#Begin Trading with $100

[stockexperttrading]

Delving into the intricacies of trading, the blog provides a thorough examination of different trading strategies, spotlighting both day trading and swing trading. It further dissects crucial analysis methods, namely technical and fundamental analysis. The narrative underscores the critical role of aligning chosen strategies with individual goals and the guidance that Funded Traders Global can provide in this regard.

[lucigraves]

Blocking that artfig//ht confessions blog as a form of self care

[talkorsomething]

I guess it's because the season is so long that i've gone from digging myself back out of the pit to ...progress? Maybe? to whatever this is, shovel in hand again.

Well, I'm trying. Not that "trying" is good enough, but... that's where we're at.

[phoenixyfriend]

Ko-fi prompt from @liberwolf:

Could you explain Tariff's , like who pays them and what they do to a country?

Well, I can definitely guess where this question is coming from.

Honestly, I was pretty excited to get this prompt, because it's one I can answer and was part of my studies focus in college. International business was my thing, and the issues of comparative advantage (along with Power Purchasing Parity) were one of the things I liked to explore.

-----------------

At their simplest, tariffs are an import tax. The United States has had tariffs as low as 5%, and at other times as high as 44% on most goods, such as during the Civil War. The purpose of a tariff is in two parts: generating revenue for the government, and protectionism.

Let's first explore how a tariff works. If you want to be confused, then you need to have never taken an economics class, and look at this graph:

(src)

So let's undo that confusion.

The simplest examples are raw or basic materials such as steel, cotton, or wine.

First, without tariffs:

Let us say that Country A and Country B both produce steel, and it is of similar quality, and in both cases cost $100 per unit. Transportation from one country to the other is $50/unit, so you can either buy domestically for $100, or internationally for $150. So you buy domestically.

Now, Country B discovers a new place to mine iron very easily, and so their cost for steel drops to $60/unit due to increased ease of access. Country A can either purchase domestically for $100, or internationally for $110 (incl. shipping), which is much more even. Still, it is more cost-effective to purchase domestically, and so Country A isn't worried.

Transportation technology is improved, dropping the shipping costs to $30/unit. A person from Country A can buy: Domestic: $100 International: $60+$30 = $90 Purchasing steel from Country B is now cheaper than purchasing it from Country A, regardless of where you live.

Citizens in Country A, in order to reduce costs for domestic construction, begin to purchase their steel from Country B. As a result, money flows from Country A to B, and the domestic steel industry in Country A begins to feel the strain as demand dwindles.

In this scenario, with no tariffs, Country A begins to rely on B for their steel, which causes a loss of jobs (steelworkers, miners), loss of infrastructure (closing of mines and factories), and an outflow of funds to another country. As a result, Country A sees itself as losing money to B, while also growing increasingly reliant on their trading partner for the crucial good that is steel. If something happens to drive up the price of B's steel again, like political upheaval or a natural disaster, it will be difficult to quickly ramp up the production of steel in Country A's domestic facilities again.

What if a tariff is introduced early?

Alternately, the dropping of complete costs for purchase of steel from Country B could be counteracted with tariffs. Let's say we do a 25% tariff on that steel. This tariff is placed on the value of the steel, not the end cost, so:

$60 + (0.25 x $60) + $30 = $105/unit

Suddenly, with the implementation of a 25% tariff on steel from Country B, the domestic market is once again competitive. People can still buy from Country B if they would like, but Country A is less worried about the potential impacts to the domestic market.

The above example is done in regards to a mature market that has not yet begun to dwindle. The infrastructure and labor is still present, and is being preemptively protected against possible loss of industry to purchasing abroad.

What happens if the tariff is not implemented until after the market has dwindled?

Let's say that the domestic market was not protected by the tariff until several decades on. Country A's domestic production, in response to increased purchasing from abroad, has dwindled to one third of what it was before the change in pricing incentivized purchase from B. Prices have, for the sake of keeping this example simple, remained at $100(A) and $60(B) in that time. However, transportation has likely become better, so transportation is down to $20, meaning that total cost for steel from B is $80, accelerating the turn from domestic steel to international.

So, what happens if you suddenly implement a tariff on international steel? Shall we say, 40%?

$60 + (0.4 x 60) + 20 = $104

It's more expensive to order from abroad! Wow! Let's purchase domestically instead, because these prices add up!

But the production is only a third of what it used to be, and domestic mines and factories for refining the iron into steel can't keep up. They're scaling, sure, but that takes time. Because demand is suddenly triple of the supply, the cost skyrockets, and so steel in Country A is now $150/unit! The price will hopefully come down eventually, as factories and mines get back in gear, but will the people setting prices let that happen?

So industries that have begun to rely on international steel, which had come to $80/unit prior to the tariff, are facing the sudden impact of a cost increase of at least $25/unit (B with tariff) or the demand-driven price increase of domestic (nearly double the pre-tariff cost of steel from B), which is an increase of at least 30% what they were paying prior to the tariff.

There are possible other aspects here, such as government subsidies to buoy the domestic steel industry until it catches back up, or possibly Country B eating some of the costs so that people still buy from them (selling for $50 instead of $60 to mitigate some of the price hike, and maintain a loyal customer base), but that's not a direct impact of the tariff.

Who pays for tariffs?

Ultimately, this is a tax on a product (as opposed to a tax on profits or capital themselves, which has other effects), which means the majority of the cost is passed on directly to the consume.

As I said, we could see the producers in Country B cut their costs a little bit to maintain a loyal customer base, but depending on their trade relationships with other countries, they are just as likely to stop trading with Country A altogether in order to focus on more profitable markets.

So why do we not put tariffs on everything?

Well... for that, we get into the question of production efficiency, or in this case, comparative advantage.

Let's say we have two small, neighboring countries, C and D, that have negligible transportation costs and similar industries. Both have extensive farmland, and both have a history of growing grapes for wine, and goats for wool. Country C is a little further north than D, so it has more rocky grasses that are good for goats, while D has more fertile plains that are good for growing grapes.

Let's say that they have an equal workforce of 500,000 of people. I'm going to say that 10,000 people working full time for a year is 1 unit of labor. So, Country C and Country D have between the 100 units of labor, and 50 each.

The cost of 1 unit of wool = the cost of 1 unit of wine

Country C, having better land for goats, can produce 4 units of wool for every unit of labor, and 2 units of wine for every unit of labor.

Meanwhile, Country D, having better land for grapes, can produce 2 units of wool per unit of labor, and 4 units of wine per unit of labor.

If they each devote exactly half their workforce to each product, then:

Country C: 100 units of wool, 50 units of wine Country D: 50 units of wool, 100 units of wine

Totaling 150 units of each product.

However, if each devotes all of their workforce to the product they're better at...

Country C: 200 units of wool, no wine Country D: no wool, 200 units of wine

and when they trade with each other, they each end up with 100 units of each product, which is a doubling of what their less-efficient labor would have resulted in!

The real world is obviously much more complicated, but in this example, we can see the pros of outsourcing some of your production to another country to focus on your own specialties.

Extreme examples of this IRL are countries where most of the economy rests on one product, such as middle-eastern petro-states that are now struggling to diversify their economies in order to not get left behind in the transition to green energy, or Taiwan's role as the world's primary producer of semiconductors being its 'silicon shield' against China.

Comparative advantage can be used well, such as our Unnamed Countries (that are definitely not the classic example of England and Portugal, with goats instead of sheep) up in the example. With each economy focusing on its specialty, there is a greater yield of both products, meaning a greater bounty for both countries.

However, should something happen to Country C up there, like an earthquake that kills half the goats, they are suddenly left with barely enough wool to clothe themselves, and nothing for Country D, which now has a surplus of wine and no wool.

So you do have to keep some domestic industry, because Bad Things Can Happen. And if we want to avoid the steel example of a collapse in the given industry, tariffs might be needed.

Are export tariffs a thing?

Yes, but they are much rarer, and can largely be defined as "oh my god, everyone please stop getting rid of this really important resource by selling it to foreigners for a big buck, we are depleting this crucial resource."

So what's the big confusion right now?

Donald Trump has, on a number of occasions, talked about 'making China pay' tariffs on the goods they import into the US. This has led to a belief that is not entirely unreasonable, that China would be the side paying the tariffs.

The view this statement engenders is that a tariff is a bit like paying a rental fee for a seller's table at an event: the producer or merchant pays the host (or landlord or what have you) a fee to sell their product on the premises. This could be a farmer's market, a renaissance faire, a comic book convention, whatever. If you want to sell at the event, you have to pay a fee to get a space to set up your table.

In the eyes of the people who listened to Trump, the tariff is that fee. China is paying the United States for access to the market.

And, technically, that's not entirely wrong. China is thus paying to enter the US market. It's just the money to pay that fee needs to come from somewhere, and like most taxes on goods, that fee comes from the consumer.

So... what now?

Well, a lot of smaller US companies that rely on cheap goods made in China are buying up non-perishables while they can, before the tariffs hit. Long-term, manufacturers in the US that rely on parts and tools manufactured in China are going to feel the squeeze once that frontloaded stock is depleted.

Some companies are large enough to take the hit on their own end, still selling at cheap rates to the consumer, because they can offset those costs with other parts of their empire... at least until smaller competitors are driven out of business, at which point they can start jacking up their prices since there are no options left. You may look at that and think, "huh, isn't that the modus operandi for Walmart and Amazon already?" and yes. It is. We are very much anticipating a 'rich get richer, poor go out of business' situation with these tariffs.

The tariffs will also impact larger companies, including non-US ones like Zara (Spanish) and H&M (Swedish), if they have a huge reliance on Chinese production to supply their huge market in the United States.

If you're interested in the repercussions that people expect from these proposed tariffs on Chinese goods, I'd suggest listening to or watching the November 8th, 2024 episode of Morning Brew Daily (I linked to YouTube, but it's also available on Spotify, Nebula, the Morning Brew website, and other podcast platforms).

[blushedfemmes]

i wish people would stop making well-intentioned positivity posts for stone bottoms/pillow princesses that begin and end with scolding people for ‘not respecting our boundaries.’ like yeah it’s partly about boundaries but it’s way more about how sex- topping in particular- is viewed as labor, and therefore must be a reciprocal or somehow equal exchange. the same way one might talk about household chores. shit-talking pillow princesses is so common within sapphic spaces because it is perceived to be a MORAL stance. treating this problem as if it’s purely an interpersonal matter of respecting individual boundaries is not gonna get us anywhere.

sex is only work when it’s sex work. if you think topping is a chore, you shouldn’t be doing it. if a satisfying sexual encounter for you involves taking turns, or trading orgasms, or whatever, of course that’s completely fine and good! the problem arises when people assume that’s the default, natural, moral, correct or only way of having sex as a queer person. when people assume that it goes without saying. stone folks exist in defiance of that. and everyone benefits from shedding normative, restrictive ideas about sex. which, by the way, is a value-neutral 100% optional activity with infinite variations. we need to work on tearing down any moralizing about how it should be done, beyond risk-aware consent, which is really all that matters.

people feel justified in disregarding, mocking, belittling or shaming stone folks’ boundaries because they do not think those boundaries are morally or socially correct. i know these positivity posts mean well, but shouting ‘respect boundaries!!’ over and over is missing the bigger picture.

[reasonsforhope]

On her fingers, Chicago’s Chief Sustainability Officer Angela Tovar counted the city buildings that will soon source all of their power from renewable energy: O’Hare International Airport, Midway International Airport, City Hall.

[Note: This is an even huger deal than it sounds like. Chicago O'Hare International Airport is, as of 2023, the 9th busiest airport in the world.]

Chicago’s real estate portfolio is massive. It includes 98 fire stations, 81 library locations, 25 police stations and two of the largest water treatment plants on the planet — in all, more than 400 municipal buildings.

It takes approximately 700,000 megawatt hours per year to keep the wheels turning in the third largest city in the country. Beginning Jan. 1, every single one of them will come solely from clean, renewable energy, mostly sourced from Illinois’ newest and largest solar farm. The move is projected to cut the Windy City’s carbon footprint by approximately 290,000 metric tons of carbon dioxide each year, the equivalent of taking 62,000 cars off the road, the city said.

Chicago is one of several cities across the country that are not only shaking up their energy mix but also taking advantage of their bulk-buying power to spur new clean energy development.

The city — and much of Illinois — already has one of the cleanest energy mixes in the country, with over 50% of the state’s electricity coming from nuclear power. But while nuclear energy is considered “clean,” carbon-free energy, it is not considered renewable.

Chicago’s move toward renewable energy has been years in the making. The goal of sourcing the city’s energy purely from renewable sources was first established by Mayor Rahm Emanuel in 2017. In 2022, Mayor Lori Lightfoot struck a deal with electricity supplier Constellation to purchase renewable energy from developer Swift Current Energy for the city, beginning in 2025.

Swift Current began construction on the 3,800-acre, 593-megawatt solar farm in central Illinois as part of the same five-year, $422 million agreement. Straddling two counties in central Illinois, the Double Black Diamond Solar project is now the largest solar installation east of the Mississippi River. It can produce enough electricity to power more than 100,000 homes, according to Swift Current’s vice president of origination, Caroline Mann.

Chicago alone has agreed to purchase approximately half the installation’s total output, which will cover about 70 percent of its municipal electricity needs. City officials plan to cover the remaining 30 percent through the purchase of renewable energy credits.

“That’s really a feature and not a bug of our plan,” said deputy chief sustainability officer Jared Policicchio. He added that he hopes the built-in market will help encourage additional clean energy development locally, albeit on a much smaller scale: “Our goal over the next several years is that we reach a point where we’re not buying renewable energy credits.”

Los Angeles, Houston, Seattle, Orlando, Florida, and more than 700 other U.S. cities and towns have signed similar purchasing agreements since 2015, according to a 2022 study from World Resources Institute, but none of their plans mandate nearly as much new renewable energy production as Chicago’s.

“Part of Chicago’s goal was what’s called additionality, bringing new resources into the market and onto the grid here,” said Popkin. “They were the largest municipal deal to do this.”

Chicago also secured a $400,000 annual commitment from Constellation and Swift Current for clean energy workforce training, including training via Chicago Women in Trades, a nonprofit aiming to increase the number of women in union construction and manufacturing jobs.

The economic benefits extend past the city’s limits: According to Swift Current, approximately $100 million in new tax revenue is projected to flow into Sangamon County and Morgan County, which are home to the Double Black Diamond Solar site, over the project’s operational life.

“Cities and other local governments just don’t appreciate their ability to not just support their residents but also shape markets,” said Popkin. “Chicago is demonstrating directly how cities can lead by example, implement ambitious goals amidst evolving state and federal policy changes, and leverage their purchasing power to support a more equitable renewable energy future.” ...

Chicago will meet its goal of transitioning all its municipal buildings to renewable energy by 2025, the first step in a broader goal to source energy for all buildings in the city from renewables by 2035 — making it the largest city in the country to do so, according to the Sierra Club.

With the incoming Trump administration promising to decrease federal support for decarbonizing the economy, Dane says it will be increasingly important for cities, towns and states to drive their own efforts to reduce emissions, build greener economies and meet local climate goals. He says moves like Chicago’s prove that they are capable.

“That is an imperative thing to know, that state, city, county action is a durable pathway, even under the next administration, and [it] needs to happen,” said Dane. “The juice is definitely still worth the squeeze.”

-via WBEZ, December 24, 2024

[0neir0z]

imagine youre a MEDIEVAL PEASANT in the lord's year 1389 and you go to the tavern with some friends. amidst all the conversation you mention that you're simply NOT GOING TO DIE and the richest man you've ever seen approaches you and asks if you just said you WEREN'T GOING TO DIE. and yeah you agree and he asks you to meet in this tavern of the white horse in ONE HUNDRED YEARS. and you think this guy might be fucking with you or you just sold your soul to the devil but you carry on and surprisingly you HAVEN'T FUCKING DIED YET. but oh well right you go to the tavern in 1489 and THAT GUY IS THERE. and you talk and he asks if you want to live still. you're like fuck yeah man and you go on another 100 years. and you meet your STRANGER yet AGAIN and hes there and you try and convince him to eat or something and he gets distracted by a PLAYWRIGHT. you warn your stranger that this guy ABSOLUTELY SUCKS and is worth none of his time. unfortunately this REALLY HOT AND MYSTERIOUS STRANGER is too enraptured by this godawful playwright and LEAVES YOUR DATE EARLY. but you still want to live and so another century goes by. THIS IS THE WORST CENTURY OF YOUR FUCKING LIFE. you lose EVERYTHING, your wife DIES, your son gets into a TAVERN BRAWL and DIES, will shaxberd is A RENOWNED PLAYWRIGHT, and YOU'RE SO HUNGRY. but you have your centennial date. and this stranger whomst you STILL KNOW ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ABOUT is there and still in the greatest finery. and you eat like an animal in front of him but WHO GAF. and he seems concerned why youd WANT TO LIVE AFTER ALL OF THAT but there's so much more to live for. 100 years and you get into THE ATLANTIC SLAVE TRADE business and your stranger HATES THAT. you realize HE'S RIGHT so you begin to reconsider. you find yourself emboldened and try to ask his name when you're interrupted by A WITCH TRYING TO INVESTIGATE THIS IMMORTAL RUMOR. but that's too much so your stranger blows SAND IN HER EYES and CURSES her with PAST GHOSTS and the date ends. another century and you still have questions, but the date proceeds and you ask your stranger why he ALSO KEEPS COMING BACK. you insinuate that he's LONELY and HE'LL RETURN BECAUSE YOU'RE FRIENDS. he also hates this and storms off. you've BROKEN UP. and you wait and wait for your next date but this guy HE'S LATE ASF. the white horse tavern has been SOLD to YOU, you're a HISTORY PROFESSOR, you're on your 30th LIFE RETCON and suddenly THERE HE IS. you eventually learn that it's because he was IMPRISONED by the OCCULTIST, RODERICK BURGESS, for THE CENTURY and that's why he's late. also that he's THE ENTIRE COLLECTIVE UNCONSCIOUS shambling around in a man shaped suit and a big fuckoff coat. and you two make up for a bit and he promises maybe to see you a bit more. when he does see you again it's because he's about to go on a SUICIDE MISSION to HELL and you're DREAMING. but he leaves you a bottle of your favorite wine that hasn't existed in NEARLY 300 YEARS but that's okay, you guess. a couple of winters pass and you see him AGAIN but in person it's because he thinks he's GOING TO NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN. you go to the bar and he still orders DARK MEAD in MODERN TIMES. he asks if you need anything of him and you say maybe to forget the unending grief about your DEAD WIFE. he grants it and then VANISHES. time passes and you dream of HIS FUNERAL AND HIS WAKE. you meet HIS SIBLINGS, all ENDLESS BEINGS, every single one of his EXES, and fucking batman. YOU WERE HIS ONLY FRIEND. weird fucking dream... but you're at the renfaire with your gf and it's going pretty great. you have a couple beers and sit down in the tavern, doze off. you are woken and chat up some ODDLY FAMILIAR GOTH CHICK. this is DEATH. she tells you about the wager she made with her brother, your STRANGER in 1389 and guides you out somewhere. YOU HAVE DIED. happened to my good friend hob gadling once.

[favefandomimagines]

Moments In Between (f.l)

Summary: the moments in between after a night shift and a day shift.

Request: @craftyphantompotato If you are still accepting request for Frank Langdon, maybe one where the reader returns from a night shift covering for another doctor and she and Frank are cuddled in bed for a bit before Frank has to leave for his day and the kids get up

AN: we need some 100% fluff for Frank because all i know is how to write angst

Dr. Frank Langdon’s alarm buzzed softly on the nightstand, a quiet interruption to the calm before sunrise. But the warmth curled around his side kept him from moving.

Y/N had come home not long ago, just as the first hints of dawn pushed against the navy sky. Her overnight ER shift, covering for Dr. Abbott, had drained her—but it never stopped her from coming home to him.

Her scrubs were traded for his oversized T-shirt, and she slid into bed with a sleepy sigh, curling into the crook of Frank’s side like it was her natural place in the world.

He smiled sleepily, not opening his eyes just yet. Her hand rested on his chest, fingers splayed gently over the steady beat of his heart. He wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her just a bit closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“You’re freezing,” he mumbled, voice rough from sleep.

Y/N laughed lightly, her nose brushing his collarbone. “The ER was like a meat locker. Either that or I’m just too tired to feel warm.”

Frank let out a quiet chuckle, fingers tracing slow circles on her spine. "Remind me to sneak another jacket in your locker."

“Mmm… You’re better than a jacket.”

They lay in comfortable silence for a few beats, the kind of silence that speaks more than words. She pressed her cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as it slowed again, pulling her with it.

"How was it?" he asked finally.

Y/N sighed. "Busy. A couple of trauma cases. A kid with a fractured femur. Two psych admits. We ran out of beds by 3 a.m. But no fatalities, thank God."

Frank’s hand moved gently through her hair. “I’m proud of you. Always.”

She shifted just enough to kiss his chest. “You say that like I don’t already know.”

“Still worth saying.”

Her hand slowly trailed up to his jaw. She leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Frank responded instinctively, deepening it just slightly before pulling back to rest his forehead against hers.

“I wish I didn’t have to go in today,” he whispered.

“I know. But I’ll be here when you get back.”

Frank took a breath, as if to memorize this exact moment—her in his arms, the softness of her hair against his skin, the low hum of life beginning in the world outside their window.

A faint creak down the hallway broke the stillness. Y/N turned her head, her eyes meeting Frank’s with a knowing glint.

“Do you think—?”

A little voice came from the hallway. “Daddy?”

Frank smiled. “Yup.”

He sat up gently, brushing a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. Their four-year-old son, Tanner, stood at the door in his dinosaur pajamas, hair standing in a wild puff around his head, holding his stuffed bear under one arm.

“Hey, bud,” Frank said, reaching out. “Come here.”

Tanner scrambled up onto the bed with the eagerness only a toddler could have, squishing himself between his parents.

“Morning, Mommy,” he said sleepily.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Y/N whispered, kissing his forehead.

“I dreamed we were all in space,” he said matter-of-factly, climbing over Frank’s leg to get closer to her. “You were flying the rocket ship.”

Frank laughed. “Of course she was.”

“I made breakfast for the aliens.”

Y/N gasped softly. “What did you make?”

“Peanut butter pancakes. But with glitter.”

“That sounds delicious, bud.”

A soft cry came from the baby monitor on the nightstand. Frank reached over and clicked it off, already rising from bed.

“I’ll get her,” he said.

Y/N caught his hand before he left, squeezing it. “Thanks. Love you.”

He bent down and kissed her gently. “Love you more.”

Frank padded down the hall and returned a few minutes later with their two-year-old daughter, Maisie, rubbing her eyes and clutching a soft blanket to her chest.

“Look who’s up,” he said, setting her gently on the bed.

Maisie immediately curled up beside Y/N, who scooped her up into a warm embrace.

“Hi, baby girl,” Y/N cooed, brushing the toddler’s hair back. “Did you have sweet dreams?”

Maisie nodded solemnly, laying her head against her mother’s chest.

Tanner poked his sister’s foot. “We were in space, Maisie. You were a space kitten.”

She blinked at him and smiled sleepily.

Frank leaned against the doorframe for a moment, watching the three of them. The soft morning light painted the room in gold. There were a million things to do, patients to see, rounds to make—but right now, none of that mattered.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes half-lidded with exhaustion but still filled with a quiet kind of joy. “Go get dressed,” she said softly. “We’ll be here when you get back.”

Frank nodded, reluctant to break the moment. He walked over, kissed each of them again—Tanner on the forehead, Maisie on the cheek, and Y/N on the lips.

“I love our little morning in-between,” he said.

She smiled. “Me too.”

Frank’s day at the hospital was predictably hectic. Rounds were nonstop, and the ER was flooded with cases ranging from a fractured clavicle to a construction worker with a rebar injury. But he kept one hand in his pocket all day, fingers brushing the soft corner of the family photo Y/N had slipped in there on their last anniversary.

He checked in with her on break: a voice message that made him grin as she recounted how Tanner had tried to use peanut butter as glue to build a “space rocket” in the kitchen, and Maisie had insisted on wearing her shoes on the wrong feet.

When his shift ended, the sun had long dipped behind the buildings, and the sky was painted in indigo and rose. He stopped to grab takeout from their favorite Thai place and headed home.

Y/N was on the couch, Maisie asleep on her chest, Tanner curled up next to her with a picture book about astronauts. She looked up with a tired but radiant smile.

“Perfect timing,” she whispered.

Frank leaned over the back of the couch and kissed her forehead. “I brought pad thai.”

“Marry me,” she murmured.

“Already did.”

He set the food on the counter, scooped up Tanner with expert Dad reflexes, and brought him to bed. Then he returned for Maisie, carefully replacing her blanket after laying her down.

Y/N joined him in the kitchen, her hair pulled up messily, dark circles under her eyes, but to Frank she was the most beautiful thing in the world.

They ate in companionable silence, only the hum of the fridge and distant city noise filling the space.

“You still want to watch that docuseries about Everest?” he asked after they’d cleaned up.

“Only if I can fall asleep halfway through.”

Frank held out his hand. “Deal.”

They settled on the couch again, her head on his chest, legs tangled beneath a shared blanket. The documentary played, but neither made it past the first twenty minutes.

The world continued around them—beepers buzzing, city lights blinking—but in their little apartment, wrapped in warmth and each other, time softened. They had each other, their babies, and these small, precious pockets of peace between the chaos.

And sometimes, that was everything.

[earlymorningfoxhunt]

Freak On a Leash

I fucking love right Darkthur so much, I've been rotating these guys in my brain for the past week. Hes wonderful, I want him dead, here's my ramblings about em:

Arthurs horribly fucked up, hes not jazzed about killing but he sees it as a tool in his arsenal + it helps that he kinda enjoys the blood lust

John gets his arm amputated because of an infection/ it being mangled and dubbed too far gone by doctors, neither can protest in their comatose state. John is half awake even with anesthesia so he feels when they start sawing through flesh and bone. his coma period is much more horrific, with Lilly being the only thing to anchor him to hope. Arthur waking up feels like a godsend.

John can still feel the residual limb and can slightly move the elbow around. when he gains control of arthurs right leg, theres a learning curve to walk, tho they adjusted after having to sprint around the island caves.

Dreamlands is where they begin to bond/Arthur sees him as a person and John feels like more than an a voice in his head. its a stained relationship but they realize they still care about each other after they escape the pits.

Arthur invokes the "do you trust me" as they reach the plateau, John says yes

Arthur hold up the dagger to his chest

"i have your fucking heart"

Hastur is flabbergasted and almost impressed that this hobbled man he threw in the pits still has fire in him.

John is freaking the fuck out.

Arthur is using both of them as a hostage to negotiate 100% of what they want. "John will be mine, you will return us home, your stupid fucking cult will leave us alone, and you will rot in the dreamlands half the king you once were. you will lose to a mortal or die along with your better half."

"you're bluffing. would you really trade your life for this parasite? Arthur Lester, you're smarter than this."

Arthur doesn't break eye contact when he plunges the dagger into his chest.

the kings tendrils fly towards him with a guttural screech.

all forward momentum stops with the weapon, less than an inch from Hasturs fluttering heart. blood pumps down his tattered dress shirt with only a sharp inhale and twitching eye to indicate pain.

a smile dusts his face "is this really time for games, king?"

"how does it feel to be beneath someone you consider lesser? I bet it stings" Hastur growls and arthur twists the knife "down boy"

"John do you really want to stay with this freak?"

John, vaguely pissed off "my dick has lead me places i wouldn't go with a gun"

kiy: oo get it white boy

john: do NOT get it white boy

[13uswntimagines]

Safe Harbor (Alessia X Singer!R)

Summary: R is a very famous singer at the end of a very long, very crazy tour. Alessia is there to take care of her.

Warmings: Established D/s dynamics. The use of Daddy, and Collars. No smut.

You knew that you were living a dream.

You knew that millions of people would trade everything to be in the position you were in. 

They would do anything to have stadiums scream their name and for their songs to play on the radio for the world to hear. 

You had been plucked out of obscurity after you unsuspectingly played a bar in Leeds in front of Ed Sheeran when you were 16. A year and a half later you had taken Billboard's Hot 100 by storm, broken the record for most weeks at number one by a new artist… twice, and you were opening for Taylor Swift’s 1989 tour.

That had just been the beginning. 

Now you were on your 3rd world tour, selling out stadiums for yourself, with one of the best-selling albums of all time. 

It was… crazy that a kid from Maidstone who barely had enough to eat growing up had thousands of people screaming your name every night, singing your lyrics back to you like they were anthems. 

Your music was raw, personal. Painfully autobiographical. 

Your fans picked apart every lyric, dissecting your words with obsessive precision. The heartbreak, the loss, the fear woven into every track—they clung to it like it was their story, too. Before You Go, Say Something, Thinking Out Loud—each song became a window into your soul. And they were desperate to see more.

It was why your first album had gone platinum overnight, and every album after it had debuted at number 1. 

They resonated with your honesty, and that’s what made people fall in love with it.

You had expected that part. 

What you hadn’t expected was that they hadn’t just fallen in love with the music—they had fallen in love with you.

The girl with the sunny personality, and the commanding stage presence. The girl who smiled brightly at every meet-and-greet, made them laugh at every interview, and always took time to meet fans, even after long days in the studio or on music video sets. They built you up as their idol, their friend, their fantasy. They flirted with you in meet-and-greets before you were 18 and treated you like you belonged to them. Like they were entitled to every part of you.

At some point, you became an enigma—Y/N Y/L/N, the nine-time Grammy winner. The infallible pop star. The face that was painted on the side of billboards, and smiling in Colgate commercials. 

At some point, just Y/n failed to exist to them, and you liked it that way. 

You did well to dodge their invasive questions, running interviewers around in circles, and answering fans with witty remarks to avoid answering. And over the years (and through 4 albums), you only got better at preventing the fans from learning anything of substance about your private life. The only glimpses they got were through your music, and you liked to keep it that way. 

You did your best to keep it that way.

The only time you let them get close, let the world peek behind the curtain, was during the piano set of your concerts. 

It was dubbed the surprise song set by the fans even though 2 of 3 songs never changed. It was where you sang your most emotional songs, and where you let yourself be vulnerable. Open. Real. 

Tonight was no different. Or at least, you were trying to convince yourself of that.

You sucked in a long breath, your fingers tracing the black and white keys as the final chords of Bruises echoed through the stadium, curling off the walls and over the crowd. Their energy buzzed around you, rolling like an ocean wave.

You could feel it crashing against your chest, adding to the adrenaline bubbling through your veins. 

You took another deep breath, the air catching in your throat as you tried to control your breathing enough so you could talk. So you could give your signature speech before revealing the night's surprise song. 

Maybe tonight was different. 

You felt more… exposed.

More… vulnerable. 

This year was nothing short of a whirlwind. Eighty sold-out shows across the U.S. in the summer, followed by another thirty in Europe and the UK. Three back-to-back number-one singles—no small feat—only knocked from the top spot after 18 weeks by Taylor Swift herself.

It was amazing and incredible and exhausting all rolled together. 

You dearly loved your fans, their passion, and their devotion, but you were drained. 

Your eyes slid closed, allowing the bone-deep weariness to cut through the buzz from the crowd for just a second as you pulled your fingers from the keys, briefly rubbing the leather braided bracelet around your wrist as you reset for the next song.

It was the closest thing you’d had to your girlfriend's touch in nearly 2 months, and it wasn’t nearly enough. One soft touch from her would make it all melt away. 

One touch and she would take away the burden of control that had plagued you since you started the tour. 

You would finally be able to let go and just be.  

There were only 6 songs left and then you would be with her, your lighthouse on rocky seas. Your anchor on stormy nights. 

You took another deep breath. 

It was the last show of an incredible year, and you had something very very special planned.

Something no one would see coming. 

Your eyes blinked open as the crowd noise dipped, and you painted your signature smirk on your face as you leaned back toward the mic. 

“So Wembley, how are we feeling?” You asked into the microphone, smiling widely at the roar from the audience that met you. “Fantastic,”

You brought your fingers to the piano, letting them dance delicately across the keys. They had no particular rhythm, though they were in the key that your surprise song would be in. 

You wanted to avoid giving the surprise away yet. 

“So you know, I was thinking about what song I was going to play tonight, trying to figure out which one would be the perfect end to such an amazing tour,” You couldn’t help the little laugh that left you as the audience got impossibly louder, cheering out an indistinguishable mix of song titles that you had yet to play on this tour. You paused for a long second, feeling their cheers only grow, popping your in-ear monitor out for effect. 

It was endearing really, how into it they got (especially when you found out that they had created an entire fantasy league about what version of your outfits you would wear and what songs you would sing). They made it easy to pretend like you were having the time of your life instead of fantasizing about what you would be doing in 40 minutes. 

You shook your head, popping the monitor back into your ear and your fingers returning to the keys, letting their chants fill you up, and drive you forward. 

“And I was talking to one of my favorite people,” You continued, starting to pick out a tune that was a bit closer to the song you were going to play. “Now you all know I don’t normally take requests, but this being the final night of the Eclipse World Tour, and with such special guests in the audience I couldn’t quite say no,” 

Your eyes instinctually found Alessia as you hit the opening chord, and though you could see her expression you could feel her gaze burning into you. 

Seeing through you. 

Even surrounded by people, her attention was the only one you craved. 

“It’s a song I haven’t played for a long time, so I’m going to need your help.” You continued, Never breaking eye contact with her. “Will you help me tonight Wembley?”

The crowd roared in approval, and goosebumps erupted on your skin at the sheer energy they projected at you. It filled your chest and fueled your fingers as you finally hit the signature piano riff that opened the song.

You flashed the crowd your signature smirk, all essence of yourself slipping beneath your on-stage persona. 

And when you opened your mouth to sing the first line; it felt easy. It felt right.

Have you ever fed a lover with just your hands 

Closed your eyes and trusted

Just trusted 

*****

Watching you perform was magic. 

It had always been magic. 

Whether it was a show in Wembley in front of 100,000 people, or one when you were small with a guitar the same size as you, Alessia had always been mesmerized by you. Even before the two of you were old enough to put names to what you were feeling. 

It didn’t matter that she had seen you play thousands (hundreds of thousands) of times, nor that this was not her first time attending one of the shows on this tour. 

She leaned forward on the barricade separating the VIP tent from the Floor sections as you began to play the piano break. 

“She’s incredible,” Leah said, leaning closer to Alessia to be heard above the crowd. “They’re eating out of the palm of her hand,”

Alessia hummed. “She is,”

The audience was glued to every move, every breath you took on stage. She was too, and so were all of her teammates. 

What made it even better was that you were hers, and she got to enjoy you from her favorite seat in the house. 

They hadn’t originally been slated to be in the VIP tent.

Viv had organized the tickets, picking an area on the 2nd balcony because they were the only ones left. Alessia had gone along with it, only mentioning to you that 800$ was crazy for a 2nd tier balcony ticket in passing.

You had sleepily agreed, cursing Ticketmaster and reminding Alessia of the 10-hour meetings you had endured when your fans crashed the site during pre-sale. You hadn’t said anything about it since, so she assumed you had forgotten. 

You did not forget. 

There had been a team waiting to escort them when they arrived, and you had made sure the tent was loaded with all of their favorites. You had also refunded the tickets, and given them away to 23 fans outside of the stadium. 

You liked to do things for her. It was a way for you to serve her even from a distance, and she enjoyed telling you how good you were afterward. 

She definitely had plans to do that tonight. 

She leaned forward on the barrier as you got to the final chorus. 

There was a reason this spot was always her favorite to watch the show from, and why she had been hesitant when they escorted her and her friends to the tent. 

They were close to the stage. Close enough that Alessia could see the cracks in your carefully crafted facade. 

She could see the dark circles under your eyes, and how your smile never met your eyes. She could see the slight curl of your shoulders, and how you kept twisting your bracelet tightly around your wrist. 

She could see the command you had of the crowd wearing on you, and just how in your head you were. 

All of her instincts told her to protect you. To wrap you up, and take the reigns so you could just exist without thinking. So you could submit and know that she would take care of you. 

And sure, her teammates had caught glimpses of the dynamic between the two of you, but you both liked to keep the heavier aspects to yourselves.

It was harder for her to do that when she had watched the toll this tour had taken on you, and knew just how close you were to being able to let go. 

“Is it just me or does she look shattered,” Katie asked as the song came to an end, the final note ringing around the stadium as your eyes once again closed and you sucked in air through your nose. 

Alessia didn’t take her eyes away from you. “Not just you,”

She followed the rapid rise and fall of your chest, and how your fingers silently fluttered over the keys before you began to play again. 

“She’s barely slept at all this week because of end-of-tour meetings,” Alessia continued as you began picking out a new tune. “And she’s been co-producing an album that comes out next month, so she’s barely had time to think, much less do anything else.” 

Leah hummed from her other side. “I’m just surprised you haven’t stepped in yet.” 

Alessia made a low sound in the back of her throat. 

It was… complicated. 

While Alessia had rules that you followed (even while you were on tour) to help protect both your physical and mental health, you both had boundaries when it came to your careers. 

She understood that you had responsibilities and that sometimes you had to prioritize work to make everything run smoothly. (She also secretly relished watching you in boss mode, knowing that you would be kneeling at her feet later.)

The agreement you had was that she would only interfere under 2 conditions. First, if you crossed the Limits the two of you had agreed upon years ago without communicating with Alessia first. Second, if you asked.

“Tonight I will,” Alessia said as your eyes opened and you leaned back towards the microphone, your fingers dancing along the keys.

“Since we have the incredible women of Arsenal in the audience tonight, I think there’s one more song we have to do before continuing the show,” 

The audience roared in response. 

Your smile was charming, even as your eyes danced vacantly across the screaming fans in the pit next to the small stage that held your piano. 

Alessia could imagine the edits that would be online later, the people swearing that your expression was solely meant for them. They would think the way you twisted your bracelet was to show them how much you liked the copies they wore. 

She shook her head. 

The chords under your fingers changed, shifting into another familiar tune. 

North London Forever 

Whatever the Weather

You pulled back from the microphone, tilting your head to the sky as the fans picked up the song all around you. 

The stage lights swelled around you, illuminating the crowd as they sang for you. Your fingers deftly played the background music for the song. 

She could understand why it was a tradition for you. Why you always added North London Forever to the last show of your tours, especially when you ended in London. 

And my heart will leave you never 

My blood will forever

Goosebumps erupted on her skin as the crowd of 100,000 sang the rest of the chorus, and pride swelled in her chest, replacing her worry for just a moment. 

You wouldn’t have done a sing along if you were too far gone. 

Your relationship was built on trust, and Alessia trusted that you were ok for now. She would step in when the show was over, and you were ready. 

****

“Thank you London,”

The final notes of Shut Up and Dance pounded through the stadium. 

You held your arms out wide, as if to physically soak in their cheers as the stage lights dimmed, leaving only one shining against your back, silhouetting you for the audience In a perfect replica of your album cover. Then everything went dark, and the platform you had been standing on lowered so you were under the stage. 

“Great show Y/n,” Your tour manager, Aubrey, said as you stepped off the lift, the crowd noise barely fading.

You nodded in response, your tongue suddenly feeling too heavy in your mouth to form words. it felt like you were trying to think through an old television with terrible reception, the images staticy and broken. Fatigue settled into your bones, heavy and cold. 

A soft robe was draped over your shoulders by one of the production crew, and you twisted the bracelet around your wrist until the edges cut into your skin.

You focused on the pain, letting it ground you as you put one foot in front of the other and allowed your team to guide you from beneath the stage. 

your security team flanked you the second you were out from under the stage, acting like a protective wall. 

“You need to rehydrate.” Steve, your head of security said, pressing a blue Gatorade into your fingers.

They instinctively closed around the bottle, and Steve nudged you again to get you to bring it to your lips. 

“Small sips kid,” Clint added from your other side, as the third member of your security team, Natasha, made eye contact with Steve

You tried to follow their directions, but your hands were shaking so badly you almost dropped the drink. 

You felt Powerful. 

You felt… floaty.

It was so… weird. It usually took you hours to come down from the high of a show, and devolve into… whatever this was. 

To finally give in and call your girlfriend for help. 

You had been… reluctant to bother her in the last few weeks. 

She had been busy with international friendlies, and you didn’t exactly like exploring your dynamic while you were separated. 

Dropping into sub space was hard for you on a good day, guided by Alessia‘s firm but comforting presence. Doing it while the two of you were doing long distance was a painful impossibility. 

The few times it had actually worked were misery for you. Like your brain was made of broken glass and no one was there to help you knit the fractured shards back together. 

Even with her voice on the other end of a video call, it had been brutal. 

You had put it off, and put it off, and now it seemed that your body wasn’t going to give you a choice. 

“I’ll be back.” Natasha said, turning on her heel as Steve shifted to shield you from the people buzzing around backstage. 

You didn’t even acknowledge her, blinking slowly as cling helped you bring the bottle of Gatorade to your lips. 

“Take deep breaths.” Clint said gently. “We have to get to the tunnel.”

You tried, but it was like you were under water, or sucking air through a straw. 

You were crashing, and you still had to face the public one last time before you could let go. 

You swallowed hard, forcing the fog in your brain away and your signature smirk on your face. 

It would satisfy the people waiting for you to make your way out from behind the stage and into the safety of the stadium halls, away from prying eyes.

“Let’s go.” You muttered, pushing the Gatorade back towards Steve. 

It took all of your strength just to utter the word, and you knew it would take every bit of mental fortitude you had to wave at the fans as you passed. 

But it was required.

It was the least you could do for the people who bought obstructed view seats. A thing you had done for every one of your other shows. A thing fans would absolutely notice if you didn’t do it. 

It didn’t matter how much you didn’t want to. 

“Let’s do it.” Clint agreed, positioning his hand on the small of your back, while Steve did the same on your other side. 

You straightened and squared your shoulders. 

You could do this one last act for your fans. Then you could let go. 

*******

“That show is incredible,” Beth said, leaning against the VIP barricade. “I don’t know how she runs around like that for 3 and a half hours,”

“A lot of cardio,” Leah shrugged. “She released a whole behind the scenes video of how she trained for the tour.”

“That video felt staged though.” Viv said. “She was very different then she usually is with us, or you Less,”

The English striker hummed. “She likes to keep separation between her professional life and her private life.” 

“Makes sense.” Katie agreed. “Did you see how many people had braided bracelets in all different colors?”

“I did.” Alessia nodded, her eyes trailing across the area near the stage, looking for your personal assistant. “But they have no clue what hers actually means. You all know her, but the fans just know the idea of her. It’s easier to keep it all separated.” 

It was strange that she hadn’t seen your assistant yet. That she hadn’t come to retrieve her and the team. 

Chloe was usually waiting at the VIP tent to take her backstage before the last fireworks of the show had even finished. 

It had alarm bells swirling in her brain. 

“It’s kind of amazing how confident she is on stage.” Beth agreed. “It’s like she’s 2 different people.” 

“Sometimes she is.” Alessia trailed off spotting a different redhead coming around the stage. Your security instead of your assistant. 

It was hard to wrap her head around the dichotomy between your loud, confident persona on stage and the quiet girl she knew you were, and as your career grew, that difference had only gotten larger. 

Her eyebrows furrowed as Natasha approached them, nodding towards her friends before meeting her eyes. “I need to borrow you, please,”

Katie whistled. “Get it Lessie,” 

“Gotta get that post concert energy out,” Kyra snickered, and the tear erupted into laughter behind her. 

She shot a glare towards her cackling team. “Of course,”

Natasha was a part of your personal security. She didn’t need words to convey that you needed Alessia, and you needed her now. 

“Alone please,” Natasha said, her eyes flickering towards the girls who tried to exit the tent with Alessia. 

The laughter stopped around them, and Alessia nodded once, turning back towards the team. 

“We’ll catch up with you lot tomorrow?” Alessia said, authority that the team rarely heard leaking into her tone. “We can do lunch, or maybe Dinner.” 

Leah stepped forward and nodded, knowing this was not the time to argue with her. “Tell y/n thank you for the tickets and that we send our love,”

“Go take care of your superstar,” Beth nodded towards Natasha.

“I will,” Alessia nodded, stepping out of the tent. 

She meant it. 

You had taken care of yourself for most of the tour. It was her turn now. 

******

You didn’t remember how you got to your dressing room. You didn’t remember waving to the fans, smiling widely and sending them hand hearts. 

one second you were backstage, and then you blinked and Steve was gently closing the dressing room door behind you. 

You paced the room, pushing the dark robe off of your shoulders. You didn't know what to do with yourself. 

It was too warm and too cold. The dress shirt you wore on stage was too soft and too scratchy. Your mind was racing too fast and moving too slow all at once. 

your breathing hitched, and you brought your trembling fingers of one and to your lips to prevent the sobs threatening to bubble out. The other tugged useless at your collar, trying to get air. This was not normal. It was rare you dropped, let alone this hard or this deep. 

It was like quicksand, sucking you into the chaotic spiral deeper, faster, with more force the more you tried to fight it. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess, and your brain was going to rip itself apart trying to untangle them. 

You were in free fall, plummeting faster than you ever had before with no net to catch you. You had put it off for too long, and now you had no choice.

You knew you needed to do something, but making the decision of what you should do felt impossible. 

You were done making decisions for the foreseeable future. 

The sound of the door clicking open and shut again was nearly drowned out by the buzzing in your ears, but you Instinctively turned towards the presence that entered. 

The air shifted around her as she stood in front of you like a mirage, immediately capturing all of your attention. For just a split second, your racing thoughts went quiet, and you were wholly consumed by her presence. It crackled like a warm fire on a cold day, or like a lightning storm over the sea. You couldn't decide. 

You didn’t want to decide. 

And you knew you didn’t need to. 

Alessia- No, your Daddy was here and she would take care of everything. 

Her gaze swept over you, taking in every twitch of your fingers against the buttons of your shirt, and the tremble that snaked its way across your shoulders and down your spine. You felt naked, despite the clothing scratching at your skin. 

She crossed the room in 3 long strides, her hands catching your wrist before you even registered that she had moved. 

”That’s enough, little one.” She said, keeping her voice gentle despite the command clear in it. “You’ve done so well, and I’m so proud of you, but I’m here now.”

She carefully unwound your fingers from here they were tearing at your shirt, placing them on her hips before deftly undoing the buttons. “I’ve got you. Just take deep breaths for me, love,” 

You tried, but it felt like it was stuck in your throat, trapped by the inhuman sound now bubbling past your lips. 

She carefully slid the thin material of your shirt from your shoulders, and you met her eyes. 

The sob you’d been holding in finally broke free, your knees weakening as the weight of it all hit you. But before you could completely crumble, Alessia’s arms were around you, pulling you into her chest. Her scent, her warmth, everything about her surrounded you like a safety net.

Her fingers tangled in your hair, and she rested her cheek on the top of your head. “You’ve done so well, you can relax now. I’m here with you and I’m not going anywhere,” 

Her other hand ran soothing circles on your back, easing the prickles on your skin like the world's best Aloe. “Just breathe, love.”

Her comforting touch seeped past your skin, settling deep into your bones. It eased the knotted panic in your chest, and dulled the sharp, frantic edges of anxiety that raced through you. 

“That’s it little one,” She cooed, her grip on your firm and unyielding. It was tether to reality. An anchor in the crashing storm that was your mind. A lifeline when you were being pulled beneath the tide.

“You’re safe. You’re here with me, and I will always keep you safe. Just relax,”

Her voice was as steady as her grip on you. Commanding in a way that couldn’t be ignored, but soft enough that it didn’t bristle your sensitive instincts. It was a mixture that only Alessia seemed to be able to achieve. A tone she could modulate to perfectly match the situation. 

You melted into her chest, nodding weakly as your tears slowed. Your entire body shuttered with each inhale, and hitched with each breath you blew out. 

You were moving past the uncomfortable phase of the drop where your brain felt like a shattered glass mirror, fractured and sharp, and into the lapping warmth that only Alessia seemed to be able to bring you. 

Alessia’s hands continued their slow, comforting path up and down your back, her breath even and calm, giving you a rhythm to sync your own to. 

“That’s it, little one,” she hummed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re such a good girl for me. You’ve done so well. Just let it all go.”

You whimpered. 

It felt too raw, too exposed. But Alessia knew—she always knew.

Her fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet her gaze. Her eyes were soft, but her tone left no room for argument.

“Look at me.” She said, using a finger to gently tilt your chin up. “You’ve done so well being in charge. You’ve run this entire tour, and made so many people happy. I’m so proud of you, but you can let go now. Let me be in charge for a little while,” She capped the statement with a gentle peck to your lips. 

You tried to lean in to continue the kiss, but she pulled away. 

“Later,” She promised, and you nodded once, sinking back into her chest. 

You understood that she didn’t like to start anything while you were like this unless it was well discussed beforehand. While there was any chance that you couldn’t consent, or feel like you could remove consent. 

You weren’t sure how long she stood there and held you, rocking gently from side to side and scratching your scalp. Long enough for the storm in your chest to mellow and for your brain to slowly begin knitting itself back together, grounded in the gentle pressure of your girlfriend. Your daddy.

“Let’s get cleaned up and then we can go home,” She said, when you pulled back enough to look at her. “Do you want your collar?” 

you nodded against her chest, kissing gently under her chin. 

“I need a verbal response, little one,” She said, dominance leaking into her tone to help you wade through the thick fog coating the crevices of your brain. 

It took you a long second to think of the words, and another to push the fog in your mind back enough to actually verbalize them. 

“Yes Daddy,” You said, frowning at how horse and garbled your voice was. 

she hummed, carefully maneuvering you back towards the door. One hand stayed securely wrapped around you as the other reached into the bag you hadn’t seen her enter with and pulled out your soft, brown leather collar. 

You hadn’t seen it since you left for tour, and just the sight was almost enough to send you back into a drop. 

“Easy,” Alessia murmured, guiding you towards the couch that existed in all of your dressing rooms. She sat you on the edge, and kneeled in front of you so she was slightly shorter than you. 

She trailed her hand down your arm to the bracelet around your wrist, carefully unclasping it and tucking it into her pocket. She then brought the soft leather of your regular collar to your neck, gently buckling it closed, making sure it wasn’t too tight. 

Your shoulders immediately relaxed, the full weight of her claim settling on you. 

“Let’s get cleaned up,” She said, catching your hand and standing you up. You went with her easily, leaning your weight on her as she led you to the bathroom. 

The way she undressed you both and got you settled into the warm water of the shower was familiar, routine even. 

You could feel yourself settling as she washed your hair, and cleaned your body of the sweat from the show. 

She touched you like you were delicate, but not like you were fragile, and it was everything you needed to wade back to reality. 

By the time she was using a towel to dry you off, and slipping one of her old UNC sweatshirts over your head you felt almost like yourself again. Your thoughts didn’t hurt anymore, and you were more grounded then you had been. 

“Kneel for me,” She said softly, settling herself on the couch, and placing a pillow at her feet. 

You hummed, and did as she asked, letting her guide you to lean back on her legs. 

You sunk into the warmth of her sweatshirt, surrounded by the scent of her perfume as she toweled off your hair and braided It for you. 

The rhythmic movement of her fingers through your hair and the feeling of safety and Alessia that encompassed you were enough to have your eyelids drooping. 

You blinked heavily at the knock that sounded on the door, and the blonde head of your head of security poking his head in. 

Steve didn’t look at you, steadfastly keeping his eyes on Alessia. “Miss Russo, we have the car ready whenever you are ready to leave.” 

“Thank you, Steven,” She said softly, authority still dripping from her tone. “We’ll be out in a few minutes,”

He nodded and closed the door quietly as he exited. 

“You’re all done, little one,” Alessia said, rubbing gentle circles in your shoulders, as you leaned further into her, your eyes sliding closed without your permission. 

They only opened when she shifted behind you, and you turned to look at her sleepily. 

She smiled gently at you, unable to stop herself from leaning in and pressing a quick peck to your lips. 

This was her favorite version of you, soft and sleepy, unguarded and completely trusting. It was the version that only she got to see, and she was honored that you had chosen her to be your safe place. 

”Alright little one,” She said, her finger hooked into the O-ring at the front of your collar, tugging lightly as she stood. “Let’s go home,”

[tossawary]

Thinking about missed opportunities in the "Star Wars" prequel trilogy again: it's weird with hindsight that Count Dooku doesn't appear in "The Phantom Menace".

Dooku was a Jedi, so it's perfectly reasonable for him to be at either the Jedi Temple or the Republic Senate when we visit Coruscant in TPM. It would have been easy to move a few things around and include him even as a member of the Jedi Council when initially constructing the films, if you were planning ahead when writing.

As Qui-Gon's former master, Dooku is in the perfect position to ask questions onscreen about Qui-Gon's conviction that he's found the Chosen One and Qui-Gon's decision to put Obi-Wan up for knighthood, both publicly with the Council and privately from a more personal standpoint. Dooku could be used as a tool of interrogation to better lay clear for the audience some of Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Anakin's characters, their motivations and fears and their potential flaws. An intimate conversation with his master's master could definitely be used to give Obi-Wan some much-needed character focus and interiority before his climatic fight with Darth Maul.

As the future leader of the Separatists, this is also the ideal point in time to have Dooku act as a voice of criticism, someone who laments both the greed of the Trade Federation and the inaction of the Republic. Dooku could have easily been the representative of the Jedi in the Senate, watching everything, offering grandfatherly sympathy to Padmé Amidala, remarking on the effectiveness of unrestrained power, perhaps even making a warning observation of the dangers of that as Palpatine becomes the new Chancellor. We don't have to see Palpatine and Dooku interact directly, the film could even suggest that Dooku finds this ambitious politician slightly distasteful, but it sets up an explanation for how these two might know each other.

And if we have reason to know and like Master Dooku, then it would actually hurt more when he becomes Count Dooku and betrays both the Jedi Order and the Republic. Even briefly, we could have seen him show frustrated affection and concern for Qui-Gon, give warm advice and praise to Obi-Wan, stand up firmly against the unfairness of the Jedi Council saying Anakin is too old at nine years old. We could have seen Dooku support Padmé in her struggles to make the corrupt Republic take action. We could have seen him as dignified and wise, perhaps one of the only members of the Jedi Council to immediately take the return of the Sith 100% seriously after Maul appears on Tatooine. We could have been made to feel like this experienced, slightly embittered, but righteous older man was the only one "speaking the truth" here.

It really wouldn't have taken all that much shuffling and reassignment plotwise to add him in as a supporting character.

We would feel intrigued at the beginning of "Attack of Clones" when we learn that Count Dooku has left the Jedi Order after Qui-Gon's death. We could see Anakin and Obi-Wan briefly exchange lines about how they miss Master Dooku as well as Qui-Gon (there is already an exchange in the films where they state they miss Qui-Gon), and how they haven't seen or heard from him in some time now. Anakin could suggest that Dooku is hunting down the Sith Master; Obi-Wan could counter with how Master Dooku has simply returned to his life on Serenno, which he couldn't have as a Jedi Master, which Anakin casually calls unfair and he suggests that Dooku can do far greater good as a powerful count (a parallel to Anakin's marriage to Padmé and own Fall). Dooku being established earlier in the trilogy would better highlight how he and Obi-Wan went completely separate directions after Qui-Gon's death.

And again, the reveal that Dooku has Fallen would hurt so much more, if we had actually seen him be affectionate and righteous and wise. If we had any point of comparison for how Dooku's embittered desire for peace and justice has been warped into the pursuit of control and tyranny. It would hurt to see that formerly good man sentence Padmé to death as "just politics, my dear".

"This will start a war!" Padmé tells the man who helped her help her people once.

"I know," Dooku replies, with ominous satisfaction.

It would hurt to see Obi-Wan beg Dooku to stop this (a prelude to him begging Anakin in the next movie: "Anakin, please, I cannot lose you too!"), only for Dooku to attack and nearly kill him when Obi-Wan refuses to join him. It would hurt to see this grandfatherly figure cut off Anakin's hand, someone he knew and was kind to as a child. Seeing where Dooku fell from would also make everything about his fight with Yoda hurt more as well. We wouldn't have seen Dooku's struggles directly, offscreen in the time skip between TPM and AOTC, but this Fall would help prepare us for witnessing Anakin's Fall onscreen in "Revenge of the Sith", illustrate for us how power and grief corrupts, how the desire to take complete control and "start over" corrupts.

And all of this would also make Dooku's death in ROTS hurt more: to see Anakin execute an unarmed, injured man who had once been kind to him, who had once had good intentions a long, long time ago. We could have even had Dooku perhaps try to warn Anakin about Sidious, as the fear cuts through him as he realizes Sidious has betrayed him, only for Anakin to kill Dooku out of anger (Dooku is responsible for so much death, Palpatine reminds Anakin) just before the ruined man can finish speaking. Dooku's former goodness underlines Anakin's arrogance in thinking that his own fate will be any different.

The novelizations of the prequel films and other extended universe materials build up an image of Dooku's life as a Jedi and his Fall for us. We can assume and imagine a lot. We can retroactively apply knowledge gleaned from "The Clone Wars" with Dooku as a major villain. But ultimately, Dooku as a more sympathetic and emotionally relevant character is just not in the films.

When "Attack of the Clones" reveals to us: "Oh, no! Dooku has betrayed the Jedi Order and the Republic!" I think that most of the audience is like: "Gonna be real with you, chief, I have no idea who that is."

He's only been mentioned before once maybe? In Palpatine's office? Master Mundi assures Palpatine that Dooku is a good man (or something like that), but we have seen no evidence of this ourselves. This line mostly just becomes really funny on a rewatch, rather than poignant, because the prequel films audience only ever gets to see Count Dooku as a Sith Lord and rather underdeveloped villain. We don't ever get to see him be a "good guy" first. We're told but not shown.

The audience has no solid reason to care that Dooku specifically has betrayed the Order, as opposed to any random Jedi, because we haven't seen him before at all, much less interacting with any of our protagonists or establishing himself as an opinionated player within the story. Which is a shame! Because he has strong opinions that stand in interesting ideological conflict with so many other characters, generating fun and dramatic exchanges! He has direct connections to and parallels with other characters! He's potentially a really useful storytelling tool within these films, and his character just doesn't get used to that full tragic potential.

In conclusion...? I wish I'd actually been sad when Dooku betrayed everyone and died at Anakin's hand, instead of mostly just confused and then vaguely pitying. I want to see some of the love between characters beforehand, so that it hurts more effectively when that love turns to hate.

[brightsuzaku]

this isn't even that shot of your flight over the plains, to see everything the amalj'aa treasure and would have lost

The sweeping plains of Paglth'an have been home to the nomadic Amalj'aa for a long time. The vast grassland, adjacent to Thanalan, are for herding swaths of livestock and keep the nomads constantly on the move.

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

from the flames | b. blake

masterlist

summary: season three — to signify the newly recognised alliance between the sky people and the grounders, a celebration is held within polis’ market square. a bonfire, alcohol, and the bawdy pulsation of drums is a sure-fire recipe for a stimulating night. add a watchful bellamy blake and his dancing muse into the mix, and, well… i’ll show you the consequences of such a potent combination.

pairing: bellamy blake x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol consumption/intoxication, sensual dancing, jealousy, sexual desecration??, mild possessiveness, arguments, bellamy speaking in trigedaslang (giggling and kicking my feet), dialogue-heavy, manhandling, mild angst, smut, unprotected p in v (do not), reader is short because i’m short, deal with it <3

notes: i haven’t recently been watching the 100 so the timeline and characterisation may be a little off. also, ik this took me a long ass time, but i’m gonna try and make sure the next two parts come out a little quicker <3 i love y’all!

word count: 2.5k

“People of Kongeda and Skaikru, tonight we gather as one, united by a common purpose and a shared future of alliance. Before us, this bonfire symbolises more than just a flame; it is a beacon of hope, an opportunity to cleanse old grudges and pain that has divided us for far too long.

“Let this fire signify a new beginning and serve as a reminder that unity is not our weakness, but our strength. Let it be known that from this day, we join not as enemies, but as allies, and anyone set upon spilling the blood of our allies is spilling the blood of us all. Let it be known: Jus drein, jus daun!”

“Jus drein, jus daun!”

As much as Lexa’s words intended to inspire harmony, the crowd massed below the second-floor balcony of the dominating tower she resided on reacted in any way but. Fierce declarations of worship were cried out; large fists were pumped in celebration; and misty clouds of brew and saliva were sprayed into the tepid night air.

All was well, for the first time since we landed on Earth.

“Happy Unity Day,” I murmured to myself, taking a sip from the metal cup in my hand. I was standing on the outer edges of the unruly crowd of dark, rugged figures, who were surrounding an unlit wooden mountain and raving as it abruptly burst into vociferous flames.

The monstrous tepee of sticks was raging at the centre of Polis’ trading square, an open area bordered with stalls and operating food vendors that infused the air with a salivating meaty aroma. Glimmers of light chipped away into the familiar starry night above and an orange ambience was cast throughout the square, seeming to blaze beneath the skin of those who orbited the fire.

It was a somewhat perplexing scene: to be together as one people, celebratingratherthan being at war with one another.

A pensive mechanic stepped in beside me, eyeing the mixed crowd of Grounders and Sky People.

Raven folded her arms over her chest. “Don’t you think the fact that the Ark originally had thirteen stations and the coalition now has thirteen clans is kind of…”

“Unsettling?” I finished for her. “Yeah. Probably best not tell these guys the story of how Polaris got blown out of the sky. Don’t want to give them any ideas.”

“Polaris… Polis…” she continued contemplating. “Think there’s anything equally unsettling about that?”

I looked at Raven. She looked back at me.

I sucked in a sharp breath—“I’m not drunk enough for this conversation”—and tipped the harsh contents of my cup down my throat. The liquid was molten in both its ferocity and colour and was infused with some potent earthly spice; it was a blow to the stomach upon consumption.

“Is that such a good idea?” Raven asked, judging me as my head craned back to capture the last few drops of throat-scorching goodness. “I’m all for pouring a glass when the occasion calls for it, but these people have stomachs lined with steel—what do you think yours is made of?”

I grimaced at the taste. “You tell me. You’re the genius.”

The roll of her eyes was deafening. “I’m just saying, they’ve probably spent decades perfecting their drinks to suit them, to match their tolerances. I mean, even that human fountain over there couldn’t handle it.” She nodded towards a cluster of barrels where a titan of a man wearing armoured shoulder pads and breastplates was hunched over, violently emptying his stomach onto the cobbled ground.

I swallowed my own stomach at the sight.

“I just assumed you wanted to spend the night somewhat differently,” she said, a sweet undertone of provocation twisting her words.

My brows furrowed, and I turned to face her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her lips twitched at the corners—never a good sign.

The thing was, I knew exactly what she meant. Her unspoken words had already been circling my mind for days, weeks, months even, increasingly accumulating with both heat and fervour.

As ironic as it was, I think it’s fitting to compare my situation to that of a star’s formation.

There I was, a delinquent sitting stagnant in a cold nebula of misery in the Sky Box, parted from my family and friends, sent hurtling to Earth to die, only then to have my cold, miserable cloud intruded upon by a fiery presence, a head of tousled brown waves and a pair of rich, dark chocolate eyes.

An awakener. An activator.

This intruder began filling my head with his words, his laughter, his brooding stare. The weight of his presence began to grow; thoughts of him consumed me. From the most surprisingly vulnerable conversations to even the tensest arguments, he had a heat inside me swirling and it was sweltering to unfathomable heights. It showed no signs of stopping.

Raven’s malevolent brown eyes were pointing plainly at something far behind me as if to answer my question. I knew what I would see even before turning around to look, but moronic as I was, I looked anyway.

Chin hovering over my shoulder, my eyes wandered through the scattered crowd of Grounders and Sky People alike that loitered the bonfire’s outskirts. There, sandwiched between Lincoln and an unoccupied trading stall, was a face that not only had my stomach contents lodged in my throat, but my heart as well.

Bellamy.

He was standing with his arms crossed, each one concealed beneath his distressed guard jacket. And although his stance screamed ‘Don’t talk to me,’ his face said otherwise. He and Lincoln were engaged in some high-spirited conversation, much unlike themselves (although the supply of drinks may have been to blame). Bellamy was speaking through one of his overconfident half-grins while alternating between gesturing to-and-fro with a single hand and tucking it back under his opposing bicep.

My chest was burning; the bonfire somehow must’ve seeped into my heart.

It should be stated here that when a nebula accumulates enough particles, it turns into a protostar—not a main sequence star like our sun, but something that holds the potential to be. At this point, the formation is at its most precarious. If a sufficient amount of mass is not acquired, the protostar will fail to stabilise and will cool into a brown dwarf, forever existing in the cold, lonely expansion of space as a reminder of what it could have been.

Bellamy’s head gravitated in my direction. Our eyes met through the asteroid belt of rugged figures between us. My breath caught in my throat, and I turned back around.

A reminder of what it could have been.

Sometimes I worry my insufficiency has damned me already.

“Oh, my god.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Oh my god, Raven, why would you put me through that?”

“In the hopes that you’ll finally grow a pair and do something about it,” she replied, taking a sip of her drink to conceal her smirk.

“About what?” Now I was just being evasive.

She let out a frustrated huff and folded her arms over one another. Her countenance was a reflection of impatience: the raised eyebrows, the slight downward tilt of her head, the pursed lips. I almost laughed at her theatricality; then again, I almost cried because I didn’t want the reason behind it to be true.

I wanted Bellamy Blake.

The confession was boiling inside me; it was burning the tip of my tongue, and I knew I had to let it out to cool. And if the words were never spoken to him, then they at least had to be expressed to someone else, even if I never admitted them in the exactness I felt, for the exact words would be so heinous, so—hedonistic, that if anyone were to hear them, I’d be thrown into lock-up for the rest of my days.

“Fine, I guess I’m… attracted to Bellamy,” I spoke slowly, cringing at my own words. Raven’s face immediately lit up like an overzealous Christmas tree, her smugly curved lips parting to no doubt release an incongruous stew of condemnation and encouragement, which I stopped before it could even start. “Anattraction that I am not going to act on, Raven; our friendship is rocky enough as it is. I mean,” I scoffed, “have I even told how we first met? I held a pocketknife to his neck our second night on the ground because he threatened to pry off my wristband in my sleep. And he actually tried! You know that tiny scar he has on his cheek? That was from me!”

“Yeah, sometimes I forget how much of a self-righteous dick he was for a while there,” Raven mused. Her face then screwed with confusion. “Wait, how did you two even become friends? Because when I came down, you were at each other’s throats every single day over one thing or another, and then out of nowhere, it was as if the slate had been wiped clean.”

Ah.

The day the slate had been wiped clean.

A thick blurriness blanketed my vision as my mind withdrew from the present. You know when you get run down with some kind of sickness and your mind gets all scrambled and foggy? Like a fever dream? That’s what that day seemed like to me. Too many unimaginable things had happened, too many emotions and losses were felt, and I’d only shared them with one person before.

“You still there?”

My gaze flickered to Raven momentarily. She was staring at me, half with impatience, half with concern. “Just—” I raised my hand slightly in front of me “—give me a second.”

I inhaled. One, two, three. And I exhaled. Three, two, one.

A vulnerable creature of some sort nestled in my brain, softening the tone of my voice as I hesitantly began, “It was the, uh, the day the Exodus Ship crashed. My dad was on it,” I said, my last words barely audible. “Knowing that he was gone was one thing, but watching the ship crash? That messed me up for a good while.”

Raven, taken aback, muttered her apologies. I just shook my head in return. I sucked in a sharp breath, forcing the memory into the cobwebbed corners of my mind, and then continued, “Bellamy had found me in the woods that night. It wasn’t exactly a pretty sight. I think that seeing me in such a vulnerable state forced him to set aside his asshole-ry for a while because he actually managed to… comfort me.”

I remembered the tone of his voice, so shockingly gentle yet hardened in his trademarked sort of way as he reassured me endlessly that I would be okay. I remembered the warmth of his body as I lay crumpled and sobbing in his lap on the forest floor, clinging onto his arm as if it kept me from plummeting into a bottomless pit. I remembered his hands, swiping away the thousands of tears that streaked my face, the hair from my eyes.

I remembered our brief conversation as we walked back to camp: “I won’t tell anyone. I promise,” he had said, to which I whispered, “Thank you,” and after a short pause, he spoke again, “We all need someone sometimes. I know we don’t have the best history together but… I can be that someone if you ever need,” and then, once more, with an unwelcome flutter in my stomach, I whispered, “Thank you.”

A small, bittersweet smile lifted my lips. My voice sounded distant to my ears as I continued speaking. “We still nicked at each other here and there after that—that tension between us has never really disappeared—but there was also this new mutual understanding. And somewhere from mutual understanding came a rough-around-the-edges friendship, and then friendship turned into something else.” I paused to recollect my thoughts. “Well, for me, at least.”

Between the moment I started speaking to the moment I stopped, my gaze had wandered sheepishly to the toes of my boots. I felt so exposed, like the outer layers of my being had been cracked open to reveal a part of my soul to a girl I hadn’t even known existed until two months ago. Suddenly I remembered why I didn’t drink often.

I stood awkwardly, waiting. The weight of my confession and vulnerability were looming above us.

Raven was quiet; she made no witty remark or tease. Her eyes had only softened with understanding, shifting back and forth as my words were mulled over in her brain. And it was only from her foreign silence that I realised what her next question could be: why don’t you just tell him?

I began, “I don’t want to ruin—"

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she finally interrupted, shaking her head as if to dismiss my unspoken sentiment. “The age-old ‘I don’t want to ruin what we have right now’. But what exactly is that?” Her eyes once again interrogated mine. “Because I’ll make it clear to you right now and say that what you two have is not just friendship. Come on. You and Bellamy?” She shifted her head to catch my drifting gaze. “Anyone with eyes can see something is there, but clearly, neither of you have a pair.”

Talk about tough love.

A harsh outflow of air exited my nose, and I pushed my hair back out of my face. Everything was much more complicated than I thought it was. Was I really as blind as Raven said? I would have already seen what she does if it were true, right? Did Bellamy really feel the same?

Am I drunk?

I glanced behind me once more, catching a glimpse of Bellamy tilting his head back to finish his drink, exposing the sculptured column of his neck. Heat flushed through my cheeks.

Christ. I couldn’t let this one go. There wasn’t a chance.

“What am I supposed to do?” I asked, still watching him.

An uproar of hoots and howls exploded throughout the square as the sound of drums and horns began to play, bringing my attention to the second-floor balcony of the Commander’s Tower where the noise floated down from. Drums pulsed with bawdy rhythm; horns bellowed with lewd backbone; a woman purred tribal vocalisations.

Bodies began swaying in disharmonious synchronisation around the bonfire, in pairs, in groups, individually. What tethered them was the raunchiness of their movements and the subtle carnality of their interactions with one another. I’d never seen anything like it; as I looked over at Raven and saw her similar intrigue, I knew she hadn’t either.

That was my mistake—to even acknowledge her in such a moment, especially after speaking about our previous topic. Her lips began stretching and stretching into a particularly wicked grin, and she turned to me. The devil was burning in her dark eyes.

Her answer to my question: “Give his eyes something to look at.”

part two

[hrrtshape]

　　　　　　　　　　　. . . ౨ৎ 　　each world we meet in is another shade of the same love. 　whether under gaslight or starlight, we find each other every time.  

　　　　᧓ ﹒ 　 fame dr 　 ‧ ₊ ˚ ﹙ ଘ ﹚

this is my ultimate it-girl era : globally adored. youngest egot winner with nepo-baby status (cheers to my director-actor father and model-actress mother). everything in cinematic slow motion. <3 　　　[ s / o ] . . . tom blyth ୨୧

　  　  ꒲ 𝒾ncoming 𝒾ntro !　

　　　　　　　　　　　　　

　　　　᧓ ﹒ 　 mermaid dr 　 ‧ ₊ ˚ ﹙ ଘ ﹚

a mermaid princess who met her own sweet pirate. 　　　[ s / o ] . . . pirate ! billy the kid ୨୧

　  　  ꒲ 𝒾ncoming 𝒾ntro !　

　  　  　  　  ﹐ ⠀⠀how we met

　  　  　  　  ﹐ ⠀⠀day - 2 - day

　　　　᧓ ﹒ 　 cat dr 　 ‧ ₊ ˚ ﹙ ଘ ﹚

a cat. that's it.

　　　　᧓ ﹒ 　 twin peaks dr 　 ‧ ₊ ˚ ﹙ ଘ ﹚ca

a good friend of the infamous laura palmer, niece of the log lady. 　　　[ s / o ] . . . fbi ! coryo ୨୧

　  　  ꒲ 𝒾ncoming 𝒾ntro !　

　  　  　  　  ﹐ ⠀⠀day - 2 - day

　  　  　  　  ﹐ ⠀⠀what happened that day . .

　　　　᧓ ﹒　 formula 1 dr 　 ‧ ₊ ˚ ﹙ ଘ ﹚

the youngest driver to ever snag a world drivers’ championship. the paddock’s ultimate wildcard. also..... a colourful vocabulary for cussing out the certain cunts of the paddock. 　　　[ s / o ] . . . tbd but probably tom blyth ୨୧

　  　  ꒲ 𝒾ncoming 𝒾ntro !　

　  　  　  　  ﹐ ⠀⠀stats

　　　　᧓ ﹒ 　 starlet in the 1950s dr 　 ‧ ₊ ˚ ﹙ ଘ ﹚

golden-era hollywood has me. rita hayworth WHO ? another dyed ginger is taking her place. 　　　[ s / o ] . . . gregory peck ୨୧

　  　  ꒲ 𝒾ntro to the star of hollywood !　

　  　  　  　  ﹐ ⠀⠀roles

　　　　᧓ ﹒ 　 starlet in the 1960s dr 　 ‧ ₊ ˚ ﹙ ଘ ﹚

the (actual !!) brigitte bardot of her time. 　　　[ s / o ] . . . actor ! coryo ୨୧

　  　  ꒲ 𝒾ncoming 𝒾ntro !　

　  　  　  　  ﹐ ⠀⠀roles

　　　　᧓ ﹒ 　 sex and the city dr 　 ‧ ₊ ˚ ﹙ ଘ ﹚

shifted ✶ the modern carrie bradshaw who's dating her own mr big...if mr big wasn't a douchebag. writing my “sex and the city” blog in vogue about the love lives (and catastrophes) of NYC. add in a few i couldn’t help but wonders. 　　　[ s / o ] . . . logan roy escue billionaire ! coryo ୨୧

　  　  ꒲ 𝒾ncoming 𝒾ntro !　

　　　　᧓ ﹒ 　 cowboy dr 　 ‧ ₊ ˚ ﹙ ଘ ﹚

aristocratic beginnings meet wild west rebellion. gowns traded for dusty skirts, bows, and braids as i ride alongside billy the kid (cue: stolen glances, quick-draw banter, and forbidden sparks). 　　　[ s / o ] . . . billy the kid ୨୧

　  　  ꒲ 𝒾ntro !　

　　⠀　　　　　　⠀

⠀⠀⠀　　⠀　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀⠀　　⠀⠀

　　　　᧓ ﹒ 　 socialite dr 　‧ ₊ ˚ ﹙ ଘ ﹚

shifted ✶ a rich-girl fantasy : NYC penthouse living. socialite drama meets “cutthroat world of dog eat dog.” basically....gossip girl. but....more fun. and no gossip. girl. 　　　[ s / o ] . . . coryo ୨୧

　  　  ꒲ 𝒾ncoming 𝒾ntro !　

　  　  　  　  ﹐ ⠀⠀i shifted for 15 days⠀

　  　  　  　  ﹐ ⠀⠀& shifted again⠀⠀

　  　  　  　  ﹐ ⠀⠀the basic report of my shift⠀⠀

　  　  　  　  ﹐ ⠀⠀how it feels to see my dr friends in my cr⠀⠀

　  　  　  　  ﹐ ⠀⠀things i did⠀

　  　  　  　  ﹐ ⠀⠀me &&&&& loml⠀

　  　  　  　  ﹐ ⠀⠀things i love about coryo⠀

　  　  　  　  ﹐ ⠀⠀valentines day in my dr⠀

　　　　　᧓ ﹒ 　 vampire dr　 ‧ ₊ ˚ ﹙ ଘ ﹚

shifted ✶ turned in 365 BC babylon by an ancient vampire (he’s giving 1500 years of mysterious brooding). i'm the first heretic. a half-witch, half-vampire with a tragic romantic streak. naturally, i fall for the immortal who turned me (a coriolanus vampire...... but close). before that, i was a princess witch. 　　　[ s / o ] . . . 3000 year old vampire ! coryo ୨୧

　  　  ꒲ 𝒾ncoming 𝒾ntro !　

　  　  　  　  ﹐ ⠀⠀places i've visited

　　　　　᧓ ﹒ 　 ever after high dr 　 ‧ ₊ ˚ ﹙ ଘ ﹚

daughter of sleeping beauty, destined for a 100-year nap, but plot twist: my father’s willy wonka. (don’t ask. just marvel at my copper-coloured curls and penchant for enchanted desserts.) i'm caught between fulfilling my legacy and rewriting the script entirely. expect whimsical daydreams, pastel magic, and a sprinkle of chaos. 　　　[ s / o ] . . . coryo ୨୧

　  　  ꒲ 𝒾ncoming 𝒾ntro !　

　  　  　  　  ﹐ ⠀⠀closet

　　　　　⠀ 

　　　　　᧓ ﹒ 　princess dr 　 ‧ ₊ ˚ ﹙ ଘ ﹚

an 18th-century versailles princess draped in silks, diamonds, and enough court intrigue to rival gossip girl. betrothed to the prince of great britain. it’s all very shakespearean. champagne fountains, masked balls, and moonlit scandals straight out of marie antoinette (who's also my sister in law. we're besties). 　　　[ s / o ] . . . english prince ! coryo ୨୧

　  　  ꒲ 𝒾ncoming 𝒾ntro !　

　  　  　  　  ﹐ ⠀⠀day - 2 - day

　　　　　᧓ ﹒ 　 marauders dr 　 ‧ ₊ ˚ ﹙ ଘ ﹚

shifted ✶ pureblood gryffindor. animagus form; a fox (because obviously). seeker on the gryffindor quidditch team, and yes, number one apologist for history of magic. oh, and cousin to james potter, naturally. we hate each other (that's not true). 　　　[ s / o ] . . . pureblood slytherin ! coryo ୨୧

　  　  ꒲ 𝒾ncoming 𝒾ntro !　

　  　  　  　  ﹐ ⠀⠀what's in my bag.

　  　  　  　  ﹐ ⠀⠀general masterlist.

　　　　　᧓ ﹒ 　spiderverse dr 　 ‧ ₊ ˚ ﹙ ଘ ﹚

across the multiverse, swinging through dimensions as my own iteration of spider-woman. let’s just say, in my universe, spiders have never looked this chic. (also i'm miguel's biggest pain in the ass. because of course i am) 　　　[ s / o ] . . . miles morales ୨୧

　  　  ꒲ 𝒾ncoming 𝒾ntro !　

　　　　　᧓ ﹒ 　 south park dr　 ‧ ₊ ˚ ﹙ ଘ ﹚

sister of eric cartman (the devil reincarnate). that's it, no other thoughts. the nanny of butters stotch. 　　　[ s / o ] . . . coryo ୨୧

　  　  ꒲ 𝒾ncoming 𝒾ntro !　

　　　　　᧓ ﹒ 　 marvel dr 　 ‧ ₊ ˚ ﹙ ଘ ﹚

daughter of agatha harkness, cursed upon the one above all on the day when she first opened her eyes. 　　　[ s / o ] . . . magneto ! coryo ୨୧

　  　  ꒲ 𝒾ntroduction. . . lowkey !　　　　

　　　　　᧓ ﹒ 　 superman dr　 ‧ ₊ ˚ ﹙ ଘ ﹚

former gotham girl has decided to move to metropolis. soon enough, she became a painting restorer...and has found a vigilante of a boyfriend. 　　　[ s / o ] . . . clark kent ୨୧

　  　  ꒲ 𝒾ncoming intro ! 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　

　　　　　᧓ ﹒ 　succession dr 　 ‧ ₊ ˚ ﹙ ଘ ﹚

daughter of logan roy. kind of a stray puppy if we're being honest. 　　　[ s / o ] . . . lukas matsson ୨୧

　  　  ꒲ 𝒾ncoming intro ! 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　

[heartepub]

please linger / please come back

genre/warnings/wc. fluff to angst, gn! reader. some food descriptions, prose-y ending ft. jihoon's (over)thinking. unbeta'd, might proofread when it's not 3am. 0.7k. note. for @shinysobi, in response to jihoon + for m, by mikko harvey. part of my 100 followers event !

The day is lovely; perfect for one of the few times he’s relented to your persistent pleas to have a picnic. There’s food laid out before you, mostly from the stalls selling fishcakes, but your mains are two large containers from the other stall selling bibimbap with the day’s first batch of freshly-cooked white rice.

Jihoon has been staring at the slope of your neck for about three minutes now.

It’s devastating, he thinks: the path from your neck to your collarbone, then the slope down your shoulder and arm, is enough to meander through for countless steps without feeling like it’s lost time. Jihoon’s fingers twitch, pressing divots into the soft material of the blanket.

“What?” You cock your head at him, finally noticing his gaze.

“Nothing,” he lies. “There’s something between your teeth.”

Immediately, your hand comes up to cover the lower half your face; a muffled that’s not nothing! escapes from beneath your fingers and prompts a quiet chuckle. You move your tongue inside your mouth, feeling for the nonexistent bits stuck to you before baring your teeth for him to check. He pretends to examine your teeth before nodding once.

For a few moments, there’s nothing but the quiet grace of the early morning. The city is not yet so noisy, at least in this corner; everything is just beginning to awaken.

“The bibimbap is really good,” he says, breaking the silence. His lips close around a mouthful of gochujang-coated rice and vegetables. 

You watch him, a smile fighting to emerge even as there is a faint, worried furrow at your brow. “Is this okay? You’ve been tracking your macros, right?”

The chopsticks freeze for a moment. “Cheat day,” he murmurs, before he shovels the next mouthful into his mouth.

Something in you seems to settle then, shoulders slumping so minutely he wouldn’t have notice they were tensed if you hadn’t done anything. “Okay.”

Guilt twinges at him. “I wouldn’t mind more of this. Really.”

The smile settles better at those words. “Even with your schedule?”

“Even then.” Jihoon pauses, swallowing. He gulps some bottled tea before weighing his next words on his tongue. “I don’t do well with surprises, though.”

The curve of your lips shifts into something a little more amused. “I know that, Jihoon-ah.”

Instinctively, he reaches out, taking advantage of you putting down the paper cup with the used-up fishcake sticks to lace your fingers together. You blink, not expecting the public intimacy, before letting out a soft giggle.

“You don’t like surprises, but you surprise me?” 

Jihoon deigns not to reply, reaching instead for a fishcake even as he keeps your hands intertwined. His ears burn red. He does squeeze your hand, though, not bothering to hide the smile pulling at his mouth when you squeeze back.

He knows he doesn’t do well with verbalizing his feelings. Even as his trade is all about words, Jihoon lays his heart bare in art, not life. Too much contact. His words may touch others, but his soul is too fragile.

But when he aches for the slope of your neck, or yearns for the sight of crows’ feet at your eyes fifty years from now, he can’t help the terrifying wave of fear that the world will decide on a path that Jihoon cannot defy. The hand holding yours twitches, grip tightening ever so slightly. You lean your head on his shoulder, and he adjusts so you fit better against him.

There is no greed without fear of loss.

Finally, the sun breaks through the clouds. It’s then that he realizes how long you both lingered here; you had left the house with the light diffused softly over the world. Sunlight, dappled by the leaves of the tree you nestled yourselves underneath, now dances across your clothes and skin. On your entwined hands. His thumb traces the patterns of the leaves’ shadows, observing idly when his finger’s shadow would alter its shape.

It’s bad habit to mourn things before losing them. It’s spring and Jihoon is bracing for winter.

But perhaps if he leaves enough of his heart with you, and you with him, the world will be kind enough to let them find their way back to each other if they ever come apart.

note. i listened to lucy dacus' lost time on repeat and i am making it everyone's problem.

[collapsedsquid]

Donald Trump on Sunday announced on his Truth Social platform a 100% tariff on all movies “produced in Foreign Lands”, saying the US film industry was dying a “very fast death” due to the incentives that other countries were offering to draw American film-makers. In his post, he claimed to have authorised the commerce department and the US trade representative to immediately begin instituting such a tariff. “This is a concerted effort by other Nations and, therefore, a National Security threat,” Trump said in the Truth Social post. “It is, in addition to everything else, messaging and propaganda!”

Declaring war on the weebs