#Please accept my pre-emptive apology

[bleaksqueak]

[moonfeatherblue]

Our next The War of the Worlds reading stream is coming right up!

The Small One is having some significant difficulties sleeping tonight, though, so if there's a slight (or worse) delay, please accept my profound and pre-emptive apologies 🙇

[breakfastteatime]

It’s that time again – Fanfic Friday Requests are opening on August 12th! You will be able to make requests between 8pm – 10pm BST (find your time zone here)

This time, I am opening for Jedi: Fallen Order fics only.

✨✨How does this work?✨✨

(Please read so your request isn't rejected!)

Drop me an Ask during the 8pm - 10pm window with a fic you’d like me to write. You can give lots of detail, a brief sentence, a trope or even a single word! So long as it’s something I’m comfortable with, I’ll write it.

I reserve the right to refuse a request if it’s not something I feel I can write. Check my AO3 for my usual style 👍That said, if you're here, you probably know what I write 😅

Gen fic only. It’s All Found Family, All The Time here.

I’m not a huge fan of AUs buuuuuuuuuuuuut I sometimes make exceptions. If I don't feel able to write an AU you request, I'll let you know and you can request something else.

Oh, and one more pre-emptive note, crossovers are not my strength either unless we're talking Kingdom Hearts lolololol. Wait no, please don't request a KH crossover. Apologies!

One request per person please!

I accept anon requests, but please don't request one under your username and another as an anon.

Depending on fic request numbers, I usually write half before I start posting them on Fridays every week 'til I'm done. Obviously if I only get a couple of requests I'll start posting sooner.

If you've got any questions before the 12th, comment on this post or drop me an Ask 😊

[monterraverde]

A formal looking letter appeared for Rika, alongside some other mail. It had a crescent moon seal, giving a hint as to its origins. As elegant as the outside was, the inside was truly something written by Yuri, even if her wording was a bit more formal, it was still her. All over the place and with the energy of a billion Impidimps.

[Dear Rika-san,

My apologies for these official looking words, but when one makes such a request, one must go through the proper channels and ceremony.

As you know, the Moon Festival is coming up and I am the Moon Maiden slated for sacrifice again. However, as I am the one in charge of not just the festival, but the shrine itself, I have decided as my first act as the official shrine head priestess to prevent stuff from happening so that everyone can enjoy a peaceful festival.

No one should have to see their friends and family hurt, to watch the souls of loved ones get eaten up by impossible monsters. So! It is my wish to keep this from happening during the festival by pre-emptively striking. But I need help.

So this is my formal request to you: please become my Guardian. It is an honorable title. All you have to really do is watch my back. Plus you get to keep the title forever, even after I die. With it comes the responsibility of not letting me die, but you are already a professional at this! I believe in your strength and your kindness. I will hold a ceremony for you to make it official and bestow upon you the title and the blessing that comes with it.

Of course, you are not obligated to do so. I am asking, because you are a friend I can trust. But I will understand if it's too much. You are living your own life. You have flourished so much since coming to KanJoh....honestly, if it were my choice, I'd rather you live your life happily, outside of these troubles.

Thank you for reading, Rika. Have a lovely day.

Sincerely,

Yuri Tsuchiya]

Yuri, always with the perfect timing. The letter is read over with a silent reverence as she really drinks in the meaning of the words.

Guardian.

So basically a bodyguard.

Its a line of work she’s thought about plenty, but she’s not physically powerful like the job demands. She’s sneaky, fast and hits for weak points, and all her pokemon are hulking giants attacking with wild forces of nature.

An amicable partnership, she thinks. Tanks and DPS, to put it in simpler terms.

She was going to have to think on this, she wanted to help, of course, but if Yuri knew anything about her, she’d know it’s hard to put a leash on the wind. So long as she could maintain a modest amount of freedom, she would accept it gladly.

…This was a conversation better had in person, she thinks. She’d have to get over to Johto as soon as possible.

[prettywordsyouleft]

Forsaken | Part 8

Summary: As one of the Forsaken, Jinyoung had no right to covet anything as his own. When he stumbles across you standing in the middle of the village he had plundered, the memories of old make him risk it all, clutching at the past in hopes for a better future.

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: warrior au / star crossed lovers / angst / romance

Warnings: death, kidnapping, cursing, a myriad of emotions - this is a really sad love story.

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 

It was different now.

Your days weren’t spent cleaning or preparing meals for the camp – much to everyone’s disappointment. Of course, you still managed to turn dinner into something delicious when you were finished with your training, but quite often you were too exhausted to go the extra mile as you once had.

As soon as Jinyoung had signalled the need to start preparing, you had been put under Mark’s guidance. There he had worked on improving your aim with an arrow, your speed increasing with the intense practice. Whilst you were nowhere near the level of archer Mark was, you felt capable wielding the weapon.

A sword, however, was an entirely other ball game. “What, no, I couldn’t.”

“You can and you will,” Jinyoung encouraged, handing you his sword. You almost dropped it, not expecting the weight behind it. Jinyoung sighed and came over to support you. “Careful, this isn’t a toy.”

“Precisely. I don’t understand why I need to be anywhere near it.”

“I need to know you can protect yourself if I can’t reach your side immediately.”

Panic flashed throughout you. “Why, where will you be?!”

“There are a lot of variables in what we’re trying to do, Y/N. I can’t bring you along with me unarmed.”

“So I’ll use bow and arrow.”

“Up close in battle?” he commented darkly and you went to respond until you noted the concern deeply embedded in his eyes.

Swallowing heavily, you fixed your grip around the hilt, inching your hands apart between the guard and pommel. Jinyoung worked behind you on your posture and helped you raise the weapon in front of you. “Spread your legs to support your weight, good, much better. Have you got it?”

“I’ve got it.”

“Swing out at that bag hanging from the tree there then.”

“Swing it out how?” you wondered, turning to look at Jinyoung and with the weight of the sword, you tumbled forward with a sudden loss in balance. Jinyoung lurched towards you to help you back upright and gave you a pointed look. “Well, you said swing but never showed me how.”

“Like this,” he said as he directed your movement a couple of times, you nodding when you felt you had the hang of it.

Stepping towards the bag a little more, you then swung the sword, the bag splitting upon impact. You jolted some with the force but your excitement of hitting the target made you laugh with triumph. “I did it!”

“Okay, so you swung a sword once and almost fell over, nothing to be that victorious over, your opponent would have you on the ground by now.”

Grumbling under your breath, you followed Jinyoung’s calm instructions and continued to practice, even trying a jab a couple of times.

“Good, now aim to break this stick,” Jinyoung asked and held it up in front of himself. You blinked slowly and made no effort to follow through. “Y/N, now!”

“But, you’re in front of me.”

“Of course, because when we are protecting ourselves, there’s usually always an attacker. Right now, that’s me. Now take out my sword, which is represented with this stick.”

“I can’t wield a weapon at you!” you exclaimed and Jinyoung moved swiftly, disarming you from the sword and pointed the tip right at your chest. With an arched eyebrow, Jinyoung shook his head at you.

“Why can’t you?”

“Because it’s you.”

“That excuse doesn’t work, Y/N. We’re not just running along the countryside to catch a fishing boat. We’re risking ourselves every minute away from this place. As soon as I turn my back on the Rebellion, they will send their hunters our way and treat us as prey. They are trained killers, and-”

“So are you, all of you are. Youngjae and I will do our best,” you interjected, sending him a pout before turning on your heel. Jinyoung shifted in front of you, walking you backward with the point of the sword now lightly nudging you in the chest. “Jinyoung, I’m not a killer.”

“I do not want to make you one but there may come a time where you need to choose to fight. What will you do if someone cuts me down?”

“Don’t speak like that to me,” you pleaded with a sob but Jinyoung didn’t relent. You imagined the scene within your head, your actual vision now blurred with a veil of tears. Gasping as the cruel conjured image continued to play out in your head, you moved with ease towards the grip of the sword, taking it out of Jinyoung’s hand and pointed it at him.

“Good girl,” he breathed, stepping around you and hugging you from behind. You dropped the weapon with a clatter and gripped at his arms around you.

“I want to keep learning,” you announced shakily, turning around to bury into him. “So I can protect you too.”

“Will you take any of this with you?” you asked as you looked around at Jinyoung’s trinkets. The man working on strengthening a satchel bag, stopped for a moment to stare at you. He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “What?”

“You.”

“Whilst I’m pleased that you don’t plan to leave me behind, what about your finds over the years?”

“They were never mine, all taken from those I stole from.”

“Surely this gold statue will be good to trade for money,” you pointed out, lifting it from the desk. “Oh, it’s really heavy.”

Jinyoung smirked. “It’s a missing treasure. Our hands would be cut off before they pay us for it.”

“Wow, this world is undecidedly cruel.”

“I tried so hard to keep you in some pretty space, didn’t I? It’s not realistic. The world we both survive in is cutthroat. You work hard and die trying. It’s just how it goes.”

“Do you think we’ll make it to the boat?” you questioned softly, not looking in his direction. Jinyoung didn’t respond and you sighed. “Why go if we’re-”

“Because at least we’ll die trying.”

“I want to make it. I’ll believe we will in everyone’s stead. I will project that we can make it.”

“Just like that tree, huh?”

You smiled, thinking back to the past once more.

“You will not even make it past the trunk. It’s got no true footing for you to grip on to.”

“I want to rescue my kite you made me,” you proclaimed and Jinyoung shook his head.

“I’ll make you another one.”

“I love that one.”

“Don’t be silly, you’ll fall and get hurt.”

“No, I’ll make it, just you watch!” you refuted, marching up to the tree and looked around for something to help you scale it. Sticking your shoe into a groove on the bark, you attempted to grasp at a knot up higher.

You ended up flat on your bottom a moment later.

“See, I told-”

You got back up and tried again, and again, until you were triumphant in reaching your beloved kite. When you stretched out to pull it from the tree, however, you lost your balance, toppling from the branch you had precariously sat on and landed straight into Jinyoung’s waiting arms, the pair of you then falling to the ground with a thud.

“I don’t know whether to be proud of you for doing the unexpected or whine at you for bruising my ribs.”

“Both. I’ll accept both,” you mentioned with a smile, leaning in to peck his lips as pre-emptive pain relief. “I’ll kiss you until you feel better for us to go fly this kite again.”

“Can I choose something to take?” you asked, leaning over the desk and pulling out a leather-bound journal.

Jinyoung’s eyes flashed with recognition. “How did you find that?”

“When I was cleaning. I was reading it when you got back. You owe me an apology for lying. You did a whole lot more than not think of the past, Jinyoung.”

“Writing you letters was my only vice,” he muttered, seemingly satisfied at the way you clutched the book to your bosom all the same. “Fine, take it. Just don’t expect me to read them to you.”

“Now there’s an idea!” you exclaimed, flipping the book open eagerly. Jinyoung snatched it out of your hand and snapped it closed. “Jinyoung, I want to hear all about how you missed the way the moonlight illuminated my sleeping form beside you and how each full moon-”

He cut you off with a hasty kiss then, pulling you into his lap to deepen it. Your humour was now lost in among the steadily building desire, your hands anchoring to the collar of his shirt as not to be swept away with this strong emotion.

Jinyoung pulled away, breathing heavily. “You don’t need me to read them to you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I plan to experience it all with you in person instead,” he stated confidently, bringing you in for another mind-blowing embrace.

All the moments you had dreamed of over the years were blooming into fruition.

Your love for Jinyoung would blind you both from what was to come.

_________________

Part 9

All rights reserved © prettywordsyouleft

[GOT7 Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] | [Request Guidelines]

[dingoat]

Relationship Asks for Ahuska and Five: 2, 4, 7, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21, 22, 23, 27, 28, 29.

OH BOY OH BOY *cracks knuckles* time for another round of BEST GIRL VS WORST BOY.

Obviously this one needs a ‘read more’ (or ‘stick it behind a cut’ as my old school livejournal brain still thinks of it) because it’s gonna be a looonnnng one ahahaha. Some of these I’ve answered already but I’m just gonna copy-paste the responses here to keep it all together, especially since I’m gonna go through question by question for the sake of fun comparisons/contrasts rather than character by character!

2.  ♥  When they have a crush on someone, how do they let them know?

Ahuska finds ways to be around them as much as possible and offers rapt attention to everything they say and do, showing interest in every part of their life, even the things she’d never given a second thought for beforehand. She’ll initiate physical contact, often in that ‘accidental’ sort of way- a hand touch that lingers, sliding down a bench a little ‘too far’ and winding up pressed together at the hips, feet bumping under a table, but sometimes more overt things like snuggling down and resting her head in a lap while staying up late watching holos might happen...

Five does not crush, he’s not twelve years old. When he has an interest in someone he may spend a period of time testing for compatability, pushing and pressing for reactions, and if he finds himself still interested (but for whatever reason nothing has naturally escalated in the meanwhile), he will quite simply and overtly request private company.

4. ♥ Do they spend a lot of time in the courting stage or attempt to get to first base as fast as possible?

Ahuska likes the thought of a long courtship, being wooed and pursued, teasing and flirting and yearning... but though she doesn’t actively try to rush her way to ‘first base’, precedent definitely suggests that once the option is there, no matter the time frame, she doesn’t really hesitate.

Five considers ‘first base’ (if you must phrase it in such a juvenile fashion) to be a starting point.

7.  ♥ How do they feel about polygamy?

Ahuska’s intial gut reaction, when asked, is that it’s vastly preferable to having an affair! She thinks it’s a perfectly acceptable style of relationship, but it’s not something she’s ever related to herself- the thought that she might ever find herself loving and desiring more than one someone so deeply as to want them in her life to the same degree seems so beyond the realms of possibility that it’s just never crossed her mind. (Yet.)

However; she is incredibly committed and loyal in her relationships, and if she did find herself in such a place, she wouldn’t be able to handle sneaking behind backs or lies or secrecy; the guilt and misery and betrayal of trust would be the end of her. She would have to either leave one forever unrecognised/unsatisfied, or give polygamy some long and serious thought and very open discussion.

Five doesn’t really care what other people do, but it’s irrelevant to him because it suggests any kind of committed relationship at all. He simply sees who he wants, when he wants, and if anyone gets jealous of anyone else then that sounds like a them problem.

16. ♥ Do they have at least one bonding activity they devote to doing with their partner exclusively?

Aside from the obvious, I’m not sure Ahuska makes a point of keeping any particular activity exclusive? Sweet, potentially romantic activities like stargazing and long moonlit walks might naturally happen far more with the love of her life, but I don’t think she’d ever turn down the chance to do so with a close friend either (there’d just be less... hand-holding and cheek snuggles).

One might have thought that Five had a whole host of bonding activities exclusive to a single particular person... but what with that being more of a Watcher-Cipher thing, rather than a partners thing, that ‘exclusivity’ no longer exactly completely applies, whoops. (Granted, the new Cipher is not likely to ever experience the push-off-a-building trust exercise.) That said, it’s very likely that Thirteen is actually the only person who gets to experience Five in the context of completely casual, physical, and dare I say... affectionate company.

17. ♥ What sort of characteristics or quirks draw them to someone?

Ahuska needs to see the capacity for kindness, even if it’s wrapped in a crude, brash or sharp-edged package- or maybe especially so, because she is a little bit hopeless for a show of snark, cheek, and sharp wit (provided it’s not at her expense) and someone not afraid to draw blood to protect what they care about. She loves unexpected talents like dance or musical ability being sprung on her out of the blue, and she’s weak for demonstrations of confident competence.

Five is drawn to someone who can give and take as well as he can. Intelligence, attractiveness, skill. Wit and snark quite specifically at his expense so he has the opportunity to fight back; he wants to be challenged, but not beaten. His heart thunders for someone more physically capable than himself who he can, nonetheless, bring to their knees.

18. ♥ Do they have a ‘type’?

I thought Ahuska had a type, but I seem to have discovered that her heart is not quite so specific and compatability can come in more than one shape and size. She has a lot of love to give and can find it in very unexpected places.

Five definitely goes for people who demonstrate one very specific physical characteristic.

19. ♥ What was their first impression about their partner/person they are courting?

When Ahuska first saw Crow, she was struck with the fact that he didn’t carry himself with the alpha-dog machismo she’d come to expect from fellow Mandalorians of his particular demographic. And when he turned his grin her way, he very very firmly snared her attention.

When Ahuska first met Blakk, she simply thought he was a delightful, feisty, dear little fox, and was absolutely besotted with him, if not in the way that she eventually became (after the wildest possible ride of misunderstandings and twisted events and broken trust and reforged faith).

Five, I think, would have made a very swift and completely superficial assessment, found it very pleasing (provided there was no fashion disaster occurring at the time), and opened himself up to learning more. It wouldn’t have taken long to be drawn into that personality, either.

21. ♥ What was the most romantic time they had with their partner?

Ahuska’s most romantic time with Crow would almost definitely be their space-walk through the ice fields of Saleucami, followed by some slightly less life-threatening zero gravity playtime within the safety of their ship’s cargo hold. They’ve had a lot of terribly sweet moments but I’m not sure that any compare to that honeymoon trip.

With Blakk, Ahuska has experienced a number of wonderfully romantic moments... in their shared dreams. It can be hard to compete with a world where auroras and starlight of your own creation dance to the beat of your hearts as you discover just how real you are to one another, but in many ways that last morning they spent together in person before parting, before anything between them was properly admitted or understood, waking to the warmth of the sun and sharing a long breakfast together full of soft yearning and denial of the inevitable separation to come ranks very high on the heart aching romance scale.

Five understands ‘textbook romance’ perfectly well and has probably walked through all the steps with great success a number of times when seducing marks back in his Cipher days. But when it comes to his own actual desires….. it really is hard to apply the word ‘romantic’. Granted, he does enjoy the finer things in life and takes great pride in being a very good cook, and a certain someone knows exactly how to push his buttons to get most exactly what he wants out of him when he feels like it. So there probably have been some almost ‘nice’ evenings of home cooked meals and fine wine and bath oils, at least to begin with….?

22. ♥ Tell us about a sacrifice they made for their significant other.

Ahuska gave up Clan life, the chance to rise through the ranks and be the Mandalorian she never thought she could, and a lot of her innocence, to be with and stay with Crow.

For Blakk, Ahuska broke off her current romance, turned her back on her safety net, and basically gave up everything she had... just for the hope that they might find away to actually be together.

Five gave up a significant measure of control on two distinct occassions, both of which were considerably big deals for him.

23. ♥ Do they apologize to their partner even if it wasn’t their fault?

Ahuska will readily and even pre-emptively take on the blame for almost anything. If something is genuinely her fault, she will apologise profusely and genuinely, probably through tears, and feel bad about it long after forgiveness has been given. She will offer apologies even when not directly at fault if she thinks it will help to calm down or diffuse a situation.

Five, though, doesn’t do the ‘accepting blame’ thing and certainly won’t shoulder somebody else’s. The one occassion where he has accepted responsibility, he’s never actually said the word sorry aloud, and he’s not even come clean about the real circumstances. But his guilt over the matter is expressed still to this day, through actions and gifts that are never actually directly linked to the event in question.

27. ♥ Have they had dreams about their partner/the person they are courting?

Ahuska most certainly has; dreams are a significant part of every reality she experiences, and often a way that binds them together, so naturally the significant people in her life feature prominently. She’s leery of anything that has a sense of being prophetic, but does believe she’s witnessed possible futures in her dreams and the ones that suggest a long and full life with Crow are her favourites.

Through her Force-bond with Blakk, she’s been able to actually share dreams with him, which have been very profound experiences... but at the moment her dreams are only dreams, and any real senses she gets of him vanish the moment she tries to focus enough to actually reach him. It hurts.

Five dreams as anyone does, and there’s no doubt Thirteen would feature in them regularly. Nothing magical, nothing profound or prophetic, just good old fashioned disjointed images that the brain strings together in a loose approximation of a plot. What’s most disconcerting is if he makes any sort of appearance in his recurring nightmares.

28. ♥ Do they understand their partners/person they are courting’s feelings without them having to say anything?

Ahuska becomes very attuned to the people she cares most about; she’s naturally a very sensitive person who wants to understand her partners’ feelings, and her desire to understand and do the best for the people she loves is only ever enhanced by her connection to the Force. She’s connected to Crow through all their years and shared experiences together, and being tuned into the beat of his heart definitely helps her know his feelings despite what he might show on the outside. With Blakk she has the benefit of being literally bonded through the Force but... well. Hopefully they wind up back in a position where understanding one anothers’ feelings is a legitimate thing they can do. ;_;

Five is quite astute, if not completely fool-proof, and when he puts the effort in can do quite a servicable job of knowing where someone’s feelings are at- manipulation is one of the tools of his trade, after all. Just how much he actually cares to do so is a different story, but, well... stranger things have certainly happened. He might try to claim that Thirteen is an open book to him, but that might just be what Thirteen wants him to think.

29. ♥ How do they express their love to their partner?

Ahuska gives freely and openly, her time, her energy, her patience, her body and soul. She will share anything and everything, she will take risks for her partner and forsake all the rest of the galaxy for them. She will find little tokens to gift them; she will feature them amongst her sketches regularly, she will listen to them and back them up and walk beside them on the most foolardy of pursuits. She will find what matters to them, she will discover what they react and respond to best, and she will make it so. Ahuska doesn’t know how to love in any way other than giving it her all.

Five would never use so soft and loaded a term as ‘love’. That is for a completely different caliber of people, people he cares little for. Allowing someone into his apartment, into his personal space, is a reasonable demonstration fo trust. Giving someone his time outside of and completely unrelated to work is a monumental demonstration of fondness. A willingness to touch and be touched outside of immediate bedroom activities is a grand display of affection. Offering financial assistance/security is an unspoken indication that someone matters to him. Lump it all together and he’d still sooner shoot himself in the foot than admit aloud that he cares.

[thepanicoffice]

Erectionnearing

[...]

"I am a sick man...I am a spiteful man. I am a most unpleasant man." – Dostoevsky, Notes from the Underground

That quote says all that need be said about me and about why, on the eve of the 2019 General Election, I have produced this… this… obscenity; this affront to all decent people.

Regular readers will be keenly aware that I have form for unpleasant and painfully unstimulating erotica but even I thought I had some limits. In the end what makes us truly human is our capacity to learn new and distressing things about ourselves all the time.

Read on, poor fool, and you too may learn something new and distressing about yourself.

Consider this an early present – intended with malice and unleashed upon a world not equipped to cope with it.

Merry Christmas. May God spare us all another year.

[...]

Arabella walked idly down the long hallway of her Kensington flat. With each step she tapped her stiletto heels twice and listened to the echoes skitter ahead of her. She was always like this before seeing a client, pacing around her home; not nervous, exactly, but expectant. She had to gear herself up to accommodate the entire hideousness of the men that she serviced. She enjoyed her work at times but evenings like this one would inevitably test her resolve.

The doorbell cut through the silence like a knife; charged; almost erotic in itself. Arabella walked the corridor, still slowly but in a more direct line. As she approached the door, she straightened a framed photo of her mother that was slightly askew. The extra half second would, she calculated, bring her client’s desire to a rolling boil as he stood, perhaps with trepidation, perhaps just excitement, on her doorstep.

She opened the door. A pregnant moment for them both.

“Good evening.”

“Erm… Tally-ho!”

Arabella took a moment to drink in the sight before her, like a bitter draught of sewage.

“I’m here about the IT lesson,” he said in a loud and unconvincing voice, before whispering: “Could uh… I come in? I don’t want to be seen out here. I’m quite a… er… important person.”

Surveying him with a faintly scornful eye, she was surprised to hear that he was quite an important person. He was stocky but almost formless; like an overlarge large business suit stuffed three-quarters full of hay. This scarecrow appearance was compounded by the crown of piss-yellow straw carelessly scattered on his head. In spite of this inhuman physique, his face was a rudimentary sketch of features flanked on either side by distended, fleshy jowls that flushed a feeble crimson with faint embarrassment.

“You had better come in Mr…” The client hadn’t left a name when booking.

“Uhhh Gove. Michael Gove.”

Arabella wordlessly beckoned him inside. She walked in a studied seductive manner, while he audibly loped behind with heavy, graceless limbs. He knocked the photo of Arabella’s mother from the wall and it smashed on the floor.

“Oh crumbs, I er… do er… accept… sincerest apologies… humble…” he sputtered in a tedious approximation of Hugh Grant trying to swallow a plum without chewing.

“That’s quite alright,” Arabella replied. She would make him suffer for that.

With a hand gently pressed to his shoulder, she guided his corpulent frame onto the sofa. He collapsed with a weighty thump, accompanied by a chorus of springs groaning under his density.

She handed him a glass of white wine which he grasped in his pudgy hand.

“Thanks!” he gasped, before tilting it to his mouth and spilling much of it down his chin.

Arabella surfed the brief, hot waves of revulsion that pulsed through her.

“You know,” she said mischievously and with some relish, “you look an awful lot like the Prime Minister…”

“No!” the figure cried as though he’d discovered a wasp nest in his trousers. “No. I… I… get that quite a lot. Must be my… shoes… No, as I say, I’m Michael Gove.”

“What, former Secretary of State for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs and current Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, Michael Gove?”

“Not, uh… Not, uh… Not necessarily. Just a Michael Gove. Just if the press happens to ask.”

“Understood Michael. You can call me Mistress Thunderlash. Other than that, I would prefer it if you did not speak. Shall we begin?”

The honeyed sheen of arousal clouded over his tiny pink-rimmed eyes. He licked his lips.

“Cripes! Yes, please Mistress.”

She shuddered involuntarily at the thought of having to satisfy the carnal desires of this lazily-conceived Beano character, but she artfully transformed it into a sensual roll of her shoulder, before leading him with her gaze towards the Red Room.

Hoisted by his own lust, he leapt from the sofa and padded towards the door, effortlessly shedding his clothes en route like a snake wriggling from its discarded skin. She watched his surprisingly small buttocks as they meandered away from her with the kind of mingled disdain and nausea usually only found at a BMA committee meeting the morning after payday drinks. Reluctantly she followed.

By the time she caught up with him, he was spread-eagled on the bed, his promptly stiffened member jutting violently upwards, puce and tumescent, like a foul red beacon; already making love, as it were, with an easy arrogance, to the evening air.

In truth, this macabre sight left her nethergarden more parched than she could ever remember. She deftly moved to her dresser drawer and applied the artificial lubricant that she so sorely required. Saying a brief but directionless prayer for forgiveness – for whatever God or gods might exist, regardless of the articles of faith they embodied, they surely would not readily excuse her for what she was about to do – she ascended this hummock of bovine mass. And then, in a moment that she would recount to her therapist in years to come, an instant that would live long in her recollections of personal infamy, she invited the slightly crooked protuberance of the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom into her resentful cleft.

After several complex minutes of movement, gripping with her thighs and rolling her hips to try to maintain her shifting centre of gravity, she reckoned that she could commence the more enjoyable obligations in her remit as Mistress Thunderlash. She eyed his chest and the tender buds of flesh rising like islands from saucer-sized areolas. Readying her long, wine-red nails, she aimed a punishing flick at his large pale nipples.

“Yowee!” he howled.

“Silence, you unspeakable swine,” Arabella shushed, gripping one of the nipples fiercely. The man’s eyes rolled back into his head, imbibing the heady cocktail of pain and pleasure. His tongue lolled out over his wet, meaty lips.

Arabella dragged her neatly painted nails in scything arcs down his chest and heaving gut. He squirmed with a piggy glee, snorting with delight.

Without warning, Arabella dismounted, her enthusiasm for this grim task increasing. She walked over to the cabinet and took out something that the man could not clearly see. All he could identify at first was a slight glinting in the darkness; this proved to be a buckle on a strap. Then the faint outlines of Arabella’s body as she lifted her legs, first one, then the other. As she stepped closer, his eyes gradually made it out; the length of a forearm, topped with bulb the size of a fist; dark, a polished ebony so dark that it swallowed all light.

“By Jove! Jacob told me about this bit!”

Ah yes, Arabella thought, the man who looked like a haughty cadaver and insisted on calling her Nanny. She had wondered who had recommended her.

“I call it…” she said “…Black Rod.”

“Cripes,” he whispered, his voice clogged with desire, fear, and awe. He clearly struggled to break eye contact with the imperious device.

“Ready yourself,” she warned, simply. “This will be as long and as arduous as negotiating a free trade agreement with the European Union.”

In one fluid movement, she sank the prodigious length of Rod up to its hilt. The man tensed, gasped, before relaxing, allowing movement. He muttered guttural nothings under his breath, as though speaking some mysterious language of arousal. Arabella picked up speed, moving through the gears. She felt herself moving in and through the Rod; she became at one with it, remorselessly ploughing the furrow of national leadership; she was a piston, a hateful piston, hammering away; she had never felt so powerful; she had never felt so alive; she would cleave this worthless hog in two!

“I’m approaching…” the man rasped. “I’m approaching…” Runnels of sweat slid across his brow. “I’m approaching…” The final word was strangled, almost mewled: “…climax…”

She knew he was already over the brink; the gravity of his orgasm was drawing him on inescapably to the depths. Now was the time. She knew what she wanted him to hear as his body was wracked with grotesque pleasure.

“Oh!” she moaned, smiling to herself in triumph. “Oh, Michael Gove!”

“N-n-n-n…”

The man spasmed, tried to recoil, tried to escape. But it was too late. The Right Honourable Member for Uxbridge gouted thick ropes of oily sputum into the night, all the while tormented by the images of his colleague’s spite-mottled face. Arabella disengaged and heard him panting sadly in the dark.

“Leave now,” Arabella said, throwing his discarded clothes at his feet.

“I… you’ll ruddy well…” But he knew there was nothing he could do. One phone call to the press would be the end of him and his ill-deserved career. Even his uncanny ability for failing upwards in life despite no discernible talent would protect him here.

“Leave means leave,” Arabella said, pouring herself a glass of red wine. “Best of luck in the election. Consider that pre-emptive revenge for the country.”

He wandered out into the corridor. As Arabella shut the door, she heard the man say loudly, grimly, to no one in particular, “Thank you for the IT lesson. It was most instructive.”

[yuletide-fehstivities]

@summonedhearts (Abby) wrote this for @unwaveriinghearts (BP)!

Happy Yuletide and a Merry New Year!

Dear Santa,

My name is Chrom, prince to the throne of Ylisse (if you were wondering where to find us) and I would like a sword for my present this year so I can train to be a knight alongside the Shepherds. Have you seen them? They're so cool! Mother worries about me getting in harm's way while I'm watching them so I want Frederick and the others to train me so I can defend myself and protect Ylisse. I've helped Mother and Father a lot this year as well as playing nice with Emmeryn and Lissa so I hope I'm on your nice list this year.

I'm not sure if this is allowed but, I'd like to ask you for presents for my sisters too, I don't know if Em's already written to you, but I know Lissa's been struggling with her writing lessons so I wanted to make sure her wish got to you. She'd really like some new boots, seeing as hers got scuffed from playing outside. Her pranks have been mostly forgiven and Em...I don't know what Em wants, I haven't seen her that much while Dad's been away at war again with Plegia. Mother's been giving her lessons in becoming the Exalt but I know she feels worried about the responsibility. I don't know if you can help, or if I've asked too much already, but I'd like to ask for their safety.

These letters are meant to be for toys and the such, aren't they? I'm sorry. I should scrap this and try again or at the very least, save this for Lissa’s imagination.

On the off chance this makes it to you, I wish you a safe flight over Ylisse - oh, and thank you!

Yours faithfully,

C,

His Majesty, Prince Chrom of the Kingdom of Ylisse (Age 7)

Dear Santa,

I am aware it has been some time since I last wrote to you - perhaps a childish thing of me to do now and yet, I find a small solace in writing to you now in a rare moment of peace here. First, I must thank you for your response to my previous letter. The sword you gifted me has been a perfect fit and joining the Shepherds has been, well, a dream come true if I am to be frank. Lissa adored her new boots, so much so that I fear they are being held together by mere strings at this point though her attachment to them is something fierce. As for Emmeryn, ever since our mother’s passing she has taken the role of Exalt with her usual grace though alone, it is clear to see the toll it is taking upon her and still--she continues to provide nothing but the best for me and Lissa. I cannot thank her enough, nor convey my gratitude enough for her actions over these past few years in words alone.

I apologize for the tone this note has taken, but as a prince, soldier and brother, I can only do my very best in return for both of my sisters. I must fight to keep my family and the people of Ylisse safe on the battlefield, while Emm keeps them safe in her throne. Lissa has already expressed an interest in joining the Shepherds when she is of age though I believe her talents lie best in that of the medical arts following her training with Emm and mother, before she passed.  I want to keep her safe, yet I know this is a never-ending struggle, the same my mother must have felt as she watched over us all, no doubt.

Yule is fast approaching, as I’m sure you’re well aware. I can’t wait for the holiday celebrations here though we are scarcely permitted to visit the markets and attractions without ample protection. Frederick, our chief, worries too much though, if what Father says is to be true, then the wars with Plegia are unlikely to stop at our agreed borders should they get so close. I want to trust him - after all, he risks himself in a cause we know so little of and yet, it is hard to justify it as anything more than a pre-emptive strike against Plegia when, for once, they have done nothing to warrant such a war.

Perhaps, if we are lucky, there will be a mission to the celebrations at some point though I don’t hold high hopes. I just need to eat something other than bear.

Yours faithfully,

C,

His Majesty, Prince Chrom of Ylisse (Age 15)

Dear Santa,

I sincerely apologize for the gaps between my writings to you though perhaps it is silly I am still writing to you at all  given your usual dealings are with that of children. These past few years have been hard upon all of us. I am afraid to come to you with grave news - the Exalt, my sister, Em, is no longer with us. Killed as a pawn in the Plegian’s game for whatever war they intend to wage with us now. I have had trouble sleeping for some time - at first, from my promotion to Captain of the Shepherds and now, I am plagued by nightmares though to call them fictional would hardly be apt in the circumstances.

Things have truly changed a lot since my last letter to you. Lissa has joined our company now, serving us greatly as a Cleric following the completion of her medical studies though she continues to grow stronger each day - not least after recent events, if we are to be truthful.

I must also tell you of another person of great significance in my life though I fear it’s tale is as big as some of yours, though I insist, it is truth in these trying times. Her name is Robin. She is truly magnificent - skilled with tome, sword, brains and beauty alike. It was Lissa who first noticed her unconscious on one of our patrols though I must admit, at first, my fears were that of the worst. Frederick the Wary naturally advised caution, but following several trials of her trust, she has been an invaluable ally in this senseless war.  It is not a fact I have shared with Lissa or any other of the Shepherds for that matter but it is her resolve and guidance that has refocused my mind on our original mission. In truth, I have since spent many hours with her - planning our next steps to victory or further training, of a manner, though I must admit our first few interactions after meeting were less than proper for a man and woman though now, I am pleased to call us friends. Continuing my original point, meeting Robin has been nothing short of a miracle - between her optimism, strategy and belief in all of us, there is little I can say that would do it justice.  

If it wasn’t already obvious, as Lissa has taken care to point out, although I believe in jest for now, I cannot part my mind from her, what I mean to say is, I believe I’m in love.

The future ahead is uncertain and I have to admit to not knowing where it may lead, but, if I may, if it is proper for a man of my age to still be making holiday wishes then I wish for peaceful passage into the coming year and safety for those back  home. It is not an easy wish, nay, one that I am also working towards though one I am optimistic will come, nay, has to come if we are to succeed.

Yours faithfully,

C,

His Majesty, Prince Chrom of Ylisse (Age 19)

Dear Santa,

It has been difficult to put my thoughts into words as of late, so I am attempting to write this in a format that has brought me such comfort on prior occasions.  Time has again passed since my last letter to you - a small symbol of the change that has occurred in it’s boundaries if I am to truly bring my last letter up to speed.  Our battles did not end at Ylisse and Plegia, why, upon reflection, it felt as if they had barely started there - given the mount of our task to come.

Our numbers have grown considerably since we last talked - allies to our cause ran far and wide as things turned out, be it that they owed the Exalt of Ylisse a debt, expressed an interest in helping our cause voluntarily or in others, well, there were others with other motives, it rather pales in comparison to the reason I feel I need to address all this with you. In those that joined our party, my daughter, from a future far bleaker than our own, travelled back in time to prevent a future that would have doomed us all. In pursuit of that, a version of Robin, intertwined with our own from her future also returned, yet, it was one who had accepted the soul of the Fell Dragon, Grima upon my passing at her hands -  the grim future Lucina spoke of in her previous warnings. In her future, we had all fallen as a result of the battle and yet, in our own, we held the power to change it.

Robin, my closest ally, my friend through all of this, my wife, my dearest love, the trials we have faced appeared relentless and I nary say they are unlikely to end now although, perhaps, if I may submit one request, not on the scale of our previous endeavours, hm? I never could keep up with you.

You gave everything to ensure all of us had a future and for that, mere words will never be enough. I can only hope that each of us living to protect this future was the outcome you wished for too, no, I know it.

I know little of magic, not least that which appears to be above mere mortal bounds though if I may ask one final wish of you, however foolish it may seem, I know Robin lives - whatever time, whenever is right, I ask that you return her to us safe and sound so that we may fight for this future together, as a family and with our friends.

Our adventures here will not end, not now as we face the prospect of a new future - one of our own design and one that we may share the joy in, together, upon your return.  

Yours, as ever,

C,

His Royal Highness, Exalt Chrom of Ylisse (Age 22)

Dear Santa,

Thank you.

Yours faithfully,

C,

His Royal Highness, Exalt Chrom and Queen Robin of Ylisse (Ages 23 and 25 respectively)

[illuminating-dragons]

Dreams and Visions (49/51): Letters

Time Period: Victorian 

Chapter Summary:  A simple request turns into a twilight year's friendship. pt. 3 of the Mystrade trilogy. Warning for character death.  This is for @willow0angel​ again, who asked long ago for some Victorian Mystrade. I finally figured out a way to do it. This one is very bittersweet, so read it with some tea.

Read it on AO3

Then

           Mycroft was surprised to receive a telegram from Scotland Yard that day. Sherlock had taken his husband off to the Downs nearly three months since, and although he’d made an agreement to consult with the Yard, he’d never gotten a telegram. Sherlock’s adopted son tended to come by himself, and they would sit in the Stranger’s Room, talking through the problem.

           But this telegram wasn’t from Stanley Hopkins. It was from Detective Inspector Lestrade, asking if he could stop by the Diogenes Club that evening.

           Mycroft pondered the request even after he sent an affirmative reply. He’d never been close to any of the police at the Yard; that was Sherlock’s realm. He knew Lestrade better than most (loveless marriage ended by his wife’s death, only child far away, near retirement, endlessly patient—how else could he work with Sherlock?), and had spent a few pleasant evenings with the man planning his brother’s wedding. But they weren’t friends.

           So why tonight?

           The question disturbed him more than he cared to admit, and he was positively curt with the Inspector when he came in, eyes nervous.

           “Apologies, Mr. Holmes, for disturbing you.”

           Mycroft waved a hand, trying his best to shake the strange feeling. “Not all, Inspector. May I offer you some tea?”

           “Thank you, but I will not be staying long.” The man looked exhausted. “I have decided to retire from the Yard.”

           Mycroft blinked. “Well, that will be pleasant. You’re headed to Scotland, then? Just outside of Glasgow?”

           Lestrade’s eyes widened for a moment before he laughed. “You would think that I’d be used to such magic by now from a Holmes. Yes, I’m going to join my Maggie. She’s had another baby, and her husband is ill. I may be able to help with the children.”

           “This is her fourth?”

           “Her fifth. She’s getting on, but she’s always loved children. As does her husband.”

           “Well, I wish you the best of retirement,” Mycroft said. There was a pause. “Do you need something from me?”

           “Well…” Lestrade hesitated. “With your brother retired, and Hopkins so busy taking over the Yard and with his two hellions—”

           Mycroft stifled a smile. Kitty’s children had inherited their mother’s spirit and their father’s earnest, innocent eyes. It was a powerful combination.

           “I have no one here,” Lestrade said, “and I will miss the London news.”

           Mycroft was surprised. “Would you like me to write to you?” That seemed to be what the other man was leading towards, but it…couldn’t be.

           Lestrade flushed. “I know it is a great deal to ask, but—”

           “Not at all,” Mycroft interrupted, as gently as he could. “I write very few letters; I would be happy to expand my correspondence. What do you wish for me to write about?”

           “I am not sure,” Lestrade muttered. “Whatever you think most interesting, I suppose.”

           “Will you write back?” Mycroft asked. “That will be helpful, to ensure that I am writing the proper sort of letter.”

           “If you wish me to.”

           “I do.” Mycroft stood and extended his hand to Lestrade. Lestrade took it and gave a firm shake. “Farewell, Lestrade. You will miss your train if you stay any longer.”

           Lestrade yelped and left quickly. He would make the train, his bags safely stowed, and go to Scotland He’d be with his daughter her family by the next day.

           That next day was a difficult one for Mycroft. The strains of running the British Government were more noticeable when you were nearing seventy two, and Mycroft found himself wondering, for the first time, whether it might be time to retire.

           Once he was finally ensconced in the Diogenes that night, he found himself reaching for pen and paper. It was ridiculous; the letter would get there not two days after Lestrade reached Scotland, but Mycroft wanted to get the first letter over with. It would be the hardest to write.

           Dear Inspector Lestrade,

           I trust that you have arrived safely. Today has been dreary; there is still talk of war, but no one seems to want to do anything about it. It may be an old man’s musings, but I fear that this new generation takes peace for granted, and has no care for the future of diplomacy.

           What are the names of your grandchildren again? It has slipped my mind; another sign of old age, I fear.

           It was sunny today. The birds are starting to come back.

           Yours Sincerely,

           Mycroft Holmes

           Four days later, Mycroft came home to a letter.

           Dear Mycroft Holmes,

           Please do call me Gregory; after all, I am no longer an Inspector, and Mr. Lestrade is too formal for two men who have planned a wedding together.

           My train ride was uneventful and I was met by my daughter and her eldest, Peter. Her husband is on the mend, but they are still happy to have me. I am grateful for this; I wondered whether Maggie invited me out of necessity only. I wasn’t sure where I was going to go afterwards, but it seems that I will make my home with them.

           Maggie’s children are Peter, Josephine, Matthew (named for his father), Ellen and the baby’s name is Gregory. I am ridiculously pleased by this. Maggie assured me earlier she would have named her eldest for me, but she feared her mother’s disapproval. I never knew the reason, and I am simply glad that none of her children bear their grandmother’s name.  Dolores is an ugly name; but then, I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.

           Do not fear too greatly for the future; if all else, we may not live to see it. All we can do is try to prepare the young ones for the work to come, and hope for peace. I know you have done more work than you have received credit for, and I am sure it will make a difference. I hope I have made a similar amount of progress in fixing the streets of London.

           It rained yesterday, but this morning was bright, and I took Ellie and the baby for a walk along the water. Ellie is delighted by her new brother, and insisted on holding him when we sat and watched the ships go by.

         Yours Sincerely,

         Gregory Lestrade

           Dear Gregory,

           I will do as you say. I still have hope that peace will be achieved, but if war is inevitable, I believe we will meet it with courage.

           Your grandchildren sound delightful. I am sure they are a credit to their mother and to you. I am also glad that your worries have been assuaged.

           There was a parade today with bright flags and singing. It was distracting, but it helped with the gloom of yet another cloudy day.

          Yours Sincerely,

          Mycroft

           The letters continued for several months, sometimes accompanied by watercolours of the Scottish countryside or small toys, each chosen carefully for a particular child.

           Dear Mycroft,

           I know that winter in Scotland is dreary, but you ought to come up for Christmas; I know Sherlock and Dr. Watson are in Madeira, lucky bastards. We would all love to have you. It has been too long since we have talked face to face.

           Best Wishes,

           Gregory

           Lestrade waited for a reply nearly two weeks. At first he was merely concerned, but it had turned to outright panic by the time a parcel appeared, addressed in shaky writing.

           Dear Gregory,

           Apologies for not accepting your invitation, but I became ill the week before Christmas. Have nearly recovered, will write longer letter soon. I hope you all enjoy your gifts.

           Mycroft.

           It took a few telegrams and one long phone call (“hang the expense”) to determine that Mycroft was indeed recovering from a terrible bout of pneumonia. Mycroft’s health improved as the summer approached.

           Dear Gregory,

           My trunk is packed and my ticket purchased. I have no doubt this letter will arrive after me, but I want to pre-emptively thank you for a lovely time.

          Mycroft

           They did have a lovely time that summer. Mycroft met all five of the MacDonald brood, and they were delighted to meet the ‘London man’ who sent them such thoughtful presents. Maggie and Matthew were charmed by Mycroft, and they endeavoured to make sure their guest was happy. They didn’t need to put in much effort.

           Mycroft and Gregory spent many hours sitting together, often in silence, sometimes discussing the latest strange occurrence in London or Matt’s last prank. There was something comfortable about the silence; two men near the end of their days, finding solace in a new friendship.

           Sadly, the end of days was closer than they thought.

           Dear Gregory,

           I believe this will come as no surprise to you, but I find myself in love with you. We are two old men, and it seems cruel that it comes so late, but I wanted to tell you. You deserve that honesty.

           I am yours,

          Mycroft

           Mycroft was ready to walk to the post office—it was his weekly exercise, even in this icy winter—when his phone rang. When he heard Maggie’s weeping voice, he knew.

           He went up for the funeral, speaking quietly to everyone. Sherlock and his husband had come up as well, faces lined with grief, but Mycroft couldn’t bear to look at them. Later perhaps, in the spring, once he could face the depth of his loss…but for now looking at his brother’s happiness, his brother’s love standing with him, was too hard.

           Thankfully, Sherlock understood. He’d guessed, somewhere along the way, and he left Mycroft alone beside the coffin just long enough for Mycroft to slip the unsent letter in beside Lestrade’s remains. What a terrible word, that. Remains.

           What really remained from Lestrade was his daughter, his five sobbing grandchildren, and a stack of letters bound with a blue ribbon and kept in a safe. Those were his friend’s, his love’s remains. He would hold them sacred.

           Mycroft lived another year, his time divided between Scotland and Sussex. Fittingly, however, when he died it was at the Diogenes Club, stopping over in the Stranger’s Room for one last memory.

           He wasn’t buried with Lestrade—he had to be buried in the cemetery near John Watson’s wife, to keep his brother and his husband together in death—but his brothers, one by blood, one by heart, buried a pen in Scotland; the only pen Mycroft Holmes had ever used to write his love letters.

Now

           Mycroft observed Lestrade as they stood together. He had no idea of how long it had been since he’d died. All he knew that today was the first time he’d seen Gregory.

           “That was a surprise,” Lestrade said, his voice thick.

           Mycroft nodded, throat tight as he remembered the ease with which their counterparts held hands. “I did not expect to see that.”

           “I never thought I would have the courage,” Lestrade said.

           “I beg your pardon?”

           Lestrade drew an envelope from his pocket. Mycroft’s breath caught; he recognized it. He’d buried it.

           “I found this when I first arrived,” Lestrade admitted. “And I wanted to look for you; I wasn’t sure if you were dead yet but even when I knew you were I…I couldn’t find the courage.”

           Surprised, Mycroft raised his eyebrows. “Courage?”

           “I wanted to write it to you so many times,” Lestrade said. “And I just…I couldn’t do it. I thought it would be pointless, and I was never sure that you—”

           “That I cared?” Mycroft asked.

           “I—yes. I hoped you did, but…I was an old fool, Mycroft.”

           Mycroft held out his hand. This time, when Gregory took it, he raised it to his lips. “I do care, Gregory Lestrade,” he said solemnly. “I care more than I know how to express.”

           Lestrade’s smile was worth all the bitter pain of that last year.

           “Shall we rejoin them?” Mycroft asked.

           Lestrade squeezed his hand. “I want to sit with you for a while,” he replied. “Sit and tell you all the things I could never write. Does that sound alright, love?”

           Mycroft smiled. “That sounds wonderful.”

[bharatiyamedia-blog]

Shahid Kapoor's depth is mined for a horrific, harrowing ode to misogyny- Leisure Information, Firstpost

http://tinyurl.com/y5bjlkev Language: Hindi and English with (unsubtitled) Punjabi Ranking: 1 (out of 5 stars) It takes nearly 50 minutes for the heroine of Kabir Singh to utter her first sentence. “Kabir, what do you want in me?” says this fragile-looking child-woman who was a mute puppet in his palms till then. “I like the way in which you breathe,” he replies. Ooh, keh diya na dil ko contact kar jaane waali baat! Shahid Kapoor in and as Kabir Singh Okay, my apologies for the flippant tone, however please excuse it as a defence mechanism in opposition to some of the horrific, harrowing, horrendous odes to misogyny and patriarchy ever created by Indian cinema in any language – humourised and romanticised for our viewing pleasure. Kabir Singh is the Bollywood remake of the 2017 Tollywood blockbuster Arjun Reddy starring Vijay Sai Deverakonda and Shalini Pandey within the roles performed on this Hindi model by Shahid Kapoor and Kiara Advani. To name each problematic is an understatement. As I watched Kabir Singh, I may already hear in my head the drained clichés which might be rolled out as rebuttals to criticism of such movies and are prone to be regurgitated for this one. “C’mon ya, males like that do exist.” “Are you saying movies shouldn’t depict actuality?” “If damaging characters may affect individuals to develop into dangerous then how come optimistic characters don’t instantly reform society?” Or, as Kapoor himself pre-emptively stated earlier this week in a newspaper interview: “If we begin judging characters, we will not make motion pictures which might be actual.” Oh brother, cease. Please cease. That is exhausting, however for the zillionth time: it’s not the depiction of actuality that’s objectionable right here, it’s exactly as a result of violent, damaging misogynists do exist and girls for hundreds of years have suffered at their palms that it’s deeply troubling when a movie portrays such an individual as cool, humorous, and, as Kapoor places it, a person with “a superb coronary heart” who “loves purely” and “wears his feelings on his sleeve”. Once more brother, cease. Cease with the euphemisms, please. Name the Kabir Singhs of the world what they’re and present them up for what they’re: obnoxious, ugly sociopaths. Kapoor performs Kabir Rajdhir Singh, an ill-tempered, aggressive albeit academically sensible medical faculty scholar who sooner or later sees a fairly lady on campus and decides she is his. Her title is Preeti Sikka (Kiara Advani) however he doesn’t know that then. They’ve but to also have a dialog, however like a canine urinating to mark his territory, Kabir goes to an all-men junior class, broadcasts to the scholars that they’ll have their decide of the opposite ladies within the faculty however this one is his lady, and calls for that they unfold the phrase on his behalf. Thoughts you, all this and every thing that comes thereafter (he’s a chain-smoking alcoholic and drug taker who loses himself additional in a spiral of substance abuse and intercourse habit when he’s forcefully separated from Preeti) is depicted in a comical tone and projected as depth, ardour and profound emotion. Each one of many despicable Kabir’s actions is portrayed because the handiwork of a loveable, mad genius. In addition to, the heroine who appears initially intimidated by him quickly falls in love with him, he treats one other lady like meat and he or she too promptly tells him she loves him, his mates – female and male – adore him, he’s well-liked with the nurses in his hospital on whom he threatens to vent his horniness… I imply, c’mon ya, if that’s the case many individuals are obsessed with him he should be having “a superb coronary heart”, no? Choose for your self the guts so good that Kabir kisses Preeti for the primary time whereas she stands statue-like, having not expressed any curiosity in him until then, he bodily imposes himself on her subsequently too, he orders her round like one may a pet animal that one is keen on, after they’ve intercourse for the primary time he instructs her in a proprietorial method to cowl up in public, after she falls for him he roughs her up, treats her like shit, repeatedly hits her and tells her she was a no person in faculty whose id rested totally on her being often known as his lady, and worse. As if none of this was sufficient, a music titled Tera Ban Jaunga has lyrics that go thus: Meri raahein tere tak hain  Tujhpe hello toh mera haq hai    (Translation: my path, each path I take, results in you / I’ve a proper over simply you.) The purpose about a “proper” over a lover is re-asserted within the music ‘Tujhe Kitna Chahne Lage‘, wherein the phrases go, “Tere ishq pe haan haq mera hello toh hai” (I alone have a proper over your love). Kiara Advani and Shahid Kapoor in Kabir Singh. Picture through Twitter From the 1990s, Hindi cinema steadily bade goodbye to the portrayal of violence, molestation and stalking as professional types of courtship. It by no means went away totally, however for essentially the most half, if a number one man was a stalker, he was categorically slotted because the villain of the piece as he was in Yash Chopra’s Darr. The romanticisation of stalking and the mistreatment of ladies whereas wooing them has made a giant comeback this decade, epitomised by Raanjhanaa (2013) and numerous Salman Khan, Akshay Kumar starrers. Kabir Singh is in the identical league: harmful to the core as a result of it’s such a slick manufacturing. For one, it’s well-acted, particularly by Kapoor, Advani (recognized to date for M.S. Dhoni: The Untold Story, Lust Tales, Bharat Ane Nenu), Arjan Bajwa enjoying Kabir’s brother and Soham Majumdar within the position of the hero’s greatest buddy Shiva. Kapoor, in reality, is so good right here that it’s heart-breaking to see him use his reward thus, to see the spectacular star of Vishal Bhardwaj’s spectacular Haider (2014) descend to this cinematic abomination. The forged is one in all Kabir Singh‘s many pluses. The cinematography by Santhana Krishnan Ravichandran is plush, the modifying by Aarif Sheikh and Vanga himself is really slick, and the songs are engaging. That stated, these numbers are ruined by the way wherein they’re used within the narrative together with the overbearing, ear-splitting background rating. The songs are nice when heard individually, however they’re slammed into the movie’s soundscape like whiplashes akin to the screechy results utilized in dangerous Bollywood thrillers to startle the viewers. Most insidious is the writing of Kabir Singh, which makes use of humour to lull us into an acceptance of its horrible, terrifying hero’s obnoxiousness. As offensive as his patriarchal, misogynistic angle in direction of the heroine and different ladies is the truth that in direction of the top writer-director-editor Sandeep Vanga appears to be attempting to evoke sympathy for him by getting him to tearfully confess that he’s an alcoholic. Clearly with this objective in thoughts, just a few bars from the nursery rhyme Twinkle Twinkle Little Star are additionally woven into the background rating – in a foolish and cheesy vogue, it should be stated – when Kabir is coping with the dying of a beloved one. In direction of the top, Vanga even appears to be trying a press release concerning the limits that supposed democracy locations on us when a lawyer says of Kabir that such free-spiritedness in a democracy isn’t okay. Ah, so being a creep is “free-spiritedness”. Obtained it. That line is one in all many dialogues in Kabir Singh which might be written to sound deep and mental, however imply little to nothing particularly contemplating the context wherein they’re spoken. The naming of the hero in Vanga’s Hindi remake appears to be a bow to poet-saint Kabir, and to underline the purpose, in a voiceover within the opening scene the man’s grandmother (Kamini Kaushal) recites one in all Kabir’s dohas. I have no idea whether or not to chortle or cry at this desecration of the nice man’s writing. Kabir Singh and its Telugu forebear Arjun Reddy should rank among the many most annoying examples of the obsessive stalker hero being glamourised by Indian cinema. !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s) {if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function() {n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments)} ; if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n;n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0'; n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)}(window,document,'script', 'https://connect.facebook.net/en_US/fbevents.js'); fbq('init', '259288058299626'); fbq('track', 'PageView'); (function(d, s, id) { var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = "http://connect.facebook.net/en_GB/all.js#xfbml=1&version=v2.9&appId=1117108234997285"; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); }(document, 'script', 'facebook-jssdk')); Source link

[cheapest-usps-eddm]

It takes almost 50 minutes for the heroine of Kabir Singh to utter her first sentence. "Kabir, what do you like in me?" says this fragile-looking child-woman who was a mute puppet in his hands until then. "I like the way you breathe," he replies. Ooh, keh diya na dil ko touch kar jaane waali baat!

Shahid Kapoor in and as Kabir Singh

Okay, my apologies for the flippant tone, but please excuse it as a defence mechanism against one of the most horrific, harrowing, horrendous odes to misogyny and patriarchy ever created by Indian cinema in any language - humourised and romanticised for our viewing pleasure. Kabir Singh is the Bollywood remake of the 2017 Tollywood blockbuster Arjun Reddy starring Vijay Sai Deverakonda and Shalini Pandey in the roles played in this Hindi version by Shahid Kapoor and Kiara Advani. To call both problematic is an understatement. As I watched Kabir Singh, I could already hear in my head the tired clichés that are rolled out as rebuttals to criticism of such films and are likely to be regurgitated for this one. "C'mon ya, men like that do exist." "Are you saying films should not depict reality?" "If negative characters could influence people to become bad then how come positive characters do not immediately reform soceity?" Or, as Kapoor himself pre-emptively said earlier this week in a newspaper interview: "If we start judging characters, we can't make movies that are real." Oh brother, stop. Please stop. This is exhausting, but for the zillionth time: it is not the depiction of reality that is objectionable here, it is precisely because violent, destructive misogynists do exist and women for centuries have suffered at their hands that it is deeply troubling when a film portrays such a person as cool, funny, and, as Kapoor puts it, a man with "a good heart" who "loves purely" and "wears his emotions on his sleeve". Again brother, stop. Stop with the euphemisms, please. Call the Kabir Singhs of the world what they are and show them up for what they are: obnoxious, ugly sociopaths. Kapoor plays Kabir Rajdhir Singh, an ill-tempered, aggressive albeit academically brilliant medical college student who one day sees a pretty girl on campus and decides she is his. Her name is Preeti Sikka (Kiara Advani) but he does not know that then. They have yet to even have a conversation, but like a dog urinating to mark his territory, Kabir goes to an all-men junior class, announces to the students that they can have their pick of the other women in the college but this one is his woman, and demands that they spread the word on his behalf. Mind you, all this and everything that comes thereafter (he is a chain-smoking alcoholic and drug taker who loses himself further in a spiral of substance abuse and sex addiction when he is forcefully separated from Preeti) is depicted in a comical tone and projected as intensity, passion and profound emotion. Every one of the despicable Kabir's actions is portrayed as the handiwork of a loveable, mad genius. Besides, the heroine who seems initially intimidated by him soon falls in love with him, he treats another woman like meat and she too promptly tells him she loves him, his friends - male and female - adore him, he is popular with the nurses in his hospital on whom he threatens to vent his horniness... I mean, c'mon ya, if so many people are smitten by him he must be having "a good heart", no? Judge for yourself the heart so good that Kabir kisses Preeti for the first time while she stands statue-like, having not expressed any interest in him till then, he physically imposes himself on her subsequently too, he orders her around like one might a pet animal that one is fond of, after they have sex for the first time he instructs her in a proprietorial manner to cover up in public, after she falls for him he roughs her up, treats her like shit, repeatedly hits her and tells her she was a nobody in college whose identity rested entirely on her being known as his girl, and worse.

Kiara Advani and Shahid Kapoor in Kabir Singh

As if none of this was enough, a song titled Tera Ban Jaunga has lyrics that go thus: Meri raahein tere tak hain Tujhpe hi toh mera haq hai Ishq mera tu beshaq hai Tujhpe hi toh mera haq hai (Translation: my path, every path I take, leads to you / I have a right over just you / without question you are my love / I have a right over just you.) The point about his "right" over her is re-asserted in the song Tujhe Kitna Chahne Lage, in which the words go, "Tere ishq pe haan haq mera hi toh hai" (I alone have a right over your love). From the 1990s, Hindi cinema gradually bade goodbye to the portrayal of violence, molestation and stalking as legitimate forms of courtship. It never went away entirely, but for the most part, if a leading man was a stalker, he was categorically slotted as the villain of the piece as he was in Yash Chopra's Darr. The romanticisation of stalking and the mistreatment of women while wooing them has made a big comeback this decade, epitomised by Raanjhanaa (2013) and various Salman Khan, Akshay Kumar starrers. Kabir Singh is in the same league: dangerous to the core because it is such a slick production. For one, it is well-acted, especially by Kapoor, Advani (known so far for M.S. Dhoni: The Untold Story, Lust Stories, Bharat Ane Nenu), Arjan Bajwa playing Kabir's brother and Soham Majumdar in the role of the hero's best buddy Shiva. Kapoor, in fact, is so good here that it is heart-breaking to see him use his gift thus, to see the spectacular star of Vishal Bhardwaj's spectacular Haider (2014) descend to this cinematic abomination. The cast is one of Kabir Singh's many pluses. The cinematography by Santhana Krishnan Ravichandran is plush, the editing by Aarif Sheikh and Vanga himself is truly slick, and the songs are attractive. That said, those numbers are ruined by the manner in which they are used in the narrative along with the overbearing, ear-splitting background score. The songs are pleasant when heard separately, but they slammed into the film's soundscape like whiplashes akin to the screechy effects used in bad Bollywood thrillers to startle the audience. Most insidious is the writing of Kabir Singh, which uses humour to lull us into an acceptance of its terrible, terrifying hero's obnoxiousness. As offensive as his patriarchal, misogynistic attitude towards the heroine and other women is the fact that towards the end writer-director-editor Sandeep Vanga seems to be trying to evoke sympathy for him by getting him to tearfully confess that he is an alcoholic. Clearly with this goal in mind, a few bars from the nursery rhyme Twinkle Twinkle Little Star are also woven into the background score - in a silly and tacky fashion, it must be said - when Kabir is dealing with the death of a loved one. Towards the end, Vanga even seems to be attempting a statement about the limits that supposed democracy places on us when a lawyer says of Kabir that such free-spiritedness in a democracy is not okay. Ah, so being a creep is "free-spiritedness". Got it. That line is one of many dialogues in Kabir Singh that are written to sound deep and intellectual, but mean little to nothing especially considering the context in which they are spoken. The naming of the hero in Vanga's Hindi remake seems to be a bow to poet-saint Kabir, and to underline the point, in a voiceover in the opening scene the fellow's grandmother (Kamini Kaushal) recites one of Kabir's dohas. I do not know whether to laugh or cry at this desecration of the great man's writing. Kabir Singh and its Telugu forebear Arjun Reddy must rank among the most disturbing examples of the obsessive stalker hero being glamourised by Indian cinema.

[silverspringscolorsflashing-blog]

I Found You Too Young.

The first thing you need to know in order for you to keep reading is that I have thought long and hard and I am willing to put out some public retraction of what I said. I am so fucking sorry. I don't know how to fix this, but I think maybe a public apology might be a good place to start. I also need to give you some background. I am begging you, please keep reading. I have been on a journey of self discovery for about a decade now. We had the joy of sharing some of those years together. But that was before the darkness really came. Keep reading. I am sorry for misplacing all my rage at you. You didn't deserve it. You loved me. And you saved me. And neither of us even knew it yet. I scapegoated you. Was our relationship healthy? Definitely not. Was a large portion of that my responsibility though? Yes. I'm sorry. I own that now that I'm approaching thirty and can see so clearly. I am now diagnosed with severe PTSD from childhood sexual trauma, which has played out in all kinds of creepy ways. In the last few years of my life, I learned that I had a long lost aunt. I learned the reasons why my parents are and were so mentally ill and traumatized. I learned about what made them so crazy about sexuality. I sought out this aunt and learned a lot of the truth that had been hidden from me for years. I learned and remembered things I had repressed. I connected with a wonderful, stable person who was essentially disowned by my family for coming forward about child sexual abuse that kept trickling down and down until it hit a cute little blonde girl who I still have to distance myself from in my memory or I lose my shit. It was my grandfather. What's kind of sad is that I feel like this isn't going to come as any kind of surprise to you at all. I didn't even know why yet, but when I fell in love with you, I felt broken. Ruined. Like no one would ever love me. When my parents found out I had given you my virginity, a concept I'm not even sure exists anymore now that I'm a more sophisticated and empowered version of myself, that was the narrative. That no one would ever want to marry me now that my stupid fucking cherry had been popped. They made me believe moralistic bullshit things that I don't subscribe to anymore. About religion, about my worth as a female, about sex, about secrets. Your whole family knew I was being abused. I know that, thinking back to the way they welcomed me and loved me. And I might as well have spit on you all when everything shifted and turned between you and I. I was brainwashed. I'm sorry. And I had desires for you that I was made to believe made me bad. Sick. Shameful. Slutty. Worthless. Those were the things they told me. And I fucked you over. And you fucked me over. And I fucked you over again. I fucked up. But here's the fucking thing. I loved you madly. And I didn't give a flying fuck because I wanted to give you every orifice of my body and give you complete submission. I didn't have language for it as a kid, or the education to be safe about it, and neither did you. But that's what it was. Submission. I used to enjoy giving myself over to you and feeling the ecstasy that came with it because I thought you were the hottest thing to ever walk the earth and I wanted you to get me pregnant. I wanted your babies, I wanted your name. I wanted it all. When I decided to fuck you, I had been abstinent. And pro life. I went in with the understanding and belief system that said our souls would be inseparable afterwards, and I thought you felt the same way. I thought we were in it for the long haul. Was I crazy? I don't know. But it felt reallllllly good. You taught me about lube, orgasms, oral sex, positions, birth control, anal sex, my clitoris, my anatomy, my nipples, everything. And fuck man, it was hot. I know we were just kids, but we were really good at fucking. We explored everything with no fear. We really fucking loved one another. I think back now to you accompanying me to planned parenthood and I'm like wow- he was a pretty progressive boyfriend! It was me and my fucked up upbringing that made the whole thing feel wrong. It was right. None of it was wrong. I was having the time of my life. I trusted you. With everything. I remember days I would stay home from school with you and you would tie me to your bed and be so dirty with me that I would just be soaked afterwards. We would make love all day. I used to love you cumming in my mouth, licking my pussy, wrapping your hand around my throat enough to excite me but never so much that I actually got injured. Nonetheless, we engaged in things that were beautiful, but so over our heads. It was BDSM and we had no safe word and no pre-emptive discussions about what was okay and what wasn't. Obviously, you were fucking bound to cross my boundaries at some point! Because they weren't known to you! You watched a lot of pornography, and it taught you a lot, but I think as adults you would agree that it gave us unrealistic ideas about sexual health and consent. I don't blame you for that anymore. I blame a lot of external bullshit we were dealing with. Because I know now, that you really did love me and probably never meant to hurt me at all. Unless I liked it and asked for it. I bet if I met you now at my age instead of then it would be a whole different ballgame. Back to my newfound family member. Basically, my family is insane because the real monster was right under my nose all along. They all blamed you and I for our sexual advancements but I had already been being sexually abused for years by my grandfather. How was I supposed to feel, being shamed for a condom and all that bullshit right before what happened, being berated over my virginity, when I had been violated in such shitty ways before I even laid eyes on you? He abused just about everyone in the family and honestly, without you, and your family, I would have definitely killed myself as a teenager. I have not come clean about knowing all of this, my own repressed memories, or my relationship with the aunt who was disowned for coming forward. You are one of the first to know. I would appreciate it if that was kept this way. I am willing to apologize publicly for my actions and leave out my backstory. I want to make what I did right. What you did that day years ago was not okay. Let's not forget that I was crying and saying no- but let us also remember that that wasn't exactly strange for us. We engaged in some pretty hot, kinky, twisted stuff. Begging you to stop wasn't really out of the ordinary. So, it wasn't what I thought it was. I know what that is and what that feels like because I have accepted what happened to me now. I let my unfortunate life and situation blame you for a lost innocence that I really just wanted you to have. But it was gone. And I was sad. And pissed and lost. And I was bitter. And I'm sorry. I'm a much healthier, more extroverted, medicated, yoga practicing adult now. And the pedophile is dead. He had to die for me to stop being an idiot. I would like to do whatever I can to help remedy the damage my family's lies and my own trauma and bullshit have done to your life. I no longer want to think of you as "the boy who ____," but as my first love, who I gave it all to, and regret nothing. I wanted to save myself for love. I guess I didn't do so bad, after all.

[breakfastteatime]

Fic requests are OPEN! Drop me an Ask if you'd like me to write a JFO fic for you. Rules are as follows:

Drop me an Ask during the 8pm - 10pm window with a fic you’d like me to write. You can give lots of detail, a brief sentence, a trope or even a single word! So long as it’s something I’m comfortable with, I’ll write it.

I reserve the right to refuse a request if it’s not something I feel I can write. Check my AO3 for my usual style 👍That said, if you're here, you probably know what I write 😅

Gen fic only. It’s All Found Family, All The Time here.

I’m not a huge fan of AUs buuuuuuuuuuuuut I sometimes make exceptions. If I don't feel able to write an AU you request, I'll let you know and you can request something else.

Oh, and one more pre-emptive note, crossovers are not my strength either unless we're talking Kingdom Hearts lolololol. Wait no, please don't request a KH crossover. Apologies!

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Go, go, go! You've got TWO HOURS! I've got tea, cake and a whole lotta fangirl energy to burn.