#and ulterior motives layered in-between

[darth-sonny]

Coraline's relationship with the Other Mother is exactly how I imagine Kirby's relationship with Prime is

this is also Kirby propaganda for the @tmnt-oc-comp

[chemicalreal]

Viserys is just as despicable as Daemon and Otto, except in a different way

It's weird enough how King Viserys is widely well seen by the audience despite his evident selfishness, which is perhaps one of the most pronounced traits throughout the show. This perception is predominantly fueled by Rhaenyra's camp, who views Viserys' unequal treatment of his children in her favor as a redeeming quality of his character.

The subtle detail of Rhaenyra eagerly desiring a sister while her mother is still pregnant often goes unnoticed, just like her displease of the life she is supposed to endure going through many difficult pregnancies. Her strong insistence that it will be a girl contrasts with her father's wishes, hinting at an awareness of the changing dynamics within the royal family in case a boy is born. Despite spending her early years as the king's only child, the frequent pregnancies of Rhaella imply the king's persistent efforts to secure a male heir to the throne.

Therefore, Rhaenyra is effectively being sidelined as a potential heir in favor of a yet-to-be-born phantom brother. The king's intense desire for a male heir leads him to make the drastic decision of sacrificing his own wife during childbirth. While it's understandable that a mother would prioritize her child's life over her own, the scene becomes disturbing due to Aemma's clear distress and pleas for help let alone the fact that she was literally cut open while being awake, highlighting the king's unwavering determination that will lead to others suffering and this is a leit motive for the rest of his life, be it physically or emotionally.

The claim that Viserys, a now seasoned king, was manipulated by a teenager into marriage is one of the most absurd ones in this fandom, especially if we take into account how Alicent is portrayed. In reality, it was another self-centered choice driven by his own desires. Alicent, despite being urged by her ambitious father to seduce the grieving king (much to her horror), maintains the demeanor of a respectable lady. During her time with Viserys, the focus is on shared interests such as history and books, creating a dynamic more akin to a father spending time with his daughter. Alicent even mends the temporary rift between him and Rhaenyra giving him genuine advice. Viserys undoubtedly married Alicent out of his own desire, not coercion as some suggest. The scene where he announces it reveals Alicent's almost shocked reaction, indicating her lingering hope that he might not proceed with the idea. If Viserys were a virtuous man, he would have found Alicent a suitable match with a respected lord to acknowledge her services and simultaneously spite her father's ulterior motives.

Viserys continues to treat Alicent as an object throughout their marriage, often demanding her to fulfill his physical needs, even after he is plagued by illness and Alicent shown to be visibly uncomfortable because of it. After a somewhat "honeymoon" phase, which is still marred by a strained relationship between Alicent and Rhaenyra which puts the former in isolation despite her efforts to show support for her as the heir, Viserys is suddenly consumed by guilt for his actions towards Aemma. At this point, Alicent and their son Aegon (and by consequence their future three children) cease to exist for him. It's important to highlight that despite this epiphany and subsequent emotional neglect, Viserys' requests for physical intimacy with Alicent persist, which only makes him more of an hypocrite who still can't help but indulge in his selfish needs at the expense of others.

Viserys' insensitivity towards Alicent is further emphasized when Daemon returns to King's Landing and both he and Viserys mock Alicent's attempts at conversation about the new tapestries. Even Rhaenyra is visibly appalled by their behavior and chooses to support Alicent to prevent her from feeling humiliated. The temporary resumption of friendship between the two women adds layers to their tragedy, as their later falling out is ultimately induced by the men who view them merely as tools of power.

In addition to Daemon's emotional hold on Rhaenyra that will lead to their scandalous marriage, Otto's influence over Alicent, and his manipulative schemes, Viserys perpetuates the conflict through his inaction and convenient stance in the middle ground. He neglects his other children, projecting guilt towards Aemma onto them and Alicent. While he outwardly shows love and favoritism for Rhaenyra and ignores her infractions, it seems more like a projection of guilt rather than genuine support, as he fails to take concrete steps to legitimize her ascension, especially now with the presence of sons. Viserys' actions ultimately work against Rhaenyra's favor, rather than supporting her. His handling of the family feud after Laena's funeral closes the door for any potential reconciliation between the queen and the princess.

The truce dinner in episode 8 is unmistakably a ticking time bomb. The Rubicon was crossed years ago, but Viserys prefers to maintain the illusion of a happy family, akin to the illusion of Alicent being Aemma, for his own peace of mind. Rather than addressing the underlying issues, he opts to create a facade to avoid dealing with the potential chaos of his family members turning against each other once he is gone.

In conclusion, Viserys embodies those problematic people who often evade accountability for their actions due to their seemingly kind and sympathetic demeanor. His ability to project an amiable facade masks the deeper issues and consequences of his decisions, allowing him to avoid the scrutiny he might otherwise face.

[punksocks]

BM Lilith Aspecting Ascendant Culture:

*Just based on my experiences, only take what resonates

-Being labeled as a weirdo as a kid and being outcasted from most social groups

-Getting to know the other outcasts and caring for them

-Being seen as feisty and often being blamed for starting fights when you stand up for yourself

-Having authority figures dote on you, often taking too much interest in you and what you’ll do

-Otherwise having beefs for seemingly the most petty reasons with other authority figures (which is crazy like why are grown folks fighting kids)

-Or being surprised that figures you looked up to seemed to have ulterior motives (especially conjuct, square, and opposition)

-Often you grow up being shamed to the point that you don’t grow into yourself and become confident in your Lilith energy until you’re older (late high school, early college, post college even). this is especially true for hard aspects (conjunct, opposition, square)

-People assume you’re mean and find you intimidating and are surprised if you’re nice to them

-Sometimes your kindness can mistaken for weakness and people severely underestimate your power and all of the hardships you’ve gone through in your life

-You may have gone through a period of downplaying your femininity/being a pick me before embracing your femininity/probably becoming a feminist

-You may be drawn towards alternative/unique styles that express a darker femininity

-You may be drawn to having an unnatural hair color (as I write this my hair is pink and orange so I get it)

-You may also identify as non-binary or femme instead of cis because of how much you don’t identify with traditional femininity

-No matter what you wear, it looks s*xy. You could be covered from head to toe and it wouldn’t make that much of a difference

-You may have gone through a period of wearing lots of layers to hide your body shape. Then embracing your curves by wearing more stylized outfits.

-People will often react as if you’re dressed scandalously for work or for different occasions even though the same outfit wouldn’t catch negative attention for anyone else

-Very specific but you may struggle when dating other women/femmes to either close the distance between you or to not unlock some petty behavior with the person you’re dating

-Maybe going through a phase of dating around after you come into your attractiveness. Partially being surprised by the attention (especially if you date men/masc folks) and partially being shocked by how dudes react when you date them (getting possessive and controlling only a few dates in)

-No matter how many people you date you tend to get shamed by friends or family for dating around

-But taking a certain amount of pride in the attention you’re getting after your glow up (if square or opposition your Asc you probably go back and forth between pride and anxiety/disgust)

-Getting favors from total strangers but evil eyes from (some) family/close friends

-Having to be aware of mean girl behavior for the rest of your life (4th house for family/7th & 8th house for relationships/10th house workplaces/1st house every aspect of your life lowkey and the experiences will likely shape your personality)

-Often growing out of friendships because you realize some people don’t actually like you but they’re indulgent on some aspect of your energy (for example, seeing you as strong so they like to “humble you” and make you feel small)

-Being seen as a temptress or a damsel in need of saving but rarely being seen as yourself (treasure the people that do see you clearly and treat you well)

-Being seen as “irresistible” to certain extremes. Trines and Sextiles are more likely to embrace this and squares and oppositions are more likely to be wary of volatile behavior this attracts.

-Older men are nicest to you. Men who are in relationships often ogle you or avoid you most adamantly. And f*ck boys get into you but like just physically. (Guys who claim to not be f*ck boys also can get caught up in the same way)

-In positive romantic relationships you may still find yourself unlocking passion in unexpected ways from your partners (ex. They may be the quiet unassuming type but when you hook up a more intense side of them seems to come out of nowhere)

-Getting dudes that have been in your dms trying to hook up for years (goofy behavior lol)

-Getting shown off by someone your dating but less likely to be introduced to someone’s inner circle as anything more than a friend

-Having guys that pursue you just to try to get you to change how you express yourself (how you dress, how you act, etc)

-Being the friend with all the stories of guys hitting on you in weird ways

-Having an interest in exploring s*xuality and bodily autonomy, but not matching the n*mphomaniac image projected onto you (more so for squares and oppositions)

-In general your s*xuality is a significant part of your personality either through embracing (trine, sextile) it or suppressing it (square, opposition) or by going back and forth between those extremes (conjunct, square, opposition)

[problemchildtm]

Heartbreak

Derek Morgan x Reader

A/n: I'm no writer but I wanted to give it a try. I've also never really been in love so take the love analogies with a grain of rice. Hope you enjoy! :)

Warnings: angst/fluff, mentions of grief and death, hardly proofread, I think that's it but let me know if I'm missing something

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You will never know true happiness until you have truly loved, and you will never understand what pain really is until you have lost it.” —Unknown

Derek Morgan was positive he knew what heartbreak felt like. Heartbreak and the BAU went together like the mood and the tides. He’s seen the effects firsthand. The anger, the depression, and everything else in between. Day after day, week after week he watches heartbreak and it never gets better.  

He can still remember his first experience with the phenomenon. He was hit the day his dad died. People always describe the feeling being as simple as its name. A physical crack in the chest cavity that contains the heart. In his case, it was more like the entire muscle being forcefully ripped out. The pain was immeasurable and all-encompassing. Every inch of his body ached to the point of exhaustion. Absolutely nothing could compare.  

Heartbreak is sourced in different ways: Breakups, deaths, rejections just to name a few. Derek never wanted to go through heartbreak in any capacity, so he’s cruised. There were no serious relationships or commitments outside the BAU, just to play it safe. Heartbreak can’t reach those who build extensive layers of armor around the vessel.

Everything was going well until he met you.

It was impossible for him to shut you out. Derek’s frequented the same gym for years. They had everything he needed and the change of scenery from the FBI was nice. He’s had the same routine for years yet the process abruptly stopped the second he laid eyes on you, sitting behind the front desk with the warmest smile he’s ever seen. From there he was a goner.

The occasional run-in turned into movie marathons on a rare off day before completely blossoming into a full-fledged romance. Derek’s never been one to believe in love at first sight. Hell, he hardly believed in love, so it was utterly confusing when the metaphorical hole in his heart started to swell at the thought of you. No matter what he did his mind always returned to you. The way you spoke to him, the way you cared for him after a rough case, the way you smelled, his thoughts were completely filled by you. 

The days were longer, the nights were kinder, and the job was more bearable. Soon, the constant fear and anxiety that plagued him evolved into comfort. He no longer feared heartbreak. He didn’t wonder who would be the next person to destroy his happiness because he knew you would never even dream of it. You who held him after a nightmare. You who always understood his schedule. You who distracted him from the horrors of his profession. You who loved him, you who he fell in love with. Suddenly, warmth flooded his chest accompanied by a staggering realization. Love isn’t a concept you convince yourself is there out of fear of being alone. It’s not just a word. And it’s not some other-worldly experience that takes over a life. Love is feeling at ease with someone. Love is being able to rely on someone without worrying about ulterior motives. Love is what he felt for you. 

Derek Morgan was positive he knew what love felt like and he felt it day after day by your side. 

[tokiwarcube]

Hi!! I've been binging your writing, and I love the way you write for all the boys! Could we get something about doing their corpsepaint before a show? Headcanons or drabble, either is good <3 thanks! <3

Oh, yes!! I've been wanting to write something like this for a while -- below the cut! (And thank you so much!! <3)

Nathan Explosion

Nathan has a very specific way of doing things — every piece has to be in its proper place before things can proceed. His perfectionist nature has mostly applied to the music side of things — whether it be through nature or prophecy, he’s never really been able to tell — but that’s not to say that the actual performance is just cobbled together. No; if anything, he’s just as particular about the shows themselves. And corpsepaint is just another piece of it all. Nathan letting you do his paint is quite the sign of trust — a handing over of the reigns. A form of vulnerability, loathe as he is to admit it.

You didn’t think it was possible for his voice to get any deeper than it already is, but as he averts his eyes and mumbles some half-baked response to your mindless prattling, you’re sure you can feel the room shake. He swallows, evidently flustered under your gaze. That fire is only stoked by your gentle touch — the gentle caress of sponge on skin, the tilting of his jaw, the swiping of stray strands… it’s intimate in a way it shouldn’t be, and despite the fact that he can hear his heart pounding in his ears, he’s soaking up every moment of it. He does his best to make small talk, so as not to give away his fluster, but it’s deeply obvious to anyone walking by just how smitten he is with you.

Pickles the Drummer

Pickles has very fond memories of doing his makeup in gas station bathrooms as a teenager and young adult, despite the insults and slurs hurled his way. The glittery makeup of his youth — loud, proud, and very “fuck you” in nature — was truly an artform. Intricate, yet slapped together at the same time. So similar and yet so different from the black and white image of him today. He’s at a perfect middle ground with his paint — it’s a quick, five-minute ordeal for him that despite being thrown on haphazardly, always comes out just as its meant to. Because that’s what makes it good — he doesn’t overthink it. He just does it. So when you offer to do it for him, he’s completely game. You can’t really fuck it up, and even if you managed to, it’s not like it takes long to fix.

He can’t say he’s not enamored with how sweet you are to him, though. And sure, you certainly take a lot longer than he does, but he can’t find it in himself to complain. Not when you look at him so softly, sharing the same breath as you lean in to fix a smudge. He’s as chatty as usual, but don’t let that distract you — he is eating up your attention, and rest assured, he’ll be coming back to you for every show. He smiles, lips darting nervously between his lips, and revels in your lighthearted scolding as you go back over the microcosm he managed to rub away. If you call him out for doing it intentionally, he won’t deny it… but he probably won’t stop, either. Can you blame him, when you keep feeding the beast?

Skwisgaar Skwigelf

Skwisgaar is nothing if not a perfectionist — even with the splotchy nature of Dethklok’s corpsepaint, there always seems to be something wrong with it… unless you’re doing it, of course. The first time you do his paint for him — after a lot of begging on your own end — he’s laying on the charm thick. He’s as much of a flirt as he is a diva, really. But once he realizes how gentle you’re being? How rapt your attention is, with no ulterior motives? He’s suddenly very quiet… and very thankful for the thick layer of paint over his cheeks. After that first time, he withdraws for a little while. He doesn’t mention the incident again, and he doesn’t take up your offer to do it for him anymore. But you notice that when he’s laying the paint on, his eyes bounce over to you more and more often. And then one day, he just… hands the materials over to you before a show. And from then on it becomes a little routine — he doesn’t let anybody else but you do it. He loosens up a bit more then, starts chatting like usual again… but sometimes you’ll notice his ears get a bit red before you paint over them.

“None of these dildos knows what they ams doings, and I amnst going to damage my hands doings this stupids paintings.”

Toki Wartooth

Toki is infuriatingly smooth by pure virtue of the fact that he’s just so… genuine. He’s been doing his own corpsepaint since he was old enough to buy the materials, but after Dethklok went big, he just hasn’t had to. It can be a bit of a struggle wrangling him before a show, and makeup and costuming is just another piece of that rodeo — so, why not take that part on yourself?

“Yous hands ams so soft.”

“You ams have very pretty eyes.”

“Ams you still coming out for drinks afters this?”

His mouth seems to run at a million miles an hour, and you feel yourself start to flush at his unwavering attention. Suffice to say, Toki always asks you to do his paint for him.

William Murderface

For William, the corpsepaint is just some gimmick that really, he doesn’t give too much of a fuck about. He’s picky about his sense of style, and the corpsepaint never really fit into that for him — it’s just a quick paint-and-go type deal. Maybe there’s a half-filled smudge on his cheek, maybe he didn’t get all the way around his eyes — he doesn’t really care. So when you ask to do his paint, he’s a bit confused — maybe even insulted. He doesn’t really give it his all, but it can’t be that bad, can it? He’s a little fractious at first, but be patient enough, and you can get him in a chair. Maybe not without a few self-preserving, defensive comments, but he shuts up real quick when he feels your hand on his face. Tilting him so gently this way and that, brushing the curls out of his face to keep the paint from soaking the strands, dragging your thumb across the right areas to make little smudges… It almost feels like a prank, like someone is going to jump out at any minute and ridicule him for being soft. He thinks he’d deserve it, with how starry-eyed he feels. He whips between your normal conversation and probing questions — have you done this before? This isn’t weird for you? It’s fast enough to give you whiplash, but frankly, you know him well enough by now — a bit of patience goes a long way, and soon enough, he’ll be coming back to have you do it again, and again, and again.

[oh-stars]

Surrender

Love is letting someone take care of you.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 1,607 words | CW: injury | Rating: G

---

Steve has tried really hard these last five years to be more than what others expect of him. At first, it was just about being a better person and not the dickhead kid he used to be. That was easy enough, to choose kindness over the cruel words and inaction, but he didn’t realize there would be so much involved in being a better person overall, like beyond not kicking people when they’re down or holding open the door for a stranger, fundamentally changing the way he thinks to be a better friend and man. 

He’s not stupid, no matter what his dad always says. He knows there are cultural differences between guys and girls, but he also knows a lot of that is bullshit and misogynary (or whatever the word Robin is always saying) – that it comes from hating women and people who are different.

Steve’s thought a lot about manliness over the last few years. He doesn’t have a sister and other than Carol, who was always ‘one of the guys’ in Steve’s eyes, he really doesn’t have much experience hanging out with girls he’s not actively trying to date. Now he gets a ton of one-on-one time with women without the haze of attraction or ulterior motives. He’s seen the guys Max and Eleven giggle over in their magazines and none of them are the action stars they’re supposed to be drooling over – it’s all the cute guys with soft looks and kind eyes. 

He gets it now. Especially when he wakes up in the morning and looks down to find the hottest guy of them all curled up on his chest. Eddie’s not the epitome of masculinity, nor is Steve, but that doesn’t make them any less of a man. Their sexualities, interests, the way they share their emotions – none of that makes them more or less of a man. 

After years and years of relearning what being a man means to him, you would think Steve wouldn’t fall into the same stereotypes of his fellow men. And yet… 

He adjusts his grip on the crutches. It’s been hell trying to get inside, taking ages so he doesn’t fall again and break his other leg. Should he have called someone? Yes. Should he let Eddie know he needs a hand? Absolutely. Will he be admitting defeat? Never. He doesn’t even really understand why, if he’s honest. It’s not like Hopper’s going to come speeding down, sirens blazing, and demand Steve hand over his Man Card because he asked for help. 

Steve manages to make it to the door, out of breath and sweating under his coat and layers. He leans against the doorframe as he digs for his keys. It takes way too much effort, but eventually, he’s able to get inside. Steve drops his bag, then walks carefully to the couch, cringing with each swing-step he takes as his snowy boot tracks water all along the rug. 

“Steve?” 

Fuck. He knew Eddie would be home, he saw his van in the driveway after all, but Steve still hoped he’d be out or that one of the guys swung by and picked him up. It’s not like he could hide this from him, but it would be nice to have a bit more time to figure out his story. Because Eddie finding out means Steve has to admit he was wrong in the first place. 

“Yeah,” he calls back as he tugs off his lone boot, his other one is still on the floorboard of his car, and sets the crutches down beside him. He lifts his broken leg up, the action stiff with how awkward and new the cast feels and quickly covers it with a blanket. It’ll buy him some time. 

“I was wondering where you went,” Eddie says as he slides into the living room on his socks. He’s already in his sleepwear: one of Steve’s old shirts, Steve’s favorite sweatpants that are too big for him, and Steve’s gym socks. It hits him that he won’t be able to wear Eddie’s sweats, the ones he’s stretched out and are so thin they may as well be threads held together by dreams, until he gets this cast off. Well shit. 

Eddie pauses for just a moment before he’s walking over and sitting on the ottoman in front of Steve. “You’re wearing your coat still,” he says.” 

Steve shrugs and hugs his chest. “I’m cold.” 

“Why don’t you go shower and warm up?” Eddie asks, face neutral but his eyes tell a different story. He’s suspicious. How is he already catching on? Steve’s like the king of stealth. 

“I don’t feel like washing my hair right now,” he says instead. “I just want to lay here for a bit.” 

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “It’s Thursday,” Eddie says, “it’s your hair washing day according to your meticulous hair schedule. And you don’t want to wash it?” 

Steve can only shrug again. “Maybe later?” 

“Right, right,” Eddie says. He leans forward and kisses him all sweetly. Eddie brushes a hand through Steve’s hair and it nearly brings him to tears, if he’s honest. His body is sore, there’s probably a bruise the size of Alaska on his back and ass, and his leg is starting to hurt more now that his meds are wearing off. It’s been a harrowing few hours of trying to get to the hospital, being seen and dealing with the horrors of doctors and nurses touching him (he can’t even begin to think about how he’ll react to getting the cast removed, the saw too much like the one the Russian wanted to use–), and now that it’s all over and Eddie’s being sweet… Steve just wants to give up the charade.

“Baby,” Eddie says softly, “talk to me.” 

Steve looks up, blinking away the tears and leans into Eddie’s touch. “I fell,” he mumbles, cheeks hot. It’s so humiliating. He’s a grown man. So he fell? Big deal. But he fell doing a thing that Eddie told him he should probably wait to take care of until someone else could spot the ladder, that Steve made a bigger deal about doing it solo because he’s Steve. 

“On the ice?” 

He shakes his head and drops his eyes back down to Eddie’s. He watches in real time as Eddie realizes what Steve means, as confusion morphs into shock then concern. “Stevie,” he whispers, “how bad is your leg?” 

Steve pauses. “How did you know it was my leg?” 

Eddie pointedly looks at the crutches leaning against the arm of the couch. Oh. 

He sighs. “It's a clean break,” he says. “But I broke my tibula.” 

“Your tibia or your fibula?” Eddie asks, no judgment in his words. 

“Honestly, couldn’t tell you. Paperwork is in my bag though.” 

Eddie laughs softly and leans forward to kiss Steve’s cheek. “I’ll look later. How are you feeling?” 

“Everything hurts,” he says with only the hint of a whine. It’s like he’s accidentally given his body permission to feel everything. Steve reaches for the blanket, tugging it off his leg to show his foot and knee wrapped in a cast. “I have to wear it for two months.” 

“Shit, Stevie,” Eddie says, moving to squeeze himself onto the edge of the sofa. He leans over Steve, boxing him in. “You know, you’ve got to be more careful,” he says as he takes Steve’s face in his hands, “if you want to grow old together like you’re always talking about, then you’ve got to actually get there. And that starts with taking care of yourself.” 

Steve sighs. “I can take care of myself–” 

“But let me help,” Eddie says, leaning forward again to kiss Steve’s forehead. “Not because you need it, but because I want to. Why make things harder on yourself just to prove a point?” 

He doesn’t have much to say to that. 

Eddie pushes himself up and stands. “I know you wanted to make a roast for dinner, but want to get take out and smoke some? May help with the aches?” 

Steve nods and scoots forward so he can wrestle his way out of his coat. “You can’t baby me the whole time I’m in this cast, by the way.” 

“Oh, I could,” Eddie says, “but I do actually want to stay together by the time you get it off, so I’ll let you do some things by yourself.” He takes Steve’s jacket and grabs a few pillows to prop up Steve’s leg. “Will you let me take care of you tonight, though?” 

He feels so helpless and embarrassed to need the help, but with the way Eddie’s looking at him, Steve can’t tell him no. “Please?” 

Eddie beams as he basically skips to the coat closet. 

All Steve can do is watch as Eddie flits around the house: getting the good cuddling blankets and the pillows off their bed, grabbing his lunchbox, bringing Steve a pop to drink, all while he orders food from their favorite takeout place, phone sandwiched against his ear. 

He hates how nice it feels to be taken care of, especially over something as silly as a broken leg from a dumb mistake. Who takes down Christmas lights by themselves after a frost? Knowing their ladder is finicky at best on a good day? He was asking to fall off the roof! He should be glad he didn’t break more than his leg! 

But it’s a little easier to let it happen than it had been when they first started dating. He’s not perfect, he can be too proud sometimes, but he’s working on it. 

---

Thank you @lady-lostmind for betaing this fic!

Ao3 Link

[pxnsneverland]

Ruthless Grace | Austin Butler x OC (part 5)

(gif source: nairobi-resources)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

plot summary: Amidst the grime and squalor of Victorian England's winding cobblestone alleys, a young woman's life hangs precariously in the balance. Violet, a poor peasant girl with long raven locks and piercing gray eyes, possesses a haunting beauty that belies the harsh realities of her existence. Tragedy struck two years prior when Violet's mother succumbed to illness, leaving her to fend for herself and her father – a cruel, selfish man consumed by vices of alcohol and gambling. On one fateful night, Violet's father drags her unwillingly to that very den of iniquity, and there she learns a horrifying truth from the club's greedy, perverted owner: to repay his mounting gambling debts, her father has sold her into sexual servitude. Violet's vehement protests fall on deaf ears, until an unlikely savior emerges from the shadows. Lord Austin Butler intervenes with a bargain of his own. This dangerous man offers to pay off Violet's father's debts in exchange for her accompaniment, and Violet is torn from the only life she has known. While Austin's demeanor remains shrouded in mystery and detachment at first, Violet gradually glimpses his softer, even playful side as time passes within the manor's walls and an unexpected connection blossoms between the unlikely pair.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 2,884

warnings/notes:

Chapter 5: A Dance in the Rose Garden

Violet's fingers traced the intricate embroidery of the bedspread, each stitch a reminder of the distance between her past life and the present. The lush fabric felt foreign under her touch, almost as if it whispered secrets she wasn't yet privy to. She shivered slightly, a chill running down her spine despite the warmth of the room.

Outside, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the estate. The beauty of it all was undeniable, but beneath that beauty lurked layers of complexity that Violet knew she must navigate with care. Her survival had always depended on her ability to adapt quickly to new environments, but this was unlike anything she had ever encountered.

As darkness settled outside, a soft knock on the door startled her from her reverie. “Miss Everly?” called a gentle voice from the other side. It was Mr. Pembroke, his tone respectful yet carrying an undertone of urgency.

Violet rose swiftly and crossed the room to open the door. “Yes, Mr. Pembroke? Is there something amiss?”

Mr. Pembroke offered a small bow before answering. “No, Miss, nothing amiss. However, Lord Butler wishes to inform you that tomorrow after breakfast, he would like to give you a tour of the grounds.”

The words were straightforward, yet they hung in the air with an unspoken significance. A tour of the grounds was undoubtedly a privilege, a sign that Austin perceived her as more than just a transient guest. But Violet knew it was also a test—a way to gauge her reactions and perhaps delve deeper into her character.

"Thank you, Mr. Pembroke," she replied, maintaining her composure. "Please inform Lord Butler that I am looking forward to it."

"Very well, Miss Everly," Mr. Pembroke said, nodding once more before stepping back and closing the door gently behind him.

Left alone again, Violet's mind raced with possibilities and predictions. What did Austin hope to discover during their walk? Was it merely an act of courtesy, or did he have ulterior motives? She knew his reputation as 'The Devil Lord' was not unfounded; he was a man shrouded in mystery and darkness, capable of both immense cruelty and surprising kindness.

Sleep proved elusive that night as Violet lay in the massive bed, staring up at the shadowy ceiling. Her thoughts drifted from her father's harsh words and the despair of their dilapidated home to the opulent room in which she now resided, as if she had stepped into someone else’s life.

Morning came with a gentle intrusion of light filtering through heavy drapes, heralding a day that held unknown challenges. Violet rose, her body stiff from a night spent on the edge of slumber. Dressing quietly, she prepared herself with a meticulousness born from necessity. As she made her way down to breakfast, the house seemed to wake with her, its corridors filled with the soft sounds of servants moving ghost-like with practiced efficiency. The dining hall was vast and intimidating, its long table set impeccably with gleaming silver and delicate china. Lord Butler was already there, his presence dominating the room as he conversed softly with Mr. Pembroke.

Violet approached cautiously, her heart pounding unnervingly loud against her ribs. "Good morning, Lord Butler," she greeted him, her voice steady despite her nerves.

Austin turned towards her, his piercing blue eyes assessing her in a single glance.

"Good morning, Miss Everly," Austin replied, his voice smooth and measured. He gestured towards a chair at his right hand. "Please, join me."

As Violet moved to take her seat, the weight of his gaze felt like a tangible thing; assessing yet not entirely unwelcoming. She settled into the chair, her posture straight as a rod, acutely aware of every detail of the setting—the clink of silverware, the soft rustle of linens, and the faint aroma of freshly baked bread.

"I trust your first night in the manor was comfortable?" Austin began, breaking the slight tension that had started to coil in the air.

"Yes, thank you," Violet responded, allowing herself a small smile. "Your home is most beautiful." Her words were genuine, even if spoken from behind the mask of politeness required in such intricate social dances.

Austin nodded, seemingly pleased with her response. "I'm glad to hear that. I hope you'll find everything to your satisfaction here." His tone hinted at layers of meaning that went beyond mere hospitality.

Breakfast was served then, an array of dishes that seemed far too extravagant for just two people. Violet took small bites, her mind racing through all possible scenarios that could unfold from this enigmatic invitation. As they ate, the conversation flowed more smoothly than Violet had anticipated. Austin spoke of the estate's history and its vast lands, his words painting pictures of lush gardens, hidden paths, and ancient trees with secrets of their own. He spoke with a reverence that seemed at odds with his ruthless reputation, revealing a passion for the preservation and beauty of his surroundings.

However, beneath the casual exchange, Violet could feel the undercurrents of a deeper examination. Each question he posed, seemingly innocent, probed gently into her own history and views. It was clear he was not only interested in her as a guest but was also scrutinizing her suitability for something she couldn’t yet fathom.

"Your observations are quite astute, Miss Everly," Austin commented after she made a remark about the architectural style of the manor. "It is rare to find someone of your… background so well-versed in these subjects."

Violet met his gaze steadily, aware that this was another test in their intricate verbal dance. "I've had the opportunity to read quite a bit over the years," she replied carefully. "Books are a refuge that require no wealth to enjoy."

Austin’s eyes flickered with what might have been respect or surprise as he nodded slowly. "Indeed," he said thoughtfully.

"You've clearly made the most of those opportunities," he continued, studying her with an intensity that made her slightly uncomfortable. "Knowledge is a precious resource—one that many fail to appreciate."

The meal continued with discussions on various topics, each revealing a bit more of Austin's complexity. Violet found herself drawn to his intellect and the subtle shifts in his demeanor—how his eyes would soften when he discussed the gardens, or the rare smile that touched his lips when he recounted an amusing incident involving one of his horses.

As they finished their breakfast, Austin set down his napkin and regarded her with a calm that belied the sharpness in his gaze. "Miss Everly, if you are ready, I would like to show you the grounds now."

Violet nodded, feeling an unexpected surge of excitement mixed with apprehension. "I would be honored, Lord Butler."

“Call me Austin, please.”

His sudden informality took her aback slightly, but she masked her surprise with a nod. "Very well, Austin."

They rose from the table together, and as they stepped out into the crisp morning air, Violet felt a chill that wasn't entirely due to the weather. Austin led her down the steps of the grand manor and onto a pathway lined with ancient oaks whose branches whispered secrets of old. The estate stretched far and wide, the lush greens vibrant against the clear blue sky, and Violet couldn’t help but admire its beauty—a stark contrast to the grimy streets of her childhood.

As they walked, Austin pointed out various landmarks—a centuries-old fountain, a hidden gazebo veiled by climbing roses, and a quaint stone bridge arching gracefully over a babbling brook. With each site, he shared stories or facts about his ancestors who had lived and breathed in these lands. It was as if he was peeling back layers of himself, revealing more with each step they took together.

Violet listened intently, not just to his words but to the unspoken language of his demeanor. There was an earnestness in how he spoke of his heritage and a subtle plea for understanding in his tone that intrigued her. It was amidst these revelations and the tranquility of the verdant surroundings that they arrived at the rose garden. The garden was a masterpiece of horticultural artistry, a riot of colors that seemed to celebrate every shade imaginable. Neat rows of roses, from deep crimsons to delicate pinks, stretched out before them, their petals unfurling like the skirts of dancers at a grand ball.

Austin led Violet through an arched entryway covered with climbing ivy, into the heart of this floral paradise. “This has always been my favorite spot,” he confessed quietly, his voice carrying a tone of reverence as though he were sharing a deeply held secret. "There's something about roses – their beauty borne out of struggle against the thorn."

Viciously intrigued by his analogy, Violet reached out to touch one particularly vibrant bloom, her fingers brushing against its silky petals. It was then that a sharp pain jolted her – a thorn had pricked her finger, drawing a bead of blood that bloomed bright red against her pale skin.

Austin's reaction was swift. His hand grabbed hers gently but firmly, drawing her close to inspect the minor wound. "Allow me," he murmured, his voice low and unexpectedly warm. Before Violet could protest, he brought her finger to his lips, his eyes locked on hers. The contact was brief, his lips barely brushing against her skin, and yet it sent a wave of warmth rushing through her. The pain ceased almost immediately as if soothed by his touch alone.

Violet stared at him, her heart throbbing in her chest, unsure of how to interpret his actions. Was it merely a gentlemanly gesture? Or something more intimate, a sign of some deeper connection she was only just beginning to comprehend?

"Better?" Austin asked, his voice a soft whisper that seemed to vibrate through the air between them.

"Yes, thank you," Violet managed to reply, pulling her hand back slowly, feeling the lingering warmth of his touch. She noticed then the intensity of his gaze had softened, replaced with something more tender, more vulnerable.

"I apologize if I overstepped," Austin said after a moment, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. "It's just... I have a particular sensitivity to... blood."

His admission hung in the air, weighted with an unspoken gravity that seemed to pull more secrets into the light. Violet, though taken aback by the intimacy of his gesture, found herself curiously drawn into the depth of his confession. His vulnerability, so starkly contrasted against his usual composed demeanor, intrigued her further.

"Why is that?" she asked quietly, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest.

Austin looked away briefly, his gaze settling on the horizon where the sky met the lush greenery. When he turned back to her, his eyes held a mixture of resignation and something akin to fear. "It's a long story. Perhaps another time," he said, his voice almost imperceptible against the gentle rustle of the rose bushes swaying in the breeze.

Violet nodded, respecting his need for privacy. Yet, she couldn't deny her growing desire to understand this complex man who had unexpectedly disrupted her world. They resumed walking through the garden, their steps slow as they navigated between the vibrant displays of roses. The earlier incident had subtly shifted their rapport, weaving a thread of intimacy into their budding acquaintance.

As they continued their stroll, the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting a golden glow over the estate. Austin paused by a particularly lush bush adorned with white roses, each bloom flawless and full. “These,” he said gently, “are known as the 'Queen of the Night.' Quite rare and requires careful tending.”

Violet leaned in to admire them, aware of Austin's gaze on her. “They’re beautiful,” she remarked, “but I suppose all beauty requires some form of sacrifice or care, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed, it does,” Austin agreed, a trace of melancholy threading through his words. “Much like people.” His eyes met hers again, and Violet felt a pull, an unspoken connection that was both unsettling and exhilarating.

They moved on from the rose bushes, their conversation turning towards lighter subjects. Austin inquired about her favorite books and music, and Violet was surprised to find that they shared similar tastes in literature and classical compositions. It was easy to forget his formidable reputation when he spoke so passionately about his love for Chopin’s nocturnes or his fascination with Shakespeare’s tragedies.

The morning gradually turned into afternoon as they explored the vast grounds. Their path eventually led them to a secluded pond, where the water mirrored the cloudless sky and willow trees drooped gracefully over its edges. Ducks glided across the surface, undisturbed by their presence.

“I used to come here to think,” Austin revealed as they stopped at the water's edge, watching the ripples fan out from a stone Violet had idly tossed in. “It’s one of the few places where I can find peace.”

Violet glanced at him, noting the wistfulness in his voice. “Peace seems a rare commodity in your life,” she observed softly.

Austin smiled, a rueful tilt to his lips. “Indeed, it is. But today has been an exception.” He looked at her directly, his gaze intense yet gentle. “Thank you for that.”

She felt her cheeks warm under his scrutiny, unaccustomed to such direct praise. “I should be thanking you,” Violet replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “For showing me all this... for being so kind.”

They continued around the pond, their reflections side by side in the water below. The conversation flowed easily now, bridged by a mutual appreciation for the beauty surrounding them and deepened by the emerging layers of their shared experience.

As they made their way back towards the manor, the light began to wane, casting long shadows across the lush lawns. Austin paused by a towering oak, its limbs stretching protectively overhead. "I must confess," he began, his voice hesitant. He turned to face her, his expression earnest. "I find your company... extraordinarily refreshing, Violet."

His words, though simple, carried a weight that tethered her heart to the moment, anchoring her in a mix of joy and apprehension. "And I yours," Violet responded, her voice trembling slightly with the vulnerability of her admission. She felt the gravity of their shared secret moments, each one building upon the last, creating a tapestry of unspoken understanding between them.

Just then, as the shadows grew longer and the air cooled with the approach of evening, Mr. Pembroke, Austin's stern-faced butler and confidant, appeared at the edge of the garden path. His presence was like a cold gust of wind that suddenly swept across the serene pond, disturbing the peace they had cultivated.

"Lord Butler," Mr. Pembark intoned with a respectful bow that still managed to convey urgency. "There are matters that require your immediate attention."

Austin nodded, his face tightening subtly as he turned back to Violet. "Duty calls, it seems," he said with a hint of regret.

Violet nodded, her mood shifting as she sensed the change in atmosphere. "Of course," she replied, trying to mask her disappointment with a polite smile.

While Austin departed, Mr. Pembroke lingered for a moment, his gaze meeting Violet's with an intensity that made her falter. "Miss Everly," he began in a low, gruff voice meant only for her ears. "A word of caution, if I may be so bold."

Violet felt a chill trace down her spine, her curiosity piqued. "Yes, Mr. Pembroke?"

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that barely rustled the leaves around them. "Lord Butler is not like other men, Miss Everly. There are aspects of his life that are... darker than most can fathom. Please, tread carefully."

Violet nodded, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and intrigue. "Thank you for the warning, Mr. Pembroke," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil swirling within her.

Mr. Pembroke gave her a curt nod before turning and following the path back to the manor, leaving Violet alone beside the tranquil pond. The serenity of the moment was now tinged with a shadow of mystery and danger. She wrapped her arms around herself, contemplating the enigmatic man who had so thoroughly captivated her interest.

As she walked back to the manor, Violet's thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions and questions. Austin's allure was undeniable, yet now it was colored with the stark warning from Mr. Pembroke. What secrets did Austin carry? What darkness lurked behind those intense blue eyes? And how could she, a simple girl born of hardship and survival, navigate the complexities of this unexpected world she was drawn into? Violet's mind raced with possibilities and fears as she approached the grand manor house. Its imposing stone facade, which earlier seemed to echo a kind of historic grandeur, now loomed menacingly in her eyes.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Dinner was a quiet affair; Violet found herself seated at the opposite end of the long dining table from Austin. She caught glimpses of him conversing quietly with other distinguished guests—his demeanor composed, his laughter forced. Every now and then, their eyes met across the array of crystal and silver, and Violet felt the earlier connection between them pulse like a silent heartbeat.

Stay tuned for part 6!! Click HERE to view!

Taglist: @buckysteveloki-me @imusicaddict

[theabstruseone]

Wait, he ranked the price of Twitter by 20 billion? Weren’t the rumours that he was looking to tank Twitter then sell off its assets?

The problem is you can find all sorts of rumors. He bought Twitter to wreck it, he bought Twitter to turn it into the X App he failed at pitching at PayPal, he bought Twitter to destroy the public square and undermine democracy, he bought Twitter as part of a deal with Mark Zuckerberg to destroy Twitter and leave Facebook as the only viable social media platform, he bought Twitter to appears the grey aliens in their war against the lizard people on behalf of the Illuminati.

The thing is...Elon Musk did NOT want to buy Twitter. He had to be sued and forced to buy the company.

He ran his mouth because he was angry he wasn't getting his way like the rich asshole he is, basically saying "If you don't do what I say I'll just buy the place and make you." And because he'd already bought shares of the company as part of this strongarm tactic, he was legally responsible for buying the company. And at his stupid-ass $54.20 offer that added over $150 million to the price just to add the $0.20 to the price because 420 blaze it and he is a child.

Add in that Tesla and SpaceX only function because they're Musk-proofed themselves. There are layers between the manic whims of the spoiled manchild that prevent him from running around yanking wires out of stuff to see what breaks like he's allegedly done at Twitter (technically it was turning off servers to see who panicked accord to reports but seriously, that's the sort of shit he's doing).

There doesn't need to be any grand conspiracy or ulterior motive other than the racist misogynist homophobic asshole who refuses to be told "no" is throwing a massive temper tantrum because his ex-wives hate him, his children hate him, he was forced to buy the company, and he got kicked out of PayPal 20 years ago and hasn't gotten over the bruised ego since then.

Do you REALLY think the guy who got so mad the President of the United States issuing an official statement from the White House got more attention than him so had the engineers boost his ranking in the algorithm enough so that he dominated everybody's feeds for a day to get more attention on him could actually plot a real conspiracy?

Or does Occam's Razor say he's just a privileged little shit who is indulging in his racism and transphobia while pandering to the fascist sycophants who keep licking his boots?

[lenaariewrld]

C.30 — settled in

ON THE AIR — childe x reader smau

| SYNOPSIS;; Teyvat University’s popular radio personality, Y/n L/n, has only one gripe with her life. Her classmate, neighbour, and all-around nuisance in her life, Tartaglia. Their rivalry extends just past academics and, to her horror, into her work. He becomes the music director and co-host for her radio show, working alongside her most nights and forcing himself even deeper into her life. But is he really trying to just be friends, or is there an ulterior motive to his actions?

previous! ~ masterlist ! ~ next!

After getting through customs– which took considerably shorter than you would’ve thought thanks to Diluc’s help –and retrieving your luggage, you officially found yourself on break. You followed dutifully behind Diluc as he led the way towards the front where a family car would be waiting to pick the two of you up. Despite being wealthy, and not batting an eye at the five figure cost of tickets and housing he’s got, him and his family are still pretty humble. He pushes a few of your suitcases in front of his own while you carry the smaller bags.

You try to relax, to listen to the calming music in your headphones, and take in the environment of the airport. The air is crisp with a chill, and there’s a thin layer of snow piled in corners or caught on the edge of roofs. It’s cute. The whole way to the car, though, you keep getting distracted. Your head turns this way and that as your eyes play tricks on you, catching glimpses of Childe. Or you think you do. You realise it’s just a stranger with orange hair or a man wearing familiar clothes but sporting unfamiliar features.

With another shake of your head, you keep your eyes squarely on Diluc’s back, ducking into the car after helping him load up the suitcases. “You okay?” He asks quietly as he settles into the backseat beside you. You rest your head on his shoulder. His coat is soft and his body is warm.

You both get to Diluc’s home shortly after. “Y/n!” Diluc’s father is greeting you as soon as you step onto the front patio, a gracious smile on his lips. His crow’s feet dive deeper into his features as he approaches his literal and figurative children with open arms. He pulls you into a warm hug. “My, you’ve gotten taller since last year,” He smooths your hair away from your face.

“I’m just wearing chunky shoes, I think,” You excuse, laughing when he pulls a ‘that doesn’t sound right’ type of expression. “It’s good to see you too,” You tell him as you hug him back. Once you step back and let Diluc greet his father, you take in the giant mansion they claim as their home. Two floors of magnificent dark oak wood and hundreds of acres of vineyard (ones currently closed for the season) stretched behind and beside it.

“Don’t let me keep you two, settle in,” Crepus says to you both before departing inside, urging you both to join him for dinner. You agree heartily, pulling your bags from the backseat. Adelinde, the maid, helps you and Lucky finish trudging everything inside and to your designated rooms.

Your heart warms as Adelinde opens to door to one of the spare bedrooms, the same one you’ve always stayed in, and find it decorated with the things you’d left or moved to the way you like them. It’s touching that they converted it into ‘your’ room. Even if it wasn’t always yours, it is now, at least in their eyes.

You put your things away and hang up your coat and scarf, looking around the room. The spacious bed is soft, with a thick duvet in your favorite color, a thin pattern of flowers crocheted into the top. The nightstand holds a phone charger, lamp, and a small cup for you to put your jewelry away before you head to bed. A bookcase is pushed on the left wall of the room, right between two windows that look out over the vineyards. Other pieces of furniture are scattered to the most convenient places for you, like a wardrobe, a desk, a vanity, and a shoe rack. Your hand drags weightlessly against the end of the bed.

You remember your first time sleeping in this house. When you were just twelve years old. It was your first spat with your parents, and your mother had locked you out of the house. Diluc was the only person you knew besides Lumine, but she was never available past 10pm. So you called him and within the hour, you were in his home and curled up in his bed with him, the two of you in matching pajamas while he read a book out loud to ease you to sleep.

A lot had changed since then. And yet so much had stayed the same too.

With your reminiscing over, you take a deep breath and exit the room, heading for the giant main living room. You lounge around the fancy house, soaking in the peacefulness and warmth of the home. A fire roars in the hearth, after Adelinde helped you light it. You scroll on your phone mindlessly, reading twitter threads and tiktoks that make you giggle stupidly. It eases your mind, gives you peace, and helps you forget the sadness of your ‘real’ life.

A couple more hours pass, and you find yourself binging a cringy TV drama while you lounge on a loveseat, curled up with a blanket. Your phone goes off with a soft twinkling chime, and your attention is town from the needlessly over-the-top acting in the show. You check it to see Cyno had texted you.

With a sigh, you put your phone away and sink back onto the couch, burying yourself in the fluffy blanket draped over your waist. Your hurt didn’t feel as visceral now. It wasn’t like a clawing monster trying to escape out of you, racking your body with sobs and making your chest ache. It didn’t feel like a new crack formed and leaked whenever you thought of Childe, or were reminded of him. You just felt… blank. Unsure.

Diluc knocks on the doorway, and you look up, realising you hadn’t even realised the show was still paused. You were too deep in your head still. “Enjoying the fire?” He asks, glancing briefly at the flames flickering in the stone hearth. You close your laptop and sigh.

“Yeah, it’s relaxing,” You tell him with a soft smile, forcing it a little. You move your legs out of the way and pat the cushion beside, wordlessly asking him to join you. He sits, grunting as he does like an old man. “What’cha got there?” You peek over his shoulder at the book tucked under his elbow.

He shows you the cover, a copy of Romeo and Juliet that you recognise right in front of you. It was the first gift you ever gave the man, and it was a book he reread almost everytime you two came back to visit.

You smile, tucking your computer away and leaning into the back of the sofa. “Read it to me,” You tell him, though it still comes out as a half-question. Diluc smiles fondly, shaking his head as if frustrated by your demands, and cracks open the book.

The both of you relax before doing anything else, taking in the rest of the evening with the book or the last few episodes of the season you were watching. You knew before long though, that Diluc and his father would convince you to go into town with them. It was tradition. The first night you always went shopping for things to cook together, and made a meal all by yourselves, occasionally paired with glasses of wine (you remember being fifteen and asking for a glass yourself the first time, and you remember the way Crepus had chuckled fondly at your rosy cheeks and switched out your glass for grape juice soon after).

You didn’t mind the tradition, and it made your heart full. All you had to worry about for the rest of this break was being home. Being comfortable, and picking yourself back up when you came back from it all..

———

A/Ns: BWAAA im so sorry this update took forever <//3 i promise a double update today, but unfortunately i will have to slow updates. i have to ✨ move✨, so trying to do that on top of my job makes it hard to keep up these updates. I promise i'm not going on a hiatus or anything though !! as usualy tho; likes/reblogs/comments are always appreciated, and don't forget to get ur water intake today lovelies

TAGLIST: @popiizpops @scaradooche @yourfavoritefreakyhan @neversore @monocerosei @dontmindtheevie @kittywagun @yumidepain @kazumiku @hanilessa @nrviine @wren-art @state-of-grac3 @definitely-not-leena @crimxeorcremeexistspeacefully @tikitsune @hwngti @trulylee @basicsofdying @starriylover

[terrence-silver]

We know that TIG can sing, and so can some of his characters. If pressed to sing, which songs would TIG characters choose?

---

― Twig, growing up as a rich boy with, if we read between the lines, draconic parentage with possibly high standards and rather perfectionistic attitudes in education, the only things a young Terry would sing is some kind of classic tune instructed by an onslaught of private tutors hired by his parents for the explicit purpose of training their son's voice or the Zemirot sang around the table during Shabbat, Jewish kid that he was. That's it for you. The first vestige of actual freedom and individual expression, came, perhaps, ironically, in the military, in the early 1960's, surrounded by soldiers from all classes and walks of life, everyone with their own flavor of music, songs and tunes of the decade and my god, if the high of that didn't hit a young Terry quick and hard to the degree it re-wired his brain chemistry, I don't know what else to tell you. Self-control and liberty gained, Twig, would, given the chance, sing or hum anything just because and he was pretty damn good at it too. Suppose when it was just him, John Kreese and Ponytail in the bunk all by themselves, a young Twig might merrily sing something while they conducted their chores together; moments of calm before the storm.

― Terry Silver in the 80's gives a mocking and taunting edge to everything he does because he's tough, he's powerful and he's at the top of his game and he's fairly shameless and despicable when he wants to be which means, around this era in his life man could do anything from busting into an operetta with expert proficiency, because if he does something it will be done perfectly or sing into a mic like he was born to sing into a mic, but will do neither seriously because there's veiled cynicism and an ulterior motive behind it. He's always laughing behind the eyes and yes, you're the joke. Imagine him singing We are The World during the height of a famine in Africa (Ethiopia 1983-85) he might've contributed to by having a major factor in the continent's pollution through Dynatox and trying very hard to seem very heartfelt and genuinely empathetic as he does it for a non-profit organization meant to help the poor (Look! He's helping!) or in equal measure, being at a black tie event fundraiser and singing some tune for (reads smear on hand) ah, yes, children in need. Either ways, the audience esthetically clapped and Mr. Silver gleefully ate up the praise being the center of attention like the big, smug snake he is.

― Old man Terry, if prompted to sing, simply wouldn't. He's past the point of singing, regardless of the fact he's a fierce, deep voice that's more than educated for it. Sure, there must've been a garden party or two where some rumbunctious guest must've prompted Mr. Silver charm all those gathered with a song or a tune on the piano but Terry might've responded with an equally charmed smile and had the obnoxious guest singing for him instead (as a very concealed punishment and veiled hazing ritual hidden beneath layers and layers of relaxed politeness) --- yes, who's to tell Emile, for example, didn't end up entertaining the whole party because Terry turned the tables around on him? Or god knows what sort of various humiliations he put Stingray through purely because he could and because it's awfully easy to imagine him saying 'Sing, Raymond.' as he pours himself a glass of Cognac, eases himself into the nearest armchair and has the buffoon shakily sing, for quite literally, his life. Nothing's for free, right? But, see, that's the point: Terry's convinced he's the earned the right sit back and be the overlord. Not that he ever doubted it. He's Grandmaster. He's Sensei. He's Sir. He's Mr. Silver. He's the Dragon. The dragon doesn't sing. The dragon rules. If he sings and plays it's because he wants to, mostly for himself.

---

― Terry McCain undoubtedly sings something Irish, to nobody's colossal surprise because everyone who even vaguely knows the man knows for a fact that this is his go-to choice of music each and every time; some folk tune from the old country passed down through many generations, until the person it originated from is long since forgotten in his family and all that remains is a memory of a memory and Terry's rendition of it, that is, for all intents and purposes, spectacularly good and catchy, especially when he follows up his own song with a tune he plays on a piano --- a thing culturally near and dear to him, and it's surprising with what gusto, passion and emotional charge he does it with, the same way, Catholic boy, born and raised that he is, it is not entirely shocking to find him being very apt and capable of delivering a church melody that could bring a parish choir member to absolute shame and in times like these it is abundantly clear that The Detective is awesomely multi-talented, and that if it wasn't for his career in law enforcement, one in music would've suited him just as well, if not better.

― Cash cannot be persuaded to sing because he doesn't care about the pursuit, finds it a waste of his time and quite frankly, he'd be most likely to glare if it's ever suggested to him --- the most he's willing to do is absent mindedly and very quietly hum some real or imaginary tune while he's waiting in ambush, tapping his gloved finger on the steering wheel, car parked a couple of blocks down as he carefully scopes out a target and patiently lays in wait for his cue, sipping on a cup of black instant coffee --- and even that only if his wait proves to be very, very long. His life is one of excess tension and it's quite literally no song (pun intended) nor is there any time for it and when there is, there's little place for yearning left. In fact, the man undoubtedly doesn't remember when was the last time he genuinely had time or the desire to switch on the radio and deliberately sit down and just listen to music for its own sake. But, if this man ever stalked someone? He's never likely to forget the music he's heard them listening to when they thought they're all alone. Undoubtedly, they're the very tunes he later absentmindedly hums.

― Gus Travis likes his sea shanties because his dream was quite simply put to buy a boat one day and sail out there, live off of the great, wide blue, but it's an ambition that never really came into fruition in the fullest sense, bogged down by the career criminal in's and out's of his dalliances on the wrong side of the law. It is what it is. Nevertheless, he enjoys the notion of a life at sea and everything involved in it, including the associated tunes, songs and music, not that he sings with any positive notion behind it, a full heart and joy either, more like, if Gus ever sang, he'd sing it almost mockingly, yo ho ho, while dangling a live victim upside down over a shark tank, mocking both the poor, unfortunate soul he's about to feed to the fishes down below and mocking himself, in a way, perhaps without even realizing it or wanting to admit that that's precisely what he's doing, because this is what his life has come to and everything he's ever wanted has been slipping further and further away from his fingers with each passing year or has, for the lack of a better word, gone to shit.

― Jan Valek is a medieval Bohemian clergyman, so, utilizing some form of logic, if he ever sang, it could be some old lullaby in Czech that lingers on the very edge of memory, sang to him by who knows who and who knows when, perhaps a mother, a kindly family member, someone from where he used to live when he was human and very young at that, long before he took his vows, or he'd sing some religious hymn in Latin in a voice that could freeze over the full moon with it's haunting beauty; a remnant of a bygone time when he was mortal and dedicated to the service of God, all association with music intricately tied to a more vulnerable time when he wasn't accursed and condemned, now, his song resembling a howl in the dead of night, a phantom's call slashing through the darkness, something chilling and gorgeous that is hard to explain, but certainly not entirely human. The type of thing you hear and you no longer belong entirely to yourself, falling under a vampire's spell, rather, you go out there, looking for the source of whatever it is you heard, mesmerized.

― Jack Blaylock, or rather, Timothy Calloway is All-American; irregardless of the fact that he lives in Japan, made his life in Japan, is embedded in the culture (and its Underworld) of Japan, operates out of Japan undercover with the facade of an Expat like any other, and hey, for all we know, he was born there too, which might make his attachment to all things American profoundly fascinating, no less the fact that if he sang, he'd not only sing something American, but something profoundly anachronistic and belonging to a bygone and nearly idealistic era he never even experienced himself, the same way he either never experienced his actual homeland or experienced it so little and so long ago, one can consider him remotely estranged from it (never say this to his face). So, knowing all of this, it is easy to envision Jack softly singing something by The Harptones, Bobby Darin or The Platters as he cleans his sword, produces his blades, checks his firearms with an immaculate attention to details, puts on a crisp, clean button up shirt, preparing for his next hitjob.

[vanveronicango]

okay yall i'm def going to liveblog my soc/crooked kingdom read WEEEEEE (feel free to blacklist '#andie reads six of crows' and '#andie reads crooked kingdom' if you don't wanna be sick of me or see any spoilers)

let me just get some thoughts out from the almost-130 pages i've read so far because i got em!!:

the kaz/wylan parallels already!! like i've read some opinions that they're two sides of the same coin but the fact there was already something before wylan was even introduced... at the end of his meeting with jan, jan says "i do wonder what a boy of your intelligence might have amounted to under different circumstances." this is literally the exact opposite of how he feels about wylan. from what i've seen other readers say, at least, he sees wylan as inherently stupid in his illiteracy, and it doesn't matter that his circumstances were 'perfect', he absolutely doesn't belong to the van eck empire. it's almost like, in this line alone, jan - somewhere subconsciously, at least - wonders what it would have been like to have someone like kaz as a son instead. leigh the things you've already made me feel

kaz's personality. already i absolutely love his characterization: he's a dick, an asshole to those around him, but he also has this snarky, almost silly side where he doesn't feel above occasionally joining in on his dregs' banter, while simultaneously being secretive and completely rigid in his own arrogance. he's both unlikeable and charming, and already he's feeling so layered and developed and interesting. i'm going to be honest: usually i'm not a huge fan of fan-favorite male characters that are dicks with extensive skills and massive egos hiding insecurities underneath. i think it's overdone and i'm not interested in it. but there is something about kaz that just completely flips the trope on its head for me and i can't quite place my finger on why that is but i'll be sure to bring it up when i finally figure it out lmao

BOOK NINA BOOK NINA BOOK NINA. i already absolutely adored her in the show, but only from the bit i've read, book nina is on another level. her work at the white rose, the way she completely shifts in her personality for that work but is also so so confident in who she is. the FLIRTING. the HEARTBREAK when she finally meets matthias again. she is so wonderfully written and such a joy to read

matthias is absolutely breaking my heart fr like... when he was forced to kill the wolves... the way he went from feral animal in the ring to tears... damn. damn. the way he's written it's like he's literally at war with his own mind, just being ping-ponged between sheer, violent rage towards nina interspersed with flashes of... oh her skin is so soft... the dreams about loving her hurt more than the ones where i kill her... he must be so tired :(

the kaz & wylan relationship. i knowwww that he's fully using him and everything he does is a means to an end like I KNOW THAT but the way he defended wylan when the rest of the crows were calling him stupid and less talented :( "hidden depths" "marketable skills" OH MYYYYYYY gosh :(((((((((( their relationship is so special to me already.. like kaz is extremely upfront (well as much as kaz brekker can be lol) to wylan about why he's there ("why do you think i'm keeping you around" "i'm good at demo" "you're passable at demo. you're excellent at hostage") which i actually do appreciate, but right now he's also objectively the only one on wylan's side rn, even if it's all bc of ulterior motives

wesper. OH. OH BOOK WESPER. my absolute beloved already. the way jesper can't stand him. the way wylan doesn't back down when jesper comes at him. their bickering means literally everything to me. am i absolutely heartbroken that he literally called wylan useless? you're damn right i am :((( but man their growth is gonna HIT i can feel it now. i see how different book & show wesper are now (i've heard but actually reading it is a whole other thing) and both are so special to me... it's like alternate universes bless em. i'm so excited to read more of them (they are my favorite couple and i will be commenting on them a lot okay)

i really wonder how this book would be if i had literally zero spoilers BUT. reading wylan say "i'm not useless" when everyone is attacking him for just being there (jesper calling him useless and nina calling him stupid got me feeling a little feral)... he's so used to being belittled and treated like a fool by everyone around him but he still tries :( he still puts his all into helping. he tries to make everyone understand that he should be there and that he is talented at what he does and that he's not useless. i think he's trying to convince himself, too

i'm so excited for more jesper pov. i absolutely love this man and i wanna get into his head gdi that beautiful insane little sharpshooter brain

inej... so far she's giving the p much the same vibe as the show so i don't yet have much to comment here (i just love her. anyone who feels anything less than unwavering adoration for inej ghafa is not to be trusted) EXCEPT honorable mention for the absolute thirst that comes over her watching kaz get half naked and bathing himself. the way she just gazes at the water running down his body and his HANDDDSSSS miss ghafa has a hand fetish confirmed good for her good for her good for her

okay okay that's enough for now, i'll be more specific as i go further but i had to get my thoughts so far out somewhere lol anyways im about to continue reading so i'll see ya in the next post~

[bugzbun]

The Nanny x reader p.4

One moring in the Sheffield residence as [y/n] was in the kitchen starting coffee for the morning, as they wiped their slightly damp hands on a kitchen towel, they heard Fran rush down the stairs leading into the kitchen.

Her face seemed flushed and [Y/N] looked at her with a concerned expression, slinging the towel over their shoulder.

"Miss Fine-?" [Y/n] was cut off by Frans frantic hushed yell.

"It's Mr. Sheffield's birthday!!" She exclaimed before her red painted lips turned into a slight pout. "He wasn't even going to say anything.."

Then she gasped suddenly and held onto [Y/n]'s shoulders, a wide grin on her face as she lightly shook them.

"Lets organize a surprise party to make his day special!!"

[Y/n] sighed knowing they'd probably have no say in this, but agreed anyway. Enlisting the help of the Sheffield children to make decorations and Niles tasked to keep the plan under wraps by keeping Mr Sheffield busy. 

 Maggie, assisted [Y/N] in planning the menu for the surprise feast. She shared insights into some of Mr. Sheffield's favorite dishes, and maybe a few of her own. 

As days passed and the day arrived, Fran had gathered everyone in the kitchen for a quick briefing.

The excitement in the air was palpable as Fran shared the final details of the plan.

"Remember, darlings, timing is everything. Niles, keep Mr. Sheffield engaged in that 'urgent business meeting' you concocted. The kids, you'll be in charge of leading him to the garden when the time comes."

Maggie, Brighton, and Gracie nodded eagerly, their eyes reflecting a mix of mischief and anticipation.

"[Y/N], sweetheart," Fran turned to you, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

"You'll be in charge of the pièce de résistance – the birthday cake. I trust your culinary magic will make this celebration unforgettable."

With a confident nod, you accepted the responsibility, determined to create a cake that would not only tantalize taste buds but also serve as a fitting centerpiece for the surprise party

Unknown to them C.C Babcock had heard everything about the cake, and had started cooking her own plan. 

In the kitchen, [Y/N] put the finishing touches on Mr. Sheffields' birthday cake.

The layers were perfectly aligned, and the frosting was just so tempting.

As they stepped back to admire their creation, Fran entered the kitchen with a twinkle in her eye.

"Darling, that cake is a work of art! Mr. Sheffield will be absolutely thrilled."Just as Fran praised [Y/N]'s culinary masterpiece, C.C. Babcock made her entrance, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" C.C. commented, her eyes fixed on the cake. "Quite the culinary delight, [Y/N]."

Fran, ever the optimist, greeted C.C. with a friendly smile.

"C.C., my dear, we're preparing a surprise birthday party for Mr. Sheffield. You're welcome to join the celebration."

C.C. feigned surprise, masking her ulterior motives behind a veneer of congeniality.

"A surprise party, you say? How delightful! I wouldn't miss it for the world." Little did everyone know that C.C. had something up her sleeve.

She saw an opportunity to present herself in a favorable light to Mr. Sheffield by offering a culinary contribution of her own.

As the guests started to gather in the garden, the cake placed at the center of the festivities, [Y/N] couldn't shake a sense that something, was off. Unbeknownst to them, a culinary showdown between [Y/N]'s masterpiece and C.C.'s surprise creation was about to unfold.

The moment had come for the grand reveal of Mr. Sheffield's birthday surprise. The garden was adorned with decorations, and the excitement among the guests was palpable. Fran, with her signature flair. The Sheffield children eagerly awaited their cue to lead Mr. Sheffield to the garden.

 However, the tension in the air was heightened by the unexpected entrance of C.C. Babcock, holding a covered dish with a smug expression.

"Well, [Y/N], it seems we both have culinary surprises for Mr. Sheffield," C.C. remarked, her eyes flickering with mischief.

Fran, ever the peacemaker, tried to diffuse the situation. "Oh, C.C., how wonderful! The more, the merrier. Let's make this celebration unforgettable." With a sly smile, C.C. agreed.

The Sheffield children successfully led Mr. Sheffield to the garden, where the guests erupted in cheers. Mr Sheffield looked aroung on surprise then smiled, hugging his children as Fran clapped happoly next to them. 

As [Y/N] stepped forward with the birthday cake, they couldn't help but feel a mix of pride and anxiety. The guests' eyes were fixed on the masterpiece, eager to witness the grand reveal. However, C.C.'s smug demeanor hinted at a challenge that awaited.

With a dramatic flourish, [Y/N] presented the cake – a culinary work of art that reflected their passion and dedication. The layers, the sweet smell that tickled their senses, and the delicatly placed strawberries  drew admiration from the crowd.

Not to be outdone, C.C. dramatically uncovered her dish, revealing her own, not as elaboratly decorated and seemed a tad burnt. The guests, caught between [Y/N]'s impeccable cake and C.C.'s surprise, were momentarily stunned.

Mr. Sheffield, genuinely touched by the efforts of everyone, took a moment to appreciate both of them. Fran, sensing the tension, tried to lighten the mood.

"Well, Maxwell, it seems you have the privilege of enjoying two treats on your special day!"

As the guests indulged in the cakes, the verdict was clear – [Y/N]'s creation had won the hearts and taste buds of the crowd. C.C.'s surprise was, to put it simply, awful. [Y/n] and Fran had to hide their smiles as C.C tried her own creation before spitting it out and stomping off. 

The surprise birthday party continued with laughter and shared moments, and for [Y/N], they truly felt they became an integral part of the Sheffield household.

A/n: I didn't think anyone would read this, let alone like it- I just did this for fun. Thank you for reading!

[umi-adxhira]

what about a fem MC who is insecure about her stretch marks? with Ellis, Harrison and Liam plssss

I have some of them on my thighs and I can’t help but feel anxious looking at them :,(

𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 | 𝐌𝐂 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐂𝐇

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐒

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: ʜᴀʀʀɪꜱᴏɴ ɢʀᴀʏ, ʟɪᴀᴍ ᴇᴠᴀɴꜱ, ᴇʟʟɪꜱ ᴛᴡɪʟɪɢʜᴛ

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Ellis's is hella short because I wanted fluff and angst takes up literally 90% of these headcanons. It's Ellis + fluff I'm feeding you guys so much you're welcome

𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐊

#𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘

Harrison is a liar. Everyone knows this. Yet, people still believe his lies covered in delicious honey, and end up praying the price

He has no problem in lying to get his way, and he is damn good at it as well. Even you, the "love of his life" are often a victim to his small white lies, harmless, but it created a small, invisible barrier between the both of you, to the point where you can't believe a word he says sincerely

It broke his heart to see you crying silently in your shared room, covered in multiple layers of blankets curled up into a ball with your face buried into your knees

He sits on the edge of bed, softly caressing your head and asking you what's wrong. You told him about your insecurities about your stretch marks, how you felt like this for a long time watching as he didn't even notice

He comes up behind you and cuddles you, holding you tight while burying his face into the back of your neck, singing praises to you and your beauty

But instead of a tear-filled smile, he saw you crying more. He didn't understand why, but you didn't stop feeling sad. Even a month later, compliments at any mundane task you do would always be met with a soft hum, avoided eye contact, and a sad expression

Until one day, he had enough. His heart was breaking, and the more he waited, the more you would drift apart from him. He found you on in the gardens at midnight, where most people in the mansion would be asleep. You were found gazing fondly at the stars, fidgeting with your fingers cutely on your lap

He stood in front of you, his mischievous grin was nowhere to be found, and he stared. He stared until you would notice him

"Do you need something?" Your voice no longer had that warmth to it anymore, but it wasn't cold. More like you were holding something within

"Do you still love me?" Is all he asks. Your eyes widened slightly, and your fingers topped figeting.

"Y—yes, I do!"

"Then what am I doing wrong? Why don't you look at me with that love you did when we first got together?" You pause, tears threatening to spill out. "Ever since I saw you crying that day... every day was torture,"

"I—I..."

"What am I doing wrong?" He repeats, more sternly this time

"...you're a liar, Harrison," Your fingers grip the hem of your skirt, droplets of years falling on the back of your hand. "Do you know what it's like to be with someone who's a world-class manipulator? Someone who's words shouldn't be trusted, someone who should be avoided at all costs. Every day on the streets, people gossip that you don't love me, you're using me for an ulterior motive,"

"But I'm not, I—"

"AND HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT?" You yell, covering your mouth with your hand as you realise what you have done, sobs escaping your lips

A single tear escapes Harrison's eyes, kneeling down on the ground opposite you. He takes your hands and brings them to his lips, kissing each figner tenderly. He then reaches to wipe the tears from your eyes

"I know I'm a liar. But for you, I would change it in a heartbeat. If I could go back to the day I met you, I would have never lied to you, made you feel like you couldn't trust me," He gently lifts your shirt, to see your stomach, with the stretch marks he saw you crying about that day. He holds your waist, pushing you towards the edge of your seat so Harrison can kiss every mark riddled on your tummy. "They're beautiful. You're beautiful," He repeats over and over again.

"I'm sorry for—"

"You've done nothing wrong, my dear," He says, resuming to kissing your stomach, nuzzling his nose in certain areas. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I promise to love and cherish you through sickness and in health. For richer and for poorer, till death do us part,"

#𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐒

Liam is famous. Well, he's a handsome stage actor, stealing the hearts of thousands of men and females alike in his act of the art

So you, his beloved, have made many appearances as his lover. Sometimes, at the end of his plays, Liam would rush over to the audience and carry you over to the stage, giving you a performance for all to see, watching as you smile and giggle which makes his heart flutter

He thinks you're the most beautiful angel in the world...

So tell me, why does he see you gloomy at the ball you guys were invited to, watching as hot, beautiful women practically throw themselves at him. He is never one to be mean towards his fans, you know this, right?

What he doesn't notice is the beautiful duchess stalking her way towards you, sending death glares your way as you shrink into your corner under her dark gaze

She looks at you up and down with a judging look, "So this is who Liam decides to spend the rest of his life with. What a pity," She doesn't bother to acknowledge your feelings, continuing her assault, "I saw his performance a few weeks ago, where you ended up on stage singing with him. Other than your horrid voice, your stomach is adorned with revolting stretch marks. Why, a woman should be perfect in every way. Do you think Liam is going to stay with someone as ugly as you? Please, dont be silly,"

As she walks away from you, you can't help but let a small tear slip from your eyelids. You quickly catch it before it ruins your makeup, fixing yourself up before you make your way to the gardens. That day after that scene was a quiet one

The next few months, Liam was sad. You would always attend his plays, but when it was time to call you to the stage, you disappeared. Hell, he even caught you trying to leave one time in the last few minutes of the play

That night, you entered your shared bedroom to see your beloved standing next to the bed. He should be at rehersal. What's he doing here?

His arms were crossed, and a small, angry pout was placed on his lips. Like a child losing an argument to an adult. You found it cute, but you didn't admit it

"Liam—?"

"Are you okay?" He interrupts you

"Of course, I'm fine. Why would you ask?"

Liam sees through your lies, making his way towards you. He picks you up bridal style, placing you gently on the bed. He straddles your waist and peppers kisses all over your face

"You," peck. "Are," peck. "Sad," peck. "What," peck. "Is," peck. "Wrong," peck.

He stops kissing your face, unbuttoning your shirt, and starts kissing your body. From your neck to your breasts, everywhere was littered in his kisses

He got to your stomach, kissing your stretch marks carefully with so much love and care. You started tearing up. Hearing your whimpers, Liam raised his head to wipe your tears

"Am I ugly?" You ask through your sobs

He kisses your lips, the salty taste of your tears swirls around in his mouth, "No, my angel. You are the most beautiful person in the world to me. Your beauty outshines everyone else's by light years. And you're mine," He kneels down to kiss your stretch marks again, "All mine,"

#𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

You and your boyfriend lay on the bed, his hand stroking your hair as you draw circles on his back. You are quiet in each other's embrace, a comfortable silence that you wish no one would take from you

"Are you happy, my dear?" His soft-spoken words reach your ears

You raise your head to look into his violet eyes, twinkling in the twilight. You guess his surname fits him very well

"Very happy," You respond with a giggle

"I'm glad... have you thought about the future?" His question throws you off. But nonetheless, you're answer is clear

"Yes I have,"

"What is it?"

"I don't mind on the future I have. As long as it's with you. You're my home, I'll be happy anywhere as long as you're by my side," You're satisfied with your answer, hearing Ellis's chuckle from above proves that he is happy on your answer

"Me too... me too. I love every part of you, you know. Your eyes, you're neck," His fingers graze your neck, causing you to slightly shudder in his hold. "Your chest," His fingers glide down to your boobs, softly squeezing it. "Your thighs," Going down once again, his hand finds your legs, lifting his your shirt to fondly caress your bare thighs, tracing your stretch marks

"You don't think they're ugly?"

"Of course not. They're a part of you, so I love them," His mand makes it's way inside your thighs, where the multiple hickies have taken home there. "They're fading..."

"Huh? Oh yeah,"

He flips you on your back, spreading your legs apart and traces the fading bruises, "Looks like I need to mark them again,"

"Yes, that would make me happy"

©️umi-adxhira [17/07/2023]

[sugarskies]

The Deca S1E2: The New Magnus || Recorded Changes

Rewrote select paragraphs.

Switched passive voice to active.

Minor word changes.

Added dialogue between Jelpax and Vansell.

Renamed "Jared" (just for shits and giggles).

Grammatical corrections.

Adjusted dialogue between Drax and Magnus.

Added lore about Gallifreyan video games.

Significantly edited the last two scenes.

Final Word Count: -125

Barnable's Behind-the-Scenes Babbles

as mentioned once way back when, epsilon was originally a parody character created for a roleplay i did with a friend over a decade ago. he was actually my friend's character but i was given complete creative control over him when i asked to use him in a story a while after the roleplay ended. had i known how this fic would've blown up, i probably would not have added him in the series. he kind of makes me cringe.

in the 3rd or so draft of the deca, the one that became what you know today, i started this as chapter two. i did not get past the first scene back then but it actually remains pretty similar to this day.

jelpax references a brother named "syds." i thought for sure i had used his full (shortened) name at some point already but ctrl+f shows i haven't. so for those wondering (aka nobody), syds is short for sydnes.

do the deca genuinely want magnus to change? or is their natural response simply to fuck with him? i no longer remember my intention if i had one but i am inclined to believe the latter.

i can't remember why i put a goat in this. it was perhaps inspired by a writing prompt. either way, i have chosen to embrace it by leaning into the recurring joke/question in the chapter that is, "are there even goats on gallifrey?" the world may never know.

someone mentioned once that video games on gallifrey don't make much sense. i thought about that a lot. they really don't make sense. but this is a fun story so i won't take them out. instead we'll just add a silly little layer of ulterior motives to their existence.

rallon steals the show in this chapter. he says he's boring but rereading for the first time in 5 years, all my favorite moments in this chapter are my favorites because of him.

(that said i'm also fond of the moment drax drops his homework in a puddle and when theta panics at being trapped in the room with the goat. but that's more because of how i see it in my mind than how it's written, i think.)

i realized while revising this that the video games have returned for exactly one plot since this chapter. that's from memory and i do not know if the plotline was ever mentioned outside of that. i have taken note of this for the future.

also on the topic of the video games, i added that dialogue where mortimus pondered black market video games. now i am pondering black market video games. should that be the story where the video game saga comes to a close? tbd.

overall this chapter was pretty standalone. i found no questions left unanswered and only the video games as an open plot. unless you count the goat... but maybe that's better left a mystery.

[avcnturine]

　　　　◟ ♠　canon point update　/　2.2

as of last night, i've completed the 2.2 trailblaze quest, so we can now bring an end to schrodinger's aventurine, aka. " how tf is he taking part in gh stuff while being in the shadow realm ", to which i've been so far responding " just don't think about it it'll hopefully be cleared up soon 😭 "

aventurine will now be pulled from post—2.2. this is effective immediately in all ongoing threads, though i'll of course keep spoilers out if the other mun hasn't finished yet.

if you haven't finished the 2.2 quest: the spoiler-free tl;dr is that nothing about interacting with aventurine will change in any huge way. carry on, business as usual. characters who met him in the penacony story may now factor in and reference any events, including the boss fight at the end of 2.1 and after.

further details concerning the interpretation and incorporation of new content below:

heavy 2.2 trailblaze quest spoilers ahead. highly recommend not reading until you've finished the whole quest.

aventurine's intent was not just to unearth the secrets that the family was keeping about the other side of the dreamscape ( i.e. the memory zone meme and the existence of dreamflux reef ) but also to unearth the big secret: the existence of ena's dream. so there's two layers of " get to the other side of the dream " that he was performing here 　

thus, the ipc — and aventurine — knew of the existence of ena's dream at the outset, and the angle was always to find a way to expose it and wake everyone up ( and in a way that would give the ipc leverage for negotiations or seizure of penacony — this was the crux of aventurine's plan with how he stages his own death ). this means that the ipc's goal and acheron / black swan's goal through the story was the same, just that the ipc also had an ulterior motive 　

to that end, aventurine was at least partly lucid dreaming throughout the events of penacony's story, in a similar fashion to acheron. i think that he slips back and forth between how aware he was of this at given moments, with the moment that it definitely clicks again for him being the conversation with sparkle after being trapped by sunday 　

acheron severs him from ena's dream with the blade slash, and the nihility space he ends up in afterwards, and their conversation there, all take place outside the loop of ena's dream. we don't know what he does in the time between that scene and the end of the quest, whether he returns to ena's dream or not, and i'm choosing not to try to fill that span of time for now because it's just a complete black box and there's just nothing to extrapolate from EDIT: according to his daily text, aventurine then fell into the "primordial dreamscape", apparently a place with heavy nihility contamination, enough to have shattered the remnants of his cornerstone. this is also where he meets argenti who seemingly rescues him. i believe this all takes place outside ena's dream 　

aventurine no longer possesses the aventurine stone. it's destroyed. with that, he's lost preservation's blessing as a stoneheart. what that exactly entails is unclear. the only tangible change in powers / abilities i can guess right now is that he is probably(?) no longer capable of doing his foul legacy gundam transformation, but unless otherwise shown, i'll be assuming there's no impact on his normal pathstrider abilities

[lordstarscreamluvsspikes]

Starscream x Megatron (fluff)

Idk here's something short/little details for my first story on here (I also need help idk how to get a PFP on here because it doesn't allow any apps I have to use pictures 💀)

Rating: Everyone

In the heart of Cybertron, where the stars cast their twinkling glow upon the metallic landscape, an uneasy alliance simmered between the formidable Megatron and the cunning Starscream. Their interactions had always been a clash of wills, each vying for power and dominance within the Decepticon ranks.

Megatron, towering and resolute, held the reins of leadership with an iron grip, while Starscream, with his sharp intellect and unwavering ambition, perpetually schemed to usurp his leader's throne.

"Starscream," Megatron's voice rumbled across the command chamber, his optics fixed on the schematics spread before them. "Your loyalty wavers like the wind. When will you learn to heed my counsel without ulterior motives?"

Starscream, his crimson optics flashing with a mix of defiance and calculation, retorted, "Respect must be earned, Megatron. It cannot be commanded. And your trust is not easily gained."

Their exchanges were fraught with tension, fueled by a history of betrayal and distrust. Yet, beneath the layers of rivalry, there existed a mutual understanding of each other's strengths and weaknesses.

In an unexpected turn of events, a critical mission brought Megatron and Starscream together, forcing them to rely on each other's expertise. Reluctantly, Starscream offered his insights, his pride begrudgingly giving way to necessity.

"Your strategies are as sharp as ever, Starscream," Megatron acknowledged, a rare hint of admiration lacing his words.

"And your power is unmatched, Megatron," Starscream replied, his tone slightly less acerbic.

As they spent more time collaborating, a subtle shift occurred in their dynamic. Conversations turned from confrontations to discussions, from taunts to mutual respect. They found themselves in moments of unexpected camaraderie amidst the chaos of their existence.

One cycle, during a lull in their ceaseless battles, Megatron approached Starscream, optics softened, a rare display of vulnerability shining through.

"Starscream, I have come to realize the folly of my ways," Megatron admitted, his voice tinged with an uncharacteristic sincerity. "I see now the value of your loyalty and intellect. I vow to earn your trust anew and promise never to inflict harm upon you again."

Starscream regarded Megatron with a mix of skepticism and surprise, the faintest glimmer of hope stirring within him. "Words are easy, Megatron. Actions speak louder."

Megatron's resolve was unwavering. "Then watch me, Starscream. Judge me by my deeds."

As cycles passed, Megatron stayed true to his promise. He listened to Starscream's counsel, considered his opinions, and refrained from the tyrannical behavior that had defined him in the past.

In moments away from the battlefield, amidst the quiet hum of Cybertron's machinery, they found themselves discussing matters beyond conquest. Shared stories from their pasts emerged, vulnerabilities laid bare, forging an unexpected bond between them.

"I never imagined we could find common ground," Starscream confessed, a rare vulnerability coloring his words.

"And I never thought I could find trust in another," Megatron admitted, his usual commanding demeanor softened by a newfound tenderness.

Their relationship blossomed against all odds. What began as a fragile truce transformed into a deep connection. They laughed together, argued less, and discovered shared passions and interests.

"I never thought I'd say this, Megatron, but I enjoy our moments like these," Starscream admitted, a hint of warmth in his usually cool tone.

"As do I, Starscream," Megatron confessed, a rare smile gracing his stern features.

Their love story, born from a history of conflict and betrayal, became a testament to resilience and transformation. They navigated the complexities of their relationship, their bond strengthening with each passing cycle.

"I promise to protect you, Starscream. I swear it," Megatron vowed, his optics locking with Starscream's.

"And I trust you, Megatron," Starscream whispered, a confession laden with years of doubt now replaced with newfound faith.

Their love, once inconceivable amidst the chaos of war, became a beacon of hope for the Decepticons. In each other's arms, Starscream and Megatron found solace, proving that even the deepest scars could heal, and from the ashes of distrust, love could arise triumphant.