of course, I haven’t! I searched for her food bags and I poured some food in her bowl. My pasta ai piselli was so full of water, my peas were soaking in a puddle. How could I give her that without making a mess?”

“Do you realize you are implying you would have given my dog pasta ai piselli if you had been a decent cook? !”

He would have started fiddling with his thumbs like a scolded kid, if Liù hadn’t tried catching their attention with a bark, as timid as a polite woman forcing a cough to make someone turn to her.

“You’re right, bimba,” He cracked a large smile at her. Then, he unfolded his stiff legs and clumsily crouched up to talk to the animal at her same height level. “You can eat. Buon appetito .”

“No, she can’t eat yet!” She gave a slap on his broad shoulder, but she eventually gave one onto her forehead as well, a bit disconsolate. At his jovial command, the saluki had gladly plunged her muzzle in her biscuits and she hadn’t been able to do anything about it. “She was supposed to stay. That is useful to teach her how to control impulses.”

“If you ask me, it’s so cruel,” He put his tongue on display, standing up to let the dog have her own meal in peace. She got back on her feet too after having thrown the snack she had been holding into the dish. “Wouldn’t you feel tortured if I told you to sit still in front of a dish of spaghetti alla San Giovanna ? My poor bimba !”

“I-“ What kind of conversation was even that?

“Imagine,” He insisted, dropping a whole jar of theatricality on his tongue, each finger of his flying up and down in an undulating choreography. “The smell of olives and tomato sauce spreading in your nostrils…”

“Oh, let me imagine…” She closed her orbs, mocking his silly game by making him believe she was actually thinking over it. By the time she opened them, he had already disappeared behind her, fumbling with her skein of spikes. “That’s what I already do as a cook. I can’t eat what I prepare. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do…” He mumbled, pensive, caressing her strands in awe, as if he was contemplating some prestigious manufacture sewn by a God. “You know, I think I will get used to this dog owner life, after all. Maybe a maltese dog would have been boring.”

“Oh please…” Her eyelid twitched at the mere memory from the year before, from back when he had announced he wanted to give her a candid ball of fur as birthday gift. She had acted promptly, had taken the reins of the situation by herself by dragging him into an adventure on her motorbike, without revealing him where they were going. From Naples to Pisa, Junpei had let her take him to that mysterious destination up through the peninsula, though he had just come from an exhausting train journey. “Don’t remind me of that ,” She playfully begged and pinched his puffy cheeks peeping out from her golden curtain.

“I know, I know. Besides, a maltese wouldn’t have looked like me, either. So it would have been the same thing. At least, though, when I take Liù out for a stroll,” He gently let some precious threads slip on the back of hs hand and pushed them forward, at the sides of her smooth neck, down her shoulders. “It’s a bit like if I’m going out with another beautiful blonde lady,” At the beginning, he had just intended to play with her, tenderly highlight about how keeping her hair like that, like a frame of gilded waves, would really make her look like a long-eared dog. Afterwards, however, after some seconds spent holding that silky fabric, he had fallen in love with its enchantment and , now hypnotized, he couldn’t just help indulging in his joke. He kept on going on and on, even in a more affectionate way when a cloud passed by her relaxed contentment. She should have been smiling , in his opinion: Liù had greatly appreciated her hand-made biscuits, hadn’t showed any sign of resentment towards her once more. What was she still tormenting herself over? It seemed like if she was fighting against so many forces coming to attack her in unison and he felt the urge to shine over her again.

“Hey, Izumi, do you want to hear a funny thing?”

“It’s not an offence, but you always say funny things. Otherwise you wouldn’t be Junpei, wouldn’t you?”

“But this is truly funny. Funnier than usual, if you prefer putting it like that!”

He tossed her tresses off his head and marched back to Liù, his lumbering steps sounding lighter despite the clumsy landing of his hops.

The dog had just finished eating her breakfast and was calmly cleaning her coat with her tongue. She didn’t seem bothered by the two humans barging into her quiet morning for a second time. Indeed, judging by the shy hints of a swishing tail, she was actually happy to see them again on a full belly.

“Liù, Liù, Liù, la bambina mia che sei tu ,” Junpei’s unique call made her stand on alert with excitement. Rhythmic claps and tappings against the tiles of the floor contributed to elicit even more trepidation in her active muscles. She didn’t take too long before beginning doing the same with her paws, the butterfly-shaped metallic medal of her collar dangling and jingling in the flow of her dance.

Once the right mood had been set, once he was certain Liù would follow him wherever he would go, he beckoned to the saluki to head for the living room. In the contagious heat of the fragment, he bumped into an agape Izumi who was witnessing the exchange between the man and the dog with incredulity.

“No, don’t tell me it is what I think it is,” Stuck in a frozen loop at the door of the kitchen, Junpei took advantage of that absent state of hers to involve her in a fleeting, improvised dance, her limp arms obeying to his eccentric desire, her hands falling in his without resistance and her hips spinning along with his like if they were a couple pirouetting in a carillon.

“No, like I said, it’s much, much better than whatever you think it might be.”

“I don’t think so. At all,” She told him straight into his sunny eyes in a firm whisper. “Your neighbors know well who she belongs to. They won’t come yelling at you if they hear her doing that .”

“Oh, so you know she can do that,” He wasn’t surprised in the least, but it was nice to make her blush in embarrassment once in a while, turn the tables for the life-span of an afternoon nap. “All those stories about her being a proper lady…About her not liking loud people!”

“H-Hey,” She wiggled, oscillated, opened and closed her legs, raised her fists: whatever it took to escape from his tickling trap. “ Being a lady and loving singing are two interconnected qualities. They are not enemies. As far as concerns about those loud people, instead…”

“Instead…?” He prompted, his fingers flitting around her, ready for another round.

“Your opera singing is loud, but it’s a nice loud. I’ll give you that, ok ? And a dog named after the main character of Puccini’s Madama Butterfly can’t be immune to it, I guess,” He saw her nervously cracking a grin at Liù who had hopped on the sofa and was resting on a pillow. Waiting .

“Hey!” Without prior warning, he let her go to her displeasure, no matter if his tickling was more than unbearable. That would be, -to use his own words-, much better than whatever he wanted to do, sitting at his piano and lifting the fallboard with a thud. “You don’t really want to play piano right now, at eight in the morning?!”

“Of course, I want to. I’m not supposed to make a proper lady wait, am I not?” Liù had apparently got used to that term, to the many occasions she had acknowledged humans would look at her while pronouncing it. Therefore, feeling like Junpei had just called her into question, she abandoned the comforts of her pillow and reached him. She licked his hand and gladly accepted the caresses coming in response. Then, on her haunches, she put her paws on black wood and stared at him in fibrillating expectation. “Eh eh, may I introduce you to my new soprano partner? She’s also the Great Detective Shibayama’s assistant, though, mind you! Let’s say this is just the lamest side of our life as ordinary citizens.”

”Ah…Don’t use my instructions howsoever you please, Junpei Shibayama. Honestly…” At the first row of notes propagating in the hall, she sat on the sofa and aimed the bud of a glad smile at the window.

In her soul, she was just so happy he had come to quickly find out it had never been a matter of superficial likeness.

__________________________________________

Italian notes:

Principessa: princess

Ma io dico: literally, it means “But I say…”. Still it is just some form of interaction to express disbelief (in a negative way).

Pappa: It’s a terms we use while speaking to babies and animals. It means food, technically.

Bimba and bambina: synonym for “little girl” but we use them in affectionate contexts as well. It’s a bit like “baby” I guess. I became affectionate to bimba thanks to italian dub of Lady and the Tramp. It did stick with me in the sweetest way as possible.

Pasta ai piselli: It’s pasta and peas ahaha

Spaghetti alla San Giovanna: In my family it has always been spaghetti, tomato sauce and olives. Such has to remain to them, please.

Liù, Liù, la bambina mia che sei tu: Liù, Liù, the baby you are to me. Our structures are really not that easy to translate in english sometimes? We can be free in the order of our words, in our dispositio verborum, so we it’s not always easy to translate everything. Yet, it’s just supposed to be one of those silly tunes you sing to your dog.

[casualfruit]

If I’d checked the ratings before watching Wolverine: Origins, I probably would have skipped it, but I did get a kick out of how stupid it was so I can’t say I regretted it. It was So Aggressively Late 2000s in the best and worst ways.

The performances were so over-the-top campy that they were verging on self-aware parody, except the film was taking itself totally seriously, which made it even more ridiculous—but that’s exactly what I expected. Danny Huston, Hugh Jackman, and Liev Schreiber absolutely DEVOURED their roles and left NOT ONE SINGLE CRUMB. The only disappointment was Lynn Collins’s lackluster performance as Silver Fox, which was made even worse by being in a movie where everyone else was going for full action melodrama. I was also a bit let down by Gambit’s barely-there southern drawl, but he wasn’t in much of the movie so it wasn’t a huge deal. On the bright side, Will.I.Am and Dominic Monaghan were an unexpected delight.

I will say though, aside from the performances, my favorite part was Logan’s body hair. Especially the shot of his dog tags sitting on a bed of chest hair 🥴 I am a faggot with preferences and I demand that Hollywood stop waxing their male actors and just let them be HAIRY FOR THE LOVE OF GOD JUST LET THEM BE HAIRY PLEASE I BEG YOU—

I really liked the scene where Logan is at the old couple’s house and sits on the motorcycle and it sinks down under his weight. The fact that his metal-coated skeleton is Heavy should be used more in movies. Also, the scene where Stryker says “your country (USA) needs you” and Logan responds “I’m Canadian” and drives away was so fucking iconic.

On the other hand…

The CGI was generally alright, but there were some points when it was straight up Bad. Mainly the adamantium claws, but especially the shot at the very end when the kids are running to Prof X. It was so painfully clear that they were being edited in. I don’t know why they couldn’t just have the kids run towards him for real.

I’m still not fully clear on what Zero’s motivation for being such a shithead was. I wasn’t on my phone half-watching, I was genuinely paying attention to the movie. I assume that he harbored some kind of resentment for Logan… but why? Fuck if I know. It’s not like it really mattered.

As disgusting and mean spirited as it was, the fatphobia with Fred Dukes was also very much of its time. I’m glad that it only lasted for one scene, and I am SO glad that it isn’t as prevalent as it used to be.

And Deadpool… oh god. I’d seen references to him in the DP movies and in videos about superhero movies, but I didn’t realize just how bad it truly was. His self-aware and irreverent humor is one of his defining characteristics; sealing his mouth shut turns him into a generic humanoid monster. And the sword arms were so phenomenally stupid I could barely believe what I was looking at. How the fuck could he move his elbows when the blades were fully retracted? Even if his wrists had mobility, the blades should have gone from the bottom of his forearm to like halfway thru his upper arm. The only good thing I have to say about third act DP is that the rest of his design looked kinda cool as generic humanoid monsters go, but honestly the Mannequin Soldiers from FMAB did it better.

The adamantium bullet memory wipe was such a bullshit cop out ending. Logan’s inability to recognize Kayla was supposed to be emotionally impactful, but I felt nothing because I was too busy being pissed off at how stupid the whole thing was. I think I hated this even more than what they did with DP.

All in all, I’d say this movie earned its Rotten Tomatoes score of 38%

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Never Tell, Chapter - a Malevolent AU

Arthur and Bella Lester are not in love. They came together as friends, to protect each other, to give one another the freedom to live—and love—as they pleased.

Having a child was supposed to be part of that—quieting the rumors, providing a shield. But it wasn’t one baby; it was two… and something is very wrong with their golden-eyed son.

Chapter Three: Bella is not well. The infection has set in, and she's feverish, high on morphine, and altogether feeling fucky.

Surely that means her visitor isn't real.

Right?

Warnings for mentions of historical homophobia and medical practices. Also a deeply irreverent Bella.

AO3

-----

Bella heard her father talking to the nurses before he was even in the room. He just never spoke quietly, that guy. Oozed authority, commanded respect, filled empty spaces with his presence.

This was gonna be a challenge. She was feverish; she was high as all hell (heaven?) on morphine; she was still in pain, and still feeling… fucky.

That was the word. Fucky. “English studies can bite my ass,” she muttered to no one.

She was also feeling really torn, and not just down in good old Mount Pleasant.

On one hand, she really could’ve used another day without him. She’d have to pretend, to be the good wife, the good daughter, the good whatever, and she really didn’t wanna do that.

But on the other, she was grateful he was around to show up.

The last year had been educational. When you rolled your eyes over your dad’s latest letter and complained about how much he wanted you to have a good education (which she obviously would not, now), it sort of sobered you up to realize no one would ever ask after your new fake husband.

He had no one to catch him if he fell. No one to care when he got hurt. No one to hold him when he cried. No one to comfort him, or encourage him. Or even fight with him over stupid shit that only family could fight over.

He did it all alone, and it wasn’t really… right?

Arthur was a good guy. Sure, selfish sometimes (which made a fuck-ton of sense, given how lonely he was), but he should have people. It wasn’t right he had no people.

She supposed she was his people, and she was good with that. He needed someone in his life who really understood him.

What was this, protectiveness? That was the wrong word, and all kinds of backwards, anyway, what with her being the dame and him not (though she’d certainly tease him about that gender role swap any day).

She was drifting. Here came dad. Time to focus up.

“Bella.”  He sat in the chair Arthur had pulled forward.

She smiled as prettily as she could, the picture-perfect elder’s daughter, weary and faithful and hallowed by childbirth. “Dad. You came.”

“Of course I came.” The concern on his face erased his usual vague disapproval. “Bella… you look terrible.”

Whoopsie-daisy, turns out getting chopped open was not good prep for a beauty contest. “I’m afraid I can’t help that.”

He touched her forehead. “And you’re feverish.”

“Eh. Turns out I need that thing… I dunno, what’s it called, blood?”

He looked very serious. “Did you forget the word, or are you being facetious?”

She sighed. “Dad…”

“I’m making sure. Blood loss can have an effect on the brain.”

Oi. “My brain is fine. I’m in a lot of pain. I lost blood. I’m off my noggin on morphine. All of these things will get fixed over time. Hey… thanks for coming.” She did mean it. She knew he loved her. She knew he struggled with liking her, and struggled with trusting her, ever since he’d caught her and Deacon Smith’s daughter, years ago.

(To be perfectly fair, Bella could now admit that making out in the choir robe closet had not been the smartest choice.)

“What can I do for you?” Daniel said, his warm, large hand on hers. “Anything. Anything within my power. I can hire you help. I can help you move, get a better place, one suited for a family.”

Ooh, help! Someone who could cook and clean! Someone who could help with the babies and handle diaper duty! Someone who could… stare at them be not-married and figure it out. Fuck. “We’re okay, dad. Thanks.”

“There must be something.” Anxiety aged him, deepened the lines on his face. “Anything.”

Her heart did a little unpleasant ping. She knew she was all he had. He’d never remarried. Never really gotten close to anyone. She’d realized in her first year of college how lonely she had been, living with him—and how lonely Daniel still was.

Bella put her hand on his. “I’m okay, dad. I have Arthur.”

Daniel’s face said a whole world of opinion about that. “Bella…”

She smiled. “We’ve got to figure it out eventually, right? You can’t hold my hand forever.”

He was holding her hand now. “As long as I’m around, I’m not going to let go.”

Her smile was real, if weary. “I know. Thanks, dad. I promise I’ll tell you what we need.”

“How about the hospital bill?”

“No, I’m sure… dad, we budgeted for it.”

“I can do that much.”

“Dad, it’s important. We really did plan for this. The answer is no.”

“Hush.” He patted her hand. “For rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft, and stubbornness is as iniquity and idolatry. Let me do this for you.” With that pleasantly-spoken damnation, he rose and headed off to talk to someone in accounting.

Bella exhaled hard, feeling ungrateful and distinctly witchcrafty. She loved her dad; she struggled to like him.

She’d liked him a lot more before her mom died, but that man was gone. “Maybe I should hook him up with a nurse, or something,” she said out of habit to her babies, hand going to her stomach, wincing. “He just needs a little cuddling, right? Oh. You’re gone.” They were.  She’d gotten too used to a captive audience,  especially when they couldn’t answer back. Ah, those were the days.

She considered her room, her painful stomach, her ugly hospital gown. “Oi, you. Be healed… now!” She waggled her fingers at her torso. “Stupid body,” she said, closing her eyes. “Needing blood. Pitiful.”

“You need a little more than blood, darling,” said a woman in the doorway.

Bella looked up.

The stranger wore a man’s suit—silk palazzo pants, oversized, and a velvet jacket over a light silk shell that both hid and teased whatever her body was beneath. Her black hair was short and slicked back, with a little curl on her forehead, and she walked with her hands in her pockets.

“Sweet suffragette glory,” Bella blurted.

The woman laughed. “Suffragette, eh?” she said, stopping by her bed.

Bella stared. “Who else could get away with it? And damn. Who are you?”

“Employee of a relative.”

Bella laughed. “Mouthful. Also, I doubt that. Pretty sure I’d like a relative who hired someone like you, and honey, I don’t like any of them.”

The woman’s eyes sparkled. “You’re also high on morphine.”

The tiny part of Bella’s brain that understood this was not how to survive this world had gone blessedly quiet. “My eyes work just fine, gorgeous. What’s your name?”

The woman’s lips twitched. “Careful. You’ll get yourself in trouble.”

“Maybe I want to get into trouble.”

The woman was no longer fighting her grin. “He did say you were a handful.”

Bella wasn’t done. “Who said? You gotta give me your name so I know what to moan.”

The woman laughed. “Never.”

Bella grinned. “So your name’s Never? How avante-garde! I can work with that. Bet you’ll like it hummed in the curve of your neck.”

“Damn,” said the woman with a little shiver. “Okay, hold on, you’ve distracted me.” The woman Bella called Never touched Bella’s forehead, and that’s when Bella realized this couldn’t be happening. Some kind of shivery… sensation slid out from the woman’s fingers, which Bella had absolutely no definition for. “Yeah,” said the woman Bella called Never. “Fever. Hold still.” She lifted the sheets and began opening Bella’s hospital gown ties.

Well, if she’d gone straight into hallucinating, she might as well have a good time.“Not gonna buy me dinner first?”

“Hold on, ma’am.” Somehow, this woman lifted the bandages right off.

Bella couldn’t see how she did it. It certainly shouldn’t have come away like that, easy and clean and painless, and—

Oh. Oh, she looked bad. The incision was almost purple, framed with dark, strangely sharp veins, so swollen that skin pressed through the thick,stained stitches like unbaked dough, making this wound more obscene than it already was.

Her heart pounded. “Oh, fuck,” she whispered. “Oh, fuck.”

“He was right. Huh,” said Never. “You weren’t planning on more kids, were you?”

Bella stared at her. “Lady, none of this is a thing I wanna repeat.”

“Good, because I have to put your uterus in null. I can’t remove it, or even these idiots will be able to tell it’s gone missing.”

“You’re… okay, I know you’re a dream, but mind telling me what my own head meant by that?”

“No more periods, doll—and the lingering negative effects from carrying him inside you won’t kill you. Here we go.” And the woman put her hand right on the incision.

Bella jumped. “What are you—” She gasped.

It didn’t hurt. Never’s hand was cool. That delightful relief spread like it had on her forehead, and sank right into her like she was made of cotton. Discomfort and heat eased, soothing as it slid through her, and right before her eyes, the redness went down. It just faded, as if her body was eating it. The veins vanished like invisible ink in a spy novel; her skin calmed, flattened, leaving a neat, smooth incision held by  textbook-perfect stitches.

She gawked.

Bella’s toes curled. “Uh… I am not in the business of imagining angels. So hey, I’ll hit on you, anyway. You got cold hands, and I can help with that.”

Never laughed as if surprised. “Bold little thing.”

“It’s my dream. I get to flirt with the keenest doll I’ve ever seen. Better believe I’m gonna be bold.”

“I’m almost done, all right?. Also, you’re not in great shape, hon.”

“So sit on my face. Tongue works fine.”

Never just lost it, laughing, turning away, shaking her head. “Ma’am!”

“Ma’am! I’m insulted.”

“You are married.”

“Way to kill the mood.” Bella’s eyes closed. It just felt… so much. Cooling. Easing. Sliding up her like oil under her skin, and she raised her arms over her head, stretching.

“Easy,” said Never. “You’re not that healed.”

“Well, this isn’t happening, anyway,” said Bella. “So I figure we should go dancing. I know a place.”

“If only.” Never’s smile was wry. “Think he’d kill me, though. Hold on there, okay? He needs you.”

“Who’s he? This ain’t no sausage party, lady.”

“All right, there we go.” Never replaced the bandages (how?), then touched her hand to Bella’s forehead. “You should be safe now. Careful what you say when you wake up, ma’am.”

“I’m not a fucking m…”

“Bella?”

Bella opened her eyes and stared at her father.

Daniel looked so relieved. “You have color in your cheeks again.”

But… what?

Nooooo, she thought, blearily. That dream had been going places. At least she hadn’t woken up touching herself.

“I’ve taken a hotel,” said Daniel. “I’ll be here for a few days.”

“Can you afford to take that much time from work?” Bella said.

“I am taking it. You’re my daughter. I know you don’t understand yet, but you will, now that you have children of your own. There is nothing you won’t do for them.”

Bella suspected I’m real broken and I don’t think I’m going to feel like that would be an upsetting answer. “Thanks, dad.”

“It frightened me so badly to see you so pale,” he said. “You seem less feverish.”

That was odd. Bella put her hand on her belly and found no real pain; soreness, like a healing cut, but nothing like it had been. “Huh,” she whispered.

“What is it?” Daniel’s heavy-jowled self tensed. “Do you need the nurse?”

“Yes,” she said. “I think I need a bandage change.”

“I’ll fetch someone.” He hurried, faster than she’d seen him in years.

Bella slid her fingers along her stomach. Yeah; it felt better. Still no walk in the park, but not… sick. Just healing.

It hadn’t been real. Right?

Sure. Some incredibly gorgeous bird walked in, dressed to the nines, and did fucking magic. Yeah, of course it hadn’t happened, but Bella wondered who she’d based that dream on. She’d never met anyone like that. Not even during her brief escape to Harlem, her final year of high school, when they’d taken a trip to the Museum of Natural History. Wow.

Bella got her good-girl smile back on by the time Daniel returned with three nurses, which was two more than expected, and that meant the next forty-five minutes were a pain in the ass. They kept checking charts and talking over her like she wasn’t there and running little tests, and finally brought in a doctor.

They may have talked over her, but at least they were gentle. The doc was less gentle checking her incision, pressing into her, and she cried out.

“Hm. An unexpected development, but pleasing,” he said like she was a loaf of bread, and marched away into the hall.

He didn’t march far enough. She heard him. “A miraculous recovery,” he was saying. “The infection has gone.”

The infection has…

So they’d known she was that badly infected. Some instinct told her that was why they kept her on so much morphine; either her body would fight it off, or it wouldn’t, and all they could do was keep her clean and comfortable.

Had she been close to dying?

Would they have let her, now that she’d done her duty and reproduced?

She hadn’t known. She was only twenty-one. She could’ve died.

“You’re shivering,” said Daniel, holding her hand again.

“I’m a little spooked,” she said, too honest, and reeled it back. “I don’t know how to be a parent.”

And to her absolute shock, Daniel, after hesitation, was honest, too. “Neither do I. But we… we manage. And our marvelous children find their way, in spite of us.”

She stared at him.

He stared back, briefly naked—but then it all got tucked away again like a handkerchief. “As long as you raise them in the fear and admonition of the Lord.”

It didn’t matter. It was a glimpse of the Daniel he’d been before her mother’s death had locked him away, and Bella had seen it. Maybe being a grandpa would help him. That’s be funny, she thought, if he ended up being the one saved by childbirth. “I’m gonna do my best, dad, and so is Arthur. I know you don’t like him, but he’s a good man.”

Daniel’s lips tightened, but then he let that go. “I’m so proud of you.”

She held Daniel’s hand, because he was there, because he had lots of problems, but at least he cared if she was okay, and hoped Arthur was having fun.

#

Arthur was not having fun. At least he knew what he’d ask Daniel for whenever that guy came back. “Again?” he cried, and could swear John looked smug as fuck. “How? You just went! Where the fuck is it coming from?”

That was a smug look, or Arthur was straight.

He sighed and went to dispose of the mess and set water boiling again, dearly hoping they had enough clean cloths to get through the day.

Oh, yes, he knew exactly the help they’d ask for: a fucking daily diaper service. “For crying out loud,” he muttered, shirt wet all down the front.

Behind him, Faroe made a happy sound.

At least someone was having a good time.

——

Notes:

Note: I was raised by a Daniel (for good or ill), and I really understand Bella’s messy relationship with her dad. No disrespect intended toward any faith or (poorly applied) scripture.

Also, Never is based on Louise Brooks. Yum.

[witheredblumes]

[ Timothy Olyphant, 53, cismale, he/him ] Welcome to Antioch, GIMOTHY GRANT BLUME! Local sources report that you’ve been in town for 30 SOME ODD YEARS and are known to be SOCIABLE yet IMMORAL. Others have dredged up rumors that you’re involved in THE VAMPIRE OF ANTIOCH as BLUME DADDY, but most know you for your work as THE OWNER/OPERATOR at LOVE BOUTIQUE. We’ll see you around town soon!

Character Name: Gimothy Grant Blume Nickname (s): Giminy (Started by baby Annabelle when she couldn't say his Gimothy), Gum ball, Gim, etc. Give him all the nicknames and I'll update this Face Claim: Timothy Olyphant Birthday: August 18 May 7th, because now he was conceived at Woodstock Place of birth: Georgia, America Zodiac: Leo Taurus MBTI: ESTJ, the Executive Moral Alignment: Lawful neutral Occupation: Business owner/Professor Place of work: Love Boutique (Teacher at Antioch University) Subplot affiliation: The Vampire of Antioch 3 positive traits: Decisive, determined, diligent 3 negative traits: Amoral, calculating, irreverent Languages: English Love language: Quality Time Biography (optional):

His father a drunk and his mother a runaway, the pair had an illicit courtship that crossed the country, the pair of them running away from Antioch to be together. They traveled around between bars, tourist traps, and music festivals, with his mother Delilah winding up pregnant after a hazy few days at Woodstock. He wasn't the only musical baby from that, she would tell him with a laugh. There wasn't much laughing when Gim got older. By the time he was a teenager, his mama mostly laughed when she was out of her mind on her latest fix. The drugs weren't easy to kick. In fact, Delilah got into them further and further and one day she disappeared entirely. His father Josiah tried to find her, and ended up killing a man trying to find information. The law caught up with Josiah and Gimothy was supposed to go into the system since he was a minor. Instead he ran, lying and pretending to be older than he really was to get barely paying jobs that didn't care much about him as long as he did what he was paid to do. He wasn't wandering aimlessly, Gimothy had a goal in mind and that was going back to Antioch. He knew his parents were from there and that he had to have family, that there had to be something waiting for him. He just didn't expect how much family or to be wrapped up in people the way he was. It seemed like everywhere he looked, there was an aunt, an uncle, a cousin. No siblings, but that was fine because all the second degree family was more than enough to be overwhelming to a guy used to only two steady presences in his life. He'd only been in Antioch a handful of years when his girlfriend became pregnant. It was a stupid move to marry her, but he did it anyway, working on making a cute little family with her and their twins were adorable as far as Gim was concerned. Their marriage was another story. The kids were young when the divorce came, but they were old enough. Old enough for school, old enough to ask questions, and that wasn't a pleasant time in Gim's life even if he knew that it was probably better for them in the end. He got married a second time, and then a third, but he still only had the two kids, and they remained his world. Then his world was shattered, and his soul along with it. Years later, and Gim still hasn't learned how to put all the pieces back.

Wanted Connection #1: Someone that thinks they might be his illegitimate kid. Yes, I'm thinking about the Walshes. Wanted Connection #2: A toxic ex because the man has been around since his divorce. Wanted Connection #3: (Former) students of his from the university.