#I quote this line more often than you’d think

[simplygojo]

I Like Your Tie...

A/n: OMG ONE OF MY FAVS REQUESTED! I loved this request; thats why it took SO LONG I’m sorry my friend I hope you enjoyyyy!! <3 I needed another Nanami request so bad so you did me a favour with this one, LOLLL.

Request: “Your last Toji fic got me frothing like a rabid dog. Lol. in all ways it was very uniquely him indeed ! The same for Gojo and Witch!Reader. Could I shy request a fic with the song 'Talk' by Hozier paired up with Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader ? Something sensual steamy but ever so romantic for the blonde? I can practically see him saying or thinking such lyric quotes as "I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things we'd do... So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you. Imagine being loved by me". May she's a fellow Special Grade sorcerer, and their friendship keeps building up, but neither wants to cross the line ? So they dance around it, until something happens ? Idk. >\\\\\\\\\\\\\\< I'll leave it to your artistic hands and imagination what to do with this? If you feel inspired to. In any case, please delete if this seems rubbish. Anyway, thank you for your stories ! Thank you so much. ♡” - @erebus-et-eigengrau (lurvv uu)

My requests are always open :)

Pairing: Kento Nanami x f/reader

Word count: 3.8K

Warnings: 18+ Content, SMUT!, intercourse, light choking, control kink(ish), pet name

The late-night quiet of Jujutsu High was comforting in a way—no students rushing through the halls, no teachers around to monitor. You had been grateful for the peace, retreating to your room after a long day.

But as you reached your door, you stopped in your tracks.

There he was. Nanami Kento stood in front of your door, leaning casually against the wall. 

—

You and Nanami had been friends for what felt like a lifetime, though it all began back in high school. Back then, you had a bit of a crush on him—not that you’d ever admit it. He wasn’t the type to flirt or give much attention to relationships, but there was something about him that always caught your eye. 

You had your moments, too—shared laughter, and private conversations late into the night, when the walls between friends almost seemed to blur. 

But Nanami never made a move, and neither did you. You knew how seriously he took his role as a sorcerer, and you didn’t want to complicate your friendship with feelings that you weren’t sure were mutual.

As you both graduated and eventually became high-level sorcerers, those moments of potential intimacy became even more distant. You grew into your own roles, taking on increasingly dangerous missions and fighting curses that most could barely comprehend. Nanami was often assigned to the same missions as you, his calm, steady presence a source of reassurance when things got chaotic.

There were times when his professionalism would slip, just for a moment. A fleeting look, a brush of his fingers against yours, his voice dropping an octave when he spoke your name. You always wondered if he felt it too—that same tension you tried so hard to ignore. But you never dared to ask, afraid of what it might mean if the answer was yes.

And now, standing in front of him in the quiet after everything that had just happened, you realized just how deeply those old feelings still ran.

There were times, though, when your old crush resurfaced. 

Sometimes, it was the way he’d look at you across the battlefield, silently checking to see if you were okay, his eyes filled with a concern that was more than just professional. Other times, it was the rare, gentle touch when he’d help you after a fight—his hand brushing your arm or waist as he steadied you after a particularly tough encounter.

But you always pushed those feelings down, refusing to acknowledge them for the sake of professionalism. 

The sorcery world didn’t leave much room for distractions, and you knew that Nanami was as dedicated as ever. He was the picture of control, never letting emotions dictate his actions, always focused on the mission at hand. You convinced yourself that whatever crush you had on him was just remnants of your high school days, a fleeting fantasy that had no place in your current life.

—

His arms were crossed, his tie long loosened, and the top buttons of his shirt undone. The dim lighting of the hallway cast a shadow over his sharp features, making the intensity in his eyes even more pronounced. He looked every bit the composed man he always was, but something about the way his gaze followed your every movement made your heart stutter.

“Nanami…” His name left your lips in a quiet murmur, not expecting to see him there, not like this.

“You’re out late,” he observed, his voice steady but lower than usual, as if the stillness of the night demanded it.

You nodded, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. “Well, one of the first-years wanted some late-night training…What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer right away, eyes flicking down to your lips before settling back on yours. 

You could feel the tension in the air, thick and palpable, making it hard to think clearly. His usual restraint seemed to falter, just slightly, but enough to make your pulse race.

“I was waiting for you.” His voice was steady, but the words made your breath hitch.

Your heart pounded in your chest. 

“Waiting for me?” You said quietly, a heat beginning to pool between your thighs.

Nanami pushed off the doorframe and stepped closer to you, his movements deliberate. The space between you closed as his tall figure made its way toward you—the tension that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks finally came to a boil. 

“Why were you waiting for me..?” You questioned, “I need to talk,” He responded, his voice barely above a whisper.

He was close enough now that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, the faint scent of his cologne filling your senses.

“I used to try to talk so refined, in fear of you finding out…” He admitted, his voice lower now, almost rough around the edges. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak. 

“Finding out what, Nanami.” You breathed, watching how his lips parted just slightly while he paused. “How I’ve been imagining you." 

The air between you was thick with tension, so heavy you could almost taste it. Nanami stood inches away, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. His normally professional demeanour had cracked, revealing something raw, something primal. The careful distance you both had maintained was no longer there.

"Imagining me…?" You repeated, your voice barely more than a whisper. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you were certain he could hear it.

Nanami’s eyes darkened, and his gaze roamed over you in a way that left your body practically squirming under his scrutiny. His jaw clenched for a moment as though fighting some internal battle, but when he spoke, his voice was low and hoarse, filled with a desire he was no longer trying to hide.

“Every time I look at you,” he confessed, his hands flexing at his sides, like he was resisting the urge to touch you, “I think about how you’d feel under my touch… under me.”

Your breath caught, your throat suddenly dry as his words sank in. The image of his hands on your skin, the weight of him pressing against you, the feeling of him between your legs—it sent a wave of heat through your body, leaving you borderline trembling with anticipation.

“Nanami…” you whispered his name, your voice trembling with the same desire that was now coursing through you. The distance between you felt unbearable.

The professionalism you both held onto so tightly was crumbling, and the temptation to give in was overwhelming.

The hallway was too quiet, too intimate, and it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away. It was just the two of you, standing there on the precipice of something dangerous and irresistible.

“I won’t deny I’ve got in my mind now all the things we’d do,” he confessed, his voice barely a whisper as his thumb traced your jawline, gently tilting your head with two fingers. His eyes darkened with want, and the weight of his words hung heavily in the air.

That was all it took. The pull between you snapped, and before you could think, your hands were fisting in his dark blue shirt, pulling him down to meet your lips in a kiss that was heated, desperate—inevitable.

His hand swiftly opened your door before pushing you into it, causing both of you to stumble into the dimly lit room. With a loud thud, Nanami kicked the door shut before pushing you back up against your entryway wall.

Nanami groaned softly into your mouth—your pussy practically throbbing at the sound—and his hands immediately wrapped around your waist, tugging you closer as if he couldn’t stand the idea of any space between you. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that you hadn’t expected, and it left you breathless.

You gasped when his hands gripped your hips firmly, pushing more firmly against the wall. The cool surface against your back was a stark contrast to the heat that radiated from him as he pressed himself closer, his lips never leaving yours.

His kisses were deliberate, slow—but rough—as if he wanted to savour every moment of this. 

"Mmf…Nanami," you breathed, pulling back just enough to look at him, your lips swollen from the kiss, breathless. "What are we doing?"

His forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged as he looked down at you. There was something raw, unguarded in his expression. “What I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and before you could say anything else, he was kissing you again, deeper this time. “Now be a good girl for me, y/n.” He practically purred against your lips, as he lifed you so your legs wrapped around his waist. 

His hands moved with more confidence now, sliding up your sides while you were pinned against the wall, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You tugged at his hair, your fingers desperate to feel more of him.

His hands, rough from battle and years of work, were surprisingly gentle as they slid beneath your shirt, fingers brushing over your painfully hard nipples, teasing you. You arched into him, your body responding to every touch.

He made quick work of your jacket—and that tiny tank top you wore underneath it, his hands roughly reaching for every bit of exposed skin.

Nanami growled softly with your legs wrapped around his waist, his lips trailed down the column of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that had you moaning his name.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asked, his breath hot against your neck, but the fire in his eyes told you stopping was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Don’t," you whispered—pleading with him for more, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. "Don’t stop."

Nanami’s eyes darkened further at your words, and a slow, subtle smirk spread across his lips. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. 

His hand moved up to the tie hanging loosely around his neck, fingers working quickly to loosen it even further. Before you could register what he was doing, he slid the tie off entirely, his movements deliberate and slow as he looped the fabric around your neck.

The silk felt cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your body. His eyes never left yours as he gently tugged at the tie, pulling you closer, the pressure on your throat light but enough to send a thrill through you that went straight to your now-soaked pussy.

“There,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over the side of your neck as he admired how the tie looked wrapped around you, it falling on your bare chest. In a moment, his lips were back on your skin, trailing lower this time as his free hand continued to explore your body. He kissed a path down to your chest, the tie around your neck tightening just slightly as he pulled you even closer.

He brought you to the couch in your small room with one hand while the other held the back of your head as his tongue explored your mouth.

“You look so beautiful like this, do you know that, y/n? With my tie around your pretty little neck…” He murmured against your skin, his voice laced with raw, unfiltered need. 

Hoisting you up onto the back of the couch, his hand slipped beneath the waistband of your skirt, fingers brushing against the wetness between your thighs, and the contact made you gasp. 

With one swift but gentle movement, Nanami slid your skirt and tights down your legs, and now you sat in front of him—completely vulnerable.

“Nanami—” Your words were cut off by a moan as his fingers returned, pressing more firmly, the slow, torturous circles he drew making your entire body tremble. The tie tightened just a fraction more as he leaned back to look at you, his thumb brushing against your clit in a way that had your heart racing even faster.

“You’re so responsive for me,” he growled softly, his fingers entering your dripping cunt slowly, making sure to feel every inch of your interior. “It’s driving me insane.”

You could barely breathe, the combination of his fingers between your legs and the light pressure of the tie around your neck leaving you a trembling mess in his arms. You clung to him, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as you fought to hold on, your body betraying you with every ragged breath and every desperate moan.

"Nanami, please..." You barely recognized your own voice, hoarse and breathless as you begged for him.

He smirked against your skin, clearly pleased by your reaction. “You want more, don’t you?” He asked, his voice thick with amusement, but the tension in his body told you he was just as desperate as you were.

You nodded, your head falling back as your body arched into his touch. “Please…”

The sound of your begging seemed to snap something in him. With one swift motion, he lifted you up with one arm and spun you around before setting you on your feet in front of him, your ass pressing up against his bulge as the cool leather from the couch pressed against your lower abdomen. 

He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as his fingers slipped inside you again, making you gasp loudly at the sudden (welcomed) intrusion. 

“I want to hear you beg for me again,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin as his fingers moved with agonizing slowness, teasing you, driving you to the brink of insanity. His other hand subtly undid his belt, lowering his pants just enough to expose his desperate cock.

You moaned, arching into his hand, your body betraying you as it responded to every touch, every whisper of his breath on your skin. “Nanami...hmmf…please...I-I need you in me.” You managed to get out between moans.

“That’s it,” he growled, his fingers exiting you, but they were quickly replaced by his dick as he inserted himself into you—feeling you stretch around him caused him to throw his head back in pleasure, and he gave a little yank on the tie, your head jerking backwards as your stomach pressed harder into the couch, provoking a pornographic moan to exit your lips.

“Fuck,” he growled, his breath hot against your skin as he buried himself inside you, again and again, each stroke thrusting deeper into your gummy walls, sending waves of pleasure through your body. “You feel so good.”

His pace quickened, and the slow, deliberate rhythm gave way to something more primal and desperate. His control was slipping, and you could feel it in every rough thrust, every growl that rumbled from his chest as he claimed you completely.

The tie tightened again, the silk digging into your skin just enough to heighten the pleasure, and the sensation sent you spiralling toward the edge. Your body trembled beneath him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you gasped for breath, the intensity of it all overwhelming.

He leaned forward, the new angle allowing him to go even deeper into you. He gently moved your hair off of your shoulder as his delicate fingers traced the border of his tie and your skin. “You really are such a good girl.”

His thumb pushed into clit as he thrusted into you at a dominating pace—the sensation was nearly enough to push you over the edge—but you held on a little longer. You cried out his name, your entire body shaking as his pace quickened, he tightened the feeling around your throat with the tie around your neck pulling you closer to him.

Nanami’s body moved behind you, the warmth of him pressing against your back as his hands gripped your hips. Bent over the back of your couch, with the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your flushed skin. “Mmhf–Nanami…Oh please.” You moaned out, practically begging him for more as he fucked you with a controlling pace

His breath was heavy, ragged, as he leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, making you feel the sheer size and strength of him as he dominated you completely.

Nanami’s fingers wrapped around his tie nicely wrapped around your neck, pulling it taut. The sensation made you gasp, your head tilting back slightly as the silk tightened around your throat just enough to send a jolt of pleasure through your already overstimulated body. Suddenly he took his soaked dick out of you letting it land on your ass, rubbing his hand over the smooth skin.

“You look just perfect like this,” he growled low in your ear, his voice thick with lust as he tugged the tie just a bit tighter, your chin tilting up as he whispered in your ear. “Bent over—begging for me.”

Your legs trembled beneath you, your body quivering with anticipation, but before you could respond, he was inside you again. 

The stretch was immediate, deep, and overwhelming as he thrust into you from behind, filling you completely with a single stroke. You cried out, your fingers gripping the edge of the desk as he pulled you back against him, the tie keeping you tethered, under his controlled.

“Nanami…” You moaned his name, your voice barely more than a breathless whisper as he began to move, his hips snapping against you in a relentless rhythm. Every thrust was harder than the last, his grip on the tie tightening with every movement, pulling you back into him, forcing you to feel every inch of him.

His pace was brutal, his control slipping entirely as he watched the way your body reacted to him, the way you moaned his name with every stroke. His free hand found your hip, gripping you so tightly that you were sure there’d be marks tomorrow, but the thought only sent another wave of arousal through you.

“You feel so good, y/n,” he growled, his voice rough as he leaned over you, his lips brushing against the back of your neck. “My good girl...”

His words are what sent you over the edge, the stimulation of your orgasm turning your vision white. 

Your body was on fire, every nerve alive with pleasure as he drove into you again and again. The tie around your neck tightened even more, the pressure just enough to leave you lightheaded, completely at his mercy. You felt every inch of him inside you, the sound of skin against skin filling the room, along with your breathless moans as pleasure washed over you.

Nanami's body pressed closer as you shuddered beneath him, the waves of your orgasm still coursing through you. 

But he didn’t stop. 

Even as your body trembled, oversensitive and breathless, he kept thrusting into you with the same relentless intensity. His pace didn’t falter, and each stroke seemed deeper, more demanding, as if he couldn't get enough of the way you clenched around him.

Your moans turned to gasps as pleasure mixed with the overwhelming sensation of him continuing to push you past your limit. Your fingers clutched at his back, nails digging into his skin with a painful force, but he didn't slow down. He leaned over you, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and ragged.

“Look at you, taking it so well," he groaned, his voice dark and full of praise. "You feel so good, I don’t want to stop.”

Your legs shook around him, your body still pulsating from your release, and the overstimulation had you crying out, your nails leaving marks along his back. 

"Nanami... please..." you gasped, unsure if you were begging him to stop or to keep going. You felt like you were being consumed, every nerve on fire, and yet your body responded to his touch, desperate for more.

He shifted slightly, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, his hand still pressed firmly against your clit drawing rough circles. The tie around your neck tightened just a bit more, enough to remind you of the control he had, the control you were willingly giving him.

“I’m not done with you yet," he growled, his thrusts growing rougher, faster, his body taking full control over yours. "You can come again for me, can’t you?"

You didn’t know how it was possible, but the overwhelming pleasure began to build again inside you. His touch on your clit was insistent, his hips snapping against yours in a rhythm that left you breathless, teetering on the edge of something even more intense than before.

Your body trembled beneath him, the overstimulation and pleasure merging into something maddening. Every nerve was alight, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control. You were already too sensitive, your mind spinning as he pushed you closer and closer to the brink once again.

Nanami could feel it—he knew exactly how close you were, how your body tensed around him. His lips brushed your ear as he spoke, his voice low and commanding. “Come for me again, y/n. I want to feel you fall apart around me baby.”

With that, his fingers pressed harder against your clit, and his hips slammed into you at a brutal pace, each thrust sending you spiraling further out of control. The pressure inside you coiled impossibly tight, and with a cry of his name, you shattered once more, the intensity of your second orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Your body shook uncontrollably, your moans turning to sobs of pleasure as you convulsed around him. The sensation was too much, too overwhelming, and yet you never wanted it to end. Nanami’s name fell from your lips like a prayer as he continued thrusting into you, his own breathing growing more ragged, more desperate.

"That's it," he growled, his voice thick with pleasure as he watched you unravel beneath him, his pace rapidly increasing. "So fucking beautiful."

He wasn’t far behind. The way your walls clenched around him, the way you shook with each thrust, sent him over the edge. 

His pace grew erratic, his grip on your waist tightening as he buried himself deep inside you one last time, groaning your name as he came. He tugged at the tie harshly, yanking you up form your bent over position so yoru back was against his sweaty chest, his hand gently holding your chin up. 

“You were so good for me,” he breathed, his voice hoarse, igniting a spark in you again. You remained silent for a few moments, breath staggered as you tried to catch it, still shaking with pleasure as he held you upright in front of him. 

Finally, you opened your mouth to speak, a cheeky smile playing on your lips, “I like your tie…”

[dilfmikelarteta]

rob holding thank you for this golden moment, it’ll never be forgotten

[rookiesbookies]

Captain John MacTavish x His wife x Sergeant Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish

I dont know how it would happen but i'm imagining sweet little Johnny ‘Soap’ Mactavish meeting Captain MacTavish and his wife. I guess this is me rewriting what happened bc Im made we’ll probably never see Neil as his boy again. 

Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, don’t forget to leave me a comment or a request in my inbox to let me know what yall want to see!

Smut smut smut under the cut for my lovely mutual @shotmrmiller of my John and his wife meet sweet little Johnny au thing.

Also @glitterypirateduck this one is for you and #soapitup

“Bhean,” he whispers loudly, following it with squirrel noises, motioning for her to follow. She walks out of the recreational room. He nuzzled bis face into her neck, letting her know he was nervous about what he was going to say. “I'm getting serious deja vu.”

“Talk to me, Goose.” A shameless quote of their favorite date night movie from when they dated made his nervous face crack a smile.

“I have this crazy memory,” he mumbled into her neck, she always worried he’d hurt himself craning it down like that so often.

“What about, don’t leave me on cliff hangers, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Do you remember our first time together?”

“Skiing or fucking? Because I remember both very well.” He chuckled at her bringing up his failed skiing attempts from a vacation they went on.

“Making love, Bonnie.” He hummed, “would you believe me if I told ya it’s because I had done it before?”

“Considering baby you told me he’d call me mommy? Yes. Yes, I would.” She hummed. “You also found my clit really fast which makes that really reasonable in retrospect.”

“What if, like my future self taught me at that stage, we teach him how to make love to you so he can charm you with the monster.” It came out more as a question, making his nerves hammer against his chest. He was more than sure he beloved wife would say yes, but he didn’t want to risk making her uncomfortable or saying it wrong. 

“He does really want to impress me,” she mumbled. “Fine. But there’s ground rules.”

“Of course, Mo chridhe, anything.”

“Just the tip, you know how I am about hygiene. I don’t fully try young you to keep everything clean. He swears to secrecy and if I ever think for a second he mentions this im ending his blood line. And you stay with us. You are my husband after all, not the boy.” The Captain nodded with every word. He’d make sure. He knew the Sergeant would want no harm to come to his future wife, and the Captain didn’t need a scorched relationship.

“Thank you, Mo leannan, it’s what helped me keep up hope I could lock you down when I met you when I was his age.”

“So it was a memory and more than deja vu?” She asked with a raised brow.

The Captain just simply nodded, planting a kiss on her temple, “you’d tell me if you wanted to back out right? If it made you uncomfortable?”

“John.” She was serious, she never called him just ‘John’. “I expect the same from you. And you’d know I’d never keep that from you.”

She reached up to his face and gently rubbed it. He melted just a little bit into her touch. “I assume you don’t plan to do this on base?”

“No, but that’s the hard part.” “I’ll handle it, go tell the mini you,” she said softly, planting a kiss before walking away.

The Captain sighed and let his shoulders relax, he knew he was so lucky to have her. The sergeant was about to be the lucky one though.

He made his way down the hall and stole his past self from a conversation with Gaz. “My wife and I have decided to give you an opportunity to learn more about her.” He said in a low deep voice. ���I will be teaching you about her body so you can please her but there are ground rules she set and a few of my own.” Once he covered his wife’s, he got on to his own, “do not bite her, dig your nails into her, or ignore me if I tell you to do something. No coming inside either and don’t try anything.” Sergeant Soap nodded along, “I’m not sure you’re actually listening, sergeant.” The Captain growled. Soap’s eyes went wide, “Captain me, sir, I prayed last night for an opportunity to feel her skin, honestly I was just expecting to be allowed to shake her hand.” The younger Soap grumbled, “believe me, I’m all ears.” “And none of that ‘I have a latex allergy so I can’t wear condoms’ crap. I know we don’t have that allergy. You will be wearing one.” “You’re so no’ fun,” Soap mumbled. “Fine.”

The Captain didn’t entirely know how he felt about the kid creaming his wife. Sure, it was him, but it was a younger, rowdier, dumber him and not his same body. Getting married meant he was the only one allowed to cream pie his wife, and yes, it is a version of him, it wouldn’t be the same as him doing it. Even if his wife is on birth control and enjoys them, he knows he’d get jealous, way too jealous. Besides it’s his job anyway, he signed a paper to be able to do it, and this kid version gets to just randomly do it.

“So when do I get to show mo bhean how a younger body is better to make love with?” Sergeant asked, patting his older self on the back. This made the Captain flip until the voice of an angel spoke up.

“Ya mean when you meet yer own damn wife. Ya wee-” the Captain’s rage was cut off. “Tomorrow night. I’ll be there ahead of schedule to prepare, my husband will drive you.” She said, walking past the two with effortless grace and a sway of her hips. She flicked a piece of hair back over her shoulder. 

The next 24 hours were full of different forms of tension for younger Soap. He was eager, so eager, almost too eager in the Captain’s eye. The Captain’s raging jealousy made him almost want to shut down the whole thing. 

When he loaded the sergeant and himself into the old truck he sighed. “Remember the rules?” “Of course.”

“Can’t believe you still own this truck.” “She’s carried me through a lot.” “When you meet YOUR wife, she’ll appreciate it. Square bodies are her favorites.”

The rest of the drive was small talk. The sergeant saw a notification appear on the Captain’s phone and snatched it up, since the captain was driving. He back read the short conversation from this morning between the Captain and his wife, who had been the notification. ‘Mo chridhe you better not warm yourself up on that clarty vibrator’

‘You expect him to be able to get me warmed up enough?’

‘Its a teaching experience, mo leannan’

‘I don’t want to make him wait too long, I remember how impatient you were <3’

“Does she think ima div?” Soap looked at the Captain and asked. “Reading my personal texts? Real professional, ya eejit.”

“Does she think I can’t make her feel good? Or make her feel like she’s on Eccie?”

“No, she just doesn’t want you to wait too long. She does this. I bought it for her first time I left on a long mission, now she uses it to take away the fun part of getting her warmed up.”

“So she thinks I'm a fandan.”

“Dinnae fash yersel.” The Captain sighed, “we’re here and the least ya can do is make her feel good as a thank you.”

When he dragged his younger self into the hotel room, it finally set in that he was going to be cucked. By a younger him. Fucking his wife.

He knocked on the door twice and it kind of felt like his wedding night all over again. There she stood in a silk robe, eyes only on him with a gentle and soft smile. It's a smile she only gave when she was nervous, he gave a similar smile back to let her know he felt the same. It was subtle, but he reminded him this was indeed his beautiful wife.

“Go strip in the bathroom and sit down in the chair when you’re done, we need to talk.” The Captain said sharply. 

“Aye aye Captain,” the sergeant mumbled, walking into the bathroom. 

The Captain’s hands immediately found his way to his wife’s hips. 

“Are you nervous?” He asked, holding her close with his mouth near her ear between kisses he placed in her hair.

“Of course,” she said softly into his chest.

“Do you need to back out? We can leave and forget all about this if you need.”

“Do you need me to want to back out?” She asked soft, turning her head to look up into his eyes.

“No, I don’t think so, mo bonnie lass.” He said, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Give me a safeword to give him and a safeword for emergencies.”

“Two levels of safe words?” 

“Just in case I don’t hear the first one, he’s kinda loud.” She giggled and placed a kiss on his neck.

“Bubbles for him and Soap for emergencies.”

“My old callsign?”

“I never call you anyway,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Can I undress you and keep that privilege to myself?” All he needed was the little nod she gave before he moved to untie the robe. 

The lace blue bra she had been taunting him with with the matching panties drove him crazy. She ran her hands up and around his chest as his opened the clasp with one motion and undid the hooks holding the straps over her shoulders so she didn't have to remove her hands from his torso.

He sunk down lower as he planted sloppy kisses down her body and removed her underwear. Lovely pacing a kiss at her lower lips before trailing bite marks backup as the Sergeant exited the bathroom.

“I thought you said I couldn’t bite!” He accused as he watched the Captain leave a hickey on his wife’s chest.

“YOU can’t, I can.” This made the younger Soap look offended. The Captain smirked at the Sergeant’s face. “My wife, remember. Not yours.”

His wife just ran her fingers through his slightly grown out mohawk, a means to sooth him. 

Captain MacTavish moved to his wife’s ear and whispered softly, “may I told yer hand through this, mo ghraidh?”

“Gu sìorraidh is gu bràth,” she said back, pointing to the tattoo on her collarbone. When Soap heard it he almost fainted.

“She knows the language?” Sergeant Johnny asked.

The Captain hummed, pulling his mouth away from the dark hickey he was leaving on her neck, “learned a little bit for me.”

The Captain gave his younger self a once over before landing a sarcastic remark as his eyes landed on the bush, “glad to know you haven’t started shaving yet.”

“You trim?”

“Occasionally,” the Captain pulled his waistband down a bit, nuzzling into his wife, “I wax for special occasions. Yer lucky I found one who doesn’t care.”

The Captain locked his fingers with his wife’s, gently herding her to the bed. He laid her down gently and got her into a good position, shoving a few of the lousy pillows under her waist to offer a better angle.

“How are you?” He asked softly, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. “Ready as I can be,” she said with a soft giggle, as he bent down to plant a kiss on her lips.

“Sergeant, come here.” The Captain commanded, pointing at the foot of the bed, his wife couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her as she dropped her hand over her face. The Captain moved his wife’s knees apart with his free hand, the other still lovingly holding her’s. Johnny got on his own knees as John commanded him as he spread his wife’s pussy lips apart with his fingers. “Ya see that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, sir,” John corrected Johnny. He basically gave his younger self a tour of his wife’s softest pieces. Telling Johnny her favorite things that he does and what she reacts best to. Johnny was so enthralled with her body he could move his eyes anywhere else. Especially when John put his fingers inside and curled them suddenly making her gasp so Johnny knew how far in her g spot was. The way her body jolted and softly raised as the gasp left her lips was his new favorite thing. He was so jealous he didn’t have her yet. That she wasn’t his wife yet, that he didn’t have the liberty to mark her body yet. “Get to work,” the Captain said, patting Johnny. He didn’t need to say it twice because Johnny went right in.

The wife brought her free hand down to her mouth to hold in the gasps and moans as Johnny ate so eagerly. John was usually slow and sensual, to the messy and a vehement eating that was happening at her core was a much different sensation. John gently pulled her hand away.

“Checkin in with ya, are ya doing good?” he asked his lovely wife. Her eyes couldn’t focus, her mouth gaping and shutting. 

She gave a nod and a hum as her body started to clench as Johnny inserted fingers between her legs and curled, making her body lurch towards the sky and gasp. The Captain gently placed kisses on her face, her velvety cries just make Johnny want to do it again. “She’s even prettier from this view,” Johnny mumbled, spreading her apart with his fingers.

“She donnae like condoms but imma make ye wear one anyway,” Captain Mactavish told his younger self before placing a kiss to the forehead of his flushed wife, still coming down from her orgasm as her husband ran his fingers through her hair as her breathing slowed with her closed eyes. John threw the condom at Johnny, who quickly rolled it on before standing up. “Donnae force it in, go in slow.”

Johnny positioned himself, putting one of the lovely wife’s ankles to his shoulder before giving it a soft kiss. He didn’t dare pull her down the bed like he would have normally done, he walked on his knees to meet her. Hands sliding down her legs to lift her ass, one he saw as so perfect.

He slowly slid it in as John kissed his wife’s face, holding her hand. She was more than used to John’s dick by now, but she was far from used to Johnny’s pacing. So much energy and stamina, not to say John didn’t have it but John was definitely more about making love than he was about fucking or just having sex.

Once she started to grind her hips, Johnny’s face lit up and he immediately started a toe curly, back arching pace. His tip bullied her g spot, making her mouth fall open but no sound falling from her lips.

John cooed at her as Johnny bullied her soft parts, not caring about his own pleasure, solely the pleasure of this goddess in front of him. Once he was sure he had found the spot, Johnny folded her a bit more to hit it a bit deeper, making sure everything was dragging against her.

The only thing that left her were whines, she felt her melted brain might just spill out her ears as the white, staticy heat built up. 

A nice ring built up around Johnny’s cock as he began to roll his hips. Her pulsating cunt milked him so much he felt an almost numbness in his fingers as all he could do was hold her and roll his hips as she let out a broken moan and came. Her husband’s voice echoing around her head with praises and loving words.

It was down right impossible for Soap to not come from her body's pulsations so he did. He wished it hadn’t been into a condom but he was grateful he just got the chance.

John gave him a look and Johnny took it knowingly, going to get a warm and damp towel. He handed it to John who began to clean his wife up, nodding to Johnny to let him know he could leave. 

Johnny didn’t know it was so John could reclaim his wife with some slow sensual sex and lots of love bites.

John, unlike Johnny, was going to come inside. Johnny looked at the photo he had taken of himself with the wife of Captain John from the night prior, "I'm going to marry you. Yer the one I've been looking for."

[jazminrhode1]

hiiii! if you're stil writing can you please write one where matt sturn and reader are just so in love and he cant stop telling people about her?

The Interview Matt Sturniolo x Reader One Shot

Matt was onto his 6th interview of the day. He set up his laptop at the kitchen table and you’d been sitting across from him all morning waiting for him to be done.

“Hi Matt,” you heard the interviewer say. He was less nervous now that he’d had some practice.

They asked the same old generic questions like, how his brothers were, how he came up with the idea for this project, and what inspired it. But, out of left field, they asked about you.

You saw Matt squirm in his seat across the table. “I hope that doesn’t cross a line,” she said sweetly.

“No,” he said, shaking his head a little too aggressively to be casual.

He looked at you and you glared right back. You hadn’t had this conversation in a while. You hadn’t spoken about keeping your relationship offline in the beginning but, it had been 2 years and things were different. Everyone knew and they reacted terribly but, the dust had settled since then.

You saw the look in his eyes. He was asking permission and you gave it to him with a shrug.

He let out a deep breath, his shoulders relaxed; he looked happy.

“Y/n is great, actually,” he said with a smile.

“I know you don’t talk about her often but, I was wondering if you could tell us a little bit about how you both met?”

“Oh,” he said, “Well, she’s a good friend of Madison and we were all hanging out there a lot and, it just happened. She’s great. She’s perfect. She feels more like my home than any house ever did.”

You swallowed down the lump forming in your throat. It wasn’t often that you got to hear how Matt talked about you to other people. Sure, your friends told you that he gloats about you any chance he got but, you never heard it from him.

The next interviewer asked what made Matt fall in love with you and he explained, “Y/n is beautiful. Even more so on the inside if that’s possible. But, it wasn’t any one thing that made me fall in love with her. It was the love she has for her family, it was the way her smile lights up a room, it’s the kindness she shows to strangers, it’s the way that she can get through to me when no one else can. She’s the first person I reach for in the morning, she’s the first person I want to call with news good or bad, she’s my best friend and she is my favourite person in the world.”

His eyes were so intense on you that you thought he could read all of your thoughts. It was often like that. He was so attuned to you, so perceptive to your needs, so receptive to your feelings. Matt was, in so many ways, perfect. You could not have dreamed him up.

The final interviewer asked the same age-old questions. You mocked him behind the screen and Matt did his best not to laugh. He was tired, you could tell. As the interview came to an end, the interviewer asked one final question.

“You’ve gotten into writing a lot, I’ve seen a few passages that you shared on Instagram. What inspires you the most?”

Without hesitation, Matt said, “Y/n. She inspires everything that I do. I read a quote once that said, ‘If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.’ I like to think that if I write about all the people and the things that I love, I can never really lose them, you know? Even if y/n chose to leave me, I’d always have a piece of her with me”

There was silence on the other end. You started to think they lost connection.

“I think there’s a lot of people out there who 

“I’ve fucked up a lot of relationships but, I think it all needed to happen so that I can be the person I am now for y/n. You need to be open and receptive and believe that you deserve to find happiness with another person. Y/n is a much better person than I am but, no one will ever love her as much as I do. And I do. And I show her every day and I will for the rest of my life.”

Matt shut the laptop when the interview wrapped and pushed his chair back from the table. You walked around and sat on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck and placing a gentle kiss on his lips. His arms snaked around your waist as he nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck.

“I’ve never heard you talk about me before,” you said.

“I feel sorry for people. You’re all I ever talk about,” he replied with a smile.

Matt loved you. You knew that with every fibre of your being but, today showed you just how much.

[johns-prince]

I told him: “You know you love your own company. Even Cyn says you go days without speaking to her. She feels a million miles away from you.” John replied: “Ah, but she’s not, is she. She’s in the kitchen putting the kettle on.”

—Tony Barrow, Beatles Book Monthly Magazine, No. 149 (Sept. 1988) [×]

¶

There’s one line in the lyric I don’t really mean: “Well knowing you / You’d probably laugh and say / That we were worlds apart”. I’m playing to the more cynical side of John, but I don’t think it’s true that we were so distant. 

—Paul reads from his new book, The Lyrics (2021). [×]

¶

“I’m kind of expected to say, ‘[John] was a saint, he was always a saint, I remember him as a saint’, but it would be a lie. He was one great guy and part of his greatness was that he wasn’t a saint. He was a great guy but he was pretty sacrilegious. He was pretty up front about it. But it was half the fun.”

—Paul McCartney (c. 1984) in The Dream Is Over: Off The Record 2 by Keith Badman [×]

¶

“John is neither a saint, nor is he a sinner. He was just human, like the rest of us.”

—Cynthia Lennon, answering the question “John Lennon: saint or sinner?” The Independent, July 1999 [×]

¶

“Seeing Lennon focus on Ono rather than him[Paul] was as devastating as it would have been for Cynthia Lennon to witness the couple making love.”

—Peter Dogget, You Never Give Me Your Money. [×]

¶

“Then also we were like married, so you got the bitterness. It’s not a woman scorned this time, it’s two men scorned — probably even worse. And I had to make way for Yoko. My relationship with John could not have remained as it was and Yoko feel secure.”

— Paul McCartney, Interview by Duncan Fallowell in the Chicago Tribune, October 14th, 1984 [×]

¶

“Apart from giving me the courage to break out of my stockbroker belt... Yoko also gave me the inner strength to look more closely at my other marriage. My real marriage. To The Beatles, which was more stifling than my domestic life. Although I had thought of it often enough, I lacked the guts to make the break earlier.”

—Skywriting By Word Of Mouth by John Lennon (pg. 17) [x]

¶

“I still think at the back of John’s mind was this fascination of wanting to get back with the first girlfriend, if you like, and that was to get back with Paul, who he had so much history with.”

—Tony Barrow, The Beatles’ press officer, on the Lennon/McCartney reunion that was never to be [×]

¶

“I mean, I think really what it was, really all that happened was that John fell in love. With Yoko. And so, with such a powerful alliance like that, it was difficult for him to still be seeing me. It was as if I was another girlfriend, almost. Our relationship was a strong relationship. And if he was to start a new relationship, he had to put this other one away. And I understood that. I mean, I couldn’t stand in the way of someone who’d fallen in love. You can’t say, “Who’s this?” You can’t really do that. If I was a girl, maybe I could go out and…”

—April 3rd?, 1985 (Soho Square, London): Paul talks on German television show exclusive about the breakup of the Beatles and his personal breakup with John. [x]

¶

“But Paul was his own man and not afraid of John. In fact, musically and personally, the two were beginning to go in separate directions so perhaps Paul’s visit to me was also a statement to John.”

—Cynthia Lennon, John [×]

¶

“Paul, who believed strongly in the family and in family values, told me that he felt as if it was the Beatles themselves who were heading for divorce, not just John and Cynthia.”

—Tony Bramwell, Magical Mystery Tours [×]

I wanted to end this post with a quote from Cynthia, whether it was from a book or was an answer to a question, about how she simply misses lying in bed with John, and just the two of them talking. This quote from her book John [x] is relevant, but unfortunately I couldn't find the exact quote I wanted.

To accompany the sentiment from John's first wife though, is this quote:

“If John Lennon could come back for a day, how would you spend it with him?” “In bed.”

—Paul McCartney answers questions for Q magazine, 1998 [x]

[talokanda-forever]

THESE THOUGHTS HAVE BEEN PERCOLATING FOR A WHILE

This is a long one. My hope is to eventually distill this into a TikTok edit, but keeping things short and sweet is not my strong suit—obviously. But I also may not ultimately have the time. 😬 I must thank @cutelatinagirl for her recent “deep dive” posts. The way you’ve formatted them helped me gather my thoughts for this one.

When viewing the attacks and accusations made against Tenoch over the past few months ONLY within the context of his vocation as an actor, it doesn’t make much sense. It is illogical for the powers that be, with virtually unlimited influence and resources, to take time to not only insult him but degrade and dehumanize him on various social media platforms. He is an actor. Tenoch himself has stated he has no political power. He does not come from an influential family with a lot of money. And I know some tend to think because someone is an actor they must be ‘rich.’ I obviously have no visibility to Tenoch’s finances, but I’m going to hazard a guess that he doesn’t have a vault filled with gold coins that he swims in from time to time like Scrooge McDuck.

However, when viewing this coordinated smear campaign in the context of Tenoch’s social activism, it should not be surprising. Unfortunately, it should have been expected. We have seen this before in the US—most notably during the civil rights movement of the 60s and 70s.

I have often mused at how the conditions Tenoch so vividly conveys about racism/classism/colorism in Mexico seem to align with where we were in the US 60+ years ago. It is evident to me that he has actually studied our civil rights movement. Unlike today’s white-supremacy-denying politicians in the US who can only quote a couple of lines of Martin Luther King’s I Have a Dream speech as evidence that he would not have agreed with the Black Lives Matter movement (GTFOH).

Revisionist historians would have us think MLK was a universally beloved figure while he was still alive. That could not be further from the truth. You’d think his assassination would be enough evidence to the contrary, but nah. So how do mischaracterizations of history such as this get a foothold? Because those in control of the narrative decide what information is shared with the masses, and what remains obscured— and they do so BY DESIGN. Sounds an awful lot like what’s happening with Tenoch.

What is not widely disseminated is that the FBI took an active role in discrediting civil rights leaders in order to silence their voices and prevent their messages from mobilizing the masses.

The screenshot below was pulled from the ACLU website at this link:

I highlighted those portions that seem to apply most to what Tenoch is experiencing. Although the breaking up marriages bit doesn’t fully apply since he’s been divorced for some time, the accusations that have been made could very well have an impact on any current or future relationships. And don’t come at me with, “Well, these tactics were used in the US years ago and has nothing to do with Mexico in 2023.” This is more about human nature. The objective of the FBI is no different than the objective of a piece of shit billionaire media mogul. RETENTION OF POWER. The goal of employing such dirty tricks to take out those who are a threat is not restricted by an artificial, man-made border. And guess what? The FBI and CIA have had a presence throughout Latin America longer than most of our parents and grandparents have been alive, so don’t think their dirty tricks weren’t passed along to those nations. They have been in practice ever since. The people in power today are the offspring of those who were in power yesterday, whether by blood or in spirit.

COINTELPRO involved not only wiretapping, but as the investigation showed, attempts to disrupt, discredit, and defame perceived political radicals. Hoover targeted few figures as relentlessly as Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. (There is a similar fixation on Tenoch) The charge, Communist influence in the civil rights movement. FBI Director, Hoover:

Below is an excerpt of a transcript found on the NPR’s website about some of the activities by COINTELPRO specific to MLK. The full transcript can be found here:

(Soundbite of 1970s report)

Mr. J. EDGAR HOOVER (Former FBI Director): The Communist Party of America is doing everything in its power to steal the minds and the souls and the hearts of our young people. (Tenoch is constantly aiming in message to youth because the power to change the future lies with them)

CHIDEYA: In August of 1963, Reverend King gathered more than a quarter of a million Americans on the Mall in Washington to champion Civil Rights.

(Soundbite of 1970s report)

Rev. MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR. (Civil Rights leader): Free at last, free at last. Thank God, Almighty, we're free at last.

CHIDEYA: That march spurred Hoover to action. A little more than a month later, the FBI Director petitioned the Attorney General, then Robert F. Kennedy, to approve a wiretap on King's telephone. (High profile appearances by Tenoch are soon followed up with coordinated online attacks—see more on that below) Kennedy only agreed, according to his attorney Nicholas Katzenbach, in order to protect King.

(Soundbite of 1970s report)

Mr. NICHOLAS KATZENBACH (speaking as Robert F. Kennedy's attorney): He did not let Hoover tap King's wire. That would be used, really, as almost proof that King was being influenced by Communism. Bobby thought that if he tapped it he would find out that you were not.

CHIDEYA: And in fact, Kennedy was right. The Church Commission found that the wiretap showed that Dr. King did not support Communism. (Fabricated charges with no independently corroborated evidence) And that his two associates who may have been allied with the Communist party didn't influence King's views or his organization. (Associates (PP) are the offenders but Tenoch constantly gets pulled in by association and because of his visibility) But documents suggest that Hoover's campaign against King was as much personal as political. (Fixated on Tenoch like they’re chasing a white whale) And the rift between the two men deepened in 1964.

Although what’s going on with Tenoch shouldn’t be surprising, it doesn’t make it any less irrational. Why? Because it is rooted in FEAR of losing power. Actions rooted in fear many times don’t make sense on the surface. Those who have gained power through the covert and overt subjugation of marginalized communities must also find ways to maintain that power. Remember, those who owned plantations were outnumbered by the men and women they enslaved. But there was a SYSTEM in place that kept them terrorized, disoriented, and disorganized.

Tenoch is stirring the masses and he is doing so on an international level where Mexico’s cultural elites CANNOT CONTROL THE NARRATIVE.

As some have pointed out, like @cutelatinagirl in the Tweet below, the timing can’t be ignored. Neither can the reach of his message. Releasing statements on certain platforms only in English (MER’s response to Tenoch’s only public statement) and constantly @ing Disney speak to why they are so desperate to slander Tenoch in such a public manner. Truth and facts be damned. It doesn’t matter that they have no proof. They are willing to take the risk as long as they are successful in their primary objective of taking him down.

Also, let’s not forget about this year’s Festival Prieto. I recall comments linking Tenoch’s statements about Jesus being black with how Messiah-like he looked in the footage of him walking through the crowd to get to the stage (see the video below from a post by @luzsp9-1981 ). I tried to find the exact comment but couldn’t so I’m paraphrasing. For those of us who aren’t triggered by seeing Tenoch adored by fans—many of whom are part of marginalized communities—it was taken as a lighthearted comment. I audibly giggled. However, when someone has a fear of their power being challenged, or worse yet diminished or stripped, these same images become concerning and are no laughing matter in their eyes. And there is no question his activities and online responses are being monitored. Tenoch appeared at Festival Prieto on May 25th. MER shat her half-baked Tweet on June 9th. More than enough time to coordinate a new phase of the attack.

I know we are a generation that prides itself on being well-informed and media savvy. You can’t hoodwink and bamboozle us like our unfortunate predecessors who didn’t have a world of information at their fingertips in the form of smartphones, tablets, and wearables. No siree! However, bullshit wrapped in slick packaging, designed to look like what we perceive as credible information, is still just bullshit. We have ALL been duped at some point. It is exhausting at times to dig deeper and to NOT stifle our curiosity. But we have got to stop acting like asking questions when you don’t fully understand something is a character flaw. Or that remaining neutral when a SA accusation has been revealed BY CHOICE in a PUBLIC FORUM somehow demonstrates you are a heartless bastard/bitch who denies assaults ever happen at all. Sorry, but I’m not casting aside my critical thinking skills just so Tumblrland, Instaville, and the Twitterverse might recognize me as a caring human being for the millisecond that my post/reel/Tweet is retained by the reader.

@cutelatinagirl @cantstayawaycani @observers-journal @sarahivi @luzsp9-1981 @aolechan @oakzap425 @love-too-believe @soledadmiranda @venting402 @v4mpires0ap

[imaginespazzi]

Nivi – hey bestie, you’ve done it again – I wasn’t sure it could get more heartbreaking than the last one and yet!

As always, the writing is- well, it’s everything.

The parallels between high school them and college them was immaculate, and I so wish Paige could have fulfilled her dream of kissing Azzi under the confetti, but alas, maybe in another universe 😉

I loved the little exchange about UConn and California, and how that possibility was always there but Paige could just never accept it.

P and UConn winning the natty this year – it had to happen in at least one universe, so thank you for letting it happen in this one.

Side note: Drew and Paige interactions are always top tier, and very much the type of momentary fluff that I needed to break up the sadness while reading.

Side note 2: I love that I don’t even need to imagine what Azzi wearing Paige’s jersey would look like, but I’m glad ucla au Paige got to experience it too 🥹

The celebration with the team was so cute and of course it would be KK that basically helps break the ice (and her lil innocent “you should bring her around more often” 🥺). Also, all the little moments Az got with everyone else in the team was so wholesome, and ofc queen Nika being a loveable menace who’s always just looking out for her twin.

Side note 3: I love love love the two piggyback moments haha, just because that’s so pazzi core to me idk, I feel like there’s been a lot of photos where Azzi is piggybacking Paige irl, like that’s very much their thing so I adored seeing it incorporated here. But then, the ending. I knew it was coming, but it certainly did not make it hurt any less when we got there. “Fuck,” Paige’s voice is still wracked with sleep, “I thought you left.” “That’s more your style,” Azzi says – this was particularly heartbreaking, but I can’t really blame Azzi, even if P is trying so hard to make things right.

Overall, I may or may not have been tearing up throughout the entire chapter, and it somehow hit me even harder the second time I read through it? I think that’s just testament to your writing tbh.

Thoughts on what’s next:

Do things finally start getting better? It can’t get any worse, can it? (famous last words) 😅

I did wonder actually, whether you’d have them win or lose the natty, only because if they did win which obviously they did here (thank you), could that maybe change P’s mind at all on declaring or not?

I’m guessing she obviously sticks to her og decision and stays, and so I’m super intrigued on what might come next for them.

Like will they try going back to being just friends? Even though they’ve already tried and failed and knowing that would never be enough for Paige. But can they really not be in each other’s lives??

Will they try seeing other people again??

Summer’s coming up in the timeline and they’ve never spent an entire summer apart, so what will they do this summer? 😔 Or will we have a big time jump?

So many questions, and only you have the answers, Nivi.

Favourite lines/quotes:

The moon shines against Azzi’s face and Paige thinks that so much has changed, but Azzi’s still that kind of beautiful

“Do you know what my answer would have been?” “Yeah,” Azzi says softly, squeezing her hands, “yeah I do.”

Alternate lyrics that came to mind while reading:

Talk about our future like we had a clue. Never planned that one day, I'd be losing you.

In another life, I would be your girl. We'd keep all our promises, be us against the world.

Oh, and in honour of your love for Taylor, a Taylor lyric that came to mind was specifically this:

And I can go anywhere I want. Anywhere I want, just not home - mainly from the perspective of Paige getting almost everything she’s ever wanted, except the thing she wants most.

PS: I don’t really listen to Taylor’s music much anymore (nothing negative, just a shift in my music tastes these past couple of years!), but if there’s anything you think I should definitely give a listen to from her latest album, let me know!

As always, thank you for all you do for us. Have a wonderful weekend 💗

Much love, -🙋‍♀️

Hi bestie, one thing about me is that I will find a way to make it worse! 🤪

Thank you my sweets, it always means the world <3

I'm glad you caught that because I wanted to hint at the idea that it wasn't just a random decision of Azzi's part to choose UCLA and that she'd always been considering it.

If I can add Drew and Paige interactions, best believe I will find a way to do it. That's another relationship that's so precious to me.

Shoutout to the one anon who asked for Azzi to wear Paige's jersey in the universe as well because I took that and ran with it so I hope they liked it, because I liked their idea (come say hi!)

The team scene was one my favorites to write honestly, especially just in general KK is so fun to write because she's so fun and I need my chaotic family (Paige-Azzi-KK-Ice) to be a thing in every universe.

YES the piggybacks are just so Pazzi-core and I know this is an au but I like to take things from what we already know about them and just tweak it to keep some semblance of realism. Also piggyback are just really cute and Paige seems like the kind to beg literally anyone to carry her anyways

Things will get better because I actually don't know if they can get worse (actually they probably could but it might be hard to come back from lol) but things getting better is gonna take a lot

See if Paige changes her mind and declares, things become easy for them with her going to LA and I'm not in the business of making things easy for them lol

You think I have the answer to these question but truly what I write is just as much a mystery of where my inspiration will take to me as it is to you. So we'll see but we're on the ascent upwards, so no more other people lol!

I LOVE THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY SO MUCH!!

As for Taylor, the new album's pretty good babes if you wanna go listen! Lowkey a lot of the songs work pretty well with this fic lmao. But my favorites are loml and Fortnight I think.

Always love your detailed takes on the new parts and just seeing you in my inbox always makes me smile <3

[the-smart-house]

Say, Hermione, you’re a girl? (Pluck up the courage and ask!)

867 Words

(A/N: Warning, I stayed up way too late writing this and it's probably rushed.)

Hermione Granger, Minister of Magic, sits at her desk, well, it’s not hers, but it’s as good as. She’s never been one to be picky about working environments. Maybe she would’ve been in her school days, but ever since living in a tent for months, it hardly mattered. And, of course, she was given a spare office at Hogwarts. Headmistress McGonagall was more than happy to accommodate her.

Now she reads over important documents (she’d needed an enlarged suitcase to bring them all with her), deciding whether or not to allow her enchanted quill to sign them. Hogwarts is once again holding host to the TriWizard Tournament after it took another short hiatus, and she’d spent the past week busy preparing for the first task, so the papers stand in piles too high for her to see over. 

She glances over at the blue velvet envelope on the corner of her desk. A letter of gratitude from the Headmaster of Beauxbatons for organizing the event, especially after all the trouble was caused last time. The envelope is beautiful, with embroidery work, and a metal butterfly as the seal. The enchanted thing flits about the room, landing every so often.

Between one line of legalese and the next and knocking at her door breaks her concentration.

“Who is it?”

There’s a security charm around the office, to prevent curious or lost students from distracting her by wandering in, so she knows whoever it is must have already been approved by the wards. She isn’t scared so much as confused. It’s late, everyone else should’ve gone to sleep by now. In fact, she should be asleep.

“Ronald.” Her husband answers.

“Oh, well, come in.” She laughs. “You know you don’t have to ask.”

He comes in, holding a bouquet of flowers, all varying shades of blue. He looks nervous, but Hermione can’t think of why he would be.

“Ron, is that a peacock feather?” She asks, gesturing to the bouquet’s decoration.

“Oh, yeah. Mal- I mean Potter, gave it to me when I was stocking up on potions from the Apothecary. He said and I quote he ‘was happy to pull a feather from one of those pompous bastards.’”

Hermione snorts, “My, he really does hate those peacocks, doesn’t he? I wonder why?” 

“Yeah, I wonder.” Ron agrees.

But they both know why. The Malfoy peacocks belonged to Lucius.

“So, what’s the bouquet for, anyway?”

“Do I need an occasion?” Ron asks, sitting himself on the edge of her desk.

Hermione smiles, “No, but to get here you’d have had to appear into Hogsmeade, then take a carriage up to school. Besides, I know you’ve been busy at work. It’s quite a lot of effort to make just for flowers.”

“Well, you’re worth it . . . but actually.” He blushes. It reminds Hermione of their school days, Ron’s hardly ever embarrassed now. “It’s more important than that.”

“Oh.” She teases, leaning towards him.

He bites his lip, “Well, it’s about something you said to me 20 years ago. And I know I don’t say it, I don’t think we need to, normally, but I do still feel rotten about it, so I thought I would go and do it right this time.”

She cocks her head, thinking. 

‘20 years ago? Well, that would have been 4th year. I said loads of things that year. Is this about the tournament? I’ve told him it’s perfectly safe. He knows that. He didn’t seem worried about it. Is this about SPEW maybe?’

“Ronald, what’s this about?” She’s a little concerned.

He stands up, facing her, a look of determination on his face, “Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley, would you like to go to the Yule Ball with me?”

It’s one of the Minister of Magic’s duties to attend the Yule Ball of the Triwizard Tournament when it’s hosted in their country, of course, she was going.

She can only stare for a moment. Suddenly she’s not sure whether to giggle or cry. He waits patiently, holding out the flowers.

She ends up doing a bit of both “Oh, Ronald . . . well . . . you’re quite a bit early. Obviously, I’m going with you. Who else would I go with?” She stands up, getting on her tiptoes to kiss him.

“Oh well, you know, just making sure.” He jokes when they break apart.

“Yeah.” She hugs him again, holding him tightly, memories of the last tournament flashing through her mind. “I’m glad it wasn’t you, Ron.”

He nods. It pays to be just a sidekick sometimes. Hermione doesn’t think she could love someone who was always running from death. Ron is safe, and she loves him more than anything.

“I wished I’d just asked you back then, blimey I really was thick back then.”

Hermione shakes her head, “Eh, you just weren’t ready, but we are now . . . and you have real dress robes.”

“Oh, Merlin, don’t remind me. I’m so glad there weren’t photos.” A wicked grin corset shi face, “You know, Hugo is too young, but we could send them to Louis.”

“Ronald, nO. Flour would kill us, or just you.”

“Oh come on, just as a joke. You know Bill will agree with me.”

“Hmm, maybe. Let’s go home and see if we can even find those blasted things.”

“Okay, let’s go home.”

With another kiss, the two are off.

[strawberryloveyyy]

You’d have to stop the world just to stop the feeling. That specific line drives me nuts in the best way ever, really. I find myself relating to it more than everything rn.

I like girls. I cannot help it. And it’s not something I don’t think anyone can change. No me, my mom, or anyone at all. No matter how hard you fight it or how much you try to deny it, it will always deep through all that denial, and rejection.

Even as a kid I wasn’t really aware I could like girls as one. The concept wasn’t something that crossed my mind at all actually. I always had these favourite characters as a kid that were always these female characters that I admired and found really pretty. And I would obsess over them a lot. And when I say obsess over them I mean, OBSESS over them. It was something I really enjoyed doing now that I think of it 😭

Of course as I said I wasn’t really aware of that yet. And as a kid I always dreamt of loving, and being loved by someone. To think of it, I never dreamt of loving a man specifically. I was detrimentally captivated at the thought of there being someone out there for you. And of course society has conformed us to think and do things with a shallow perspective, so I was under the impression that whom I’d end up with would be a man. Yet it always felt uncomfortable. It stirred pure discomfort whenever someone would bring up having a boyfriend in the future, it was so torturous and aggravating. I’m not quite sure why I hadn’t realized it sooner enough that I was a lesbian 😭

Right now the one thing that’s been bothering me is that my mom is pushing ideas that this guy friend I have could be a possible candidate or fucking whatever. She knows I’m a lesbian. I’ve been out for months. MONTHS. And I am irrevocably pissed. I am also now uncomfortable whenever I see him, just the thought of him liking me makes me want to kill myself. This has been a constant fear for months to be honest, I’ve observed that he tends to be someone who’s clingy and overly caring to people he likes. Which I’ve realized when he started to like one of my best friends which gave me the most relief. Then he got rejected by her … but now he’s starting to talk to me more often than he did and it’s making uncomfortable. I don’t blame him at all. And I really do think it’s just me and my own personal problems with myself. But I think I might start setting a boundary. Also what’s worse is we’re singing a duet at the end of the month which is pretty romantic song. It’s I see the light from tangled. And it’s hard to sing when you really can’t see yourself being that that person romantically ever. So goodluck to me.

But overall I’m so very pissed at my mother for denying my identity. I’m so angry I can’t even articulate my feelings properly. For MONTHS she’s known I liked girls, she’s done nothing but constantly belittle and deny it. She says and I kid you not quote “what purpose would you serve as a woman if you don’t have children”

EXCUSE ME?? EXCUSE ME. What world do you live in to make you say such a thing? There’s so much more to women than a mother. Not everyone is built for the kind of life society set as a standard.

[360iris]

Backroom of a bad dream (marc spector x reader)

Marc is dreaming, he knows that. He knows it as soon as the clip starts rolling, frayed, fuzzy and worn around the edges. He can practically hear the feed spools of the movie projector turning as the lens focuses the film’s images onto the imaginary screen in his mind’s eye. 

A single ticket sold for admittance to a private showing of his early life, featuring people he wishes he could forget. Forgive, hah. Forget. Just let him forget. 

He wishes she’d allow him to omit the moments in time like this one, but bad memories latch onto him, into him. And this body holds them together like stitches sewn into flesh—and faintly he recalls you saying something to that effect once. During one of the many, painfully kind conversations the two of you have when the tide of emotions inside him is particularly high, to the point where it’s brimming to the surface and bubbling right over the edge. 

You’re always there to catch the splashes and beaded droplets of information, gathering what meager scraps he gives away, whether it’s done so intentionally or not. Lining up every detail like puzzle pieces, locating the edges first and then steadily working your way inward. 

He knows how tightly he guards the truth of his past, because he’s skeptical of what good it could do. Because he’s afraid to face the consequences if the iniquity of his actions see light and find a way to retake root. He doesn’t think he could handle Layla’s soft touches turning stiff and rigid, and he knows he would not recover if those doting and thoughtful eyes of yours ever dimmed when they fell onto him– like his mother’s had.

‘A means to hurt can also bring about healing, and growth.’ You’d said that particular evening, speaking more to the brim of the water bottle on its way to your lips, than to anything else. He’d guessed he must have looked as confused as he’d felt internally because you hurried to swallow the mouthful before elaborating on your thought. 

‘If you know the story of Joseph, his brothers plotted several times to murder him, resolving finally to strip him naked and sale him to the Egyptians, with the intention for him to be taken leagues away from his home, never to be seen again. Little did they know, they were pushing him closer to fulfilling his life’s purpose, he would become the most influential and powerful man in the land, second only to the Pharaoh himself.’ —his eyebrows were still raised quizzically and you’re reminded that with everything he's gone through, memorizing religious stories hadn’t remotely been on his list of priorities. 

‘He’s reunited with his brothers as a wealthy and respected man, utterly unrecognizable as their own flesh and blood by then, and instead of letting the great famine consume them for their past indiscretions, he shows them forgiveness. Though the most important part in all of it, to me, is what he says to them as they stand in fear of what he’ll do to them. He says ‘What you meant for evil, God meant for good.’ and that’s a quote I find myself thinking back on very often. The notion that perhaps, from every wrongdoing, every single nefarious lapse of humanity, behind the scenes something good and righteous is gradually weaving itself and taking hold. A greater plan, coming into play.’

But you’re not in his head as this scene of her drunkenly sauntering over to the dinner table plays, the frames clicking in and out of view cheaply. 

He can see her coal-black hair, long and neglected, flowing past her shoulders like curtains. Can make out the glass bottle of beer in her hand and the dark circles from lack of restful sleep. Eyes overshadowed, hateful and watching, scrutinizing his every movement. Inwardly and outwardly cursing him for every breath he took.

He could smell the alcohol, the sickly sweet sugaryness of the icing and burning candles on top of the cake which sat in front of him. 

Can hear the words that slip past her lips–and he’s sorry, he’s regretful and he hates her as she drills those same fucking words into his psyche. 

Her hostility churned, it burbled and seeped into the fabric of everything like thick, black ink. It festered and clung to him, a dripping, oozing sludge as he watched her hands grip the glass, her lips sneering and her eyes glaring emptily. There was no attainable sign of recompense for what he’d done because he’d survived yet another year, and she’d all but sworn to make this particular day hell on earth for him. It was his birthday.

Lying on his back, he jolts awake. Eyes wide and chest heaving as he registers his labored breathing, forehead drenched with sweat and knuckles stiff from how hard they gripped at the sheets beneath him. 

“We’re okay.” Steven’s voice comes out unusually hoarse, bringing up a sore hand to dab at the corners of their eyes and apples of their cheeks with a crooked wrist. Tears, he’d been drawn to tears. “We’re alright. We’re safe. And look, it's morning now.”

Beams of sunlight slipped through the open cracks and crevices made by the somewhat-drawn curtains, allowing golden slivers to illuminate the wooden plank flooring, filling the space with a warm, genial air. 

The sizable studio apartment his system shares with yourself and Layla is quiet and still. Not a single sign of Khonshu darkening his path with his towering visage presents itself as he looks over the empty space— but as Marc hastily props himself onto his elbows, he realizes that the same could be said for both of his girls. 

A wave of paranoia washes over him as he looks at the empty spaces beside him on the bed, the white sheets lay void of the bodily warmth he’d grown used to and spoiled by. Though just as he moves to sit up to continue his search, he spots you quietly exiting the dressing room which leads to the bathroom. 

Absentmindedly toweling wet hair with one rotating hand, you clicked the door shut behind you as quietly as possible, moving further into the general space before seemingly feeling his gaze and looking up to inadvertently meet his eye. 

You’re dressed in an ankle length, satin creme slip dress, the one you often wore to bed because of the lace detailing it had sewn along the collar and how softly it glided across the skin. Blanketing your shoulders and falling to your feet was a matching, ankle-grazer cardigan which you hauled with you almost everywhere, the snug material always plush to the touch.

“You’re up, baby?” With bare feet, you paddled over to where he lay, speaking softly even though he was awake now. 

He nodded wordlessly, peering up at you. Unable to read the slight, upward crook resting between your brows as you approached as anything other than disappointment towards him, because of him.

“We’d hoped you’d sleep a little longer, thought the extra rest might help some.” You said fondly, sinking into the mattress beside him. “Do you know what you might want for breakfast? Or, do you want one of us to choose? Layla just got back from the market, she's in the shower now– bought a bit too much if you ask me.” An amused chuckle gets peppered between your words. But other than the way he fiddles with the fingers of your free hand, he doesn’t speak. 

His eyes were hooded and preoccupied with a misty, glazed look about them; lips pressed into a line. He wasn’t completely still, as was typically characteristic of Marc, but the man in front of you was too withdrawn and remote for it to be Steven currently fronting. You surveyed him with a look of repose, pinpointing what giveaways were present to help clue you in on who it was you were dealing with, so you could act accordingly.

Twisting and tucking the towel back to keep it wrapped around your head, you laid down atop of the covers beside him. Resting an open-palmed hand across his chest which he continued to fiddle with as you nuzzled your face alongside his. “Where are you right now, baby? Can you tell me?”

He didn't answer immediately, swallowing thickly as he stared up at the ceiling. 

“It’s my birthday.” It wasn’t a question or announcement, just a despondent statement.

“Yes, it is.”

“She– She’d always make today unbearable.” And you’re well aware of who he’s referencing, his hands grasping yours a hair tighter as he speaks, your own grip firming as well. “She made me hate ever being born. I would wonder why this day just kept coming, why it never stopped.”

There wasn’t a way to broach the topic of his mother, no tactical approach to institute, to speak on her behalf regarding her grief, her anger and her pain. At one point you’re fairly certain she loved her first born son. 

Your own personal, and very secret theory was that her abuse angled towards Marc was her way of keeping her lost son alive, because perhaps forgiving him for his part to play in the tragedy would have felt too much like relinquishing the love that, which in her eyes, no longer had anywhere else to go. But that didn’t even remotely justify her cruelty, or unwavering devotion towards making Marc’s life as isolating and haunted as she possibly could.

Holding him inbetween your arms now, as tortured and mournful of a man as he is, you press your forehead into his cheek and think further on a certain comforting but dismal branch of thought. 

Though she’d been none the wiser, and truthfully did not deserve any of the credit, all of her unrelenting fury had given birth to Steven– well intentioned, delightful and unbelievably quick-witted Steven Grant. Where would any of you be without him, or your love for him? You scarcely dared to entertain the possibility.

The truth was that one utterly good thing had been unearthed from the soot and grime of her profoundly misguided actions, and you would nurture the little boy she’d left behind and support the men he’d grown into.

Nudging him closer, if that could even be possible at this point with the way the two of you were so intertwined, you tenderly massage his shoulder. “Every single day I’m grateful that you were created and placed along my path. And I know that you’re hurting, and I understand that I can’t carry that burden for you–or claim to always perfectly understand where you’re at in your journey, but I mean it when I say that I fully intend to be here when you need or just want me to be present. I’m here for you, and for Steven.”

You don’t expect him to respond exactly, having just wanted to know that he had heard those specific words from someone who genuinely cared about him. And when he rolls onto his side to face you, softly scooping you up into his arms like a well loved teddy bear, you audibly laugh as he speaks into your hair– because it’s a start to the day, and it’s enough. “Whatever you decide to make, Steven and I will have two plates of it.”

[usmsgutterson]

Time and Time Again- Platonic! Tolya Yul-Bataar x Gn! Reader

Okay, this one was requested by the purple alien emoji anon! Anon, if you’re reading this, I hope you like it and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long--April was one hell of a month and May has turned out to be quite the same so far, but I promise any requests you send in will come out a bit more efficiently lol

Okay, just a bit of a quick disclaimer, none of the quoted poetry lines are actual lines from poetry, I couldn’t find any I liked in a lot of the scenarios so all of the poetry in this is entirely fictional.

Fic type- fluff!

Warnings- none

The first time you and Tolya had met had been in Ravka. You worked in a library in a small town in Ravka, and it became a place that Tolya frequented while he worked for Sturmhond, going to the library in his off days and finding you there.

You became friends quickly, bonding over a mutual love of poetry and lit. You expanded Tolyas horizons, something that had been a relief to Tamar when she found that her brother didn’t quote poetry nearly so often as he once had. 

When he’d left, he’d promised to see you again. “I don’t forget my friends,” he’d said. “You’ll see me when the war is over, Y/N.” 

You’d given him a grin, slipped a poetry book you’d thought he’d enjoy into his pack as he left. 

Then the two of you met again, your hair cropped shorter then it had been when you had first seen each other in the library you’d once worked in. Your eyes had been a different color, too, and your hair had been just a few shades darker. 

The second time you met, you’d worked in a bookstore rather than a library, never quite wanting to stray too far from your beloved books. 

“Why is your hair different?” Tolya had asked one night as you were wiping down the table Tolya had brought up five steps so that you could set up a poetry display. “And your eyes. They’re different to how I last remember them.”

“My hair isn’t different,” you’d said. “Nor are my eyes. Your memory is skewed.”

“My memory is in perfect condition,” Tolya rebutted. 

You laughed, shook your head as you moved to wheel the cart of books over to the table Tolya had brought up. “‘A memory as good as yours must make fools feel smart, my dearest enemy’“ 

“Vasquez,” Tolya said with a smirk. “The poem from her collection about the person she hates. That one is called An Enemy Who I Hold Dear. Page 102, line 22 out of 43.” 

“Ah,” you said with a grin, taking the stacks of books out and beginning the process of organizing them on the table. “You’ve still got it, then. Good to know.” 

Tolya scoffed. “Of course I do, Y/N.”

You laughed. “Yeah, Tolya. Forgive me for having my doubts.” 

Tolya grinned, part of him glad to be in your presence again. “I’ve missed you,” he said. “In Os Alta. Your presence at the library has been wiped clean.”

“‘I am everywhere, and I am nowhere all at once. I cannot be contained.’”

“Hanlen,” he said. “The poem ‘Everything, Nothing, All of It’. Lines seventeen and eighteen. Stop dodging my questions and my lead up into questions with quotes.”

“No.” 

Tolya gave an exasperated laugh, some part of him debating walking out of the bookstore. He chose not to in the end, though, and the two of you stayed talking for the rest of the night.

Then, Tolya returned to the bookshop at which you worked and found you weren’t there. Much as it’d been at the library, any record of your presence had been wiped clean.

Such was how it went from then on. Every few months, you’d crop up, with newly pigmented hair, eyes, a new name and new identity, working at coffeeshops, bookstores, bodegas and boutiques in cities all over Ravka. 

It wasn’t until Tolya found you in a bookstore in Ketterdam that he’d thought to ask you why you did as you did. Why you’d change a couple of things about yourself, assume a new name, and move along. 

“Why do you do it?” Tolya asked. “The hair, the eyes, the name. Hell, I think I’ve even noticed that the sound of your voice has changed.” 

“I--” you paused, took a sip of the coffee Tolya had brought in two hours before. “Do you really want to know?”

“It is something I’ve found most intriguing throughout the course of our friendship,” Tolya said, gently swaying the coffee in his cup to give himself something to do. “So yeah. Spill.”

“I’ve got a couple of heists under my belt,” you said. “Big ones. Think Fjerdan Royal Palace, Kerch museums, Kaelish museums, a couple of big jurda plants in Novyi Zem.”

“So you’re on the run, then?”

“No,” you said. “I’ve gotten away with these heists by quite the large mile, Tolya. I’ve just never loved the idea of living in the same spot for the rest of my eternity. I love staying on the move, gives me something to do and keeps any one spot from becoming boring.”

Tolya grinned. “I have someone I’d like you to meet,” he said. “We can go now, I’m meant to go back to the ship in the morning anyhow.”

“The ship?” You asked. “Oh, Tolya. If you take me to meet a pirate, I’m absolutely going to make you regret it! Pirates are the worst, as someone who’s worked with them too many times for their own good.” 

“He’s a privateer,” Tolya said. “Different then pirates. Just as willing to take on criminals, but less--” he gestured widely with his hands.

“Privateers have less oomf?” You said, nodding understandingly. “All right. I’ll meet him. What’s the goal?”

“That he likes you enough to give you a job, which he will,” Tolya said. “It’ll be a wonderful opportunity, Y/N. You just have to trust me.” 

And a wonderful opportunity it turned out to be. You and Sturmhond talked for fifteen minutes before he was offering you a job and you were accepting it, grateful that Tolya had thought to introduce you to him. 

Your life had sorted out, so it seemed, and that was all that mattered in the end. 

[yamayuandadu]

What’s Masafusa relationship with Minamoto no Yoshiie and how did he become Yoshiie’s teacher for the art of war?

Apparently while they were contemporaries, this is just a legend (source; source 2 - check p. 364). Wikipedia presents it as a historical fact… but the source cited in Masafusa’s article (the claim is unsourced in Yoshiie’s) does not. It just summarizes an episode from Kokon Chomonjū according to which after the Zenkunen War Yoshiie arrived in the imperial court to report on his deeds. Masafusa was not impressed with him because he lacked theoretical knowledge about warfare despite his accomplishments. One of Yoshiie’s soldiers overheard this and shared this information with him; Yoshiie surprisingly agreed with Masafusa’s evaluation, and approached him to become his disciple. Later on the knowledge he acquired from him let him discover disguised enemy soldiers during the Later Three Years War.

A fairly similar legend is also recorded in the Ōshū Gosannen Ki (“Chronicle of the Later Three Years War in the Mutsu Province”; completed in 1347, but based on an older illustrated scroll created less than a century after the war). Here the same deed is presented as the result of reading a military treatise authorted by Masafusa (no title is provided), which taught him that “when soldiers conceal themselves in the grasses of plains, they disturb flocks of geese”. Note that the same work also credits him with returning soldiers who have frozen to death to life, so its reliability is dubious at best.

There is one more problem: Paul Varley, who covered this legend in Warriors of Japan as Portrayed in the War Tales, mentions that he failed to locate any work of Masafusa that would fit, and points out that the passage instead finds a close parallels in a quote attributed to Sun Tzu (see here). While I’m not familiar with Masafusa’s entire body of work, it indeed doesn’t really fit his main interests, like Chinese literature, classical poetry, governance, or anecdotes about immortality, rebirth in the pure land or repentant sinners. 

Yet another version of the legend is preserved in Tandai Shōshin Roku (see here), written in the early nineteenth century by Ueda Akinari. It’s basically an abridged edition of the above: Yoshiie met Masafusa while he was reporting his victories in the imperial court. Masafusa was not impressed with him because despite his military deeds he was not familiar with the study of the art of war. Yoshiie took this criticism to his heart and asked him if he can become his disciple and learn strategy and tactics from him. The translators of the annotated English edition stress that this account does not reflect historical events; Ueda actually just brings it up to illustrate a point he’s making about people in the past being often well versed in both poetry and warfare, in contrast with his contemporaries. For what it’s worth, I do think this sort of petty commentary is in line with Masafusa’s historical penchant for gossiping, so if you are asking because you’d like to write something about them, despite the incident not being genuine history I do think relying on it for characterization is fair game.  Something that can be considered a further particularly divergent variant of the legend shows up in the preface of the Heihō Hijutsu Ikkansho (“The Single Scroll of Secret Martial Technique”). This text is a fourteenth century compilation of military esoterica. Supposedly it was originally written by Zhang Liang (a famed ancient Chinese strategist), arrived in Japan during the reign of the  legendary emperor Kaika, got lost until the reign of Jingu (and then again, this time for good, when her son Ōjin became the emperor), got reimported from China by Ōe no Koretoki at the request of emperor Daigo, with Masafusa being responsible for editing it later. Yoshiie was then granted the right to use it before the war by the imperial court. In reality, no copy of Heihō Hijutsu Ikkansho predates the early 1300s, and while part of the text does reflect Chinese - specifically Tang dynasty Daoist - sources, for the most part it is a fairly standard work of medieval Japanese esoterica. You can learn more about it in R. Keller Kimbrough’s article Casting Spells: Combat Charms and Secret Scrolls in the Warrior Fiction of Late Medieval Japan.

[ana-chronista]

1, 3, 6, 22 and 24 please

Thanks for the questions and sorry for the delay! These ones took some thinking...

1. what are 3 things you’d say shaped you into who you are? In no particular order:

Learning to like reading. I used to hate reading as a kid. I was getting on OK with it but it was boring and difficult and too much effort. One of my parents (actually not the one who is also into reading!) decided that wasn’t going to work, so kept trying me out with different books until suddenly they found one I clicked with. Suddenly I wanted to read ahead and find out what happened next, because when you only get to hear a chapter a night, it gets frustrating. So yes, I was basically tricked into liking reading by a parent who isn’t a big reader but was determined I would be!

Having quite a strong regional accent*. I can’t shake it, even when speaking my second language, and by now I wouldn’t really want to – it’s a part of who I am. It does make people look at me in a certain way in my job, and has made me very aware of how people make assumptions according to how others sound. My accent is often stereotyped in-country as being stupid or superficial, so it’s quite entertaining to see peoples’ reactions when they find out I’m neither. * (For those of you not from the same country as me, it’s probably the accent you’re thinking of; for those of you who are from the same country, you’re probably all thinking of about ten different possibilities!)

Living abroad for a bit. This came with plenty of ups and downs at the time, but I can’t begin to tell you how much more confident it made me, even in everyday life. I’d definitely recommend it to anyone who gets the opportunity.

3. 3 films you could watch for the rest of your life and not get bored of?

The Lord of the Rings trilogy. Seeing Fellowship on the big screen was a huge moment for me.

Airplane and The Naked Gun. Two separate movies but along very similar lines and I love them both. If anyone ever wants to come quote either of these at me, feel free!

And because I feel like the former two are so similar they count as one, I’ll also mention Captain America: The Winter Soldier, which has been doing the rounds on tumblr lately. As someone who didn’t really get into the first Cap movie, this one surprised me, but I really enjoy how it explores Steve’s ties to the world, both past and present. I was always disappointed that the Avengers never ended up feeling more like a group of friends, but those sort of bonds and trust aren’t as lacking in The Winter Soldier – in fact it’s a huge focus.

6. what’s the best and worst part of being online/a creator? I absolutely love being able to share my work, collaborate with others, and be part of a community around a common interest. When something clicks about a fandom it feels like you’re just chilling with friends and getting excited about the same things, and that’s definitely what I’ve found on the JO/Kӓӓrijӓ community. As for the worst part, I originally wrote a much longer explanation, but on reflection I think it comes down to the opposite of the above, which is when people can become cliquey and entitled within a fandom. I’ve been involved in many different fandoms over several years and had a huge range of experiences. One of the last before I quit fandom for about seven years was within a much larger fandom than JO/Kӓӓrijӓ. I’d been involved in a community project that left me pretty burnt out and disheartened, but led to me posting a fic on AO3 as my contribution. It got some decent reviews. One person in particular loved it. In fact, they loved it so much that in their final review they threatened me with very specific physical mutilation if I didn’t update soon. It was their final review because I logged out and never went back to post the rest. Obviously they could never find me, they weren’t even serious, and I’ve had questionable or downright bad reviews before, but it was a huge WTF moment and I was just done with it all. 22. say 3 things about someone you love They try not to let little things phase them, they’re compassionate without being a pushover, and they share my weird sense of humour, which is lovely. 24. what’s one thing you’re proud of yourself for? Trying to become happier. For a long time I accepted it when people would tell me that “life is just like this” and “most people are unhappy in some way”, until eventually I realised that, actually, I didn’t have to. It’s taken a lot of time and effort, but it’s been worthwhile, and while there’s still work to do (and probably always will be), I feel like I’m in such a more positive place than I was ten years ago.

[digital-chance]

Writing Question Tag

thank you sm @janec23 for the tag! sorry for taking ages on this.

gently tagging: @halfbit, @vollzz, @scribbling-stardust, @leisoree, @your-absent-father, @magicicada-lbwrites, @clairelsonao3, @soiledcat, @mjparkerwriting, @aspiringfictionwriter, @ruinmegently

questions at the bottom

1. What is your absolute all-time favourite ideas you’ve ever had?

Honestly, I don't really know. All my favorite ideas I usually use for a wip and I don't really have a all-time fav.

2. Is there a question you’ve been asked in the past that really stands out to you, and you still think about sometimes?

Lately I've been seeing worldbuilding posts that say something along the lines of "do you know have to know every little detail about the world? is it relevant to the plot to know exactly which plants grow in each season? if it isn't, you don't have to figure that out." (plant thing example). It's a great reminder that sometimes the nitty-gritty details aren't needed and that worldbuilding can be more manageable.

3. What is your favourite part of being a writer? What parts could you take or leave?

My favorite part of being a writer is the storytelling and the adventures that I can make the characters go on. I enjoy daydreaming about the adventures and coming up with ways they would tackle different situations. What I don't enjoy is finding the precise words for each of those situations, especially the important lines. I tend to forget the words right when I need them which makes the entire feat annoying and the first few drafts will have tons of bracket placeholders.

4. What is your greatest motivation to write/create?

I love the process of creation and getting caught up in the mess of ideas. One of the greatest motivations is getting inspired or new ideas. Lately, I've been drawing and reading more and generally trying to balance all of my creative passions more which is something I haven't done for literal years. It's both exciting and strange at the same time. I still create and get into the mess of the/my process which is the best part for me, just in a different way.

5. What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever read or been given as a writer?

Use brackets [ ] as placeholders when you're writing in order to keep your flow. I've depended on this for my initial drafts for my wips since it's the only way I can make sure I can keep writing without feeling bogged down with details that I can fill in later.

6. What do you wish you knew when you were first starting out writing?

It's okay to write scenes out of sequence and then piece it together afterward. If writing chronologically dampens your creative process, writing whatever scene comes to you is okay.

7. What is your favourite story you’ve written to completion? Link it if you’d like and can!

Nothing yet so far. I've posted one chapter of you still would've been mine but I'm not really happy with it.

8. What is your favourite out-of-the-box quote?

I don't really have any favorite quotes. I do enjoy clever or inspirational lines but I don't think about them often enough to remember them.

9. Which of your characters would you say has the most controversial mindset? Why do you say so, and how do you personally feel about their ideals?

Rowan Reyes, 100%. They're anti-capitalist, anti-government, anti-rich, to just name a few movements. They're incredibly passionate and motivated and don't let things like government confidentiality stop them. I feel like this is a lot more radical than most people believe and the topics would definitely start arguments at family dinners or on twitter. Personally their ideals are a lot more intense than mine but it's something new to explore. It's very suited for their role in their story along with their society.

10. If you, when you first started writing, met you now, what would younger you think?

I would be surprised at my career path and would be surprised that I read more fanfiction than novels lately. I used to be REALLY into reading and so the shift in what I read would be surprising. Also, I'd be surprised that fanfiction exists point-blank. It's what I wanted as a kid but I didn't even imagine that it would be possible. Oh and that I transitioned. (again, something child me didn't even imagine to be possible)

question template::

1. What is your absolute all-time favourite ideas you’ve ever had?

2. Is there a question you’ve been asked in the past that really stands out to you, and you still think about sometimes?

3. What is your favourite part of being a writer? What parts could you take or leave?

4. What is your greatest motivation to write/create?

5. What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever read or been given as a writer?

6. What do you wish you knew when you were first starting out writing?

7. What is your favourite story you’ve written to completion? Link it if you’d like and can!

8. What is your favorite out-of-the-box quote?

9. Which of your characters would you say has the most controversial mindset? Why do you say so, and how do you personally feel about their ideals?

10. If you, when you first started writing, met you now, what would younger you think?

[rivusatrap]

SURRENDER

by @easilydistractedbyfanfic​

During a party in Alfea, the students get a bit too carried away and the atmosphere gets a bit too hot and Musa can feel something in the air, something pulling her towards Riven. Neither know what is happening but both are too horny to care. Could it have something to do with magic, or is it just them? Musa/Riven | Explicit |  15830 words (2 chapters)

Favorite Quote: “So what I’m hearing you say,” he pauses, draws out his enjoyment while she curls her fingers into a fist in preparation, “is that I fucked you into an upgrade.”

If you like smut, mind-fairy shenenigans, sex-polen type fics (not really but kind of), you’ll like this fic!

READ IT HERE

You know you’re in for a ride when one of the fic tags say “Magic Made Them Do It-or does it?”

I only met Jenn, the lovely author of this fic, around 10 days ago when she joined the discord server, and I already knew I was gonna like her when the first conversation we had was about kinktober.

She shared this fic saying it was her first in the FTWS fandom and I happily clicked on it. The more rivusa fics the merryer!

But what she delivered comploetely blew my expetations.

The writing in this fic is amazing, the lines are perfect, and the little details she adds with the descriptions make you envision the scenes in your head so perfectly I caught myself looking for the scene in my scene folder to make a gifset of it before I remembered it didn’t exist.

One thing to note is that Jenn puts the “underage” warning and it does make sense considering in canon they are around 16/17 years old, but in my head they are all 18+ so you can easily pretend they aren’t minors while reading the fic.

Also there is the warning for it being dubcon and I understand why she put it there because of the “magic made them do it” trope, but I didn’t feel it was dubcon at all, so I guess it depends on how much you as a reader is sensitive to.

As amazing as the first chapter was, what really did it for me was the second one, because it had a few “tropes” (idk if you’d call them tropes but we’re going with this term) that I absolutely love.

Now, if you don’t want spoilers, stop here, this is your warning.

One of these tropes is one that I feel myself thinking about way too often to be healthy and often add to my own fics, which is the fact that (NSFW) during sex Musa is unable to control her powers and ends up either linking herself to riven’s mind, making him feel her emotions as well as her his, or making her push her emotions into his mind. And this fic has it!! And it’s a detail that had me squealing while reading it. 

Some people are into pulling hair, I guess i’m into mind fucking, idk...

Anyway, another trope- which this i’m sure is not a trope- is that I’m a sucker for adding awkward conversations about intmate issues that are kind of a mood killer and unecessary to the plot but add a real detail that makes the story either really funny or really relatable. Let me explain by using this fic an an example. In chapter 2 we have the awkward conversation of Riven telling Musa that he’s clean of STDs after they have sex without protection. And also him asking her to let him know if she’s pregnant.

I’ve seen a lot of fics not have condoms in them because they’d either interrupt the flow of the smut or they couldn’t find a way to pull it out of nowhere if the characters aren’t in a bedroom or bathroom or whatever. I, for one, love adding that detail because a) lets make safe sex sexy guys!! and b) yes, it does put a break in the smut but thats good!! It drags the scene longer, makes the characters say something other than “oh!” “fuck-” and “god!” and yes, i do love a messy/funny smut and having a character fumble with the little foil package while the other is crazy horny is funny and it is a challenge for the writer to get the scene back to hot. 

With my little ted talk over, and shutting up because this post is too long already, All these little details made Jenn’s fic even more appetazing to me, personally. It might not be everyone’s cup of tea but for me it was a delicious milkshake with caramel and whipped cream.

(Help me bully Jenn into writing more chapters, please.)

[bombingqueen]

1.03 Dead In The Water A.K.A Sins of the Father

Episode Rating 10/10

Monster of the Week : The Vengeful Spirit of Peter Sweeney

Road Map: Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin 2005

Favorite Quote: “Must be hard, with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line.” - Andrea

Honorable Mention: “Kids are strong. You’d be surprised what they can deal with." - Dean

Song That Represents the Episode

Wow. Just Wow. I didn’t appreciate this episode when I first watched it but it is so freakin good. I have just so many feelings about this episode. The way the episode approaches trauma and loss whether it your own or someone else’s. Although, I did hate how Sam responded to Dean being concerned and vulnerable with a child:

Dean “… Lucas was really scared.”

Sam: “That’s what this is about?”

Dean: “I just don’t want to leave this town until I know the kid’s okay.”

Sam: “Who are you? And what have you down with my brother?"

This is the episode that made begin the Dean Winchester Protection Squad (DWPS). Sam…Sam…Sam. What can I say about Sam? Now he knows for a fact that Dean hated that he was terrified of the supernatural and did everything he could to protect him. Pretty sure every time Dean sees a traumatized child, he probably gets flashbacks to his own experience in their childhood. Like Sam, do you understand how much your brother loves you, how much he has had to sacrifice, and how much pain he has gone through to make sure your childhood was even remotely ‘stable.’ Like college boy, you probably would not have actually made it to Standford without Dean taking the brunt of John’s bullshit. Jesus Sam, it’s been two years, not a century. Give your brother a little credit. (Don’t tell me you are jealous of a child being coddled by Dean). The only thing I can think as to why he reacted the way he did is because the last 2 years before Standford, him and Dean must have been at odds.

Dean constantly trying to keep the peace between two stubborn dumbasses. Dean having to pick up the slack when Sam wouldn’t put in the effort; it probably caused a shit ton of friction between them. Sam probably saw it as a betrayal because it seemed like they were no longer a united front. Of course, he knows what Dean has done for him but those 2 years more than likely overrode some of those memories. Not one of Sam’s finest moments and one of the few times I will say that he was just being a dick. Sometimes I think that Sam wanted the ‘normal’ life so bad he started to separate and deny Dean the father and Dean the mother while latching on to Dean the brother. Affluent college kids aren’t gonna be all nice if they learned that he was a child raised by another child. Best to present a normal yet distant relationship so that he isn’t seen as freak (Sorry Sam. You can’t fix years of trauma and neglect under the care of another child).

Despite all of that, it makes interesting tv and helps elevate the episode even more. I was invested in the storyline and it made the characters feel more authentic. The Sam and Dean dynamic really felt like it had been finalized in this episode. Like they had the friction and vulnerability in the first two episodes but it was just so much more here. This episode is dear to me. I think the difference between how I feel about it now compared to years ago is due to the loss and trauma I have experienced myself.

Loss, Trauma, and Peter Sweeney

“Losing him – you know, it’s worse than dying.” – Ms. Sweeney

Outliving the life of a loved one, particularly children, is a recurring theme throughout the episode. That type of loss is devastating and the first thing a parent wants is often to take the place of their child. You become a shell of your former self. Because how do you move on from that? How do you rationalize the events that led to the loss of your child? That type of trauma can cause you to turn mean and bitter; it can make you feel hopeless and dejected. Peter Sweeney experienced a trauma that was incomprehensible. Peter was a young victim of violence that did not get justice because his abusers put themselves in a position of power to make sure that the truth was never discovered. Being so young, Peter may not have understood the concept of injustice but I’m sure he felt the ripples of his mother’s pain. And considering the years that he was left without justice, that terror he felt at the moment of his death had festered into rage. It made sense that he went on to escalate the situation and punish his abusers by taking away their loved ones.

The Winchester brothers have such an intimate relationship with loss and trauma that it honestly transcends grief itself. The reason I bring this up is because of Sam’s first death. Sam’s first death has such a unique consequence in regards to Dean’s subsequent behavior and attitude towards Sam in later seasons. Dean lost so much more than a brother that day. He lost a son and he also lost a part of his soul. Sam and Dean are soulmates and their bond often transcends that very concept; the bond that they share cannot be fit within the confines of an earthly definition of a relationship. It goes beyond brotherhood and it goes beyond love itself. To me, this episode is a prelude to how Dean will react after Sam’s first death because for Dean losing Sam was worse than dying and he was never the same again.

Social Work Sidenote: Dean did so much right when interacting with Lucas. He made sure to interact with Lucas on his level and at his pace. He was open and did not try to force Lucas to move past his trauma. He made sure that the kid would be emotionally safe with him and talked to him with compassion and understanding. This one of my favorite Dean episodes.

Now on to my favorite tidbits of the episode.

Andrea insulting Mr. Casanova (Dean)

Dean stopping at nothing to protect Lucas

Dean’s connection with Lucas and their bond over losing a parent and using their silence as a method to gain back their control

Dean encouraging Lucas to be brave and not telling him to man up

Dean putting Sam in his place at the restaurant

Dean protecting Lucas emotionally

Sam learning about Dean’s trauma during childhood