#i feel like at some point it would have to stop working just by virtue of dracula being like ‘a crucifix against the vampire? groundbreaking

[psqqa]

okay i was wondering how they were going to sterilise 50 boxes worth of dirt, but they just meant adding extra jesus 😒

[yandere-romanticaa]

Recently, the surge of AI has caught everyone's attention and I've been working on this little experiment.

Down below the cut are two fics and this is how I planned it - one was made up by using AI (more specifically, Chat Gpt) while the other one was written by yours truly. Below both fics will be a poll and I would like for you, my dear readers, to guess which one was AI. Personally, I don't think it'll be a difficult challenge but seeing your reactions and comments on this should prove to be an interesting endeavor.

This was posted on April 17th. And, in 7 days, I shall reveal which fic was written by me, and which one was done by AI.

Now then, let's get on with the show.

🥀 Story One.

In the dimly lit alleyways of Yokohama, Fyodor Dostoevsky stalks his obsession, (y/n), with unwavering determination. His fixation transcends reason, driving him to extreme lengths to possess (y/n)'s affection.

Fyodor's obsession with (y/n) began innocently enough, a mere curiosity sparked by their untapped potential and innocence. But as time passed, that curiosity twisted into an all-consuming desire, festering within Fyodor's mind like a venomous serpent.

Each night, Fyodor would follow (y/n) from a distance, his heart pounding with anticipation and longing. He would watch as (y/n) laughed with their friends, oblivious to the dark presence lurking in the shadows.

But Fyodor's love was not the gentle, nurturing kind. It was possessive, suffocating, and dangerously obsessive. He couldn't bear the thought of (y/n) belonging to anyone but him, couldn't stand the idea of anyone else basking in the warmth of (y/n)'s smile.

As his obsession deepened, Fyodor's mind became consumed with dark fantasies of possessing (y/n) completely. He would spend hours meticulously planning every detail of their future together, envisioning a life where they were inseparable.

But fantasies were not enough for Fyodor. He needed to make them a reality, no matter the cost. And so, he began to weave a web of deception and manipulation, carefully orchestrating events to bring (y/n) closer to him and drive away anyone who dared to stand in their way.

But as Fyodor's plans grew more elaborate, so too did the danger. (y/n)'s friends grew suspicious of Fyodor's intentions, sensing something sinister lurking beneath his charming facade. And as they delved deeper into Fyodor's past, they uncovered secrets that threatened to unravel his carefully constructed world.

But Fyodor was not about to let anyone come between him and his beloved. He would do whatever it took to protect their love, even if it meant resorting to violence.

🥀 Story Two.

Shimmering waves of starlight engulfed the man in white as he monitored his target from a safe distance, hollow purple eyes gleaming with excitement. He could feel his long fingers twitching with anticipation in his warm pockets, a stark contrast to the chilly wind on this fine spring evening.

He needed to be patient. Because patience was indeed, a virtue.

And Fyodor was a virtuous man. Perhaps not a good one, but he would gladly take the title of virtue.

Would you bestow upon him such a title? Would you do so, if you ever found out that he had taken such a keen interest in you? The rational part in his mind said no, of course not. Unlike him, you were blessed with normalcy. There was nothing extraordinary about you - no ability, no wealth, no status.

Nothing.

You could have been squished like a bug beneath his heel and the world would just keep on going as it always would. Sure, there would be some individuals who would miss you dearly but even they would move on at some point.

Such was the nature of humanity. How cruel, he thought to himself.

Fortunately for you, Fyodor was no ordinary man. Despite his predicament, he had grown fond of you. He was not sure why but after a while, he stopped asking such trifling questions as to why he troubled himself by giving you so much attention.

It was pointless to make sense of the senseless.

Right here, right now, all he wanted was to enjoy this quiet evening by his lonesome, as he tailed behind you like a creeping shadow. He would reveal himself to you properly when the time was right, when he felt you were strong enough to take him.

Fyodor just needed to wait a little bit longer, just long enough to see how he should proceed with you in case things went south.

In the meantime, he would gladly spend every waking moment simply watching you for his own personal pleasure.

🥀 TAGS: @yanroma, @oneoftheprettynerds, @misdollface, @sxy0ung, @rosemary108233, @c4xcocoa, @gettinshiggywithit, @ophticcus, @lakxcpsta, @ranposgirlboss, @robinaxolotl, @acornwinter, @enoojnij, @ishqani, @osachiyo, @bluepeanutharmony, @kaithegremlin, @fyodorscockslut, @wcayaw, @luna-mariko-akatsuki, @lovelyyz, @queenofspades403

APRIL 24TH - Story One is AI.

[ghouljams]

Friend, I found the funniest writing prompt on Pinterest and immediately thought about your cowboy!AU. I know you have a lot of asks, but I couldn’t just let the opportunity to share it with you slip between my little fingers.

« I never thought my day would start with a goat, but… Here I am. With a motherfucking goat. »

For some reason, I can picture Ghost saying this, with a very deadpan look and tone of voice. If it took place in the past cowboy!au, where he is quite obviously enamoured with Goose but also still quite clumsy around her, it would probably be even funnier ?

Or Bee. Who doesn’t really know how to handle the farm life, but is still trying. With König looking at the goat in her arms like - « well, time to go get some wooden planks then. »

I can’t stop cackling at those scenarios I’ve got in mind. I hope they will make you laugh too x)

1870's!Ghost my beloved. He's so off his game with Goose despite being head over heels for her.

"You know when you said you had a surprise for me this isn't what I had in mind," Ghost tells you, holding the new born kid in his arms close to his chest. Both his muscular arms hold the little goat as it bleats, the poor kid looking so much smaller when held by such a giant of a man.

"You know this isn't exactly my version of a perfect morning," You tell him, soothing the new mother goat. You think she's got another one in her, which makes you a little nervous for her. You like this goat, be a shame to lose her.

"Never thought I'd be starting my day with a goat," Ghost gripes.

"What did you think? That I was bringing you out to the barn to take my fuckin-" You glance over your shoulder at him, the sharp heat in his eyes when he looks at you, "Oh my god you thought I wanted to fuck you in the barn!"

"Did not," He insists. You scoff, and turn your attention back to the goat.

"You think the barn is a good spot to take a lady's virtue?" You call over your shoulder.

"Course not," Ghost's voice is rough, even, he's stating a fact, "unless the lady asked."

"I'm not askin'," You throw back in annoyance. This isn't exactly how you wanted to start your morning either.

"Don't wanna fuck ya in the barn," Ghost grumbles, his voice low enough you could almost ignore it. You don't. You glare over your shoulder at him, he glares back. He's lucky you're sweet on him or you'd make him sleep in the barn. Damn pretty boy.

"You wanna wait 'til we're married like a gentleman, right?" You snap at him.

"Gonna marry you anyway, what's the point waitin'," He snaps back.

"What?" You frown, not expecting him to agree with you. Simon holds your gaze firm, still glaring. You blink, trying to come up with something to say back that isn't "I didn't know you wanted to marry me" or something similar. But you also... didn't know he wanted to marry you, you'd meant it as a joke.

You feel another contraction as you pet you're goat's stomach and transfer your attention back to her. Maybe if you keep your focus on your work you won't be able to feel Simon's eyes staring holes through you. Patiently impatient.

He's going to marry you, just you fucking wait.

[bunnysbrainrot]

If You Change Your Mind - Ch. 3

Relationship: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Content: explicit sexual content, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (no glove, no love. be safe!)

Summary: After resolving some of the tension between you and Dean, you’ve made your way to his room. Finally, with the moment you both had waited for, he can take his time with you.

A/N: hi everyone! thank you for all the support on chapters one and two. i hope this serves as a good final chapter for this little series. my brain is soup, so i didn’t proofread, but i can later.

In your gut, you had a feeling this would happen eventually. Well, maybe not precisely like this. You and Dean held pent up tension with one another for months now. For the both of you, it had been excruciating. Your brain had been swimming in thoughts over the intimacy with the eldest Winchester brother; would, and should, things go back to normal after this?

But now, you couldn’t collect yourself to think about it. Not with the way Dean was touching you, his rough hands gliding gently over your thighs and ass. Your lips had been locked with his neck for minutes now while he toyed with you equally so. His skin tasted of salt and his woodsy musk. It drove you mad. Dean’s occasional breathy moans told you you were doing this correctly, the perfect way to egg him on.

Dean’s voice mumbled against your ear, “What are you doing to me, baby?”

You couldn’t hide the smile against the soft flesh under his jaw. A trail of kisses later meandered to his earlobe. You caught it between your teeth, suckling and tugging until Dean’s breaths quickened.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you said softly, tangling your fingers loosely in his hair. While on one hand, you wanted to take things slow; you wanted to draw this out, to remember it for as long as possible. To feel every inch of your skin littered with his kisses, to be lapped up achingly slow between your legs.

On the other hand, the tense feeling in your sex begged for more. For things to go faster, to finally have Dean in the way he always desired.

Dean wouldn’t waste this opportunity, whether this was the only time or simply the first. With the urgency of your kisses, he knew you had grown impatient all this time.

A stray hand had snaked from Dean’s hair straight to his waist, but it was soon tugged away. You whined in protest against his skin. If he wanted this, too, why was he stopping you?

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, sweetheart,” Deans’s voice vibrated against your ear. You sat up fully, using his hard length to move your hips in slow thrusts.

Through a groan, Dean explained, “We both want this, I get that. But, I need to take time with you.”

Between panting breaths you questioned him, “Dean, we’ve been… waiting for this… for so long. I don’t wanna go slow.”

Truly getting a sense of your impatience had Dean debating on how to continue. A devilish smirk tugged at his lips.

“We’ll have more time. Trust me, with the way you’re kissin’ me, ain’t no way we’re doing this just once,” Dean’s fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt. God, you had never looked tempting. Your flushed face, pebbled nipples poking through your shirt, your bare legs wrapped around his hips and grinding on his cock. Absolutely breathtaking.

You began to reach for your shirt, peeling it off of you to reveal yourself to him. Dean spoke in a gentle whisper, tugging your hands back down.

“Slow it down, babydoll. We gotta teach you some patience.”

It was one of the most excruciating virtues, patience. Every fiber of your body wanted him now, there seemed to be no point in waiting.

“Trust me,” Dean assured you, sliding a hand up your bare thigh. You arched your back, slowly falling apart as his hands worked their magic. “Just lemme take my time, I’ll give you everything.”

Acquiescing, you slowly tugged your shirt over your head and dropped it at the foot of the bed. Dean’s eyes glued to your body, taking in your naked form. If he had any less self control he would’ve taken you then and there, flipping you over and devouring every inch of you like it was his last meal. He steadied his breathing and let his hands move up your torso toward your bare chest.

“This is what I had been missing out on this whole time. Damn, I’m a dumbass.”

You laughed, “Well, at least you can make it up to me, right?”

“Oh, I fully intend to, don’t you worry,” he replied enthusiastically. Dean delivered a slap to your ass, giggling when you yelped in response. You gave him a glare before rolling your hips on his, reminding Dean that just how equally you could rile him up.

“C’mere,” muttered Dean, tugging your face down to his. With your bodies flush together he ground into you, his cock providing you the gut-clenching friction you craved. You moaned into his mouth, drowned out by way your lips tangled together.

Dean trailed a finger down your back, past your ass, and inward toward your aching cunt. Your hips bucked into his touch, earning you another soft laugh from him. At this point, your desperation for him wasn’t shameful, it was his call to action. Painfully slow with his movements Dean dipped a finger between your slick folds, growling lowly into your busy mouth.

He pulled away enough to taunt you, “Oh, honey, you’re soaked. Just from me touchin’ you, huh?”

You whimpered in agreement as his fingers explored further. Every inch of your skin felt like it was on fire. Every sensible thought had left you, only driven by the primal need in your throbbing sex. Dean dipped a finger into your entrance, easily slipping into your warm walls.

Desperately grinding against him, Dean formed another idea. He wove his free arm behind your back and pressed you tightly against his solid chest. Another whine escaped you as you wriggled against the pressure. Regardless, Dean was intent on your pleasure, curling his digit to strike your g-spot. Adding a second finger stretched you out further - Dean needed to make sure you were ready to take him fully.

The new sensation pulled a filthy moan from your throat. His mouth curled into a raunchy smile against your own, before slipping his tongue past your lips and explore you further. Each passing second made it harder for you to contain yourself; it was torture in the best way imaginable.

After a few moments, Dean picked up his pace to a steady rhythm. You mewled sweet noises into his mouth, against his chest and neck while his fingers took you over. A familiar coil tightened as you neared your first climax, your hips frantically moving against Dean’s fingers to release it.

“Come on, baby girl, that’s it. Show me whatcha got.”

His voice sent you entirely over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you like lightning. The strokes against your walls never stopped; the overstimulation left you helpless, biting into Dean’s shoulder to ride it out.

“Attagirl, good job,” cooed Dean. The praise drove your senses absolutely wild.

God, if this was just from his fingers, you couldn’t last long.

To your dismay, Dean removed his fingers, now soaked fully in your juices. He loosened his grip on your torso and placed the fingers he had used to make those sweet sounds to your lips. You took them in happily, swirling your tongue to taste the way he made you feel. He groaned, eyes half lidded in pure desire. The way that your mouth wrapped around him was mystifying.

“If you gimme the same treatment somewhere else, you might just break me, honey.”

You removed your mouth with a small pop, “If that’s gonna break you, then I don’t think you could handle me.”

He gave you a full smile, “Well, I guess I’ll just have to prove ya wrong, then.”

Dean set his thumb to your bottom lip, coaxing you to open your mouth. Your lips parted to let him set his thumb on your tongue - it was smooth, intuitive feeling to give this finger the same treatment. Making Dean’s face change into something more desperate fueled you like a fire.

“You got such a pretty mouth, sweetheart,” said Dean, “wonder what else it could do.”

Smiling, ecstatic for a change of pace, you left Dean’s thumb and shifted downward off of his legs. A shake of the head from Dean told you that this isn’t where he imagined you taking him into your mouth.

He stood, walking to the foot of the bed, with just enough room for you ahead of him. With him standing it was evident what the foreplay had done to him. His pants strained and warped around his erection, with Dean slowly pumping its length at the sight of you now crawling over to him. You kneeled at the perfect height; you were at the perfect spot for Dean to relish in the way your mouth looked wrapped around his cock.

You gripped onto his pajama shorts and awaited Dean’s instruction. If that was going the be the dynamic, there would be absolutely no issues for you. All you had imagined with Dean was letting go of the stress, for him to take control, and to let yourself lose your mind while he did so. He could have every morsel of your being and you would never refuse. By all means to you, you were utterly his.

Dean’s fingers raked through your hair, greeting you with a suave smile, “Never could’ve imagined how pretty you look like this.”

The praise was foreign, filling you with a sense of pride that issued you the perfect amount of confidence to reach for the drawstring on his pants. Gazing straight into his eyes you tugged his pants down, springing him free.

Just as you had thought, he was big. The sheer sight of him made your sex ache - ample length, sure, but the girth of Dean’s cock sent a hover through you. Eager, you licked a wide stripe up his length, drawing out a deep groan from him. Your lips wrapped around his thick head, tongue meeting the underside and delivering some special attention.

Fuck, at this rate, Dean was falling apart, self control diminishing with every bob of your head and intent eye contact. The hand he tangled into your hair tightened its grip, urging you to keep going. You hollowed your cheeks to give more suction, followed by another string of muttered sweet nothings from Dean.

“Fuuuck, that’s good.”

“Attagirl, just like that.”

“Good girl, taking me in like that.”

Everything he said worsened the situation between your legs; one hand held the rest of his length your mouth neglected, the other reaching down to your throbbing cunt. Panting now, Dean lifted his shirt and discarded it in some unknown place. You paid no mind, it seemed impossible to keep track considering the position you were in.

Your fingers drew small circles over your swollen clit, making you moan around Dean’s cock. He let out a breathy moan in reply.

“Playing with yourself? Dirty girl.”

You couldn’t decide which you liked better from Dean: his sweet praises or teasing degradation. Either way, your stomach tensed at his words. His grip on your hair tightened enough to bring a sharp moan around his length. Dean’s hips bucked forward, the head of his cock prodding the back of your throat.

Determined on his pleasure you pushed yourself onto him further, his size making you gag and your jaw ache with soreness. None of that discomfort mattered when Dean’s face twisted into that breathtaking expression. Eyes snapped shut, mouth agape and panting, head tilted back in ecstasy.

You worked your mouth on Dean for minutes on end, taking the occasional break to regain your breath. Every time, he coaxed you gently to take your time, that you could take it easy. You took his advice, readying yourself more fully each time you resumed.

Although you couldn’t get enough, it was Dean who needed you more desperately now than ever. He tugged you slowly off of him with a pop of your mouth, wiping the spit that coated your chin. You gave him a proud smile. Dean leaned over, crashing his lips into yours with fervor. His hands meandered to the back of your thighs, lifting you from your kneeling to wrapping your legs around his waist.

————

Sprawled open in the middle of the bed, your clenched legs invited Dean closer. Without his help this was the easiest way to give yourself the friction on your needy clit. Dean’s lips peppered kisses up the length of your thighs, leading himself to where you needed him most.

He wrapped his arms around your thighs, tugging your heat ever closer to his mouth.

“Dean..” you breathed, “Please… I need you.”

“I know, sweetheart. Just be patient for me,” he smiled at your urgency, licking a wide stripe through your soaked folds. You whined at his touch, his lips suckling around the sensitive nub with a quick tongue lapping up everything spilling from your pussy. Dean groaned in response to each moan, every one higher and higher pitched than the last as he worked you closer to another climax. You shuddered, your cunt fluttering around nothing, to your disdain. You needed him - something, anything, to fill you.

The way Dean inserted a finger into you left you convinced he was telepathic. Each of your wishes, he fulfilled as if reading you like a book. A whine left you while Dean curled his finger upward like he had done masterfully before, pushing you to the brink. Your orgasm reverberated through you, that shattering feeling making your walls clench onto Dean’s finger.

“That’s it,” he muttered, breaking away from your drenched pussy, “There we go, honey, come for me.”

You gazed down at him breathlessly, his eyes never leaving yours. Still in the shockwaves of your orgasm you rolled your hips into his finger as it slowly pumped in and out of you. The wet sounds coming from your entrance were lewd, borderline filthy. Dean’s cock throbbed with each wanton moan you sang into the room.

He needed you, and it killed him to wait any longer. Dean left your pussy empty and made his way up your body, wiping his chin of your slick juices.

He gave you a smug smile, “You feelin’ okay, sweetheart?”

Too breathless to reply you gave him a quick nod. Dean lowered himself to your lips, the thick head of his cock teasing your entrance. You desperately bucked your hips, teasing his through across your slit to your swollen clit, shockwaves roiling through you.

Your tone matched the desperation of your aching cunt, “Please, Dean. I cant wait anymore…”

He simply smiled, eyeing you carefully as he pushed his hips forward. Inch by inch, he filled you slowly. You both let out a long winded moan as Dean stretched you out, stuffing you with his length to the hilt. You had never felt more full than you did with Dean now. Fuck, this is what you had been missing out on?

“God damn, you’re fuckin’ tight, you know that?” Dean panted, “Perfect little pussy, taking me all the way like this.”

His praise had you clenching around his cock, drawing another groan from the both of you. Dean’s hips moved in a languid pattern of slow thrusts, followed by deeper strokes that struck your cervix in a mind-boggling wave of pleasure. With each moan he picked up the pace, desperate to hear each sound that came from your slacked mouth. His lips met yours, taking in each moan while you took every thrust, each one harder than the last until the only sound in the room was the wet slap of your hips colliding.

He broke away from your mouth, your mewls echoing around the room.

“I know, sweetheart. Feels good, huh? Stuffed nice and full with cock.”

You whined in response, your walls fluttering around him as another climax took over your vision, tunneled in pleasure.

“Perfect little fuck toy, taking me so well.”

Like a thunderstorm, your orgasms were relentless, completely wracking your body. You nails dug into Dean’s shoulders, pulling a growl from his throat.

“Dirty girl, gettin’ off from that,” he uttered, “desperate little slut.”

That was all it took to push you to the brink, wrapping tightly around his cock as you came once again. Dean’s hips sputtered more with each thrust, fully falling apart while your walls fluttered through each orgasm.

“Shit, baby, if you’re not careful-”

You couldn’t help it - the way you tensed around him, every muscle working to pull him further into you, to feel each thrust slam into your cervix. The way he stretched you made you sore, but the way the head of his cock struck your g-spot left your head spinning.

His thrusts became sloppier, verging on animalistic. Each stroke sent the two of you closer and closer to that final release.

With a sharp moan, you clenched around Dean’s length while you came again, harder than ever before. The way he was crumbling above you sent a thrill of pride to your gut. Unraveling Dean Winchester to the breaking point was no easy feat, but your warm walls were threatening to milk him dry.

“Shit,” Dean said urgently, quickly pulling out of you with a hiss through his teeth. He gave himself a few quick strokes and finally fell apart, thick ropes of his seed spurting across your stomach. He rode out his high, breath trembling as he gained his composure. Your chest heaved as you slowed your breathing, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin.

Dean settled himself and stood, headed to an adjoining bathroom. A moment later he returned, a warm washcloth in hand. He did you the favor of cleaning you up, doing so gently and expertly so. Now completely clean, the two of you laid side by side, catching your breath.

You broke the silence, “You’re right, you were a dumbass for waiting this long.” Dean laughed out his reply.

“Trust me, I’m already kicking myself in the ass for it. Won’t wait it out anymore, though.”

His fingers tangled into yours, squeezing reassuringly. You turned to him and gifted him a signature grin. Dean didn’t know what it was about your smile that made his insides turn to jelly, but he promised himself a while ago that he would do anything in his power to keep you smiling. To see you happy.

And now he had the chance to do that every day; the thought made him match your grin with one of his own, lopsided and giddy with pure joy.

You tugged the blankets over the two of you, scooting yourself flush with Dean’s chest.

“Can I stay here tonight?” You asked softly.

Dean planted a kiss on the crown of your head.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Hi everyone! Thanks so much for reading. I worry that my wording may have become redundant and repetitive, so I apologize if this didn’t read very well. I’m still working out some kinks from when my brain short circuits and I can’t switch things up. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! My requests are open - feel free to give series ideas, oneshot concepts, or simply to ask a question!

much love,

- Bunny

[genericpuff]

All That Glitters is Not Feminism - An Analysis of LO's Brand of "Feminism" and What Remains of its Fanbase (A Prologue)

So I referenced a certain article in a recent reblog/ask response and I just need to talk about it because what the actual fuck-

This has to have been written by either a bot or a hater who's reached peak god tier level at playing the long con sarcasm game because NOTHING about this feels sincere or even factual. Much of it almost has to be read in a mocking tone for it to make any real sense.

It says "Lore Olympus" (literally in quotations) in just about every single paragraph over and over again and every single talking point revolves EXCLUSIVELY around Persephone, which I suppose comes as no surprise considering that seems to be all the comic - and its fanbase - cares about at this point.

I really love (/s) how Persephone's "evolution" is being naive and then 'blossoming' into an independent woman who relies entirely on the rich man who groomed her to solve all her problems.

Also all she's done since becoming Queen of the Underworld is abuse lower class people. That's the stuff feminist dreams are made of <3

While we're talking about the main leads, "poster child" is definitely a word for Hades, I think a more appropriate term would be "literal child". And boy howdy, 'god of consent' sure is a title to give the guy who ripped out a lower class satyr's eyeball and beat him half to death.

This man owns slaves, btw. And both he and his "powerful wife" are equally horrible to lower class people, especially women.

This is hands-down the funniest section of the article and we're only three bullet points in.

Thetis and Persephone have never even so much as spoken one word to each other outside of the courtroom that Thetis technically put her in after plotting against her for an entire season.

Eros is a man. Nothing wrong with that but it comes with the unintentional icky hilarity of implying that because Eros is the gay best friend, that means he's a woman.

They literally don't read this fucking comic-

Everyone always relies on this weird talking point of Demeter not being able to "let Persephone go"... y'all, she just didn't want Persephone to outright move to Olympus, she wanted her to commute. That was it! That was literally the only problem! She wasn't preventing Persephone from pursuing a higher education or telling her she wasn't allowed to work, she literally fucking encouraged it! And with the added later context of Persephone killing a bunch of mortals - and, ironically, the fact that Persephone was assaulted/put in harm's way by TWO SEPARATE MEN in the first two days of her time in Olympus - yeah, I don't blame Demeter for not wanting her daughter to move cold turkey actually LOL

Also hilarious that they claim Rachel has turned "tradition" into "innovation" when the only thing she's managed to do is set back modern feminism in her young adult readers by 80 years and re-establish misogynist brainwashing in her adult ones. Rachel, your fanbase was literally shipping a victim of abuse with her abuser just a few days ago.

oh boy this is uh

this is some cult shit ngl

and the "rewriting the script of Greek mythology" part is VERY concerning knowing what we know about Lore Olympus and who it was written by. This is literally cultural appropriation, full stop, and it exists because Lore Olympus - and works like it, made by people like Rachel - exists.

I can't even commit to the original theory that this was written by a bot because it all feels very pointed and intenetional. This is being written by someone who, at the very least, REALLY sucks at media analysis and writing, because the entire article is just "Lore Olympus, buzzword, Lore Olympus, buzzword, buzzword, Lore Olympus", it's like a white knight incantation for guilty virtue signallers who have zero clue what they're talking about. And at worst, yes, it's appropriation from someone who doesn't mind taking a culture's stories and myths and promoting their erasure by people outside of the culture like Rachel.

And that's it, that's literally the article lmao

*EDIT: There was a section here before addressing the writer of the article from a very opinionated POV that, while isn't unusual for what I do here, did feel necessary to remove after I was contacted by the article writer who addressed the flaws in their original article and is now seeking to correct them with revisions/an article rewrite. So I felt it only fair as a compromise to at least remove that section as it really doesn't have a whole lot to do with this post as a whole and can be removed without entirely ruining the flow of this analysis. If/when that article is rewritten, I'll be revisiting this post and my overall analysis !

And honestly, it's all really telling, because this does accurately reflect the state of the LO fanbase.

Not only do many of the people who defend this comic like it's their job not pick up on the blatant misogynist tones that are going on in its narrative (I can't even call them "undertones" anymore, they're no longer that subtle) but whether or not they even read the comic at all is up for debate with how much stuff they tend to get wrong in their own arguments and justifications. And this is something that's VERY regularly seen in the fanbase discussions, readers will constantly be unaware of things that happened because they skimmed through it at lightning speed just to see if Hades and Persephone kiss and so they can get the top comment on Webtoons so they can be "ahead of the fanbase". It's no wonder that Rachel has gotten used to getting away with retconning things because her fanbase didn't even read what she established the first time.

Rachel's fanbase was literally defending the romance ship of an abuser and his victim on the newest FP episode preview. When that FP episode came out two nights ago and Hera said, point blank, that he didn't love her but abused her, I could only think of that portion of the fanbase who was very audibly simping over Kronos in the IG comment section. Are they actually having their moment of shameful clarity now? Or are they just gonna move the goalposts and pretend that didn't happen?

I don't want to say anything bad about Shelby here because she really seems like she's fighting for her life on this site that she's trying to get off the ground, but a lot of her other articles also come across as very one-note while being peppered with buzzwords that make it seem like what she's talking about is "progressive" when it really isn't. Case in point, Lessons in Chemistry has been commonly criticized for not actually appealing to the demographic that its Mary Sue-ish main character is supposed to represent - women in STEM career fields.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Lore Olympus is not 'feminism', it's white feminism that is designed to appeal to predominantly heterocis white women who think the solution to misogyny is to willingly submit to it and accept the status quo - that it's "empowering" if the woman is smiling and having all her needs paid for by a man. Sure, I can accept that different women will be looking for different relationship dynamics, some women genuinely are happy being in a relationship where they support their husbands first and foremost. But can that truly be called feminism? Or is the real feminism the choices we make along the way that we should be given the freedom to make?

It says a lot about the folks who tend to regularly prop up LO on a pedestal like this as some "revolution in feminism" despite the contrary after spending more than just 30 seconds skimming the attention-grabbing art, and Shelby is just one of many. She's not the worst of the bunch, though.

That goes to someone else who I want to give proper light to in their own essay. Someone who definitely earned a good stern talking-to this past week and has, thankfully, had consequences dished out to her for her horrible actions towards queer POC writers.

If you know, you know. If you don't, buckle up.

[pendragonsclotpole]

I need to preface this post with the fact that I’ve been aware of Supernatural for as long as I’ve known what the terms fanfiction and fandom mean. It’s one of those pop culture moments that’s existed on the periphery of my mind as something really beloved and bemoaned about by people on the internet, but it’s never been something I really cared about outside of some iconic memes.

For the past four days, I’ve been watching Supernatural non-stop in my free time. I think I sat through eight episodes straight on one of those days, and I just have to say, the show is phenomenal.

I don’t know where to start, I could make a dozen of these posts about various points throughout the first two seasons and it still wouldn’t be enough. I’ve now taken a break at episode one of season three, because now that it’s a weekday I have work and can’t dedicate the time I could on the weekend.

First, Jared Padalecki’s acting is so beautiful and poignant and emotional. He really makes Sam Winchester into the bleeding heart of the whole show, and the entire time he’s on screen I worry about Sam. His portrayal of Sam’s heartbreak and desperation at Dean’s impending death after the car crash, as well as Sam’s horror at the reveal of what John told Dean before dying held a tragic desperation and denial that really embodied what the character represented in the first two seasons. Even as a hunter and with his special abilities, Sam felt like a quasi self-insert for the audience. I don’t mean that in a bad or overly tropey way, but in the way that he felt robbed of a proper childhood in favor of his father’s crusade. Sam is the angry, indignant younger sibling who never bore the brunt of responsibility like the older sibling did and it shows. In some ways, it makes him more entitled—I don’t mean that Sam does not have the right to be angry with John Winchester. He does. Fuck John Winchester. I mean entitled in the unintentional, coincidental way that your little brother or sister always demands the things you never had or rebels against the authority of the parent without ever dealing with the consequences you did as the older sibling. It reveals the veneer of freedom he had and the protection he received by virtue of his place in the Winchester Family. For me, it made him unbearably real, and this feeling of realness was made worse by the genuine naivety and innocence he keeps even as he continually gets screwed over by the demons. There’s a steadfast belief in the goodness of others within Sam that often conflicts with the sense of goodness he believes he lacks.

Sam trusts so easily, but he understands people in ways that should be antithetical to his upbringing. It took me forever to reconcile why he seemed so familiar, until I realized that Sam Winchester, for all that he was one of John Winchester’s son, had received the unconditional love of an older sibling for his entire childhood.

I don’t mean the perfect, kind, healthy love that often exists between fictional siblings. Too often I’ve watched media that makes me wonder how siblings like that even exist, or conversely, made me glad my siblings weren’t so fucked up.

I mean the kind of platonic love that exists between siblings living in the liminal space of love and hate thanks to the single fucked up connection that draws them back together continuously out of some sense of duty or commiseration or the need to be understood.

I mean the kind of love between siblings that would wither away when in a perfect world that does not stake their survival on their codependence of each other, but that in an imperfect and real world is equated to familiarity. Sam and Dean against the world—against John Winchester.

Out of all of the episodes I’ve watched in the last day and a half, perhaps the one that struck me most was episode 20, Season 2. What is and What Should Never Be. Not only was the title a bit of emotional whiplash—the juxtaposition of Should and Never lending a finality or a sense of wrongness that can’t be replicated by the words “Could Never—but we see Dean and Sam in a world where their one connection, hunting, has completely vanished and at a high cost to all the people they’ve saved, but mostly to Sam and Dean themselves. They’re connection as ride or die brothers is gone, replaced by an ostensibly better, healthier, more normal future liberated from the expectations of the rest of the world.

Without the death of Mary Winchester, Dean and Sam are no longer Dean and Sam. They’re just two people, connected by the two people that raised them, and likely to drift apart after that connection dies—frayed ends of a tapestry pulling apart and unraveling. Dean gains a mom and a normal life, but metaphorically loses a brother and a sense of purpose. Who is Dean Winchester if he’s not a hunter and Sam’s brother? And the sad thing is, neither of these are traits Dean ever chose. They are conditions foisted upon him, perhaps not intentionally, such as in the case of Sam, but ultimately placed on his soul until they tethered themselves to the very core of what being Dean Winchester is supposed to mean. The end of the episode, and Dean’s choice to return to the real world, regardless of Sam waking him up, is Dean fully giving up his dream in order to save Sam and be a hunter. The fallacy of the episode is in the choice Dean makes, which the more I think about it, feels less like a choice and more of an inevitability but one compounded by Dean’s readiness and willingness to go with it.

This is where I get to the crux of my surprise with these first early seasons of Supernatural: Dean Motherfucking Winchester.

I don’t know what I was expecting from early seasons of Supernatural, especially with the context of the later seasons. Maybe an overly cheesy, early 2000s ode to roadtrip Americana with a self-reverential take on the classic gun slinging frontiersman of the Wild West and bad supernatural CGI. Not to say it isn’t that (shout out to Sam’s comment on Dean’s particular brand of butch), but what surprised me was how real the connection between the characters was manifested on screen and how much good will the show built up in the audience. There came a point where I sided with Dean so much in the events of the show that I felt like I was riding shotgun in the impala. I saw it with every compliant “yes, sir” he gave to John, with every teasing comment he threw at Sam, and with every act of selflessness he exhibited by protecting other people. This isn’t to say that Dean is perfect. Sometimes he doesn’t take things seriously enough, or he’s willing to sacrifice people for some misguided greater good, or he’s obsessed with saving Sam even when he wouldn’t be if it were anyone else, but Dean has a conviction so many people lack. He has the capacity to love at a great cost to himself, either because he believes himself unworthy of being loved or because he’s not used to anything else.

Jensen Ackles does such a good job at this portrayal and with such a different technique than Jared Padalecki. Ackles embodies the desperate need for self-assuredness that Dean breathes, as well as the genuine fear he has of being seen. I love laughing with Dean as much as I love screaming at him for how stupid he’s being. If Sam is the self-insert, then Dean is the tragic hero, although that comparison feels like a poor facsimile for what Dean Winchester truly is because I don’t particularly feel an overwhelming sense of pity at his state or at his hinted downfall with that demon deal. If anything, I feel a sense of indignation mixed with understanding and frustration that Dean can’t catch a break but at the end of it all, is just how he prefers it.

It shouldn’t be a shock to admit that even without knowing what happens from seasons 3 to 15, I know how Supernatural ends. Just thinking about the ending makes me wonder if I should even continue it past season 5, but that’s a decision for another time.

For now, there’s something unbearably tragic in seeing Dean Winchester so close to a chance of a normal life and apple pie happiness (something he really seems to desire no matter how much he denies it) and then having to give it up, not just because it’s not real, but because he believes it should never be real.

Dean Winchester deserves better.

[soapskneebrace]

I love how you write and view COD in general, so let’s hear some Ghost hcs

Slightly NSFW.

He’s got more tattoos—his legs have a lot, and he’s got a back piece he’s working on. They’re all black and white, he doesn’t like color tattoos.

On that note though, he learned how to stick and poke as a teenager, and now as an adult he’s actually very good at it. He touches up his own tattoos, and if you’re one of his people he’ll give you any kind of ink you like, as long as you don’t ask for anything other than black ink lol

On the topic of body mods, his dick is pierced. He’s got a Jacob’s ladder. He got it a little before he was recruited into the 141—it was kind of an exercise in seeing if the pain would make him feel anything. It didn’t. (He discovered its popularity in the bedroom later.)

He owns like ten of the same black shirt and jeans. This man is NOT fashion-forward. But you will never catch him in cargo shorts. Even he isn’t that uncool. It turns out he dresses well—if always casually—just by virtue of not making his clothing choices complicated.

So, it’s almost certain he made his skull plate mask, right? Which means he’s got some familiarity with needle and thread. I think Ghost, more than once, has popped a seam in his pants or his shirt, because he’s a BIG boy. And he was raised in poverty, so no fucking way is he going to just buy new ones. So he mends his own clothes. His stitches are rarely pretty, but they’re always solid.

He’s actually a big fix-it guy overall. It’s a byproduct of growing up poor—you don’t waste money on something new if the old thing just needs a part replaced. If something stops working, he takes it apart, figures out what’s wrong, and puts it back together. He’s very efficient about it too—those projects take a day at most. He hates a mess.

As a result, if you’ve been fucking him on the regular (because remember, Ghost doesn’t date), he starts making note of little projects he could get into at your place. Cracks in the wall he could spackle. A door that scrapes at the jamb when you close it that he could rebalance. A coffee maker that takes forever to brew that he could clean out. If you let him do any of these projects, you’re never getting rid of him. (And with the Jacob’s ladder why would you honestly want to?)

I think the psychological functions of these projects are an exercise in trying to fix something to make up for what he can no longer fix. He failed a lot of people—primarily his family. Maybe if he can make your car stop making weird noises when it turns, he’s redeemed a tiny cut of the massive debt he owes to the dead. He does not think like this, I can’t stress enough. It is not a conscious process. But it doesn’t change the tiny relief he feels at making a broken thing work again.

If you ever point out that making broken things work again is kind of exactly the function of the Ghost persona, he’ll disappear for several months.

But he’ll come back. You’ll have to yank an apology out of his teeth, but you can get one out of him if you’re honest enough about how fucking horrible you felt when he left without a word. He felt horrible when he was gone, too. You just scared him, with how you cut to the very crux of who and why he is. That kind of vulnerability is a horror Ghost doesn’t know how to face.

But he stays with you for a long while, longer than he ever has, after he comes back.

[let-us-cultivate-our-garden]

I don't know if you were asked this before or already addressed it before, but what do you think of the argument that Belos' death was supposed to be anticlimatic

See, the problem with these arguments is that it assumes that people who were disappointed with Belos' death wanted a grand, epic battle when in reality, everyone that I've spoken to wanted him to suffer more. We wanted him to go out screaming, realizing that all he did for centuries was for nothing, since that was what the previous episodes were building up to. That's not grandiose, that's even more pathetic than what we got in canon.

Belos' death is anti-climactic because for two episodes, the show was expanding on his background, making him see ghosts or hallucinations, lashing out at the idea of being wrong when he sees "Caleb," all of this suggested that this would play into his ultimate undoing. Instead, we get Luz-With-Anime-Powers yank him off the Titan heart and then he melts in the rain. Cool.

What was the point of the previous episodes then?

Anti-climaxes can work if there is a point to them, be it comedic or tragic. But there was no point to how Belos died. Luz didn't need to learn anything about herself in order to earn the Titan powers, she didn't use anything she learned about the Wittebanes against Belos in the final battle, all that happened is that the Titan told her she's a good witch and to stop comparing herself to someone Obviously Evil like Belos. Great character moment there.

Hell, nothing about Belos played in his death. Not his backstory. None of his lies. Nothing. It just happens. Giving a megalomaniac an undignified death or defeat can work though. Just look at Ozai. He built himself as the Supreme Ruler of the World, as the Phoenix King. He sees himself superior to all others and uses everyone--even his own children as pawns. So to have him be defeated by the Avatar, by an Air Nomad child, who doesn't even give him the dignity of killing him in battle but by taking away the ultimate symbol of his power, his bending, works because it's the antithesis of everything Ozai believes in.

But Belos' death has nothing to do with him as a character or his beliefs. The idea that he needs an undignified death to bring down the megalomaniac doesn't work because Belos has suffered nothing but indignities since he got slammed into a wall. He's been dying for several episodes, lost his human form and the world he knew and loved is long gone and none of this is used against him in the final episode.

In fact, Belos' death actually supports his ideology: for centuries, he's believed that witches are evil and inferior to humans. And he justified all the evil he's done in the name of the greater good: of defeating what he saw as evil. So, picture the scene, you have a rapidly dying man who is no longer a threat to anyone, who is trying to reach out to the one person he thinks is moral by virtue of her species, only to be stomped on by beings who proudly proclaim that they are in fact, immoral.

Congrats gang. You just let the evil bigot die with his feelings justified.

Even how he died doesn't make narrative sense because we've seen him rebuild himself from a droplet and King even mentions some being stuck between his toes. How is it this fight is what finishes him off for good? He's both progressively weaker in each episode and yet is able to outrun (or out crawl) both the Hexsquad after entering the portal and Raine in the castle and possess the Titan heart. Plus, despite having possessed the literal Titan's heart, that equated to having just enough power to transform into his younger self and then get melted by the rain. Ok then.

So let's say that Belos' death works for meta reasons; that evil and bigotry should be given anticlimactic deaths. Ok fine, but it's still disappointing and boring af to watch. Giving a bigoted villain a gruesome, over the top, and entertaining death doesn't mean you suddenly validate the villain's ideals, just look at Raiders of the Lost Ark and its melting Nazis.

Also, unpopular opinion, but The Owl House is not about bigotry; it doesn't say anything about where it comes from, what perpetuates it, how people fall into it, how it can be stopped, etc. The writing is too inconsistent and the world building is too flat for any kind of deep or compelling themes. Instead, it has the grotesquely simplistic idea that "Bad Man Cause Bad Things. Get Rid of Bad Man and Bad Things Go Away."

And that's ultimately why Belos' death doesn't work; because The Owl House never had anything deep to say. It's a fun, escapist fantasy that wants to have deeper themes but can't commit to them. Anything "real" a person might interpret is largely projection because the show is too ineffectual in exploring its own world building and characterization beyond surface level meanings.

[loveoaths]

Anakin is not racist

oh, man, that was fast!

listen. i’m gonna assume you’re an anakin fan — great! so am i! — but anakin is objectively an awful person and a canonical space-racist. that’s apparent even if you’re new to Star Wars like i am.

from Legends:

when asked about his view of the tuskens, anakin’s immediate response is “i have no use for tuskens.” i mean, i don’t know what there is to explain about that, because it’s right there. a whole race of people he doesn’t care for because they aren’t “useful,” as if that’s all people are meant to be to him. his issue with them is apparent but he won’t name it.

a’sharad hett directly names anakin’s issue: he is prejudiced. and anakin does not deny this. he “apologizes” but does not specify for what, because he knows he’s supposed to. you don’t just admit you’re a racist, especially not to a Master Jedi. which is exactly what irl racists do, lmfao.

when push comes to shove, anakin outright SAYS it.

“I know what you are — filthy, sneaking, Tusken! Animals! Hiding behind your masks! Your kind tortured and killed my mother and I’m glad I killed them all!” (Emphasis mine)

like, listen. this is racist as hell. the racist dog whistle is now a racist klaxon, alright. he sees the tuskens as subhuman, as inherently untrustworthy because of their appearance and their culture, and he is not only not bothered by killing them, but he’s happy he did it. you could argue anakin is shielding himself from his guilt with self-righteousness, which i might buy with any other character, but anakin is down right unrepentant.

it wasn’t enough for him to kill the tuskens responsible, which even a’sharad notes would have been acceptable in Tusken culture; anakin wanted them all dead, because they’re all guilty to him solely by virtue of being Tusken. this anger and hatred and bigotry pushes anakin to even lash out against a’sharad, a tusken jedi, fully dropping any pretense that he is okay with a’sharad despite him being half-tusken and a jedi. because you know what anakin is following? the ONE DROP RULE! even a drop of Tusken blood is too much tusken.

and still the wrong lessons are learned. for some godforsaken reason a’sharad learns he needs to be seen as a Jedi first and not a Tusken, which is not only antithetical to the Jedi way, but totally opposite to the point of this encounter, which is that we are all many things all at once, and pretending otherwise leads to destruction. anakin is a jedi and a murderer and a racist and the chosen one. ignoring the unsavory and cruel parts of him, never exposing him to the jedi council, and hoping his “better nature” would win out over time ensured that it never would. a’sharad is a Tusken and a jedi and many other things, but his wrongful assumption that pushing aside his heritage will gain him favor eventually causes more problems for him.

the only reason anakin and a’sharad stop fighting is because a’sharad removes his mask, revealing, tada, a hot human face! now anakin is capable of an insincere apology. but he still assumes the markings on a’sharad were forced on him, because he still believes tuskens are a barbaric and cruel people. then the moment is moved past so they can escape.

and despite this shit-ass “heart to heart,” anakin walks away with zero appreciation for a’sharad or the Tusken culture. he fails a’sharad’s lesson: it’s not that he can’t see a’sharad as human, as a person, as a jedi, it’s that he won’t, because he is attached to his view of the tuskens as lesser than, because it excuses his behavior, because it makes him righteous, because it makes him feel better, because it solidifies his entitled view of the world. which is exactly how irl racism and whiteness work.

and the final word on the subject is this. when all is said and done and anakin is asked if he would kill the tuskens again, knowing what he knows about them now, his answer is a cold, unmoved, “Yes.”

now, i know the Legends comics are not officially canon; the new canon is whatever Disney chooses to use and whatever appears in the movies. however, even if we just look at the clone wars, which are now canon to the Disney SWU, there are several instances in TCW where anakin makes disparaging comments about another species’ appearance, intelligence, and capability. i don’t have those on hand because i am not trawling through 7 seasons for quotes for you, but you can find them if you want to look.

my final thought here is this: i am not disparaging anakin fans (fanakins, if you will); like i said earlier, i am fascinated by his character, and enjoy him as a concept. what i am doing here is asking you (especially if you’re white) to consider the lengths to which fandom goes to ignore the very obvious signs that anakin is not just genocidal but racist. like him all you want but don’t ignore that part because that makes you uncomfortable. he kills kids. that’s not any better than being racist.

understanding the role of racism in his depiction, and his turn to fascism, only aids your storytelling and view of him, because it’s true to life. society is willing to ignore massive red flags if someone is white (and in Star Wars universe, we’ll add “human” to the list), male, and conventionally attractive. obi-wan is willing to ignore these things because he is the same, and because anakin does not treat HIM this way, obi-wan can blindly believe anakin would never treat anyone like this — which is, again, a phenomenon people of color call out often, where white people will say “X can’t be racist because he’s never said anything racist around me!” well yeah. because why would he? nevermind the fact that obi-wan and ahsoka witness anakin treating non-human suspects with extreme prejudice, abusing his power and authority as a jedi to get what he wants, and worse. anakin is and always has been a shitty racist cop on a power trip, but because he worked with “good cops” and knew better than to say anything out loud, he got away with it until he killed them all too.

this all feeds into the concept that while anakin’s fall is tragic, it is by no means unexpected. the only reason the main characters of the prequels are surprised is because they willingly looked away from the warning signs. the characters who didn’t — the Council, Mace, even Ahsoka at some points — are vilified by anakin, and because the main characters love anakin and have an attachment to him being the chosen one, they believe anakin over those who are suspicious of him and ignore or downplay the warnings until it’s all too late. the tragedy of anakin isn’t a tragedy of not being loved enough, or having people fail you; it’s the tragedy of refusing to get help, of refusing to let go of things even when they hurt you, it’s the tragedy of the bitter man drinking poison to kill someone ekse, and it’s the tragedy of the bystander: of what happens when we all stand by and watch people we love do terrible things without stopping them, because we’re as afraid of them not loving us anymore as we are of confronting what it means that we still want to love and be loved by cruelty.

tl;dr: anakin skywalker is racist and prejudiced. you can still like him as a character; this is not a moral judgment. but maybe you should prod at your like at him a little, and investigate the ways in which both anakin as a character and the fandom’s dismissive view of his many faults is indicative of the insidious way racism and whiteness works irl. especially if you’re white.

[coveredinmetaldust]

The discourse around the OceanGate situation is making me really fucking mad. You are getting a lot of posts like this one where people are decrying how inhumane it is for people to meme on the situation instead of grieving for the kind of people would work you to death if it meant a 0.002% stock price increase.

Yup, these fucking losers are equating willfully creating a death trap and killing 5 other people instantly to a car accident.

I don’t even entirely disagree that yes, it is tragic. I’d rather they didn’t die from an implosion caused by their metal death-tube crumpling in on itself because the arrogant shithead CEO decided that all these safety standards other subs adhere to were getting in the way of innovation. Obviously it would have been preferable to find them drifting on the ocean surface a day later shaken but ultimately unharmed.

No, I’m mad about how blatantly lopsidedly this flavor of moral outrage is always applied. You never see these people on Reddit, Twitter, etc crawl out of the woodwork to denounce the people saying “well he was no angel” when a person of color is gunned down by the police. You never see these same multi-paragraph posts decrying how immoral it is to say “play stupid games win stupid prizes” when this shit happens to the poor, disenfranchised, etc.

You don’t see it, because the people currently on their high horse are the same people who would call you a fucking idiot if you were on this submarine.

If the entree fee was $250 and five working class people were killed I can guarantee you'd see these same people joking about Darwin awards instead of saying stuff like this.

But no no, suddenly now is the time to stop victim blaming and start grandstanding while clutching at pearls. Now is the time to get indignant and accuse people not of feeling empathy and being inhumane sociopaths. There are now were entire call-out topics on Reddit where they organized and briggaded anyone who dares to say anything bad about these poor billionaires. Where the FUCK was this outrage during, I dunno, pick any one of the numerous fucking examples of brutality and/or exploitation occurring within the last three years. Oh right, these dopey fucks were too busy wagging their fingers at the victims and telling them to take Personal Responsibility™. Too bad, if only they were born rich—then maybe these paragons of virtue on social media would go to bat for them.

But you know what the worst part of this discourse is? I can’t quite put it into words, but it’s so blatantly fucking obvious to me that all of this is insincere—this is actual virtue signaling. You can just tell by the tone, the regurgitated talking points, the slimy smug indignation. This is false empathy over people they couldn’t care less about and won’t even remember in a week, because the point isn’t to being a compassionate person.

No, this to grandstand and get that dopimine rush by calling people out. This is being done to score points for some political ideology and Own The Libs/Commies/Socialists/[insert any slightly left of center ideology]. This is so the Panglossian shitheels of social media can maintain the status quo and feel superior by stamping out any act of defiance or rebellion.

None of these of these people seemed to care about how disrespectful this kind of disaster tourism is for the victims of the Titanic. (Victims, who, were mostly lower class since the wealthy were the ones who were allowed to escape.) They don’t care that these rich assholes were profiteering off a tragedy and making a spectacle out of visiting a mass grave. No, they save that smug, condescending, and cynical response for the people who call out these rich assholes.

It makes me want to throw my computer into the ocean.

Now, if you are one of these people I’m screaming into the void about, and you genuinely do not understand why people are memeing the situation so hard, you need to take a step back and recognize that this is, objectively, an absurd and cartoonish situation. This could have easily been a plot for an episode of The Simpsons. This whole goddamn situation reads like something thrown together by a room of writers who were trying to out “yes and” one another until one stopped everyone and said: “Woah woah, hold on. The CEO’s wife is a descendant of the Titanic victims? Isn’t that just a little much?” And then everyone else ignored this person and just kept fucking going.

In short: it was the perfect storm of absurdity, coincidence, hubris, tragedy, and stupidity.

But that's just a surface level explanation which ignores the context of the last hundred or so years. Ask yourself: "why are so many people so unsympathetic towards these particular victims?" Well, there are a multitude of reasons that contributed to how we got to this point and this guy does a much better job of explaining it than I ever could:

[auspicioustidings]

Make your own way home

Word Count: 850

SPOILERS for MWIII BELOW THE CUT!

Summary: Short little drabble of what happens a few weeks after that ending cut scene.

CW: Dubcon/non-con by virtue of spirit possession.

If there was ever an example of wrong place, wrong time, you think you were it. The trip alone to the Highlands was supposed to be a journey of self-discovery. It was supposed to calm your mind, let you meditate in nature and find some peace. Not be in your head so much.

And now here you were, in your head. Stuck in your head. 

You hadn’t ever really given much thought to whether you believed in ghosts or not. You thought of them as something from horror films, always creeping in the dark and spooking young couples in their new house. You had never considered that they could be out in the hills during the daylight, waiting for a warm body to commandeer. 

And he had commandeered you without too much of a fight. For a few hours you had wrestled him for control, but his will was overpowering. It didn’t help that whoever had rudely put themselves in the driver's seat was an arse.

Let me out

“Cannae dae that, got places to be.” 

It’s my body!

“Our body hen.”

No, absolutely not, this is not a communist body, this is single ownership

“In that case, it’s my body” he laughed, seemingly finding your screaming in your (his?) head amusing.

It is NOT

“Let me see if I have a pretty wee body tae match my pretty wee voice.”

You could only watch as he took your body to the lakeside and peered into the glassy surface. It was bizarre, watching your own face light up in a grin that looked nothing like yours. He seemed pleased with what he was looking at, and you thought if you were in control you might have blushed. In fact, you knew that to be the case seeing a dusting of colour appear. Interesting, your body at least still reacted to your emotions. 

“Fuck me, look at this,” he all but purred, a hand coming to squeeze at your chest.

Oh, oh it wasn’t just your emotions that your body still reacted to. You felt the touch as if it was someone else’s hand on you and you certainly felt the sick little bolt of pleasure from it. The little bit of excitement of how horribly wrong this was. 

“Dinnae tempt me hen, told ye we have places to be. Once we get there we can play together as long as ye want.”

You could not think of a single thing to say to that and you almost felt a sense of motion sickness when your body started moving again, trekking through the mountains at a pace you would never go at. You tried everything. You pictured a battering ram to try and smash through to get control and he responded by putting thoughts in your shared headspace of the ramming turning lewd. You sang obnoxiously and he only joined in using your voice, delighted with how it sounded. You gave him the silent treatment and got so painfully bored of it that within 30 minutes you were back to just wailing in your head. 

“Ye know, they dinnae usually stay.”

What do you mean?

“When we take a body, the previous tenant disnae usually stick around.”

Am I going to die?

“Naw if ye dinnae want that. Even if ye did, might keep ye around. If ye behave might even let ye have control for a wee bit, would ye like that?”

If being possessed was not terrifying enough, the concept that the thing possessing you one, had plenty of experience and two, had never had anyone survive was making you feel sick. You felt that feeling in your body and he felt it too if his confused little grunt was anything to go by.

“Come on hen, be nice,” he said, not stopping but shoving a hand unceremoniously into your pants to rub gently. “Just relax.”

It was an insane feeling, you touching yourself but it actually being someone else controlling the movements. He wasn’t going fast, the languid pace seemingly aiming to soothe more than anything. It was wild that it sort of worked, that sick feeling fading out to a hazy rolling pleasure that was only just a gentle simmer.

At some point you felt your thoughts drift off to a strange sleep even though your body was still awake and moving. When you felt consciousness leak back in, you could see yourself approaching a house. 

“Look who's finally awake! Good timing princess” he said. You could hear the exhaustion in your voice, you wondered if he had let himself and the body sleep at all. Maybe if the body slept, you could wrestle back control.

You watched as your hand came to knock at the door. Watched it open to reveal a huge man in a skull balaclava. Watched and very much felt when your body launched at him, pushing the mask up to get your lips on his. He reacted as if he knew you, holding your body tight and laughing into your lips.

“Knew you’d make your own way home.”

“Always do LT.”

[dreamwritesimagines]

Enamored [46] - Vices and Virtues

A.N: Last 2 chapters!❤ I hope you’ll like this one my loves, and please let me know what you think, thank you! ❤ And as always, thank you @theskytraveler for helping me with the chapter and the story❤

Summary: Good things come to those who wait.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, mentions of sex, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of pregnancy.

Word Count: 4300

Series Masterlist

In all honesty, this plan seemed easier when it was merely a plan.

Putting it into action though? That was a whole different story.

For the last week, the ton hadn’t stopped talking about your potential divorce and how your marriage was doomed. You knew you were supposed to be happy that everyone believed your deception, seeing that it would work in your favor, and you had managed to convince yourself it was a good thing so far-

Until now.

Your doubts were nonsense, they really were. Anthony and you’d had a wonderful night just like you always did, with him sneaking into your room after every member of the staff had gone to sleep. You had woken up craving each other as usual, but the problem was that both of you woke up a bit late, so the staff was already around the house.

Yet, it wasn’t enough to stop you.

You had managed to be quiet so as not to be heard by the staff but when you were finished, unlike before, Anthony didn’t have the time to hold you in his arms, or whisper sweet nothings into your ear, or even kiss you the way he usually would. As soon as the footsteps of the staff started echoing around the hallway, he hurriedly got into his trousers, pecked you on the lips and left through the shared door to his own room, leaving you there, almost dazed.

Last night was perfect, and so had been the morning—up until that point.

For some reason, that was what made those doubts in your mind about whether his love for you was fast withering as the ton said much louder than before. It didn’t help that Anthony had left even before the breakfast, so when Cecily came to drag you outside so that you could choose the paintings you would use for your upcoming ball from her museum, you still weren’t feeling so well.

“It’s such a lovely place,” you commented as you and Cecily sat in front of a painting and she smiled at you wide.

“Is it not?” she asked. “I still cannot believe that it’s mine.”

“Elias can have good ideas, as rare as they are,” you pointed out and she let out a giggle before putting a hand over her slightly swollen stomach, making you smile softly.

“Do you feel better?” you asked. “With the morning sickness?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I’m getting quite used to the morning sickness, that’s something.”

“Is it that bad still?”

“Mama says it gets slightly better in time,” she said. “And you?”

“Me?”

“You look a bit…” she trailed off. “Is everything alright?”

You paused for a moment, then tried to smile.

“Of course,” you lied through your teeth. “I’m just tired, I sent all the invitations yesterday and was up all night planning the last part of the scenery in the ballroom.”

“I must admit, I knew your ball would cause a great expectation within the ton, but even I didn’t see that theme coming,” she said. “I’ve never been to a Vices and Virtues theme at a ball before, neither has anyone in the ton. So many people are excited about it, I’ve heard them before I visited mama this morning.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “Absolutely. It’s the perfect ball to end the season. Do you want to hear the gossip?”

“Sure.”

“A lot of men are coming as vices because they think it’s more fun, and as expected a lot of mamas are going to make sure their daughters come as virtues because it’s fitting to unmarried ladies, or so they say,” she said. “What is Anthony going to be by the way? Lust?”

That managed to make you smile and you took a deep breath.

“Well, that was his first idea,” you said. “But then we realized Elias is going to be there, so…”

“Mm, good point. Then?”

“He will be Pride,” you said. “It’s quite fitting if you ask me, at least for when we first met.”

“I would say your costume should be Modesty to go along with his Pride, but I doubt modesty fits you,” she pointed out, making you scoff a laugh.

“I’m not that bad!”

“So will you go as…love?”

“I’m not going as a virtue,” you said. “I’m going as a vice.”

Cecily gawked at you and blinked a couple of times. “You’re going as a vice.”

“Yeah.”

“Y/N, all ladies are going as virtues.”

“Not me.”

“Oh everyone will lose their minds,” she muttered. “What vice will you be?”

You tilted your head. “Wrath,” you said. “I already ordered my gown, it will be blood red and my jewelry will be all rubies.”

“Blood red?”

“Yes.”

“The whole gown?”

“Yes.”

“My goodness,” she said. “Everyone will talk about it until the next season.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “It’s the sign of a well-planned ball.”

“Or a scandalous one.”

“Scandal is in my blood, remember?” you asked and nodded at the painting. “What is this called by the way? I don’t think I’m familiar with it.”

“Oh it’s Truth, Time and History,” she said. “It shows that… that history is a witness when time reveals the truth.”

You raised your brows.

“Can I borrow this one for the ball as well?” you asked. “It should go well with…well, what has been happening lately.”

“Of course, but on one condition.”

“What?”

“You will tell me what’s wrong.”

Your eyes snapped up to hers before you shifted your weight. “I told you, I’m tired.”

“Yes well, forgive me for not believing it,” she said. “Y/N, what is it?”

You bit inside your cheek, dragging your gaze from her to the painting again.

“We share everything, will you really not tell me?”

“It’s not that,” you muttered. “It’s just that….I’m genuinely tired, Cece. Of this pretending.”

A look of realization dawned on her face. “Y/N.”

“At first it was fun,” you murmured. “But it’s not anymore.”

“It’s almost over.”

You scoffed a bitter laugh. “If you say so.”

“No, really—Anthony said it himself that Frederick claimed he could help him with aftermath of divorce, about the land he will give you,” Cecily insisted. “It’ll be over soon, you’ve held on this long. Don’t give up now.”

You heaved a sigh and she sat up straighter.

“Did you talk to Anthony about it?”

“No because I can’t,” you said. “I can barely see him during the day, and most of the time he comes home in the middle of the night. Anytime I’m within anyone’s earshot I’m supposed to have fights with him, and we’re almost never alone—besides, what am I going to say? It was my decision to go with this idea, he wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t ask him to.”

“I know it’s hard,” she said, reaching out to hold your hand. “I know, but I promise you, it’s almost over.”

A silence fell upon you and you took a shaky breath.

“I hope you’re right,” you said. “Because it’s starting to feel less like we’re pretending each day.”

                                              *

You had cut your trip to the museum very short, and had gotten back home around the afternoon. Unsurprisingly, Anthony wasn’t home and you still had hours until one of the vendors would arrive to go over some of the decorations you had ordered for the ball, so you went straight to bed, telling Lucie that you were feeling a bit under the weather and didn’t want to be disturbed.  

You missed him. It was simple as that, even though you lived in the same house, you just missed kissing him, being with him, actually talking to him, enjoying a stroll outside, waking up in the same bed with him.

You laid there for nearly an hour, waiting for the sleep to come just so that you could perhaps wake up feeling better, but it felt nearly impossible. You were so lost in your thoughts that the noises coming from the hallways and the usual chatter of the staff was almost inaudible to you until you heard the fast footsteps approaching and the door opening, making you frown and turn your head. Anthony closed the door in an instant and strode to you.

“What happened?”

“Anthony you probably shouldn’t be here, if the staff sees or hears you—”

“Lucie said you were feeling sick,” he cut you off, pressing the back of his hand on your forehead to check if you had a temper, that familiar warmth filling your heart. “I will send for the doctor—”

“I am not sick,” you told him, trying to smile. “I just felt tired a little so I decided to lie down, that’s all.”

Anthony’s dark eyes searched your face, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“Tired?” he repeated. “You?”

“It happens, as it turns out,” you rasped out. “I’m as surprised as you are.”

He shook his head. “No, that’s not normal,” he said. “The doctor must see you immediately.”

“I’m not sick,” you insisted. “No need for the doctor, I promise. I’m just…”

He swallowed thickly, worry etched in his handsome features and you reached out to smooth down on the frown lines on his forehead, your heart skipping a beat.

“I thought you’d be outside today?” you changed the subject. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” he nodded and entwined his fingers with yours. “More than alright, I actually came to tell you something.”

“What?”

“Do you think you can come with me to the study?”

You bit inside your cheek, then pursed your lips.

“I don’t want to fight today,” you said. “The staff is already convinced, and I don’t think it’s necessary right now.”

He shook his head fervently. “No it’s not for that.”

“Well then, I don’t think it’s a good idea if—”

“I have a gift for you.”

“…A gift?” you asked, blinking a couple of times in confusion. “What gift?”

“I can bring it here but I left it at the study just now, before Lucie said you weren’t feeling well.”

“No no, I’m fine,” you said almost instantly and pushed the covers off of you, your stomach doing a happy flip. “What did you get me?”

Anthony smiled and raised your hand to press his lips on the back of it.

“Come to the study in five minutes,” he said and kissed your temple, then walked out of the room. You tilted your head, that fog of the gloom clearing out just a little though not completely from your heart, then cleared your throat and checked whether you looked nice in the mirror before leaving the room as well.

You made your way downstairs and looked around to check whether any member of the staff would see you, but it seemed clear enough so you softly knocked on the door and stepped inside, closing the door behind you in a haste. Anthony’s grin widened and he made his way to you, then covered your eyes with his palm, making you giggle.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said as he went behind you and walked you towards his desk carefully. You reached out your hands as if that would help you not to fall, and you rounded the table, then stopped.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

He lowered his hand and you looked down at his desk, then held your breath upon seeing the thick leather bound ledger.

“You got me a ledger!” you said with a happy smile. “To keep the accounts for the ball, I love it!”

He let out a chuckle. “You’re supposed to open it darling.”

“Oh!” you said and reached out to open it, furrowing your brows. There were many different sketches of a beautiful house—a manor, in fact— in the middle of tall trees and a lovely flower garden. It seemed familiar somehow but you couldn’t put your finger on it especially without seeing the rest of the street, so you grabbed the next sketch, showing the interior of the house. You let out a breath, running your fingertips over the sketch of the foyer, then turned to him.

“I don’t understand,” you admitted. “What is this?”

Anthony’s lips curled into a grin.

“Do you remember how I said your wedding gift wasn’t ready yet?” he asked. “Now it is. It’s your house, my love.”

Your breath got caught in your throat and your eyes snapped up to his, the sudden excitement making your head spin.

“…What?”

“The paperwork is finally completed,” he said and pulled the paper from underneath the sketches. “The moment you sign here, it’s yours.”

“It’s mine?” you asked, gawking at him. “You got me a house?”

He nodded, obviously pleased with your reaction.

“You’re jesting,” you managed to say in disbelief, “Anthony you—surely you’re jesting.”

“I’m not and it’s all yours darling,” he assured you with a small laugh. “Waiting for you in Paris, whenever you want to visit.”

Your jaw dropped.

“In Paris?” you asked and all of a sudden you realized why the house looked familiar.

“Wait a moment,” you whispered after a beat, looking at the sketches again. “Wait, Anthony this house—”

“You told me about the street you grew up in,” he said with a soft smile. “And apparently, one of the houses there was put on sale around the time we got betrothed.”

Happy tears rushed into your eyes and a sob climbed up your throat as you flung yourself to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He lifted you up, holding you tight and you let out a teary giggle when he put you down, then you pulled back to look up at him.

“I thought—” you wiped at your eyes in a haste, “I feared it was coming true…”

“What was coming true, sweeting?”

“That you were losing your love for me,” you admitted. “The way we have been pretending.”

He scoffed a chuckle. “What?”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“No wait,” he told you. “Tell me. What made you think that?”

You swallowed thickly and bit on your lip.

“This morning,” you said. “You left in a hurry, so I thought perhaps all this deception was somehow affecting your feelings for me, that it was making you love me less.”

A look of realization dawned on his face and he cupped your cheek, caressing over your cheekbone with his thumb.

“Darling, nothing could make me love you less,” he said. “And all this deception is just that. A deception for the ton, not each other.”

You entwined your fingers with his, heaving a sigh.

“And as for this morning,” he said. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that it would make you think that. I left in a haste because if the staff saw me in your room…”

“I know,” you said slowly. “I just miss you, that’s all.”

“I miss you too,” he said, nudging your nose with his, making you giggle. “But you know what I thought of?”

“What?”

“After this whole act is over,” he said. “We can go to Paris and see if the house fits your taste. Like a second honeymoon?”

You beamed at him. “Really?”

“Mm hm,” he clicked his tongue. “That is if I’m invited.”

“Oh if you’re invited?”

“It’s your house after all.”

You hummed, pretending to think about it.

“Well I suppose I can grant you that favor,” you teased him before the thought flashed in your mind and you held you breath, “Can I decorate it?”

“It’s yours my love, you can do whatever you want with it.”

You covered your mouth to hide your gleeful squeal, bouncing on the balls of your feet before you tugged him down by his shirt so that you could kiss him. His arms sneaked around your waist as the familiar desire burst through you, and you pulled back to shoot him a mischievous smile.

“Would they hear us do you think?” you asked, nodding in the direction of the door and he smirked at you, then lifted you up to sit you down on the desk, making you giggle.

“How quiet can you be?”

“I don’t know,” you said, almost shrugging your shoulders in a nonchalant manner before you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer. “Let’s find out.”

                                               *

The next day you had woken up much better than earlier, and you had to try especially hard not to let anything slip in front of the staff. Even though you wanted to skip on your steps and hum a song, you knew you were supposed to pretend to be upset, so after Anthony had woken you up with kisses and left to meet Frederick, you took a long bath and spent your entire day going over the preparations for the ball. You had yet another meeting with another vendor and you and Lucie met him in the yard so that you could talk to him about the scenery in garden.

“So what I mean is, Mr. Kilby, I want the yard’s setting to be the complete opposite of the ballroom’s setting,” you said. “The ballroom will be more focusing on soft and pleasant things symbolizing virtues, the yard on the other hand will symbolize vices, so anything dark and dangerous.”

“I understand my lady,” he said. “I’ve heard you’re putting a small fountain in the ballroom to mimic a waterfall?”

“Yes, and it will be surrounded by a decoration of flowers all around the ballroom,” you said. “I still cannot understand how exactly that fountain works, the vendor kindly explained yesterday but…”

He smiled at you. “You have your expertise, we have ours my lady.”

“That is why I’m not questioning it,” you joked, smiling back. “So for the garden, I want the opposite of it. While the ballroom is to look peaceful and ethereal, the yard should look like—”

“A den of vices.”

“Precisely,” you said. “And I’m told that your fireworks are absolutely the best in the country, and I was hoping you could help me.”

“It’d be my honor, my lady.”

“I want the theme to be fire in the yard,” you said. “Something big and loud, and intimidating.”

“I have the right product for that,” he said. “How long do you want the firework show to last?”

“Around half an hour, so that all guests can see it on their way in.”

“Half an hour…” he murmured to himself, scribbling something on his notebook before he nodded to himself and ripped the paper to give it to you.”

“The number of fireworks and the price my lady,” he said. “If you’d like to show it to Viscount Bridgerton as well.”

You took a look at the number and nodded. “I’d like to put in the order now actually.”

“Of course my lady,” he said. “I’ll start working on them when I get back to my shop. And if I may suggest something?”

“Certainly Mr. Kilby, please.”

“There’s a circus in town as you’ve probably read about,” he said and you nodded. “I did business with them last year, so they know me. How would you feel about having fire breathers in the yard, as a part of the performance as well?”

You gasped, pressing a hand over your chest. “Oh my goodness, I would love that!”

Lucie cleared her throat and shot you a look, and you heaved a sigh before turning to Mr. Kilby again.

“And is it completely safe, Mr. Kilby?”

“Yes my lady, I can assure you it’s very safe,” he said. “If you’d like, I can talk to them and come back tomorrow with their director around this time?”

“Oh I appreciate that so much,” you said. “And please know that Viscount Bridgerton and I will make sure to recompense for your help in fixing this meeting as well.”

“You’re very generous my lady, thank you,” he said and walked away from you and Lucie raised her brows at you.

“Fire breathing?”

“Just imagine it Lucie!” you motioned at the yard. “The ton will go insane!”

“The ton will go insane when they see your gown my lady, I doubt you should set someone on fire to make it certain.”

“It’s safe!”

“It’s fire!”

You waved a hand in the air. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“If a lady or lord that I don’t like catches fire, I’m not going to help you extinguish it,” Lucie pointed out and you held up your hands.

“Fine, I’ll ask someone else to throw water on them,” you said. “Happy?”

“Very.”

You let out a laugh and linked your arm with hers.

“Great,” you said. “Now come with me to the kitchen, I need your opinion on the dessert options.”

For the rest of the day, you had been so busy that you had barely gotten the time sit down. It felt as if you were running everywhere, and it was only around dinner time that you felt like you could stop working on the ball. Anthony was still outside, so you had dinner alone and once it was over, you insisted Lucie to join you for a glass of port in your bedroom before going to bed.

The last thing you remembered before falling into a deep slumber was that you so desperately wished for Anthony to be there beside you, and that was why when you woke up to his soft kiss on your neck, his pleasant scent filling your nostrils, you were half convinced that it was a dream.

“Anthony?” you mumbled, your eyes fluttering open to find him sitting there on the bedside, his fingers slowly caressing your hair. “What time is it?”

“Three in the morning.”

“You just got home?”

“Yeah,” he said. “But I have a good excuse. I had to make sure.”

You rubbed your eyes, still trying to wake up. “Make sure of what?”

“That we had what we needed,” he said, his smile widening. “Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“I got it.”

You furrowed your brows. “You got what?”

“A land contract with Frederick’s signature on it,” he said, his words washing away every trace of sleep from you, and he reached inside his waistcoat pocket to pull out a paper. “I got it.”

You sat up straight in bed, your heart beating in your ears. “He signed it?”

“He signed it.”

You snatched the paper from his hand to look at it, your eyes darting over the lines as you covered your mouth.

“How?”

“Well, we drank some and I brought up your mother and her divorce,” he said. “And how I needed a new house to send you away after divorce away from London, and… he had this ready, and he tried to feed me some nonsense story about how the name in here belonged to a friend of his, and how purchasing this land would be good for me. I told him I would look it over tomorrow when I sobered up.”

You let out a breath. “Oh my God.”

“I know, and I wasn’t even tipsy. Who could’ve known all that drinking with Eli would actually pay off? My tolerance is extremely high at this point.”

You blinked a couple of times, still holding the paper tight as if it could disappear any moment.

“We have the proof,” you whispered. “Anthony, we have the proof!”

He nodded and you hugged him tight, unable to stop the smile on your face before you kissed him.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too darling,” he murmured, caressing your cheekbone. “See? It’s over now. No more of this silly deception, or fake arguments or sleeping in different rooms. I’ll get it to the court tomorrow, and by nighttime he will be away from you forever, punished for his crimes.”

You looked down at the paper, then furrowed your brows, your thoughts like a storm in your head.

“When you give it to the court,” you said. “It takes them a day then?”

“Well, he’s an earl and forgery and fraud is a capital crime,” he said. “So it will take them less than usual, I’m guessing a day. Why?”

You nibbled on your lip and looked up at him.

“If he’s captured tomorrow, not enough people will see it.”

“It will hit the papers very fast darling.”

“Yes but—” you said, gritting your teeth. “He dragged my mother’s name through the mud in front of the whole ton, Anthony. He deserves to go through the same.”

Anthony tilted his head. “Do you want him captured in public then?”

“Do you think he’d get suspicious if you stalled him a couple days more?”

Anthony shook his head. “No, not really. I can just tell him I’m drafting my appeal for divorce to the parliament, that’s why I didn’t get the chance to contact my accountant to buy the land yet. Why? What do you have in mind?”

You smiled slightly.

“Well, the ball is only days away,” you said. “And the whole ton will be there, and most importantly my whole family will be there. I think we all deserve to see him dragged out like the traitor he is.”

“You want him captured at the ball?”

You nodded your head. “Yes. It’s already a celebration, I don’t see why we can’t make it a celebration for two occasions. Our love and my revenge.”

Anthony chuckled. “If that’s what you want,” he said. “Yeah. I can give it to the court in the morning of the ball, and to make it better I can give them the exact place he will be that night.”

You tilted your head at the paper before meeting Anthony’s dark gaze.

“Good because I want the whole ton to see when he gets what he deserves,” you muttered, your smile widening. “And I want to enjoy that view from a good spot.”

Chapter 47

[brilliant-red-eternity]

[Psycho-Pass Providence spoilers]

I thought long and hard about sharing spoilers with you on my blog, but here they are: a buffet for Shinkane fans! I can’t guarantee that the spoilers are 100% correct since I haven’t seen the movie myself and translations can be messy, but I try my best – feel free to correct me, to add things or to call me a crackpot and liar!

I had a feeling that many of you would like to know (at least to some extent) what this movie is about and if Shinkane becomes canon. It will probably take some time for PPP to be released outside Japan and as we all know, patience is a virtue. Don’t read if you don’t want spoilers. I’m serious! There are major spoilers in this text! But if you don’t mind, here’s a summary of what I picked up from Japanese fans who have already seen the movie:

1. The first meeting with Unit One after Ko’s return goes as expected: Ginoza is angry and Sugo has to prevent him from going off on Kogami. The atmosphere between Akane and Kogami is described as awkward and tense even when working together on the new case. They travel to Dejima (?) and Saiga accompanies Akane because he’s the only one who can access the Stronskaya document.

2. When Kogami and Saiga have a drink in the apartment/hotel, Saiga urges Ko to contact Akane and to come clean with her. He obeys by calling her. Akane tells him to apologize (“I just want you to say sorry”) but he doesn’t, so she hangs up the phone. Kogami seems to be very irritated and I can’t wait to see his face. Also what is the meaning of the empty liquor bottle on Ko’s table?

3. Ginoza asks Kogami on the boat “Why did you come back? It was our duty to protect Tsunemori” to which Kogami answers something like “For someone else’s sake again.” Does it mean that he came back for Akane? I think so. Ginoza seems to smile a little when he hears this.

4. We already saw the scene where Ko shields Akane from the explosion, but I don’t know exactly what happens afterwards. They say the angle of view is a little erotic (this can also be translated as horny, obscene) LOL

5. When the Peacebreakers attack, Saiga-sensei dies. I think he gets stabbed and then falls over a railing into the depths of the building. Akane tries to save him but he lets go of her hand so that she doesn’t fall with him. Phew! This is going to be hard to watch. No wonder why the Japanese fans cried! When Akane finds his dead body, the one who comforts her is Ginoza. Ko goes after Akira to fight him in a landscape holo room (?) aka that scene with the horse.

6. Now the elevator scene. Akane cries over the death of Saiga but Kogami seems unable to comfort her. Something holds him back (his own grief maybe?) so he just pats her on the shoulder saying something like “Focus on your duty, and cry after everything is over” and Akane says “Yes”. It sounds a bit heartless and reserved, doesn’t it? Why all the drama?

7. Then there’s an interrogation at SAD or PSB headquarters and Kogami gets shot by the arrested Akira whose consciousness was hacked. Ko ends up in the hospital where Akane visits him and finally they talk to each other and come to an agreement. This is very reminiscent of PP1.

8. I was a bit surprised to hear that Akane is invited to Kei’s wedding and that Arata’s dad commits suicide in his car after giving a speech. Really? On the wedding day of his son’s best friend? Did Arata witness this? Holy sh--! At least, I read that Akane followed Arata into the parking lot and perhaps was able to comfort him.

9. Akane leads the operation to stop the Peacebreakers. Before she leaves (gets on the plane?) Kogami is worried and says “Hey, don’t do anything reckless” and she replies “I can’t promise you that, so you better come quickly please.” Is she flirting with him? I think it’s cute and quite self-confident.

10. When Akane is defeated in the fight against the white haired man who points a gun to her head, Kogami rushes to her aid. The plan was to arrest the guy but things went out of hand. Kogami shoots him and then he hugs the injured Akane – yes, that’s what it says in the comments! I can’t wait to see this! I read that Akane says something like “I made Kougami-san kill again” to which he answers “And I will be held accountable for it”. The hug seems to have been a request from director Shiotani, because (as we already know) Akane and Ko won’t see each other for a long time after that.

11. The end is a bit confusing and I’m not sure if I got it right: Kogami is arrested and Akane writes him a letter that is just as emotional as Ko’s letter in PP1. She says that he had a great influence on her life and that she can’t promise him anything. Then she goes off to kill chief Kasei during some public event (?) because Sibyl wants to introduce a new bill that would strip the Ministry of Justice of all authority (?). Akane’s crime coefficient is low because you can’t kill a cyborg. But from the public’s perspective, she’s a killer. She seems to sacrifice herself for the dream of a just society that abides by the law instead of Sibyl’s despotism. Now Sibyl has to judge her. They have to reveal and explain her low CC without looking like idiots. Good luck, Sibyl! Akane seems to have set a precedent in PPP.

12. Kogami goes free and Akane is sent to the isolation facility where she finally breaks down and cries. He promises to pick her up when she is released – and so he does in FI when he finally manages to apologize! Some fans say that even though Kogami’s crimes aren’t punished by law it’s clear from his emotions that Akane’s imprisonment is his punishment. His actions had an impact on others, especially on someone he cherishes and loves. But unlike Kogami who killed out of revenge and violated the law, Akane has committed a crime in order to uphold the law. The Japanese fans cried at the end. Kogami must look pretty miserable! Seems as if Shinkane has a habit of breaking each other’s hearts and ours too, huh? But we know they will reunite in FI, so there’s hope! And who knows what the future holds.

Well, the movie covers many issues: foreign politics, references from the bible, Bifrost, new technology and AI, lots of action and so on. It’s quite exhausting to do research in Japanese as a beginner, so I only focused on the things I wanted to know. In other words: Akane, Kogami, Ginoza and Shinkane! I can’t wait for this movie to be released in my country, although I think it will probably be another year :’(

One last thing: speculations about the nature of the relationship between Akane and Kogami are running wild on social media again but all I can say is that if only a mere 20% of the above is true, then you can’t speak of platonic. Sorry, it’s not possible! There are far too many emotions, far too much awkwardness here that you don’t go through as “just friends”. They’re not a couple, but both of them are probably aware that they could become one if they chose to.

[ghouljams]

your fae au is WONDERFUL i kinda read every single post in one sitting and can't get enough of those fae boys (loved them all but Soap and König are my favs, mean trickster Johnny ❤my love). Do you have some more of Soap and their Darling, pretty please with a cherry on top? Maybe Soaps visits Liebling shop? Does Johnny know König, they probably wouldn't like one another but Soap never was one to get scared...

This is a good post to say: No Fae!141 do not know König! Or like, they know of him because he's a weirdo but they don't know him. Price maybe has met him, but the rest of the boys are not acquainted with the nasty boy. This is a lot of Soap's darling being an adhd queen and not a lot of romance stuff. Very territorial fae vibes tho.

We’re going to get a quick Liebling POV before jumping to Soap and his Darling because God, I love terrorizing Liebling's shop.

You’ve had very little reason to fear the creatures that enter your shop since König started hanging around. You really have no reason to fear anything with him hanging over your shoulder at every hour of the work day. König tends to keep most of the fae in line by sheer presence alone, and human customers tend to act better when they notice how imposing he is. “Scary dog privilege” is what Love called it.

That said, this one is… bad. In a way that squirms in your stomach, visceral and primal and understanding in a way that you can’t even start to think about. He looks human enough, but it’s wrong. The way he moves, limbs long and calculated, elegant and dangerous, inhuman in a way you’d expect from a spider not a man. His voice rubs against your brain like petting the wrong way on velvet, hollow behind the friendly tone, in-genuine. His eyes slide to you like water and stop, staring, Looking.

Ice cold fear grips you tight in your chest. He doesn’t like you. You know it as soon as you meet his eye that you are something he despises. Not in an interpersonal way, no, he hates you the way you would hate a cockroach. Just through the virtue of its very existence in your presence.

König wraps a hand over your eyes, warm darkness obscuring your vision. You’re thankful for it, before you remember this isn’t exactly workplace appropriate behavior. You pull at his wrist and he presses harder against your eyes. His body curls over you, growling a low warning.

-

You are just full to bursting with ideas. You feel all light and golden and your brain wheels are turning at 100 miles an hour and you are getting that sweet sweet dopamine just how you like. God, you love that brand new special interest feel.

You pull out your phone to write a few lines down that pop into your mind and then can’t stop. Johnny’s hand slides right at home on your lower back, as you type. Your shoulders jerk a little, not used to being touched when you’re in the zone. Your fingers hover over the digital keyboard, trying to come up with the next line, no this is a good stopping point for now. You look up at your neglected date and he’s not even looking at you. He’s frowning at some guy across the store. He’s talking to the woman behind the counter, spinning her toward the back room insistently. Not your circus. You turn back to the display you’d stopped in front of. 

You came in here for something, not that you remember what that was, plant stuff probably. You do have a few houseplants still desperately clinging to life. You pick up one of the cute little potted succulents and try to ignore the way the hand on your back is starting to burn. Johnny’s fingers curl against your shirt, breaking the fabric and digging into your skin. You hiss and jerk away from the feeling. Whatever spell he was under seems to break as you rub your back. Your shirt is all in one piece and the pain is gone like it was never there. Still, you’re not a fan of whatever that was.

“Thought we were looking for a notebook,” Johnny says as you hold up the terracotta pot to check for a price.

“I have a million notebooks,” You tell him, settling the pot back in its place. You look up at him, there’s something different in his face, something- huh, you don’t have the right word for it. He’s like a cat with its hackles raised. But that’s not quite right. You don’t have the right linguistic trigger to pull the word from your catalog. Not upset, almost… threatened. Almost. You’ll think of it later. “You good? We can do something else if you want.”

“I’m happy just being with you, we don’t need to do anything special.” He smiles, and it feels… hollow.

“You’re not a very good liar,” You raise a brow and his eyes widen ever so slightly before his smile turns into something much more genuine.

“Let’s do something else.” He relents. You nod, that’s much better. You don’t like being given the runaround, direct is your preference. That’s part of the reason you like Johnny so much, he doesn’t beat around the bush with you.

“We can grab lunch? I’m starving.” You tell him, letting him lead the way out of the shop. Your wrist is grabbed as Johnny holds the door for you, and you turn to see the rather frazzled looking shop girl. She presses something like crumpled paper into your palm with a tight expression.

“This is weird, I’m really sorry, but please take this,” She says and you give her a confused look but nod. She looks almost relieved, and lets you go. You follow Johnny out of the shop and open you hand curiously.

It’s paper, notebook paper, with a phone number on it and some weird name you don’t understand. You don’t really pay attention to the name on it, focus instead drawn to the silvery ring. It’s basic but pretty, not the sort of thing you’d give to a stranger. You slip it into your pocket to inspect later, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“So, lunch! I’m thinking-” You list out a few options, meandering the conversation in whichever direction you please as Soap bites down a growl. The only thing worse than a seer is a nosy seer.

[dollyyun]

𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 | chap 02

SYPNOSIS: wherein the princess, who is a clandestine assassin, has been commanded to eliminate the seven vampire princes.

GENRE: 18+ (mdni), reverse harem, contemporary fantasy, enemies to lovers, third pov, eventual previous past lives will be entailed.

WARNINGS: violence, expletives, toxicity, suggestive themes.

WORD COUNT: 4k+

TAGLIST: @aishigrey @kgneptun @b3tt7boop @smg-valeria @lhspeachie @enhaverse713586 @strxwbloody @firstclassjaylee @jwnghyuns @luminouskalopsia @deobitifull @loumin908

🍒 MASTERLIST 🍒

If there is one quality that vampires are incapable of possessing, it is the virtue of benevolence. Even towards their own kind, they are malevolent and callous, but strategic enough to grasp any opportunity that works in their favours, resulting in them ostensibly being amiable towards others. Utterly deceitful.

So, when Jungwon provided her with garments consisting of black pants and a white tunic blouse, enmity gave way to prudence within her. She had expected him to drag her to a dungeon or torture room, but he brought her back to the room where she had awakened earlier.

"Why?" The word instantly flies out of her mouth, dissuading Jungwon from leaving the room, as he intends to give her some privacy.

Jungwon cocks an inquisitive eyebrow at her in response. With the light streaming through the window pane, the ray of light kisses his complexion, allowing her to examine his striking yet divine features, notably his cat-like eyes that are piercing enough to unnerve someone. Though the hue of his eyes is crimson, she notices a tinge of green iridescence that seems to bewitch her the longer she gazes deeply into his eyes.

Truly bewitching, yet she senses danger lurking, or rather, slithering beneath his cryptic countenance, as though it is simply waiting for the perfect moment to attack her.

"What do you mean by why?" His voice is icy-cold.

Despite how austere he is, Elora remains unyielding. The frown tugging at the corner of her lips deepens. "Why are you being courteous to me even when you must've known that I'm a foe?"

The air in the room shifts into something that she discerns as pernicious as he stalks towards her, each step is deliberate. His crimson eyes bear wicked intent, prompting her heart to palpitate even though her face is void of emotion, not wanting to give away that he manages to intimidate her just a little.

However, Jungwon doesn't seem to have the intention to stop either, as he closes the space between them, forcing Elora to eventually back away from him without breaking the intense eye contact with him until her back hits the bed's columnar foot post.

Her breath catches in her throat the moment he leans down to the side of her head while his hand is placed just above her head. A menacing grin touches his lips upon hearing her heart beat like a drum.

"Now that you've brought it up, maybe I should have you locked up in a dungeon." His voice drops to an octave with a husky rasp to it, and she unconsciously curls her hand into fists. "Or better yet, have you chained to a wall as I inflict my torturous method on you." He whispers, his cold breath fanning the cusps of her earlobe, before he slowly dips his head at the junction between her jaw and neck.

Her pulses go erratic at the moment his lips come into contact with the skin of her neck. An odd sensation pools in her tummy when she feels the tip of his fangs graze across her skin tantalisingly.

"Would you like that?" His soft chuckle sounds lethal. "I think you would. I'd gladly show you the ways I could inflict unimaginable pain on you to the point where you'd be begging for me to end your life instead."

As he slowly pulls away, just enough for her eyes to meet his, she releases the breath she has been holding. She ignores the tension that feels oddly sultry between them while her cold eyes glare into his. "Just because I might be powerless now doesn't mean you should underestimate me. You have no idea what I am truly capable of, your highness."

His lips unfurl with a soft smirk, catching her off guard at the sight of a dimple on his left cheek. "You really want to know why I didn't? It's because we have collectively decided not to kill you."

"Why?" She presses.

"You'll find out sooner or later." The smirk on his lips drops just as the tension does. "Do not mistake our courtesy for being chivalrous. Now, no more questions from you. Go take a shower and change into the garments I gave you. We'll be expecting you in the main chamber."

Elora frown. "But I don't know where it is."

Jungwon pauses, as if he finally realises that she has yet to navigate her way around the palace. "Then I'll be waiting for you outside the room." He takes a step back. "Don't take too long."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Elora has embarked on perilous adventures and faced ineffable dangers, and each was a successful endeavour in which she assassinated the names and creatures on her extensive list, subsequently proving her worth in the eyes of monarchs despite her inaptitude of intrinsic power.

So to finally face the princes, albeit there are only four princes in her line of sight, is nothing to her. But their gazes alone are piercing enough to unnerve someone. The main chamber is dim with the curtains drawn down, obstructing the sunlight from streaming in.

The only luminescence derives from a few artificial lights afloat on the ceiling and the brilliance of their crimson-hued eyes that are leering at her as she stands a few feet from them. They are leisurely seated on four separate wingback velvet couches.

Elora stands tall with a hint of defiance displayed on her countenance, refusing to allow any of them to intimidate her. But there is something in the air around them, which she discerns. She blinks her eyes, and this time she sees obfuscate spectral stemming from their bodies. They last only for a second before disappearing as she blinks again.

Dread clenches around her spine while her heart palpitates unevenly. She realises that the princes and the power they wield are more mystifying than she thought.

"What's your name again?" Sunoo's voice echoes throughout these walls, and just by the sound of his voice she concludes that he is rather a conceited prince. His leg drapes over the other while his elbows rest on the arm rest with his hands clasped together. "Since we already know that you're a mermaidian, you should let us know your name." A sly smile smears across his sheeny pink lips. "After all, you're going to get used to seeing us and being around us from now on."

Fortunately, no one knows that Aetherlyn has a princess except the Mermaidians. "Elora." Her introduction is aloof, but Sunoo's last statement alarms her, causing her eyebrows to furrow while her frown deepens. "What do you mean by getting used to seeing you?"

"Well, after a discussion we had, we have collectively come to an agreement that it's in our best interest to keep you alive." Jungwon says, drawing her attention to his piercing gaze. As if he's reading her mind, he proceeds to elucidate further. "No, we're not keeping you as a slave─"

"Which we have considered, especially with exquisite blood like yours." Jake interjects in a seductive lull, giving her a simper smile that involuntarily sends a peculiar flutter to her heart.

Jungwon shoots Jake a glare briefly before resuming. "As I was saying, we're not keeping you as a slave, but rather, we'll hold you as a captive detainee instead."

Her ire is bubbling within her, but her demeanour remains collected. "For what purpose?"

"Because you're a mermaidian, obviously." Sunoo answers with his head tilting to one side. "We haven't seen a real-life mermaidian before. We'd love to learn about your species and explore what you have to offer." She senses an underlying meaning, as does the way his eyes rake her physique, sending an odd chill down her spine.

"But that's not the main point." Heeseung's voice compels her quicker than she likes. Soft as silk yet beguiling. Her eyes meet his, and a sense of familiarity is like a veil has been removed from her head, but it dissipates quicker. "You see, we are obligated to appease the royal court with anything that is beneficial and valuable to them."

Elora crosses her arms below her chest, not liking where this is going. "Let me guess. Is it me?"

Elora's heart skips a beat at the way he unfurls his pink lips into a soft yet handsome smirk. "As much of a beauty you are, Mia Cara, I'm afraid you're not as valuable as the one thing we desire."

Uneasiness crawls its way into her heart. "And what is that?"

Heeseung's smirk widens the tiniest fraction. "The crystal heart of Oceania."

Her heart feels as though it drops to the pit of her stomach. She swallows harshly, finding her throat going dry. "So why am I being held captive when you said so yourself that I'm not valuable?"

In a blink of an eye, Heeseung appears in front of her, causing her to jolt and back away from him, but he has other plans as he grips her arm firmly and pulls her towards him. "Don't you get it? You're a mermaidian, and your kingdom safeguards the crystal heart of Oceania." He says softly yet lethally, and his crimson eyes are glowing brighter.

Elora's breath catches in her throat as he leans his face towards hers, stopping just a few inches away. "Which means you'll be taking us to your homeland." He smiles. "Understand now?"

"No!" Elora pushes him away from her, though her push doesn't have an impact on him. "There is no damn way I'll take you there!"

"You have no choice." Jake says, sounding nonchalant.

Elora curls her hands into fists. "Even if I were to take you to my homeland, it would take weeks or even months!" She exclaims, no longer concealing her ire.

"Then use your magic to teleport us there." Sunoo provides the obvious solution.

She clenches her jaw. "I can't."

Jungwon raises his eyebrow, intrigued. "Why can't you?"

"Because─" She bites her lips, looking away from their curious yet attentive gazes. She shakes her head. "Whatever. My answer is a dead no."

"You don't seem to understand that you are in no position to object." Heeseung grips her wrist and pulls her impossibly closer until the space between their bodies is nonexistent. Her indigo-hued eyes glare straight into his, unaffected by how close their faces are. "Like what my brother said, you have no choice, or else you'll have to face the consequences of your defiance."

"Screw you." Elora whispers, her hatred is apparent in her tone. "I'm not afraid of you and your brothers. You don't have power over me."

"You should be afraid of us, Mia Cara." Heeseung utters softly, and a devious grin dawns on his lips. "Because you have no idea what lies beneath the power we wield."

Elora is about to retort but deflates instantly when Heeseung's once crimson-hued eyes are now in terrifying obsidian. She tries to yank her wrist from his hand, but he grips it tighter instead, now revealing his pointed-sharp fangs.

"What?" She whispers in shock, still staring into his obsidian eyes.

"I told you, Mia Cara," Heeseung places his hand on her nape, his voice sounds deeper, darker, so sinister. "That there will be consequences for your defiance. In other words, bad girls get punished."

The next thing she knows, her body goes into the familiar state of shock, feeling a searing pain from his fangs sinking deeply into her neck. Yet, amidst the pain, there is pleasure.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The last thing she remembers is that Heeseung rendered her immobile with his noxious yet sweet venom before she awakened to find herself surrounded by a plethora of scintillating gemstones.

She examines her surroundings thoroughly. It appears that she is in a cavern with a mouth broad enough for her to see the sight of dawn and the picturesque horizon. She glances around again, and this time, a sense of familiarity brings a benign smile to her visage while the nostalgia washes over her like a tidal wave.

Just as she takes a step forward, she discerns the sound of wings flapping distinctively, prompting her eyes to settle on the mouth of the cave, where a silhouette of a dragon can be seen landing on the ground with a thud. His amber luminescent eyes immediately lock onto hers while low growls emit from him, and he moves forward, each step is deafening due to how monumental he is.

But she goes unmoving, her eyes locked onto the ferocious creature. Instead of feeling frightened, she feels at ease with her heart beating in a familiar cadence, as though she had been awaiting his arrival. She doesn't tear her gaze off of the ferocious creature, even as he begins to shrink, shifting into his human form.

Her heart pounds loudly in her ears as soon as his brown-hued eyes meet hers. At once, her bare feet are running towards him, her white dress flailing behind her. She crashes into him just as he opens his arms wide for her.

His deep, handsome chuckles beside her ear awaken the butterflies in her tummy, denoting that he's more than pleased to be able to see her again after a long, long time. His arms engulf her body, hugging her close to him with his lips touching her crown—a familiar gesture of affection from him. She doesn't say anything, only hugging him tight as she basks in the warmth of her home.

They remain in each other's arms for some time, just listening to each other's hearts that beat in a symphonic cadence. She is the first one to pull away and look at him in the eyes without releasing her arms from his body.

"Lilith." Her name is uttered in a soft yet longing tone from his lips. A saddened smile dawns on his lips as he caresses her cheek gently while his arm remains locked around her waist.

Tears glisten in her beautiful eyes. "Jaan." She whispers, allowing a tear to escape from her eye. She doesn't know why or how she recognises him, but it is as if somebody else is speaking through her.

"Habibti," The endearment he used to call her brings more tears to her eyes. She sees a tear sliding down his cheek as he leans in to kiss her forehead with his eyes closed. "Hayati," The pain in his voice is all it takes for her to crumble. She weeps as he continues to pepper her with affection, trailing his kisses down to her temple before he cradles the cusp of her jaw and leans his forehead against hers.

"Rohi," He says softly as they flutter their eyes open. "You're finally here."

"But this isn't real." Her lips quiver in sadness. "I don't know how this has been happening, but I'm afraid that if each of you continues to call for my soul," She pauses, the fear in her voice is palpable as it shakes. "Who knows what Astra would do next?"

A muscle pulses in his jaw while his eyes harden, but his anger is not directed at her. "I don't know either, but I, for one, am glad that I got to see you after so long." He presses another kiss on her forehead and sighs against her skin. "I hate that I won't recognise you in the other realm."

She nods her head sullenly, her eyes crestfallen. "I do too."

"I really don't want to hurt you. I don't ever wish to hurt you." He says, looking utterly helpless. "But no matter how hard I tried breaching the border, I couldn't seem to get him to remember you and make him realise that you're not their enemy."

She smiles through the tears while a familiar lump appears in her throat. "It's part of the curse, Jaan."

He grabs a hold of her hand and raises it to his chest. His eyes bear such concern. "The curse─what about your heart? Are you still─"

On cue, she winces just as her heart throbs in a familiar affliction. She manages a small, wavering smile. "Even in death, I still bear the curse." A sigh leaves her lips. "The present me, she has the same infliction as I do."

His eyes widen. "What? But how? She doesn't even remember who she was."

She looks down. "I told you, Jaan, that it is all part of the curse." She sobs softly, and he wastes no time to embrace her once more. "Because Elora is me."

"I wish we could do something." He says. His devastation is apparent while he feels helpless. "I don't want to lose you, Lilith."

"But you've already lost me." A sharp sob leaves her lips. "It's been a thousand years, Jaan."

"No amount of years could ever get rid of my love for you, Rohi." He cups her cheeks, their eyes are welling with tears. "I'll try to get the present me to remember. We'll try."

Hesitation and fear glimmer in her eyes. "But what if Astra gets furious again? I don't─" She hiccups, bringing a fond smile to his face at how adorable she is. "I don't want to make things worse by breaking Astra's rules again."

"Yeah? Well, I don't care about rules or even Astra." His nose grazes against hers. "No one, not even Astra, could tear us apart. We'll always find our way back to each other." With her parted lips, he can't resist sealing her into a kiss. One last wistful kiss.

"I love you, Lilith." Underneath her touch, he starts to fade, as does his voice, making her heart ache tremendously. "Never forget that."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Did Heeseung really drain all of her blood?" A voice speaks above her, yet somehow he sounds familiar, striking a chord in her.

"I wouldn't say all of her blood. That's a bit of a stretch." Sunoo refutes. "She'll be fine, Jay. Besides, we even formed an agreement that we wouldn't kill her."

"But it's been two days since she passed out." Jay emphasises, and she would've mistaken him for caring about her well-being if it weren't for the indifference in his icy-cold voice. "If she doesn't wake up by the next sunrise, we'll have to exterminate her."

Elora tries her utmost to remain calm and collected, unmoving from her position, despite the fact that she is close enough to lacerate the two princes. Truth be told, she awakened earlier, and not to mention her head was throbbing tremendously, but she didn't move an inch from the bed. Rather, she used whatever strength was left to use her magic and conjure a dagger once more, having it concealed from their eyes.

"But she's a mermaidian! She is the key to our lead in acquiring the crystal heart of Oceania!" Sunoo opposes with fierce resolution. "Even so, Heeseung is the one who decides, and his decision is keeping her alive."

"How are we even certain that the crystal heart of Oceania does exist?" Jay asks, the incredulity is apparent in his voice. "I thought it was just a myth that the elders foolishly believed in."

"We didn't, initially, so we summoned her to the main chamber to conduct a little test." She can picture an arrogant smile on Sunoo's face. "Heeseung mentioned the aforementioned myth, and she didn't even deny it. She looked rather alarmed. Ergo, the crystal heart is, in fact, real."

Her ears perk up at the sound of knocks, following another voice speaking. "Sunoo, you need to come with me." Jake.

"What is it?" Sunoo asks.

"It's about your garden." Jake sounds somewhat dismal, yet there is a tinge of levity. "Jungwon's snakes may or may not have marauded your garden."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Sunoo raises his voice, and in an instant, she hears a 'whoosh', denoting that he has disappeared from her room. Now, the room sounds so silent that she is able to hear a pin drop.

After much contemplation, Elora flutters her eyes open, being greeted by the familiar sight of the room, which she can now call hers. She straightens her body, moving her legs to the edge of the bed before rising. The door is ajar as she ambles towards it while clutching her dagger to her chest.

"What do you think you're doing?" His cold voice speaks from behind her near her ears, sending her body to jolt in surprise before she whirls around to finally meet a new face.

'Jaan'

A feminine voice echoes throughout the walls of her mind. Her face has a twist of confusion, but she recovers, now in a defensive stance against the vampire prince. But her eyes betray her as they decide to scan his fine countenance.

His eyes are sharp and piercing, almost as if he can uncover her deepest, darkest secret just by his gaze alone. His nose stands tall and slim, while his sharp, angular jaw seems as though it can cut her with a single touch. Under the artificial lights afloat in the room, she is able to see the complexion of his skin, which is neither too pale nor too dark. Almost akin to the lighter shade of melanin. His dark hair falls over his forehead just above his eyebrows, making him look less intimidating. His black blouse hangs loosely on his body, allowing a glimpse of his collarbone. 

As her eyes return to his face once more, her head throbs. He doesn't look familiar, but he feels familiar, which is absurd because why does she feel that way when she hasn't met him in the entirety of her life?

"I'm asking you a question, mermaidian." The aura he emits is foreboding, prompting her to clutch her dagger tightly. She doesn't even realise that she's backing away from him until her back hits the door. His dark, dangerous gaze continues to drill into her as he stands in front of her, allowing her to catch a whiff of his scent.

"Stay back." Elora warns him, displaying her dagger in his eyes.

His eyes glance down at her dagger momentarily. "Do you think that your pathetic dagger will have any effect on me?" He purposely moves closer to the point where the tip of her dagger is now touching his chest.

"Maybe not, but at least I'll have fun carving your heart out." In an instant, she grabs him by the blouse and changes position, with her pinning him against the door while pressing the razor-edged end of her dagger to his neck.

However, he remains unfazed, simply cocking an eyebrow at her despite the fact that she is pressing the dagger harder until it manages to breach his skin, allowing blood to slowly trickle down. "We haven't probably introduced ourselves. I'm Jay." He introduces himself with a faint smirk on his lips.

"Nice meeting you, Jay. Any last words before I lacerate you completely and deliver your heart to your brothers on a silver platter?" She smiles almost wickedly, and it is rather enthralling yet refreshing to meet someone who is just as bloodthirsty as him.

"Habibti, did you really forget that I'm a vampire?" His voice sounds sultry, catching her off guard, and he uses this chance to switch positions. The dagger is knocked out of her grasp. His hand effortlessly locks her arms from behind as he pushes her, her cheek pressed against the door.

"Let go." She struggles valiantly in his oddly strong grasps. Her heart skips a beat at the moment his hot breath fans the cusp of her earlobe.

"I'm being lenient to you right now, but the next time you pull a move like that, I will kill you." His voice comes out in a low growl, almost inhumane. "You'd do well to remember that you're in my domain, and the reason we even allow you to live is because you serve a purpose to us."

"Fuck you." She grits her teeth. "I'm not your slave or lowly-life being just so you can dictate my life."

His deep chuckles send an annoying flutter to her heart. "Being my slave would do you much worse. Habibti." She shivers when his finger brushes her locks behind her ear. "You'd be serving me with your blood, and I'd bite you anywhere I wanted to." A gasp leaves her lips at the feeling of his groin pressing from behind, sending her mind into a frenzy. "And I'd use your body whenever I want to, have you completely fucked out, which you'd be begging for more." He whispers darkly in her ear.

Amidst the hatred, lust clouds her head while her mind begins to imagine such deplorable acts with her enemy.

"Oh, you love the idea, yeah?" He rasps, pressing himself harder against hers, and this time, a gasp mixed with a moan leaves her lips. His lips touch her earlobe, nipping it, and she swears she can feel his fang tearing into her skin, just slightly. Oddly, it sends her a peculiar sensation.

"Jay." She moans airily as he dips his head to her neck and nips at her skin, while she can't help but grind herself on him, eliciting a low guttural growl from him.

"Fuck." He breathes harshly, his fangs elongate, and his crimson-hued eyes darken with bloodlust and fervent desire for the mermaidian in his grasp.

He can't resist the temptation and caves in, sinking his fangs into her neck. Her blood has a unique yet heavenly taste. With her body grinding on him and airily moans occasionally leaving her lips, he reciprocates, pushing her up to the door and allowing his groin to feel the pleasure.

"Jay." His name sounds alluring from her mouth. She gasps in pleasure at both his fangs and his hardened groin. Though there is the familiar searing pain on her neck, the pleasure overweighs it, sending her into a state of pure bliss.

Jay pulls his fangs out, not wanting her to faint. He licks his fangs and lower lip, where there are still excesses of her blood. "If you keep doing that," He pauses, growling again while his grip on her arms tightens as he cuffs her from behind. "I might have to fuck you right here and now."

Elora halts her movement and squeezes her thigh upon feeling dampness below. Heat weaves across her cheeks, embarrassed and resenting herself for falling for the vampire allure. Before anything can happen, she is saved by a knock.

"Jay? Are you still in there?" Jake.

Thankfully, Jay decides to release her, though he doesn't look too pleased by the interruption as soon as she looks at his face. Seeing that he is being distraught, she grasps the opportunity to retrieve her dagger swiftly. He doesn't even have the time to react when she plunges her dagger into his stomach quickly and efficiently.

With her sudden strength, both physical and magic, she moves like lightning, swinging the door open to see Jake in her view with his eyebrow arched. He doesn't have time to react when she plunges her dagger into his stomach as well, sending his body into a state of shock due to a spell she imbued in the dagger.

"Too easy." She chuckles with a smirk before using her newfound strength to run down the massive, hollow hallway.

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[gabessquishytum]

okay if no one else is going to go there. i will be the one to go there. if we're going to have centaur!dream we really have to talk about human!hob being just. the happiest little size queen!!

like? imagine? hob meets dream -- maybe hob lives out in the woods and hears a strange noise one day, and goes and investigates only to find a centaur tangled up in a hunter's trap. hob frees him, and tends to his injuries, and takes care of dream while he heals. and dream is instantly obsessed with this human who's so kind and caring and tells stories with such joy. dream's never courted a human before, he honestly hasn't spent much time around humans in general, but once his injuries have healed hob walks to the edge of the woods with him and looks so sad to say goodbye that dream knows he has to make this human his.

and hob's so happy when dream comes back! he tries to turn down dream's gifts at first, insisting that dream really doesn't owe him anything, he was happy to help, but he starts accepting them once dream assures him that he isn't doing this because he feels indebted. dream shows hob his favourite places in the forest, and brings him gifts, and visits often, and hob looks at him with so much affection that dream figures he must be doing something right.

dream is... admittedly not sure how they might consummate their relationship, if they get there. he supposes hob could fuck him -- a human cock isn't likely to do much for dream, but he thinks he'd like it just on virtue of being hob. or there's plenty they can get up to with hands and mouths, or dream would be perfectly happy not having sex with hob at all. he doesn't even consider the possibility of fucking hob. he wouldn't want to hurt his darling human.

they do, of course, get together. it takes them plenty of time just to figure out the best positions to lay together, to cuddle, to kiss. hob gets his hands on dream's cock and dream knows he's not imagining the hunger in hob's eyes, but hob comes apart beautifully on dream's fingers and dream thinks he could probably get his fist into hob some day. hob might quite like that.

and then, one day, dream comes by the little clearing around hob's house and finds hob sprawled out on a blanket on the grass, naked in the sunlight, and fucking himself with a very large dildo. it's not quite as big as dream's cock... but it's honestly not that far off. hob's working the thing into his hole, nearly to the base by now, and dream thinks for a moment hob heard him coming when he hears his name. but hob doesn't know he's there, too lost in pleasure to be aware of anything around him -- and moaning dream's name all the while. and if he's having that much fun with a bit of silicone, well. dream's suddenly quite sure he'll love the real thing.

-🐈‍⬛

Yes. Just yes. Thank you for going there, my love. Please believe that I am with you. Every step to hornytown.

Listen, centaur anatomy is a little fucked up, right? So it takes a while for them to work things out. Even kissing is a struggle at first, because Dream is so tall. Several times while they’re cuddling he accidentally gives Hob a very nasty kick. They’re very sexually compatible (read: both stupidly horny) but it’s just a struggle to work out which bits can go where for maximum enjoyment.

Turns out? Dream fucking Hob is one of the easiest things they’ve ever done.

All it takes is Hob bending over on something so Dream can properly mount him. He’s such a cute little size queen of a human, he doesn’t stop begging until he’s fully speared on Dream’s massive length. His cock shows through the skin of Hob’s belly all the way up the navel, bulging obscenely, and Hob is in ecstasy. He writhes and gasps and mewls for more until Dream picks up a steady rhythm, and by that point he’s totally incoherent. His pretty, rose red arsehole clenches desperately around the base of Dream’s cock like it could keep the enormous shaft inside forever. He’s such a perfect slut, Dream almost believes that he’s a figment of the imagination; a gift from the gods.

When Dream cums inside him Hob wails and arches his back so prettily. The spurts of seed seem to go on indefinitely until it leaks and overflows from Hob’s ruined hole and drips onto the ground. His greedy hole tries to flutter and keep it all inside, but it’s no use. There’s just too much.

Afterwards they lie together in the sunlight, Hob’s head on Dream’s flank and their limbs tangled together haphazardly. Dream is thinking of the odes he will write about the sight of his lover in the throes of carnal bliss.

Hob is wondering where he put his biggest butt plug last time he used it. Because next time? He’s keeping all of that cum inside.