#lukis writes stuff

[peachyteabuck]

let it happen (it's gonna feel so good)

↪ summary: now that you're officially kate's again, she puts you to good use.

sequel to the plum tree blossoms even in winter

a commission for someone who wishes to remain anonymous

↪ pairing: kate bishop x reader, yelena belova x reader

↪ words: 10,043

↪ trigger warnings: heavy pet play, implied kidnapping, dehumanization, blowjobs using strap-ons, face-sitting, vaginal fingering, strap-on PIV sex, manipulation, mob au, dark au, mentioned free use, mentioned primal play, use of 'daddy'

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

News of your return travels fast. Gossip does that in this business - all people have is the word of mouth and their reputation. The second one utters a juicy bit of conversation over a line or while on guard, a clique of power-hungry goons are picking it up and spreading it around as far as they can. Kate’s one of the most powerful mobsters in the Northern Hemisphere, visible in ways leaders hadn’t been in the past. Women, certainly not pretty ones, are ever as influential as she’s been.

So, you’re not surprised when every bodyguard, goon, runner, rat, dealer, and saleswoman who walks through the doors of her home or office looks at you with a mix of pity and smugness. The former because they knew what happened to those that betrayed the all-powerful Kate Bishop. The latter because people had been placing bets on how long you’d make it out in the real world, and you’d learned from Carol that very, very few had actually thought you’d last the year.

Honestly, the fact people were gambling on your ability to survive hits you less than you think it should. In truth, you wouldn’t have bet on yourself either. There are no underdogs here; only winners, losers, and those throwing money between them.

You try and remember the positives of being back in Kate’s care. Warm beds, always. Food that tastes good and doesn’t come from a bag. Her large bathtub with massaging jets. Her personal chef. Her caves of heated blankets you can hide in during traditional New York blizzards. Her chilled pool during hot summers. Fleeting memories of your time on the street bring your gratefulness into perspective, choosing to ignore your feelings of inadequacy as people you’ve known for years gawk at you like a newly revealed zoo animal.

It’s not as if all of them are mean – Kate would never allow them to throw things at you, touch you, or even come within a few feet of you without her express and explicit permission. But their heavy gazes, their snickering…it all makes you curl even deeper into yourself as you curl against the large dog bed. Kate has bought a new one, the deep gray contrasted by “Kate’s puppy” embroidered off to one side. Your skin occasionally brushes against it when you’re sleeping, yet another sensory reminder of your place.

Natasha is the first one to really meet with Kate after your newfound arrival, the two of them chatting over drinks and dinner. You get occasional bites of the lobster rolls (one of Natasha’s favorites), but as the meeting leeches deep into the night, you’re too tired to do anything else but keep your form.

She looks you up and down as you remain in position in the corner, your thick collar keeping your head up and face forward. It’s a strain, but one that’s familiar enough to feel…nice. You choose not to lean into the comfort, just letting it warm you from the inside out.  

“The pet’s back, huh?” she asks as she shakes her head and turns back to watch Kate sign checks. Money laundering is a complicated business that requires careful precision and planning. These include cutting real, legitimate checks for fake, bloated amounts. Kate could have one of her assistants do this, but she likes to double-check the numbers – she refuses to be on the other end of such a heinous crime. “She’s prettier than I remembered.”

Kate grunts out a laugh. She’s known Natasha since the two of them were mixing coke with pre-workout…the redhead is allowed to make comments that would get other people shot. Still, Kate doesn’t need Natasha getting too big for her britches…even if those britches are currently skin-tight leggings that flatter her ass tremendously.

“Yeah,” your owner says, not bothering to look back at you. She’s still shaky in her belief you’re back for good this time, and doesn’t want to jinx it by going soft. “They just can’t seem to stay away.”

“Has it really been a year?” Nat careens her own neck to rake her eyes up your form once more. She’s not as into such discipline as Kate is - preferring a little more push and pull with the ones she decides to fuck. Even so, she can’t deny the scene in front of her is hot. Your form is perfect, with your back arrow straight and your gaze unflinching. Not to mention your nipples are hard as diamonds as they’re exposed to the chilled office air, and you shiver every so often when the air conditioning sputters to life.

Kate hmms after a minute or so, shoving the stack of checks into an envelope before pushing them aside. “And about a week. Time flies so fast, doesn’t it?”

It's Natasha’s turn to murmur a response, the both of them watching you now. It takes all your might not to look at them, keeping your eyes trained on one of Kate’s small vintage horse statues she got into collecting a few years back. Most of them were tossed when she moved into her new office after her old club was mysteriously burned to the ground after an undercover cop was found flirting with an escort Kate hires every so often. The insurance money was quite a lot, enough to build her a new office, and buy a whole lot of new decorations.

But that horse statue, somehow, remained unscathed. Depicting a wild stallion running through a river – its eyes wide, mouth open, teeth barred as fish flip uselessly around it, hair tossed from imaginary wind, and light brown coat speckled with dirt – you wonder if she had kept it for any particular reason. The statue, though dynamic, was neither large nor immediately thought-provoking. You also wondered why it was so low on the set of black matte shelves, given its old place had been higher and on an adjacent wall.

“You know what they say,” Kate leans over to graze her knuckles over your cheek. You don’t flinch, instead leaning into her touch. She rewards you with a smile. “Pets always find their way back to what they know.”

Natasha doesn’t disagree but does turn the conversation away from you. She’s not a prude, but watching you get eye-fucked by a mafia boss is not her idea of a fun evening (at least, not now. You’re always more interesting when there’s an audience). She’s certainly not against voyeurism, but in a world where she can touch…she’d always rather be at the center of the action.

“When are you meeting with the Russian?”

Kate takes a sip of her drink. The bourbon is just how she likes it, neat, and she hums in appreciation. She may be a very complicated woman, but she prefers a very simple drink. ��Tonight. Said she’d come later into the evening when the club was busiest.”

If this were anyone else, Natasha would say something sarcastic, mocking the person for hiding in the sea of hot, sweaty bodies (not that it would work, Kate’s team of bodyguards are exceptionally well-trained in the art of track and trace.). But they’re not talking about just anyone, and although Natasha isn’t afraid of her…it’s just best not to invite the devil to your dinner table. “Makes sense. You know how they are.”

“Speaking of which,” Kate leans over and unhooks your collar, a sign you can lay down and rest for a little bit. “Don’t want her all worn out before our special guest arrives.”

Natasha says nothing. She’s pushed her luck enough.

“But yes, I’m intimately familiar. When they shave your head after kidnapping you and do it poorly, you tend to remember their cruelty.”

She wrinkles her nose at the memory – including the number of wigs she had to buy once she was safely returned. She was young when it happened, and her hair had long grown out since then, but her skin still remembers the itch of the growing stubble atop her head.

“Anyway, you know what I need from you,” Kate shakes her head to push the experience back deep into the recesses of her mind. “Everyone is hands-on, everyone tracks her. I don’t want a single person entering or exiting this club without us knowing any affiliations.”

It’s not as if Natasha knows the protocol – she was the one who developed it after an unfortunate incident with a Bratva a few years back – but she nods along as if it’s the first time she’s heard it. It’s easier that way.

As she goes to leave, Kate stops her – a wave of emotion cracking through her harsh façade for just a moment, before her steeled brow resets itself into its regular position. “Keep her safe. I can’t lose her again.”

The redhead just nods once, silently, before going back to the security wing with the rest of the team. Even underground, she can faintly hear the deep bass of a particularly rancid EDM remix, but mostly the only noises are the sounds of tactical gear clacking against itself. Loopholes in a military overstock program meant police departments were willing to exchange gear for cash with nonsequential serial numbers, and Natasha was always the first in line when silent auctions went live. It’s what she liked, it’s what she was good at: protecting, watching, strategizing.

She liked Kate trusted her enough to give her as much freedom as she does. That’s where she saw other mobsters fall—egos too big it couldn’t fit inside of them, imploding the whole organization from the inside out in a single generation. Natasha didn’t want to a freelancer anymore—the money was good, but stability had become more important in recent years. Maybe she’d gone soft, maybe she’d just gotten older. Either way, looking at the vast away of screens that covered every inch of the club and its perimeter…she felt truly at home.

Back in Kate’s office, you lay in your dog bed while your owner smokes a cigarette. It’s not something she does frequently—she’s a busy woman, she doesn’t have time to press pause every hour to hunch outside. Plus, she hates smoking with other people. She quit for the reason most people refuse to: the social aspect proved a worse taste in her mouth than the nicotine. Even the e-cigarette people didn’t find themselves outside, instead blowing fruit-smelling air into whatever closed space they felt entitled to.

Whatever, she sighs, putting it out in an ashtray that looks suspiciously similar to your pussy. I’ve got more important things to think about anyway.   

Kate sees the suit first – a muted orange with fantastical patterns woven into the fabric, reminiscent of tapestries she remembers from a museum visit from a job farther down the East Coast. The thread glimmers in the light, a subtle way to signal her importance. Heeled boots thump against the tile as she walks, her loose, bouncy blonde hair framing her face. Unlike most of the people in the club tonight, she’s perfectly relaxed. It’s as if she’s sitting down at a family restaurant she’s been to a million times before, confidence in her step you’re not used to seeing.

“Yelena,” she says, gesturing to the seat where – just last night – Kate fingered you until you squirted all over the floor. She made you clean it, but your face still heats at the thought of her sitting there. “Come, sit. I will have my assistant pour us a drink, if you’d like.”

Assistant. Its double meaning hanging in the air like a dark, ominous cloud.

Yelena looks you up and down, eyes raking over your form as if you were a painting she was attempting to commit to memory. Her eyes seem to see not through you, but all of you – flesh and bone and sinew. You’re not sure what to make of her heavy gaze, the way she stops every few inches for just a moment before continuing. People watch you, stare at you, all the time – some shocked, some less so. She doesn’t look at you the way they do, like a starved animal seeing its keeper dangle fresh carnage outside of its cage. Rather, she’s a fully fed bear, fat and happy as it revels in its hunting ability. She knows she doesn’t need to kill, doesn’t need the destruction or chaos or unspeakable violence; but she can. She very easily can. And that’s all that matters to her, and her prey.

You’re wearing a gag – that part isn’t new (she’s not some sniveling virgin) – but what surprises Yelena ever so slightly is that it’s shaped like a dog bone. Drool pools at the side of your mouth, dripping down your chest and covering you in your own spit. All you can do, though, is look up at her with wide, empty eyes.

That is, until you remember your manners and turn your gaze downward.

“I don’t intend to stay long,” she says. It’s not meant to be sarcastic or clipping. It is what it is. Still, as she looks you over once more, a small smile curls at her lips. “Bishop-“

“Kate, please,” the brunette insists. “We have enough history to be past that formality, don’t we?”

Yelena doesn’t correct herself, continuing to stare at you. Her gaze is so intense you can feel it without looking back, small fires igniting down your spine under it. “I see you found a way to occupy your time since we last spoke.”

You wish you could see her, but all you can do is stare at the floor while the tension in the room builds in the way one expects the crash of a tsunami. Kate keeps much of her time in the Eastern Bloc a secret lost to time, but you’re not that much of an idiot to understand what silence means in these spaces.

Kate gives a tense smile, stepping to give Yelena some space. You’re not sure if the guest is asking for it, or if Kate needs it to cool down. “Sit, please. We’ve got much to discuss.”

It’s hard to track the movements of their feet through sound, but the slight scrape of the chair legs against the hardwood floor is too distinctive to ignore.

Kate tries to ease them back to the intended conversation, the experienced gears in her mind turning as fast as they can. “As I told Melina, your ports would be an incredibly valuable asset to us, and-“

“What are you offering me?” Her accent is thick, her tone straightforward. It’s one of the things Kate likes most about working with Russians – they don’t dance around the issue, they don’t fuck around, they don’t ask her to read between the lines. They say what they want to say without preamble or metaphor. Life is easier when you know what kind of target you’re shooting at. “You want access to several multibillion-dollar ports for what, the shithole Jersey has to offer?”

Kate narrows her eyes. “Underestimating your enemies seems to be a thing with your people, isn’t it?”

Yelena just laughs. It’s a dry, husky sound, and you do poorly at dampening the flutter in your chest. “Governments are very temporary where I’m from. No sense in vesting yourself in something that can’t touch you in a country so big.”

Both women pause. In the distance (or maybe right next to you), you hear waves crashing ashore—the sound of car alarms and windows breaking and people screaming. It’s here. It’s here and you are stuck in the middle of it.

“What do you want?” Kate remains outwardly calm, combing through her knowledge of the other woman to try and find some middle ground. It’s true – dock access benefits her much more than her Eastern counterpart. But she’s made people agree to a lot more for a lot less.

The woman across from her hmms, but stays silent otherwise. It’s that heavy, weighted silence; the kind that begs for another party to ask a question, lower their offer, barter for less. It’s an anvil that hangs over the both of them, swinging as they work against each other to determine where it will fall.

“Sign this deal, give me access to the ports, and if all goes well I’ll let you stay a week with my puppy over here,” Kate says plainly. Your head shoots up and your eyes widen when you realize what she’s saying, that she’s offering you up as bait for this deal. The bait part isn’t so surprising, you’ve been used as a carrot much more than you’ve been used as a stick. What causes your heart to stop is how sincere she sounds. Kate’s poker face is akin to a brick wall (maybe concrete – a brick wall has too many imperfections to be compared to your owner), but you’ve known her long enough to know how her tone wavers just a little when she’s lying. You hear nothing, no notes skipped or rests added. Just a sincere, long melody that rings throughout the room in a minor key.

It’s not as though Yelena isn’t gorgeous – with her plush lips, soft face, and eyes lined with dusty eyeshadow. She has this relaxed air about her that screams “I know exactly what I’m capable of, and you do, too.” And if your relationship with Kate is any indicator, you’re very attracted to that energy. Still, a pretty unknown is still an unknown…and you’re worried your recently lost seniority with Kate could have devastating consequences.

“I can give you money, drugs, equipment, girls,” Kate tells her. “But you said you willing to come and talk, so I’m assuming you didn’t come here just to-“

“No,” Yelena cuts her off. Fucking bold ass Russians, Kate thinks. You’d think they’d at least let you finish “I want to take the puppy out on a nice dinner, a little…what is it you Americans call it?” She smiles, laughing to herself just a little. “Dine and wine?”

Kate doesn’t correct her.

“Whatever it’s called, I want to do it to the pet. One night, including dinner. That’s what I want in exchange for giving you dock access.”

Kate clenches her jaw just a little. You don’t notice, head perking up at all the attention on you. It’s nice to not be a little toy on a shelf sometimes, everyone staring at you but no one touching. Having merely the focus of one person is a nice change, especially in a restaurant as fancy as you presume Yelena frequents. Perfectly literate in poverty, you can tell this woman and Kate fall in the same tax bracket (if they paid their taxes accurately).

They work out the details on their own, details far above what you’re able to hold in your own brain. All you care about now is what happens next, your body thrumming with excitement. If you’ve gotten the attention of this woman, you’re curious of what others would do for you.

Kate cuts up pieces of the food to feed to you from her own fork, pausing every so often to take a bite of her own. It’s awkward, sitting there just out of view but so exposed, hands bound in front of you as you’re denied the chance to feed yourself.

Sharon blinks, face blank. “Must we do this now, boss?”

Kate just smiles, watching as you eagerly swallow the spoonful of mashed potatoes. Ever since your return, she’d had her chef prepare comfort food she knew you’d missed while you were on the run – macaroni and cheese, pot pie, chicken noodle soup, decadent desserts. Watching pleasure wash over your face with every bite was worth denying you all those months. It’s something Kate’s had to learn intimately; how torturous waiting is. Still, she knows she—and you—are better off with abundance of patience.

“This is the only time I have available to speak on this matter,” she doesn’t look away from you as she speaks, her tone light while her words pointed. “We can either discuss this now, or you can wait in three days when the subject in question is back in position.”

The blonde’s jaw sets, her hands balling into fists under the lip of Kate’s massive oak desk. It’s not like she’s some prude, like that one guard who lasted twenty-four hours before begging to be moved to another post. She just knows that, less than four feet away, you’re clad in only soft panties and a large t-shirt that shows off your hardened nipples, collar jingling with each movement and your hands kept inert. If she had her way, she’d be bending you over and filling your holes with her fingers, laughing as you wept from the pleasure.

She’s not a prude, she’s just really fucking horny and wants to go home so she can watch the most intense porn she can find. Alone. With her vibrator and thruster and noise-canceling headphones and maybe an expensive bottle of Scotch. Or an edible. She doesn’t know, yet – part of the joy for her is sitting with the process and going with whatever sings to her heart the most.

So, Sharon shoves down the memory of your moans, of past promises of letting you loose in Kate’s mansion while Kate’s most trusted within the organization hunt you down like prey. She digs her nails into her palm as a distraction, but all it does is think of them digging into your hips.

“Are you really going to let her do that?”

Kate doesn’t move a muscle, and, for a split second, her blonde counterpart thinks she’s going to crack. Sharon knows what you mean to her, what your return symbolizes. When you decided to leave, Sharon remembers how angry she was, how often Kate came home with bloody knuckles or a split lip from forcing Nat to spar with her. To have you back and then immediately do something she’s never done before with you—letting someone outside their tight-knit group lay any sort of claim on you…it worries her.

But she’s Kate fucking Bishop, she has no flaws, admits no wrong, displays no weaknesses.

“We need several billion dollars, and all we have to do is let our little pet out into the world for the night,” Kate says with a shrug, looking at you with the same critical eye of an art collector. “Seems like a good deal to me.”

“Plus,” she pets the top of your head as you nuzzle into her knee. “Yelena’s not an idiot. She knows we’ll be watching and if anything happens to my prized pet that she’ll meet the end she was promised by the Red Room.”

Sharon nods just a little, trying to imagine how much a nightmare tracking you, the Russian, and the Russian’s own security will be awhile keeping Kate in the loop. She and her team can get it done (not as if they have a choice), but it'll be the definition of a logistical nightmare.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Kate coos to you. You keen under her words, pressing your face into the side of her knee and rubbing your face against the fabric of her jeans. “Daddy will always keep you safe.”

“Kate,” Sharon can’t tamper down the bile that rises in her throat as she imagines a Kate without you once more. “You’re sure?”

She ignores her, instead forcefully grabbing you by the chin and forcing you to face Sharon. You let out a small yelp, which Kate simply ignores.

"Do you want to be a good girl for me?"

You nod, desperately trying to push the fear to the back of your brain. Needless to say, it doesn’t work – you can feel it oozing down your spinal cord and settling into your stomach. You’ll be good – you’ll do anything to be good…but you worry your clammy hands and shaky breath might give you away.

Kate pulls you back so that you’re facing her, forcing a whimper from your throat.

“Then don’t leave that Russian’s side for a single fucking second, you understand?”

You nod as much as you can, eyes wide with fear. You truly have no plans to run again—you’d spent enough time on the streets to know that even if you somehow got away (which, in and of itself, is about as likely as you jumping off a building and flying), there’s nowhere for you to go. You have nothing to your name, nothing to barter or trade for on the streets. Kate is, in all ways, the devil you know. Better her than what waits beyond her scope.

The woman holding you face smiles—not the kind that comforts you, but the kind that has you bracing for what comes next. “Perfect.” She pushes you away as she lets go, patting your cheek hard enough that you’re sure it qualifies as a slap. “I knew you could do it. Now, Sharon, walk me through the security protocols, please.”

Kate’s bedroom in her mansion is technically categorized as a “master bedroom,” but feels close to its own apartment within the house. It’s bigger—much bigger—than the home you grew up in, certainly larger than anywhere you found to sleep while away from her. She’s got a large vintage wardrobe that’s been fitted with the favorites of her toy collection, a huge bathroom with a tub large enough for three people, and a small kitchenette.

You have your own walk-in closet, too, not that you really use it. On occasion, you’re arm candy to a fancy dinner or meeting, or you need to catch the eye of a target to leave them vulnerable. Hundreds of thousands of dollars of clothes hang, sadly, mostly unused, as you clap (yes, clap, Kate is not one to spare any expense, especially when it comes to you) the lights on.

You wish you had been given some sort of dress code; you’re not really used to dressing yourself. Truthfully, you’re not used to making any decision on your own, and now that everything rests on you… you’re terrified of messing it up.

It takes what feels like hours, but soon you’ve got three options. A vintage satin wrap dress that hugs your figure but gives you room to breathe, a strappy emerald green floor-length gown with a visible slit that parts every time you walk, and a plush pink sun dress that barely hits your knees but whose sleeves and straight neckline give the illusion of modesty.

In the end, paired with black stilettos and diamond jewelry you’re nearly completely sure was stolen from the Met, you choose the wrap dress. You’re not sure what Russian mobsters like, but you think it’s a safe bet that they enjoy plunging necklines, a high, hidden slit, and perfectly winged eyeliner.

(Or, at least you hope so.)

The car Yelena said would come at eight comes right as the clock ticks into the hour, one of Kate’s servants alerting you to its presence as it pulls into the winding driveway. It’s empty, save the driver, who attempts to neither greet you nor converse with you. He opens the door for you and helps you over the curb, certainly, but the car ride there is completely silent.

Wherever you go, someone seems to be right at your side. The driver escorts you into the restaurant, and the hostess walks you to the far back, where Yelena is already sitting at a perfectly set table in a private room.

“Sit,” she says, pouring champagne into shiny fancy glasses. “We have much to discuss.”

You do as you’re told, taking a champagne flute from her. Initially, you’d hope the alcohol would calm your nerves. Now, you’re settling for it warming your skin.

“It’s nice to have you alone, маленький щенок. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Your face heats—you know your existence is the elephant in the room in many meetings with Kate, but having people know you when you don’t know them has never gotten less strange. Still, your lightweight nature begins to mask itself as bravery as you down the rest of the bubbly liquid. “Anything in particular?”

Apparently, the champagne, while calming your nerves, also dulled your inhibitions.

Yelena, to her credit, just laughs. Like her voice, it’s deep and raspy and goes straight to your center.

“Just that you are a very, very good girl who would do anything for her beloved owner.”

Her energy is electric, enigmatic. This must be what Eve felt like in the garden, with the snake swirling around her in its impossible size. Truthfully, you’d bite into anything Yelena asked you to, if she did it in the same way she asked the waiter for a booth in the corner or how she requested a more “balanced” selection of wine from the sommelier. She even lets you order for yourself, something Kate has never let you do.

It’s interesting to see the differences between the two of them.

As you watch Yelena cut a thin bite of bloodied steak, though, you realize how similar they really are. Yelena, like a knife with an intricately carved handle, and Kate, like a baseball bat with blood in its grooves, may not be mirror images of each other. It is easy to imagine, though, the both of them, side by side, waiting for their turn to torture someone who had wronged them in some way. Danger, regardless of its form, settles its heated self into your lower abdomen.

The conversation is light, flirty. It reminds you of a first date, the kind you went on before Kate domesticated you. You feel…warm, the light of her gaze. It’s hazy, too, the way a fire is in the wee hours of the morning. You feel that same sort of flush, that sort of vulnerability that only reveals itself in the hours before the birds start to sing. It feels both like decades and like seconds before you’re splitting a cherry crème brule and Yelena is sliding the waiter her black card. She holds you close to her with her arm around your waist, her thumb drawing small circles even as the directs you into a black car with the same driver as before. The ride is a daze, her hands dancing over your skin in complete silence.

She guides you into your destination—a hotel—in the same manner, the doorman pointedly making an effort to keep you from his eyeline.

The name of the place doesn’t register until you’re stepping into the lobby, a hand on your waist guiding you to an elevator hidden off to the side. Of course – this is the expensive hotel Kate gets rooms in sometimes to house guests she wants to keep an eye on. Yelena booked her own accommodation, and you doubt Kate needs as much retcon on Yelena as she does for a normal client, but what really causes your breath to hitch in your throat is the cost. A week here is more than most people make in a year, and you know she’s staying for two.

“You’ve been here before?” she asks as she hits on the buttons closer to the top row. The penthouses, you recognize.

“A few times,” you answer honestly. “But never for more than a night or two.”

The room Yelena’s staying in looks exactly like yours did all those years back—modern, tastefully decorated, almost too neat. You don’t have much time to look around, though, before Yelena’s got you pushed against one of the walls while presses her lips to yours. She doesn’t say anything—doesn’t need to—simply bunches your dress in her hands to pull it off you.

It falls to the floor in the same way you think Marie Antoinette’s head did – smoothly, and with silent, eager onlookers watching as it finds its place on the ground.

You expect, or at least hope, there was more fanfare, more witnesses to her destruction. All this dress is getting, as you step out of it and deep into Yelena’s arms, is one woman’s lust. It’s easy to see, though, how anything the Russian does would overpower a crowd of thousands; in the same way her silence screams louder than an army, the way she tugs her bottom lip between her bright teeth says more than anything anyone else could tell you about her.

Her hand rests over your clothed pussy, skimming over the soft skin there. “What a good girl you are.”

You can feel the heat rise to your cheeks and over your chest. You wonder if this is what being burned alive would be like—the light tinging the border of your vision and painful heat quickly turning into pleasure.

“I like them well trained,” she murmurs into your skin. All you can do is grab at her shoulders, holding her close. If Kate said it was okay…

“I’m a busy, busy woman, little puppy,” Yelena peppers small kisses across the base of your throat, her soft, plush lips sending shockwaves through your body. “I don’t have the time to break the brats my…colleagues seem to enjoy so much. But you…you’d do whatever I’d ask you to, wouldn’t you?”

If the room was on fire, you’re sure you wouldn’t be able to tell until the roof caved in. Heat licks at your abdomen, sparks flying across your center as you cross your legs in an attempt to dampen the flames. It, needless to say, doesn’t work at all.

“Oh, puppy,” Yelena grins as the hand begins to ghost over your tummy. “No, don’t do that. Don’t hide from pleasure, my darling.”

Your mouth feels drier than a desert as you meet her heavy gaze, her eyes lined with artfully smudged black shadow. She’s stunning, there’s no way around that (not that you want to avoid it); but, truthfully, you’re also not so sure what she sees in you. It’s easy to forget your insecurities, though, when one hand is suddenly moving south and pushing your carefully curated panties to the side.

Her hands remind you of the rest of her—rough, skilled, no-nonsense. She teases you for a moment, ghosting her fingertips over your desperate cunt. You want her, you want her more than a man dying of dehydration craves an endless freshwater ocean. She knows it, too, watches through dark lashes as you pant and chase her lips when she pulls back.

It's only when you begin to whine that she slides her fingers into your dripping pussy, a moan passing her own lips the same as yours. “Oh щенок, you’re wet after just a little kissing, huh? You like it when I touch you there?”

You swallow the frog in your throat, trying to find a way to defend yourself. The choosing you, the conversation in the restaurant, the touches in the car…but your protests die in your chest as her other hand moves to your throat.

“Gotta hold you in place, щенок,” she murmurs. “Can’t have you running away, can I?”

She finds that special spot inside of you easily, like a scent hound to the hideout of a family of foxes. You can hear the beats of horses’ hooves in just under your ribcage, their owners hollering at the chance to hunt properly.

“I-“ You gasp, trying to find purchase against the wall. When the concrete doesn’t make way for your fingers, your find yourself digging them into her suit. “I-“

"Come on, baby, be good for me,” Yelena purrs. It’s sweet, sincere…but you also can’t imagine how fake it’d have to be for you to not feel a trembling in your knees. She could be a snake oil salesman, and you a harlot hypochondriac with money burning a hole in your purse, and you’re sure you would do whatever she asked. “Give me what I want.”

And so, you do – exploding from the inside out like dynamite inside a coal mine. It’s hard for you to keep yourself upright, and you find yourself leaning on Yelena entirely. She catches you, keeps you upright enough so you can catch your breath.

“I know, baby,” Yelena purrs, rubbing her thumb against the fabric of your dress. “I know, it’s okay.”

She holds you to her, gives you a moment to find your proverbial footing as the pleasure settles into the base of your spine, your knees no longer struggling to hold your weight. You pull back, leaning on the wall as her arms cage you in.

“What a pretty girl you are,” she says quietly, as if she’s merely confirming to herself that her assumptions were correct.

Your heart—the stupid, fluttering thing—thumps against your ribs as you reach for her belt.

Yelena lets you do as you please, finding your lips as your hand finds the toy placed just for you. “Mm,” she moves to nip at your neck as you spit on her cock, your hand finding purchase on the carefully molded silicone. “So good, too. I’ve heard a lot of rumors, щенок. It’s good to know so many of them are true.”

Heat rises in your cheeks and chest. You’re not sure what to say, or do. Even if you did, all of your focus is concentrated on releasing what you want from their confines. Yelena doesn’t stop you, but doesn’t help either. All she does is push you to your knees, one hand on the top of your head while the other guides the toy to your lips. You’ve done this thousands of times with Kate, with her own strong hands at the top of your head.

This is different, though, with Yelena. Different in the way swimming in an ocean is different than swimming in a lake; in the same way sexting through text is different than through a phone call. It’s indescribable but perfect, and you can feel yourself dripping as you lick up the length of the shaft.

“Look at me, красивая девушка,” Yelena murmurs, voice low as if to not startle you. She moans as you meet her heavy gaze, the corners of your eyes watering as you slowly swallow her cock. “Such a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

You’d smile if your lips weren’t so thoroughly occupied, the praise hitting you at every angle. The warmth prods at you, urging you on, with the world shrinking until it was only the two of you and no one else. There was nothing, no one, who could break the focus of you on Yelena, and vice versa.

It's easy, with her hands on the top of your head and endless sweet nothings tumbling from her lips, to swallow her down until your nose was pressed against her pubic bone. She’s got a tuft of light brown hair on her lower tummy, a happy trail you’re eager to nuzzle into when you’re not pre-occupied with her cock.

“Gorgeous,” Yelena whispers, seemingly more to herself than to you.

Funny enough, looking up at her, you’re thinking the same thing.

She swipes her thumb over your cheek, following the outline the silicone makes in the muscle. “Absolutely fucking gorgeous, милый.”

Her praise spurs you on, pushes you to force yourself further and further down until you can feel tears forming at the corner of your eyes and your lungs fighting for air. Yelena just watches you, eyes full of awe and one hand at the back of your head, as you pull back and sputter for air before licking up the shaft once more.

“Enough of this,” she says gruffly, suddenly, grabbing you and throwing you over her shoulder before you can so much as squeak. You’re tossed on the bed much in the same fashion, her hands unzipping your dress and tossing your panties aside as Yelena kisses you. She’s rough, passionate, moving you without pretense until she’s on her back, your core hovering over her face. “Now this,” she moves her head enough to kiss as your empty, waiting cunt. “This is what I’ve been looking forward to since I saw you the first time.”

You want to question her—ask her how she knows about you, how she saw you when Kate keeps you under such close supervision. The curiosity dies as she grabs reaches under your legs to grab your hips and seats you atop her, her lips and tongue moving in tandem. It’s hard to keep yourself from rocking against her, and so you don’t. You grind against her tongue, your hands finding hers to help with her balance. You cum easily, quickly, shaking against her as she moans into your pussy. As the pleasure subsides you push yourself away ever so slightly, seating yourself against her chest. Both of you catch your breaths, the shared panting the only sound in the otherwise quiet hotel room.

When you’re finally able to look down, to see her blissed-out face covered in your juices, you’re mesmerized.

Yelena just smiles up at you, eyes half closed. “черт возьми, you’re amazing. Give me a second, and we can do it again.”

The next morning, Yelena drives you herself, waving away the driver who passes her the keys despite his concerned look. She opens the passenger door for you and closes it once you’re fully inside, getting into the driver’s seat after that. As she drives off, silence settles over the two of you. It’s hard to make small talk in your situation, and so you wait for her to say something first.

Luckily, she does.

“You could come with me, you know.”

You don’t meet her gaze, if she’s even looking at you. All you can do is stare out the car window and watch as the world passes by.

“Americans have nothing on us,” Yelena continues. You wonder if she notices your hands balling into fists. “I could keep you safe, if you wanted to run. It’d be very easy to convince my own people to love you the way Kate’s people do.”

The car stops—a red light, hopefully—and her hand caresses your cheek. “Look at me, щенок. Please.”

And so, you do. Apparently, you’re very easily persuaded.

“Not sure if Kate has told you, but you’re quite the talk of the underground.” Heat rises on your cheeks, the horrors of being known pricking at your skin like needles. “Like some kind of cat tossed out the back. Many people were following your path, щенок. Many people were following Kate’s path as well.”

“W-“ you stop for a second as her thumb rubs at your bottom lip, the lip she was nipping not-so-long ago. “What do you mean?”

 “I mean you are a trophy,” she murmurs, eyes flitting from your lips to your eyes to your heaving chest. “You deserve to be treated like one. And I’ve got a special place for you with me, if you want it.”

Yelena lets you look away from her as the light turns green, the world once again shirking its responsibility to be a quality distraction. The car goes too fast for that, and so you are stuck rolling her words over in your brain.

“I can’t,” you say when the club comes into view. “I just can’t.”

The blonde next to you sighs quiet enough that you barely hear it. She nods to the valet—some scrawny kid you’ve seen once or twice. Where your hands rest in your lap, you feel Yelena’s own sliding between your fingers and depositing a simple business card. On it is just a number, the characters a stark black against the thick eggshell paper.

“Maybe one day I’ll see you again, щенок,” she whispers into your ear. “Tell your владелец she can use the docks whenever she’d like.”

You don’t speak Russian, but it’s easy to tell who she’s talking about.

“Thank you,” is all you can say back, eyes wide and waiting. You worry there’s some catch, a bit of rope you forgot to step over that will make you hit the concrete face-first.

But you remain upright, familiar faces ushering you through. It’s still early in the day, which is something you’re grateful for. You don’t need to deal with the prying eyes of patrons on top of the pity from the workers who are mopping the floors and cleaning glasses. You pass a few of Natasha’s lower guards in the narrow, dim hallways—all of them staring at you as though you were a cow being sent to slaughter. They’ll feast on you someday (both of you know it), but you still can’t make yourself do anything but stare at the floor.

Kate shows no emotion as you step into the office, her face expertly wiped of emotion. Natasha, standing guard at the door, seems relieved. She and her guardswomen have always been a sort of Greek chorus, their reactions slipping through the cracks in their facades every so often. It makes their earlier expressions far more sinister.

“Go lay down, puppy,” Kate says without looking at you. “Daddy’s got some work to finish.”

You do as you’re told, taking your shoes off before sliding onto the dog bed. As soon as your skin hits the fabric you can tell it’s been cleaned – the blanket on top of it, too. It’s still warm from the dryer, smelling distinctly of the lavender dryer sheets she buys in bulk. The bed at the hotel was too big, uncomfortable in its never-ending borders. This feels closer to home, and you lose consciousness to the sound of Kate’s keyboard clicking and opera music playing softly from her desktop.

Hours later, you lift your head when you hear her desk light being turned off, the familiar click a moment of respite from the harrowing silence of the office.

She smiles – a small smile, but a smile nonetheless – when she sees you perk up.

Home? You ask silently, looking at her with wide, pleading eyes.

Home, she tells you through a silent nod.

You tamper your excitement enough to follow her calmly, her arm wrapped possessively around your waist as you exit. The club hums with the pre-opening anticipation, and your own eagerness mixes with the electricity in the air.

The ride home is silent, Kate looking more at her phone than you. She does, though, keep one hand on your thigh, and for that, you are ecstatic.

Once home, Kate grabs one of the collars and leash sets that hang inside a custom end table, a bowl of car keys on top hiding its true function. You drop to your knees without further prompting. It’s hard to fight the moan that bubbles at the familiar clicking sound, and so you don’t.

It makes your owner smile, and you preen under the attention. The hand not holding the leash cups your jaw as you, too, grin with her.

“Such a good puppy,” Kate purrs, looking you over for signs Yelena had failed Kate’s commands.

“If I see a single mark on her, I will kill you,” she’d simply said.

The Russian just laughed. “Going to be hard, Катя. How about just the neck?

Kate hmms, thinking about it. She certainly doesn’t need Yelena to pull out of this deal for something as simple as a few hickeys. “Fine. Anything below the collarbone is fair game.”

“Be careful what you wish for, baby.”

You do not heed her warning—you don’t need to. You’ve known Kate long enough to know exactly what you’re getting into.

“Come on, pup,” she says, standing up straighter as begins to walk towards her personal wing of her house. Just as she trained you, you stand and follow right behind her, eyes focused on the floor. You miss crawling, but know Kate likes to keep your favorites for when she’s really rewarding you. When you’ve proved you deserve it.

As you follow her, you pass a room that’s hidden from view - the door closed to warn the eyes from unwanted, unexpected visitors. Inside rests the larger pieces from Kate’s sexual collection - the full cage, the St. Andrew’s Cross, the coffee table with rivets made for rope. All custom-made to her specifications (and your body measurements).

It surprises you, just a little, when she doesn’t lead you directly to there. Kate has always preferred grand gestures to smaller ones, and that preference doesn’t end when she steps into the bedroom. Once, after receiving news a rival of hers was finally killed by another, second rival, she tied you to the bed and edged you for six hours. She set a timer and everything, telling you it was “an hour for each bullet in his skull.”

You swallow your shock, following her diligently throughout her large mansion. You like Kate’s predictability – even when it’s paired with brutality. This change…you’re almost worried, even as excited and the last thrums of your previous orgasms rush through your blood.

It all melts away, though, when you feel Kate come up behind you, kissing at your neck. She pushes you towards the bedroom—the shared bedroom—the one with the bed you’re rarely allowed to sleep in. This is her version of affection, her language of love. She would never say it, never out loud, but it still makes your heart flutter.

“Good puppy,” she moans as she pushes you against the doorframe, kissing you fiercely. “Such a good fucking puppy for Daddy.”

One of her hands snakes between you, cupping your heated mound. It’s still sore from last night, but that certainly has never stopped her before.

“You’re so beautiful, too,” she murmurs breathlessly. “My gorgeous ray of fuckin’ sunshine.”

The beating in your heart travels south, Kate’s hands roaming over your hips and ass and thighs as she kisses you breathless. It’s easy for her to push your dress up, exposing you to the cool air. Kate laughs, staring at where your very expensive panties were no longer present. “She took ‘em, huh?”

You swallow, not sure what to say. In truth, you hadn’t even thought to look for them—Kate usually makes you go without.

She just laughs, going back to caressing your ass. “Can’t even blame her, I would’ve done the same thing if I had the chance.” She moans as her fingers sink into you. They’re not too deep, but that doesn’t do much to mitigate the stretch. “Fucked a lot of good pussy when you left me, but not a single one matches up to this cunt right here.”

You yelp as she slaps your clit, moans replacing the sharp sound as she circles it slowly. It’s easy to love her when she’s the one taking the pain away, even if she’s the one who caused it in the first place.

Without panties, her fingers slide in easily – your wetness already pooling under you. Your pussy is sore, but it only adds to the pleasure that spreads in your abdomen. It’s the kind of soreness you can feel everywhere—your shoulders, your thighs, your stomach, your arms. It feels good to be a well-loved toy, you think. It feels good to be used, to be useful.

“So wet already?” Kate purrs, a humiliating laugh tinging her words. “I bet I could get my dick now and I’d be able to fuck you exactly how I want to.”

You moan—you can’t help it—biting at your bottom lip.

“You want me to fuck you, puppy?” she asks, smiling as you nod feverishly. “Good girl. Strip, then go wait for me on the bed. Hands and knees, puppy.”

You scramble to take your clothes off and find your place as soon as she lets you go, almost tripping over your own feet in your frenzied desire to follow her orders. The bed, luckily, has already been made, providing you with a wide landscape in which to stake your claim.

Kate appears behind you, it seems, seconds later. The elaborate strap she’s chosen is gorgeous—all woven leather and silver hardware. She has a plethora of harnesses at varying levels of similar and dissimilar to the one she’s wearing, certainly, but after she wore it when she made you squirt for the first time…this one had remained her favorite.

You shiver, just a little, when you feel her hands running over your hips. Kate guides you, silently, closer to her. The silicone brushes against your bare core ever so lightly, sending another wave of desire through you.

“So wet,” she murmurs, her fingers everywhere except exactly where you want them. You’re about to whine, to cry, to beg, to do something to convince how desperately you want her, but before you can even open your mouth, you can feel the head of the toy slip inside of you.

“Oh,” you moan, barely fighting the urge to collapse into the bed, to let her use you like a toy. You know, though, that she likes to be the one to choose your position—if she wanted you with your face pressed into the sheets, she’s put you there with a hand between your shoulders. “Oh, please.”

“You’ve been a good little girl,” Kate muses. You bite your lip, trying to suppress the slew of pleads desperate to spill from your lips. “And well-behaved puppies deserve rewards, I suppose.”

You don’t have time to breath before she’s slamming into you, the toy fully sheathed as Kate pins you to the bed.

“Tell me who you belong to,” she hisses, the strap stretching your cunt. Unlike Yelena’s, this one is smooth, ridgeless, with a bulbous head that ends in a cone shape. It hits that spot inside of you with the kind of delicious pain Kate is so well known for—your cries interrupting her commands. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

You can’t speak—you simply can’t. Your fingers grasp at the silk bedsheets, desperately wishing you had claws so you could hook them into the $15,000 fabric and tear them into shreds. Like a werewolf stuck in the middle of its transformation, the rabidness racing in your blood feels too much for your mortal flesh to bear.

And yet, Kate pushes.

“Say it,” she growls, barring her teeth as she thrusts into you.

“I-I,” There’s no way, no way you’ll be able to choke those words out, choke any words out – everything you want to say is lodged in your throat, stuck there like a fly trapped in a spider’s web. You thrash in the same way, knowing your fate but fighting against it anyway. What was that guy’s name? Sisyphus? He had it easy, rolling that boulder up that hill. At least he wasn’t getting his cock teased while it happened.

Or maybe he was…you couldn’t remember much of your early college English classes as a fire raged inside of you.

“It belongs- oh!,” you moan as Kate bottoms out, the leather of her harness pressing against the inside of your thighs. “It belongs to you.”

“That’s fucking right,” she moans, deep in her chest, as she fucks into you with purpose. “You’re mine, all fucking mine and no one else’s.”

Your cries punctuate her proclamations, hiccups and moans layered over her words.

“I don’t care how many other people touch you,” Kate tells you, ignoring you as your howls of pleasure. “I don’t care if every fucking night you’re at the center of some orgy. You’re mine. Not Natasha’s, or Maria’s, or even fucking Carol-“

You’re wailing now, sure the soundproof walls have disintegrated and are thin as paper—pieces of which flap against your sound waves. Kate, in her unwavering desire to ruin you for eternity, keeps going.

“And certainly not some goddamn Russian who doesn’t know when to stop fucking pushing.”

“N-no!” All you can do is wail, clutching to her so hard you’re sure there will be red marks down her back come morning. Kate won’t mind, though. She also likes a bit of pain to remind her of her own mortality.

“Good fucking puppy,” she whispers, panting into your ear. “Took a stray dog in from the street, gave it a collar. Look at it now, huh?” You can hear the smile on her lips—the kind hunters have when their prey whimpers below them. Kate could set a thousand traps, catch you a thousand times, and she’d still have that delicious grin plastered over her face. It makes you feel small, vulnerable, like a rabbit caught in a snare. You love it.

 “Such a good fucking mutt,” she moans. “Good fucking mutt who takes my cock so well.”

It’s easy to come, then, already sensitive and desperate and so deeply happy to be back with he woman you love the most.

“Yes, puppy,” she moans. “Give it to me.”

And so, you do, over and over again. Kate continues fucking you, even as you begin to shake from the overstimulation. The world shrinks to just the two of you, Kate panting in your ear and you swimming in pleasure. There is no one, there isn’t a need for anyone, to exist outside of you and her.

You’re not sure when it ends. Like an ocean in high tide, you can only wait for her to recede and grant you peace under her thick duvets. She wipes you down with warm, fluffy towels with Puppy embroidered onto them, cleaning your slick and the dried lube from your center and inner thighs. When you gasp at the feeling of the cloth against your sensitive skin, to which Kate just coos and peppers kisses against your sweaty temple.

“It’s okay, baby,” she whispers. “Go to sleep. I know you’re tired.”

Always the best at following directions, you allow unconsciousness to overtake you.

You wake up hours later, the darkness outside giving you no clues to the time. Your whole body is the kind of sore you haven’t experienced in years, the kind that reminds you of when your college roommate freshman year convinced you to run a 5K with her.

Kate sits beside you on the bed, reading some hardcover book about something or other. She likes older books, the boring kind you’d expect a dad to be reading in an old armchair.

It’s easier to deal with her when she’s satiated; when a deal’s gone well, or her product sold for more than she expected. She’s got a quicker step, and holds one hand in her pants’ front pocket as she smirks.

You’re not always the first thing she concerns herself with after her days go perfectly. She wants to brag—to soak in the euphoria of hard work done well with the people who benefit the most from her dealmaking.

But now, as she pushes sweaty hair from your face and smiles softly…it feels good. It feels right.

“How are you feeling, puppy?”

You blink, trying to clear the sleep from your vision. “M good, I think.”

Kate hmms. “Need anything?”

It’s only then you realize how dry your mouth is. “Water, maybe?”

She grabs it for you without question, reaching into the mini fridge hidden inside a less garish nightstand. She waits, patiently, until you’ve downed the whole bottle, before she speaks again.

“Now,” you can hear how out of breath Kate is, as though her restraint in not asking immediately after you’d woken up had driven her to the brink of madness. “Tell me everything she told you. I want every. Last. Detail. And I’ll reward you in ways you can’t currently comprehend.”

You’re not sure what to say at first, the fear of triggering Kate’s possessiveness is always a looming threat. What does she want to know? That you sat on her face? That she likes red wine? That her Russian accent thickens when she’s fucking?

Kate grabs your chin and forces you to meet her gaze, her eyes narrowed in determination. “Don’t think, puppy. Just tell me everything that happened in the order it happened. This sort of arrangement could change some things, could make you a much more important asset.”

You blink, still unsure. Kate’s eyes, though, don’t move from yours.

“Come on, puppy,” she leans down to kiss your forehead. “Tell Daddy what happened, and I can make you a very happy pup.”

[aliensunflower-fics]

My Recommended Fic List

So, I got this ask awhile ago, and since I have been re-reading a bunch of my old favorite fics as a way to cheer up after work I figured why not. This list will be long... and varied but mostly its older fics cuz idk there my favs. Now lets go:

Fashion Upgrade - By @soap-lady : Straight up one of my favorite fics ever, its fun, its creative, it never fails to make me laugh when I need something warm and wholesome after a bad day. Also go check out the rest of her stuff there's so much good okay like shes just a writing queen. Shes on AO3 I don't want to spoil you on her other stuff just GO experience it for yourself.

Ode To Decoy pt 1 / 2 / 3 - By @a-marlene-s : Ive always liked this short sweet little fic about Lila getting caught. Its Lila + class salt though so avoid if that's not your flavor.

EVERYTHING - By @unmaskedagain : They have salt, they have sugar, they have funny, they have crossovers. Like honestly they are a just a great writer with so much variety so go check out the masterlist I linked and I guarantee there will be something there you like.

@ravennm84 Is a writer on the saltier side but they have a wonderful selection of weird wacky tales from the salty but oh so well written Damning Evidence that sees Lila get caught in the best way to the 3 part Horror inspired Serafina other great fics from them include Marinettes Family Court Circus pt 1 / 2 and Of Moldy Bread and Cockroaches / Be Kind to Servers honestly its worth giving there blog a look.

@mochinek0 Is another writer with several beloved fics. They write a lot of Maribat and we love them for it. Ones to check out would be Blind Date / Bruce vs Gabriel just go check out there tag list of daminette for more.

Accidental Crime Boss Marinette - By @lady-literature : This is a wonderful idea and a wonderful little fic and I just... I just like it okay. Sadly I haven't read a lot of there other stuff... But I might after finishing this list considering how much I enjoy this one.

@nobodyfamousposts I love a LOT of there fics. They are one of the best when it comes to striking that sweet spot of calling out the show for some of its garbage while not getting so salty that you cant have fun lighthearted goodness. I have been looking for a masterlist of there work but cant find one so just go stalk there tags. I do recommend there Chloe's Lament Series 1 / 2 exploring how certain 'wishes' would backfire. Guardian Assistant Kevin is also a good one Miracle Queen Aftermath pt 1 / 2 / The 8 parter Burn the Witch series / The Wisdom Teeth Reveal / Kagami Vs The Wall of Faces / Resigning With Grace & Spite / I tried to give a lot of links cuz they have a lot of stuff

Kill Them With Kindness - By @luki-fanfic : Well written, good salt without going overboard. Just good vibes. I havent stalked there other stuff but if its anything like this fic its probably excellent quality.

Stephen Vladislav pt 1 / 2 - By @stormiclown : Adrien centered salt on the idea of finally giving Adrien his own proper rival. I like the idea of Adrien having a rival because its usually Marinette and this was just the right length to get those creative ideas flowing. Also just well written what more can you ask for.

Power Trip - By @storygirl000 : This was the first fic that made me go... Wait would it be more fun if Lila was actually competent? And that set me on the path to writing my own fics where Lila is more villainous and more capable. Its short, well written. Good.

Your Wish is My Command - By DemiGoddess28 on AO3 : A great 11 chapter fic looking into Lila's life if she were to win and get a miraculous wish. Its got sugary goodness for our protagonists and the class and salt for our dearest friend Lila.

LadyBugOut AU - By Miraculous-Content on AO3 : A 50 chapter fic made up of snippets and ideas. I found it really inspiring in many ways. I also love how it redeems Marinettes classmates showing how and why they were tricked but holding them accountable anyway its just... Good.

Juleka vs The Forces of the Universe - By goldenlaurelleaves on AO3 : For those of us not yet ready to accept the death of luka/mari we have this wonderful fic showing Juleka being the biggest wingman as she helps these idiots find there way together.

ChaoticNeutral on AO3 has there own Chloe's Lament fic as well as a Gabriel's Lament fic for people who need sweet salty of those two characters.

BroadwayCutie16 was Inspired by the person above and DemiGoddesses your wish is my command fic to write Lila's Lament fic going over Lilas failed wish. Honestly I always love these fics because there just so interesting and the way wishes can be taken and twisted is always a fascinating idea to me.

#WayneAngel - By Tired-Writing-Teach on AO3 : For us Maribat lovers. Its fun and lighthearted with some good gags and some light fluff.

Damian in Paris - By Lilliesandliveries on AO3 : A sweet Maribat series showing what would happen if Damian ran away from home and found himself in Paris and getting therapy.

How a Demon Commissions an Angel - By AlixAnonymous : Damian blackmails Marinette into letting him be her client so he can get his bros the best gifts, they end up becoming penpal buddies.

Mythomania - By LadyEnna_50 on AO3 : Proof that I dont hate Adrien or Mari/Adrien. In this fic Adrien's spine gets titanium plating and he sees just how bad Lila is hurting Marinette and does something about it.

The Contingency - By AbyssalGuardian on AO3 : SALT. Also Tim/Mari but even still I love the way this was written, the style, and some of the ideas just ugh love it. Its not for those who dont like salt so just avoid at your own discretion. Its about a chaotic Marinette done with her life running away to Gotham where she meets her true black cat, and gets her life back on track.

The String That Binds Us - By FaithAndATypeWriter on AO3 : Okay so is there any Mari/Bat fan who hasnt already heard of this one? Who cares its good, its cute, I love it. May the author be blessed with snacks.

The Great IKEA Game - By @batsandbugs : Okay again... I think every Mari/Bat fan has probably heard of this one already because its just that good and that popular. But who cares I am recommending it anyway. Don't read if your allergic to fun I guess.

If this list still doesn't somehow have enough salt for you then try @goggles-mcgee fics here is a link to there Masterlist. They are in a way a professional at salt and angst and they make you want to adopt Marinette and pop her in a blanket fort.

Honestly I could keep going but this list already feels so long for other great recs though I can link you to @jayphoenic who has some great Daminette Fic Recs and some Lila Salt Fic Recs!

Feel free to reblog this and add some links to stuff you would think I or others might like! Also lets just acknowledge how many talented authors the community has like wow.

[annawayne]

Hi Anna, Stella/Luki here!! Just wanted to thank you for all your kindness across all my work 😭 it means more than you think!!

Hello, Stella! (Or Luki, how do you prefer? I like both, so let me know, please, which is better for you!)

And you're absolutely welcome!

Thank ✨YOU✨ for creating your wonderful stuff, both arts and writing related, your style is wonderful, vivid and evocative, and I also like your ideas in writing a lot. So I wish you a lot of inspiration, energy and time for creating!

Thank you for your great works :3

[thedukedudeinadress]

Intro

Hello! I'm Pumpkin (not really) and this is my blog. I mostly write fanfiction but on here I like chaotically reblogging all things that is vibe and relatable, I also sometimes make incorrect quotes or just post my (potentially hot) takes. In theory I'm also an artist but that one is very rare and you probably won't notice. So... yeah, lemme tell you about myself lol

About me as a person:

Pronouns: he/it/they

Age: 20 (27/08-04)

From: Skåne, Sweden (important because if anyone assumes I'm from Stockholm I'll throw up /hj)

Am: very AuDHD, very queer, very mentally unstable

I speak: Swedish and English fluently and a bit of embarrassingly terrible Norwegian. I also know how to say that a cat is eating a croissant in French (thanks Duo)

My fandom stuff:

Ao3: thedistortedeye

Current fandom(s) I write for: ATLA. That's it. I'm in a brainrot.

Ship(s) I currently write: Zukka. Again, brainrot.

Fandoms I'm also somewhat active in atm: TMA, Young Royals, Gravity Falls, Helluva Boss

Current favourite ships: Zukka (ATLA), Ty Luki (ATLA), Kataang (ATLA), Mai Lee (ATLA), DoorKeay (TMA), JonMartin (TMA), TimSasha (TMA), Bubbline (Adventure Time), Stolitz (Helluva Boss)

Other + fun facts:

Likes: fanfiction, chocolate, plushies, music, monster energy drinks, sharks, rodents, pins patches and stickers (the holy trinity), writing

Dislikes: bigots, spiders, most bugs, liquorice, sand (it's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere), crowds, my brain (it's very mean to me, idk)

Special interests (please talk to me about these): the Vasa ship, European royalty (mainly the Bernadottes and the Tudors, Romanoffs and Valois-Angoulêmes are also cool though, and like, I find royalty interesting in general), ocean liners (RMS Olympic and MV Georgic, my beloved), Avatar the Last Airbender (shocker, I know)

Random facts about me: - I own three model ships of the Vasa ship - When I was around 7 I decided I was tired of not being able to hula-hoop and that I was gonna be able to do it from there on out and somehow it worked - My brother and I made a whole alphabet in an afternoon in 2023, we like playing hangman in it - I haven't had my natural hair colour since the 1st of January 2016, that's almost half my life - When I was a young boy my father took me into the city to see a marching band. Yeah, like genuinely, that happened.

[conduiitz]

Oooh alternate wardrobe pls! Post-apocalyptic AU anyone? 👀 👀 (You can just post a page of your comic, too 😘)

Did you say post-apocalyptic AU that's turned into a comic about superpowers, swords, friendship and survival? Sure thing! :D

[doitinanotherlanguage]

Week 3 | Day 7 | Langblr Reactivation Challenge

🇫🇮 FI: Vikan päivän ohjeistuksessa luki, että kirjoita äidinkielellä tai tavoitekielellä, joten ajattelin, että kirjoitankin tällä kertaa äidinkielellä eli suomeksi. Energiat vähän laski haasteen loppua kohden ja netin ulkopuolinen elämä painoi päälle, joten useampi päivä jäi multa välistä ja kirjoitan tätä viimeisen päivän postausta nyt paljon myöhemmin kuin oli tarkoitus. Halusin kuitenkin joka tapauksessa vetää vähän ajatuksia kokoon nyt lopuksi. Fiilis on hyvä, ja oon iloinen, että ehdin tekemään sen verran postauksia mitä ehdin. Parasta haasteessa oli ehdottomasti se, että löysin monia mulle täysin uusia langblr-tilejä haasteen tägin kautta. Sain myös lisää kipinää kielten opiskeluun ja motivaatio nousi, koska sain opiskeluun tavoitteellisuutta tän haasteen kautta (opiskelen tällä hetkellä kaikkia mun tavoitekieliä itsenäisesti, joten opiskelun tavoitteellistaminen on ajoittain hyvinkin haastavaa...). Sain myös paljon ajatuksia ja intoa jatkoa ajatellen, esim. millaisia langblr-postauksia haluan tästä eteenpäin tehdä. Kiitos @prepolyglot haasteen ideoinnista! 😊 

🇬🇧 EN: The prompts for the last day of this challenge instructed us to write either in our native language or our target language, so I decided to write in my native language (Finnish) for once. My energy levels definitely decreased towards the end of the challenge as real-life stuff complicated things, so I ended up skipping several days and I’m writing this last post way later than I intended to. In any case, I still wanted to sum up my thoughts at the end of the challenge. I feel great, and I’m really happy that I had time to create the posts that I did. The best thing about this challenge was definitely the fact that I found so many new-to-me langblr accounts through the tag for the challenge. The challenge also sparked new motivation in me for learning languages, because I found studying more intentional with an objective in sight (I’m currently studying all of my target languages independently, so I often lose sight of my goals and objectives...). Also, I now have many ideas and a lot of excitement for what I’m planning to do next, e.g. what types of langblr posts I want to continue with moving forwards. Thank you @prepolyglot for coming up with this challenge! 😊

[acrianswashere]

A real Occultist Debunks “Selling Your Soul”

Hot take this was ripped from my Wordpress, and Magick Journal I highly recommend checking out at the links above.

You ever read something so fuking asinine you want to claw your eyes out? Not everybody is Christian. Not every religion is Christianity. not all magick and holy sacred power comes from your Jesus. Selling your soul isn’t real. That’s not how this works beyond your feeble religious understanding. Today we’re going to be debunking Robert Johnson and how he “sold his soul” at the crossroads. Hot take: he didn’t.

For starters who is Robert Johnson? He’s a famous blues singer. He’s infamous for the before statement. Robert Johnson as a person doesn’t matter to much. I’m not really into blues and while I respect it as a genre with a history I could care less. What matters is this myth surrounding him and his music. Lots of people think he “sold his soul” for some kind of skill with the guitar. That, because he pledged himself to Satan he got his ability. Let’s get one thing out of the way. That doesn’t happen.

If you are familiar with this blog (I’m assuming you’re not) you’ll know I do magick. The real kind. Not that harry potter bullshit you see in movies. I am a left handed sorcerer who works frequently with demons. With the dark. Magick some people would consider to be black or inherently evil given the subject matter. Stuff drenched in what you stereo-typically view as the “occult”.

I promise you that the black man at the crossroads ain’t a demon but now we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Point is I do this shit for real. Solomonic tradition and the like. I’ve read my fair share of goetic based texts and fancy golden rimmed grimoires. I know demons well.

So why do I think as someone embedded in this that this is horseshit? Cus it is. When you work with spirits for any long period of time you’ll eventually have to pay them for their work. Nobody does any kind of labor for anyone for free whether you’re a human or a ghost. Spirits can be paid in a lot of ways from them asking you to write a song or throwing a rock in a pond, to giving them cake. Spirits can be paid with tasks or offerings. But your soul is worth nothing to them.

Your soul isn’t worth anything on the astral plane. It’s not something you can pay somebody with. It’s nontransferable. No one wants it and nobody will take it. You can promise your essence in devotion to someone, you can promise service, you can be a sword and a shield sure. But your soul is worth nothing. Nobody cares about it.

When it comes to dealing with the devil the myth arises from actuality. When it comes to demons or even other spirits like fae, you can bargain and barter with them. You can sign contracts with entities where they promise you something in exchange for something else. This something has to be something you can give them. Such as food, incense, art that sort of thing. You can’t really give anyone your soul it doesn’t work that way. 

Spirits do want stuff from you but they don’t want your soul. You can sign contracts with demons but they’re not gona ask for that in return. They may ask for something big but never that. It’s just not of value to them. They may ask for big metaphorical concepts like your divinity, your fame, or your loyalty but not your soul. Anything that’s asks you for your soul, chances are is trying to fuck with your head and only wants to parasitically feed off you. But we’re not gona get into Jellyfish here.

So yeah you can make an agreement with a demon, sign a contract with one also. But your not gona go to hell for it, and your certainly not giving them your soul.

Also Robert Johnson? Wasn’t a left handed guy. He was someone who practiced Hoodoo (not demons) which is a kind of African folk magick that comes from a variety of influences. Dollies are European In origin and while they made their way in some Hoodoo practices and even Voodoo it doesn’t change the fact that they are originally European.

[Barber, Chad. Infernal Conjure Craft. HADEAN PRESS, 2011. 1 vols.]

Hot take: it’s not cultural appropriation to work with dollies in that form. But that’s another misunderstanding and issue for another day.

So I mean reflecting did Robert Johnson do magick? Yes he did. He did Hoodoo. He references Mojo hands and other practices in his music. Those are Hoodoo things. Hoodoo ain’t evil. Just because it’s magick doesn’t make it “of the devil” and in retrospect that’s a super naive way to think of things. Especially given Hoodoo’s blend of cultures and origins which I’m not gona touch here because I am far from and authority on that matter.

 The world doesn’t revolve around Christianity and regardless of whether you practice Christianity or not you can’t really filter it all through that lens if you want a proper perspective. Other religions, other practices exist it doesn't mean its YOUR devil in disguise tempting people to sin via their belief.

[Yronwode, Catherine. “http://www.luckymojo.com/crossroads.html.” Luky Mojo Curio Co,

   www.luckymojo.com/crossroads.html.]

Hell, Christian Magick exists and the miracles Yeshua himself performed were inherently of a divine supernatural presence (you know the big guy). That’s magick whether holy or not. But now we’re detracting.

Point is regarding Robert Johnson, the dude did do magick. He did Hoodoo. That doesn’t mean that he sold his soul. Also the whole crossroads thing? Yeah there is a ritual you can do to achieve a skill set that is known as “that one crossroads ritual everybody talks about whenever the crossroads in magick are even briefly mentioned”. You enter in to an agreement with an entity known as The Black Man by going to the crossroads for a set time frame. Then he then aids you in your attempts to learn whatever the skill you asked for afterwords. 

It’s a Hoodoo ritual and I know so because I’ve done it. (See my magical journal entries night 1 through night 7) Certain pantheons have certain vibes and this one was African in nature. The exact origin or creator of it I can not tell you but it has a vibe that doesn’t scream to me demon. Plus some of my demons don’t get along well with him which wouldn’t of have happened the way it did for me had he been one of them.

We don’t really have any historical evidence that Robert Johnson himself even bothered to do this ritual. You can speculate but it doesn’t change the fact that we simply don’t know and what we do know we can’t pinpoint. We only have second hand sources from other people rather than statements made by the man. Crossroads are just a thing in Hoodoo. They are a thing in a lot of magick and religions. I mean the Greeks had Hekate. who is wonderful and that was/still is her thing. The heathens have Wodin. Crossroad deities are everywhere. They are not regulated to one specific faith or practice alone. Nor should they be.

So him singing a song about the crossroads or rituals related to it means absolutely nothing. Did he wake up good at guitar? It’s possible. Was a ritual involved? Yeah I’ll give you that. Did he sell his soul to do it? No. He didn't. The reason this association is even here in the first place is because of his friend Tommy Johnson. No before you ask they weren’t related. Tommy Johnson did this ritual. He painted it for whatever reason as a satanic thing and marketed himself accordingly. He also did Hoodoo so take that as you will. He wasn’t really as well known even if his guitar playing was better than Roberts. This was later adapted into a published fictional book where the myth of Robert doing it arose in popculture.

So that’s the truth it’s not as exciting as a conspiracy theory drenched in Christianity.  The ritual is real. I talk about it in my oddly titled book “how to sell your soul and other nifty things. A beginners guide to black magick.” which has yet to come out despite it’s misnomer of a title. if you want guides on that ritual I can’t really help you but earlier in this article I linked my journal experience of me doing the ritual which is the only deviation out there from the standard fair you find online. But it’s really best performed at an abandoned location for as long as possible, with information regarding it gathered from places outside the internet. (The internet won’t properly prepare you for this ritual you need to go buy some books).

So yeah you can do Hoodoo and a crossroads ritual to achieve a skill. You can sign pacts with demons. You can use magick to get famous even though we didn’t discuss that here. But you can’t sell your soul. It’s worth nothing. The crossroads ritual has nothing to do with the christian devil and you don’t go to any sort of hell for performing it. It’s possible that Robert didn't even do the ritual though that really is a matter of opinion at this point. Tommy did the ritual. Tommy marketed himself poorly. So maybe before you perpetrate a myth like this do a sting of research and discover that life is way more interesting and elaborate and magick is far more detailed than some industry based conspiracy theory about getting famous and good at shit with no effort.

My name is Acrians Locket. I’m snarky and bitter. My blog is currently aimed at beginners who have an interest in the real versions of this sort of stuff outside of hogwarts ridden movies. I hope you enjoyed and check me out. Chow

-Acrians Locket

Further Reading:

Baby’s first demons:

Best Book For Beginners

Companion to the keys of Solomon

Demon Dictionary

This Youtube Channel [e.a koetting]

This Youtube Channel [Orlee Stewart]

Other magick (not my forte though I’m exploring it right now so forgive the lack of links)

This Youtube Channel [Arziana EverDark]

This Author [Taylor Ellwood]

This Site [More traditional based shit, legit and good]

[I’m not linking any crossroads stuff it’s linked previously if you actually click the hyperlinks I included within my article.]

MY magickal Blog

MY magickal Youtube

My Magickal Journal

[peachyteabuck]

sword & shield (fallon carrington x reader)

↪ summary: you have a meltdown. luckily, fallon knows just what to do

a commission for @devillskettle

↪ pairing: fallon carrington x reader

↪ words: 1,032

↪ trigger warnings: fluff, angst related to it being a meltdown, unspecified neurodiversity in reader

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

The inside of your chest feels like a balloon being filled with helium by a careless child. Everything—from the hairs sticking to your forehead, to your extra-dark sunglasses atop your head, to the itchy tag at the back of your shirt—everything grates on your nerves as though they were large blocks of cheese. Two tables behind you, a man is telling a woman off for taking too harsh a tone during a pitch meeting. A table in front of you, a couple is professing their love for each other after the woman’s pregnancy test came back positive last night. Your waiter has on cologne you think expired the same time Britney publicly shaved her head.

Next to your heart and your lungs you can feel the latex pressing on your vital organs; you can’t inhale enough, and you can feel your heart muscles fending off the flimsy material. Some of it seems to pass into your trachea, too, blocking any air from passing in or out.

You don’t say anything when you leave the restaurant, simply standing up as Fallon rambles on about someone at work who accused her of using her Daddy’s money to get by. It’s not that you don’t care that she cares about her reputation—but, more importantly, if you had to hear one more second of literally any noise, you were going to start screaming and flipping tables.

It’s not too hot outside, but not too cold, either. One of those end-of-summer days where the light jacket you’d refused to take off when you’d entered the restaurant would keep you perfectly content. Now you wish you’d brought the heavy blazer you’d tossed aside at the last second. You would’ve hated lugging it around, but at least you’d have something to hide under as the world shrunk around you.

It's easy to know that Fallon is the one coming to stand next to you. She’s got that confident air about her that you’ve envied since undergrad—that kind of energy that guys in your profession were born with; the kind you hated until you saw it dressed in a hot pink pantsuit with a matching Prada purse.

Fallon doesn’t bother to ask if you’re okay. She and the few strangers passing by know you’re not okay just by looking at you—hunched over, hands over your ears, eyes screwed shut. She also knows how easily touch can set you off in these moments, as if you had become trapped inside the belly of a territorial dog, ready to bite at the slightest move.

She doesn’t say anything, actually. Not to you, anyway. Your hands are only so-so at blocking noise, and you can hear her going they’re fine, don’t worry to the occasional concerned civilian troubled enough to ask your companion about you.

You can feel something in front of your face and open your eyes just a bit. It’s her phone, a message typed out in her notes app.

Leave or stay here? It says.

You lean your head to the left a bit.

Fallon takes it back. My place or yours?

Your head snaps left once more. Your roommate works from home and, while she’s sweet, if you have to listen to one of her horrible meetings you think you’ll explode.

You look down again and read the next line.

Let me pay for the food, grab our coats, and call the driver. Stay here.

You nod just a little, hands still over your ears. You knew you should keep a pair of earplugs in your pocket.

Fallon does just as she said she would (or, at least you hope so, given all you can verify is that she’s holding your coat and ushering you into the black Suburban. You like that restaurant, and the last thing you need is for them to put you on their “do not seat” list for nonpayment). The driver, who’s always been understanding of your needs, keeps the car silent as he takes you and Fallon down backroads and through the suburbs.

He doesn’t even say anything as he drops you and Fallon off at her expensive condo, giving her a nod in the rearview mirror that she returns equally silently.

You know lots of people don’t like Fallon, that much has been clear since you were paired for a project in one of your advanced marketing classes. But the parts of her everyone seems to dislike (or worse, actively hate) are all the things you admire most about her; her drive, her stubbornness, how she gets whatever she wants. When you first met, you’d spent your whole life denying yourself anything slightly out of the ordinary.  You’d deny yourself anything your mother would’ve considered frivolous and followed every rule placed upon you.

It was horrible. You had felt trapped, walking into that marketing class. Every day an anvil would settle itself atop your chest, painfully crushing your ribs. Meeting Fallon was a true breath of fresh air. She helped you, in her own way, helping to stand up to professors with bones to pick and fellow students who tried to take advantage.

In that same strange, wonderful way, she guides you up the steps of her home, silently instructing you to lay on the couch. There, she piles fancy blankets on top of you (three, to be exact), from thickest to thinnest. She then grabs you a glass of water, cold, from her fridge dispenser.

“You want to watch something?” Fallon asks. You nod, just a little. “Blink once for something you’ve seen before, twice for something irrelevant to your interests.”

You blink once.

She follows your request without comment, sitting so that the side of her thigh presses into your head.

“Thank you,” you say after a while, voice small. For a moment, you’re not sure Fallon hears you. The thick blankets surely muffle your voice, the sound barely audible as the sounds of some television show you’ve seen a thousand times play on her flatscreen television.

Fallon’s hand, once dropped over your shoulder, comes down to cup your face. The position is awkward, but that doesn’t stop her thumb rubs over your heated cheek. “Anytime.”

[thepersianslipper]

The Persian Slipper Reads The Blog

Hey guys! So sorry for this long delay, but I’ve been a bit busy with boring real life stuff and didn’t have the time to keep up my posting schedule. Hopefully things will get back on track soon. Again, thank you all so much for your responses to my little series!

Let’s wrap up TBB. 

As you can read in my previous post, John posts 4 entries relative to TBB (March 23rd to 28th). This time we’ll look at the last two.

1 - FYI

The case has been solved the previous night and today the boys went back to the bank to collect their paycheck. John is preparing to write up their second case, but first he is giving us a little teaser. 

- “This is me” stock photo of me looking cool, 

- “This is Sherlock” candid photo of Sherlock looking mysterious with the light totally not highlighting his cheeckbones, he’s so handsome.

I can’t remember what was John’s profile picture after ASIP, but I think it was Sherlock’s picture… Can someone remember? 

For the people who joined the fandom a little later, I think it’s important to mention that the blog did change a bit between the episodes. Not only did new posts appear, they would also be edited. Sometimes the features on the right column would change, like John’s profile pic, or the hit counter (present during ASIB), etc.

2 - The Blind Banker

John posts this on the 28th, a day after they collect their payment at the bank.

The post is a more or less straightforward description of the episode, so I won’t go into much detail about it.

The really interesting bit IMO is the last paragraphs of John’s post.

James Bond again... John is coming down from the adrenalin high and is feeling like he’s in a super spy movie. The same super spy movies he and Sherlock had binge watched a few days before. 

Things suddenly take a much darker tone when John admits that he does enjoy this life he and Sherlock chose for themselves - he makes sure to stress that it was a conscious decision for him and for Sherlock.  He is aware that it  a dangerous life, made progressively more dangerous by the fame Sherlock is gaining (hello, TRF?). John fears for Sherlock and for the people that are close to them. Already, he is aware of an impending force looming over Sherlock and his world.

This last paragraph is particularly interesting for me because of John’s choice of words. Not only does he fear for Sherlock and everyone around them, he knows that there are forces, however abstract, determined to bring Sherlock down. It’s very much in line with John’s last scene in TBB. We can see that he is worried, that he is realizing that there is something, someone, watching them.

I can’t quite place the date of this last scene in 221b, can’t make out the date on Sherlock’s newspaper… Is this on the 28th? It would make sense because the timestamps in the comments are relatively early (around 13:00). I assume John wrote up the case after this breakfast scene.

3 - The Comments

There are a few interesting threads in the comments of The Blind Banker. 

a) Harry and John

Harry keeps trying to be involved in John’s life but he keeps holding back.

b) Sherlock and John being domestic

Sherlock is not a great fan of this case post either and makes his opinion known again. Again, the domesticity is so pure it makes my heart cry. Harry is also a fellow shipper.

c) Mrs Hudson and the Internet, part 2

Mrs Hudson is still using Mrs Turner computer. We learn that she does Sherlock’s laundry… Not your housekeeper, huh?

d) A looming threat

I’ll delve into this in detail when I write about the sideblogs, but it’s important to note that Jim from IT has already approached Molly. John’s instinct was right, dark forces are closing in and he is clearly ill at ease.

e) Going to Minsk

Finally, I should mention Barry Berwick, the prisoner that tries to hire Sherlock in the opening of TGG. He contacts Sherlock and whatever he says, it’s enough to convince him to go talk to him in prison in Belarus. I just love it how the cases tie in each other (and how Sherlock bosses everyone around).

4. The Timeline

It’s the end of another episode, so we can add to our timeline:

14th December - John starts writing a blog. He may have returned to the UK recently and started therapy.

29th January - John and Sherlock meet for the first time.

30th January - Sherlock shows Baker Street to John, the rest of the ASIP episode happens on the same day.

7th February - John posts the ASIP case.

23rd March - TBB episode starts, John has a row with the chip-and-pin machine and they find Van Coon’s body. Lukis is killed that night.

24th March - John goes to his job interview, Soo Lin is killed that night.

26th March - John takes Sarah to the Chinese circus, hijinks follow.

27th March (not confirmed)- The case is wrapped and the guys go see Seb at the bank to collect their payment. 

28th March - Last 221B scene in TBB, John writes up the case. Berwick contacts Sherlock. If the 22nd is a Monday (according to Van Coon’s schedule), it makes sense that Sherlock would be holding a copy of The Sunday Times on the 28th.

Thanks for reading! Next post we will start with one of my favorite episodes, TGG!

Previous < (7/?) > Next

@todaywearesoldiers @sherlockedcarmilla @thejohnlockoutlet @fellshish @sarahthecoat @devoursjohnlock @anchored-in-high-tide

[gayrightszuko]

hm i’m trying to plan out my ty luki fic and the thing is i definitely want to write some smut for them so they’re gonna have to be aged up first but i’m gonna have to fuck with the timeline like, a lot.... 

so suki is fifteen when we meet her and we can probably assume ty lee is fourteen, same as azula. it’s a post-canon fic so it’s safe to put them at sixteen and fifteen respectively. that leaves three years before they can get together. but based on some other timeline stuff i want to have happen, i need them to get together way before that.

[asspiringidiot]

Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora? I haven’t really used the others much, so Soundcloud~!

is your room messy or clean? Messy. I call it individual organization.

what colour are your eyes? Blue, although sometimes they seem a really pretty grey 

Do you like your name? why? I can tolerate it. I like the shortened version of it “Sevi” but I feel like being named Seven would have been cooler

what is your relationship status? Dating ~ !

describe your personality in 3 words or less Bubbly, Intuitive, Caring

what colour hair do you have? Dark Brown, Currently Black

what kind of car do you drive? color? I drive a tan-ish volkswagon

where do you shop? The Mall, or our small town Walmart

how would you describe your style? Witchy, Feminine, Dressy

favourite social media account I really like my Tumblr

what size bed do you have? Slightly bigger than twin?

any siblings? One blood sibling, the other three through marriage (which I have disdain for)

if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why? Probably somewhere in Europe, because I like how Europe seems from an American perspective and I’d like to know other ways of life and Art forms

favorite snapchat filter? The fall one with freckles and big spectacles 

favorite makeup brand(s) I don’t really have a specific makeup brand, although I have a very great Wet and Wild liquid eyeliner than I use 24/7

how many times a week do you shower? I try to every other day although its said to be bad for my hair

favorite tv show? Sense8, or Criminal Minds

shoe size? 8 1/2

how tall are you? 5′3

sandals or sneakers? Sneakers, they’re more functional

do you go to the gym? No;;;

describe your dream date Something romantic and special to the both of us, nothing too fancy, just something that feels right and simple

how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment? I have none, just a credit card

what color socks are you wearing? A variety of the colours

how many pillows do you sleep with? At least 5, and two body pillows

do you have a job? what do you do? I’m a student so far, but an aspiring Artist and Author

how many friends do you have? At least 8, but about three best friends

whats the worst thing you have ever done? Wen’t through a creepypasta stage lol

whats your favorite candle scent? I really like vanilla with most scented things, but if it’s something bubbly or nostaligc I’ll love it all the same

3 favorite boy names Aiden, Seven, and Luki

3 favorite girl names Claire, Sophia, and Seven

favorite actor? Richard Speight Jr

favorite actress? Kirsten Vangsness

who is your celebrity crush? Richard Speight Jr

favourite movie? I really like Happy Feet as embarrasing as it is lol

do you read a lot? whats your favorite book? I read a moderate amount, less than I’d like to, but my favourite book so far is Good Omens

money or brains? Well, both would be good, but you can make money with brains, so brains, of course,

do you have a nickname? what is it? My main nick name is Sevi but people also call me Seven or Claire

how many times have you been to the hospital? Well, on emergency trips, probably at least 5 times

top 10 favourite songs 

do you take any medications daily? Yes, actually, I take stuff for ADD and I’m supposed to be taking anxiety meds plus vitamin D but I don’t take those as often as I should

what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc) Oily, It really fucks my hair up

what is your biggest fear? My biggest fear is probably the Ocean, or Space, or the inevitable

how many kids do you want? Well, I’d rather adopt, which is my mindset as a teenager right now, but if possible I’d love to have maybe two or three

whats your go-to hairstyle? Black haired, short, and bangs

what type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc) Usually, big houses

who is your role model? I don’t know If I have one, probably my friends

what was the last compliment you received? From my boyfriend constantly telling me that I’m cute and perfect 

what was the last text you sent? A D&D group chat

how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real? I think I was 10, I caught my mom stuffing our stockings before we left to my grandmas

what is your dream car? I’d honestly just like a fully functional car, maybe one that means something to me

opinion on smoking? It’s terrible for your lungs and everyone around you, I’ve lived with relatives that smoked all their lives and I’ve learned the things it’s capable of

do you go to college? Not yet, but I have to get my GPA up soon because I’m fucking up my Junior grades 

what is your dream job? Doing something creative that can give people an imagination beyond comprehension

would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs? Either or, they both have their ups and downs

do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels? I honestly use those up in the hotel, but if there is any left I will

do you have freckles? Yes

do you smile for pictures? I almost always do

how many pictures do you have on your phone? Probably over 80

have you ever peed in the woods? I really hope I haven’t

do you still watch cartoons? Of course! It’s like Halloween, you’re never too old

do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonalds? Either or

Favorite dipping sauce? Ketchup or Honey

what do you wear to bed? Usually very few clothes

have you ever won a spelling bee? Nope

what are your hobbies? Writing, drawing, painting, building things, creating costumes 

Can you draw? I sure hope I can lol

do you play an instrument? I sort of play piano but I haven’t really learned a lot on it

what was the last concert you saw? Probably a school concert, I’ve never seen a band on stage

tea or coffee? Coffee

Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts? Starbucks? I’ve never been to Dunkin Donuts

do you want to get married? I honestly don’t know, once people get married everything gets so weird and is a construct I don’t think is necessary 

What is your crush’s first and last initial? T.K.

are you going to change your last name when you get married? I’m not sure

what colour looks best on you? I think it’s either purple or green

do you miss anyone right now? I’m always missing people

do you sleep with your door open or closed? Open

do you believe in ghosts? Yep

what is your biggest pet peeve? People being ignorant about things while pretending they know everything about it

last person you called`My dad

favourite ice cream flavour? Mint and Blue Moon

regular Oreos or golden Oreos? Regular

chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? Rainbow

what shirt are you wearing? A Supernatural Tee

what is your phone background? Something Homestuck lol

are you outgoing or shy? Depends on who I’m with

do you like it when people play with your hair? Yeah

do you like your neighbours? I don’t have a reason not to like them

do you wash your face? at night? in the morning? When I take a shower tbh

have you ever been high? I’m not sure, tried but I don’t know if I got there

have you ever been drunk? I don’t think I have

the last thing you ate? Can’t remember 

favourite lyrics right now?

summer or winter? Fall

day or night? Night

dark, milk, or white chocolate? Milk

favourite month? February

what is your zodiac sign Leo!

who was the last person you cried in front of? My boyfriend, during a sad movie

[constanciapaula]

“Buenos Dias (Whatever dia it is today, I am no longer certain)”

“Life is so magnificent as much as it’s not, it’s as special as it’s collective. + we owe it to our human body to experience as many experiences as possible.” !! 

Ahh how wonderful to hear! It feels so good to recognise growth and see it in the people around you/ me. Hearing this is pushing me to work on and reflect on how I could grow at the moment. I feel whenever I am home with my family, as you know, its usually a strange time in some way or another. The sudden lack of freedom and dealing with family dynamics. But I think I want to work on bringing together the two “parts” that my life feels it has split into. Does this make sense? I want to synchronise my home & uni life, who I am and how I treat people around me during these times. I think this would be an important thing for me to work on for my relationships and myself. 

Ah! Interesting, the observation about how writing something down can completely transform it, this actually reminds me of this youtube clip I became completely obsessed with last year, I would reference it during every project:  

“Neurons from a fetal animal growing in tissue culture.” So its a time-lapse footage of neurons making new connection to other neurons, so in really basic terms, what your thoughts look like. 

I used it mostly in reference to my boundary project also because to me, being able to see the actual physical connections that our brains make, it made it clearer (but also more mysterious somehow?) that so often, feelings and emotions are so inexplicable but so crucial to us as humans. But you writing about writing reminded me of this because writing somehow feels like that sometimes. Or when you’re having a really good conversation with someone  and it feels like mini fireworks in your brain! 

(Boundaries) Yes! So this was where I found my project was going - I did find it difficult though because trying to communicate something like this (spirituality) in a project thats going to be graded/ judged..hmm..interesting but really challenging. Ah I remember now, this is why I like to look at science (video above) to sort of back-up/ explain these abstract ideas. - do you find you do this? I would love to explore these ideas further with you Paula. Although to be honest, we have explored it a lot in the conversations we have, but lets make some real stuff! 

Oooo! Really interesting point about the books and interview - thank you! - I have a thought - maybe this could be in the form of a book or an interview but I would love to do a project/ piece with you where one of us starts and then the object or something (?) is passed to the other then over and over but all the communication comes from the piece itself. Hmm not sure this makes much sense haha. Sort of like we interview each other from across the world but with pre-recorded videos? Remember that voice recording device you got in first year? - that was so fun! Maybe we could just make it our voices and then the collaborative part comes from the imagery? 

Sol Calero and Exoticism’s - Reply, reply 

“but rather integrate as much as we can…I would say want but is that egocentric?.” - Really interesting point, I suppose for me, this further raises the question, to what extent is there choice in art? I guess choice is everything but then does that mean everything involved with choice is egocentric? Surely not? To be honest, I am still exploring ego and what it means. When I next see Luki i’ll ask him about this, he talks about ego a lot. 

Ah ! I am sorry, I started writing but I should have read the whole paragraph first because yes, this is also what I am wondering - although you put it more interestingly. I feel like with this topic - we have really, really zoomed out! Maybe its just a question of the particular topic and whether the “biggest picture” needs to be considered is completely situational. I find myself often saying that everything is completely situational - maybe this is a cop out haha? I am sure there is a lot of philosophy out there on this topic. I find I get scared to explore philosophy sometimes, not sure why though. 

Sorry I have written so much, hope you don’t mind reading, P. I am really enjoying this dialogue. 

P.s. You have quite the formal style of writing, I was going to say it doesn’t sound like you but maybe it does, I am just used to talking about more casual subjects or texting with short cuts etc - do I sound different?

[juskla]

PIDGEKI DISCORD SERVER!

hi, vol-fans! juskla here! n i have a super exciting announcement to make! i am going to be running the FIRST EVER PIDGEKI DISCORD SERVER!!! this is my first time running a discord server, so be patient with me, but i’ll be doing my very best! additionally, i’d like to give a huge thank u to @sainotthepro​ for letting me use their pidgeki art for the server! u rock!

WHAT IS PIDGEKI?

PIDGEKI is a ship between PIDGE (pidge gunderson) and LUKI (unilu kiosk girl) from the netflix original series VOLTRON: LEGENDARY DEFENDER.

ABOUT THE SERVER

"PIDGEKI: the pidge x luki chronicles" is a great way to bring pidge x luki fans together + talk about the ship in a positive space with each other + with me, juskla, the admin of @pidgekiweek���!

INCLUDES

a fun, inclusive, all-ages environment

a welcome channel where you introduce yourself

a general chat channel where we can all talk about whatever

a pidge centric channel

a luki centric channel

a channel for platonic pidgeki interaction

a channel for romantic pidgeki interaction

a pride channel to celebrate gender/sexuality headcanons

a pidgeki week channel to talk about the upcoming ship week event

a 17 and up channel to talk about more mature themes (still sfw)

a general voltron channel if you have other things to share

RULES

respect everyone’s headcanons, ideas, boundaries

sharing ideas is great, but do not force your headcanons/ideas onto others who may have a different headcanon/idea

this is a safe space to share art/writing/theories, which means no stealing/sharing/posting someone else’s stuff without permission from the creator/writer/artist, etc...

if someone asks you a question you are not comfortable answering, you do not have to answer them, especially if it’s not related to pidgeki

i will be playing both admin and moderator, so if you need help with something, you can always just ask me!

i’m not sure how many people i’m going to accept, i guess it depends on how many people want to join!

HOW DO I JOIN?

make sure you are following me - @justklance

reblog this + leave a tag or comment saying that you are applying

FILL OUT THIS FORM!

i am excited to meet u guys! i look forward to getting applications n talking about pidgeki w/ all of u!

-JusKla

[peachyteabuck]

do you think about me now and then / fallon carrington x reader

summary: you and fallon have a very specific type of routine

a commission for @devillskettle

pairing: fallon carrington x reader

words: 1226

trigger warnings: FWB, fingering, strap riding, orgasm, angst if you squint?, 

Reading is hard.

You’ve been trying to finish this book for weeks. It’s not as though it’s not good! It’s fantastic, it’s been recommended to you by so many people…and yet, here you are on a wintery Friday night, tucked into the world’s most comfortable recliner, with the world’s most comfortable blanket, and the world’s most comfortable three-sizes-too-large hoodie and underwear that’s seen you through three apartments, four girlfriends, and your summer obsession with audio porn.

Here you are, in the perfect conditions to finish this fucking book…and yet here you are, scrolling through Instagram as you stalk yet another person you graduated college with who just got married.

You’re soon glad you’re looking at your phone, though, because your droomscrolling is rudely interrupting by someone calling. Luckily, It may be someone who can make this night a little better.

“Hey, Fallon,” you try to ignore the flutter in your chest. Neither you nor Fallon were looking for a relationship (work always came first, despite your differences the both of you could agree with that). Still, the oil former-baronness has never left you dissatisfied, and you liked to think the arrangement you two had outlined one fateful spring night benefitted each of you. “What can I do for you this fine evening?”

You can hear her huff angrily, and you’re sure she’s already rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

And…?

“I’ll be at your place in thirty. Food is already ordered. Have a glass of red prepared for me when I get there.”

You smile. It’s been a tough week, something about mergers and lawyers and the HR department. You’re not really sure, you work in accounting at a different media company, but from the whispers on Slack and the texts from Fallon…it has not been her easiest week. But her call comes as no surprise—this little ritual of yours, the food, the wine, the sex…It had become an easy way for the both of you to blow off steam. It was a good, simple relationship between people who had signed enough NDAs to know what to keep private. Like a Secretary of State to her therapist, the both of you understand the nature of insider trading and the risks it poses to both of your careers.

Still, nothing was illegal about vague, wine-induced gossiping. And so vague, wine-induced gossip you two did.

Food arrives only a few minutes before Fallon does, the woman letting herself in as you plate what you know to be her order (Caeser salad, light dressing, with a medium-well steak). You hadn’t started on the win yet, though, and so she poured two glasses of a too-expensive red.

“So,” you smile just a little, a bit sadistic in how cute Fallon is when she’s annoyed. “How was work?”

Soon, both of you are full. It’s the nice kind of full that has you sleepy, content, almost drunk (that could also be the few glasses of wine you’d consumed as Fallon ranted about having to fire another assistant and HR fucking up payroll again). Her hand rests on your thigh, under the blanket but over your sweatpants. Some cheesy TV show the both of you had watched several times over plays lowly in the background, but all you can think about is the feeling of her thumb rubbing back and forth.

Fallon never seems to notice the little things she does—now, the thumb; other times, the way she buys you lunch when you don’t text her during your mandatory lunch break. The way she offers trip ideas when you haven’t taken PTO in a while. How she cares for you in her own specific way, even if that way is hidden behind eight layers of obfuscation.

“What are you thinking about?” her words cut through your high-speed train of thought easily as a knife through room-temperature butter.

“Spreadsheets,” you answer.

She snorts. “I’ve been able to tell when you’re lying since before grad school.”

You snort. “Nothing worth talking about.”

Fallon rolls her eyes, a smile playing on her lips. “Whatever.” A beat. She looks you up and down, in that slow, predatory way lions scan injured zebras. “You want to go to bed?”

Both of you are creatures of habit, and so this is always how it starts. It’s a dance, a wonderful ballet, that begins with the same opening number. A disrobing behind closed doors, changing into comfy clothes and taking off jewelry. Your bed, perfectly made as always, makes itself a stage as you displace well-loved Squishmallows while Fallon scoffs about how childish they are. She tucks herself into your chest, using your forearm as a pillow, while you read on your tablet and she rubs those small circles on your tummy. You stay like that, pressed against each other, until she decides to shift herself upwards, so her breath fans across your neck. You’ll pretend to ignore her, until she nuzzles her nose just under your ear, leaving a little kiss on your neck.

Then you smile, not looking at her. She likes this dance, even if she won’t admit it. “You want something?”

Fallon hmms, her hand moving higher and higher until she’s tracing just under your breasts. “Maybe.”

That’s another thing about Fallon—she likes it when you make the first move for her. “Hmm,” you pretend to consider your options. It is then, silently, that you go in for the kill, placing your tablet to the side before shifting down to kiss her ever so lightly. Her lips are soft, always soft from her oils and scrubs and constant attention to her appearance. “This what you want?”

She furrows her brow, an adorable shade of frustration washing over her face. She’s a slow and careful predator, until something she wants is just within reach. What comes next is not a surprise, but certainly isn’t unwelcome—she climbs atop of you, abandoning any sort of subtlety as she tangles her fingers with yours and kisses you with her pillowy lips.

You know there won’t be much talking after this—moaning and begging and teasing, sure, but certainly no talking. It’s easy to follow the choreography you two had performed so many times before, dancers in each other’s arms as clothes come off and skin becomes bruised from teeth and hands. It’ll all be hidden tomorrow, but for now, both of you remain bare to the other in every way that matters.

Being with Fallon is easy in the best way; the way pleasure washes over you as she presses her fingers into you as easy as rain hits ones skin if they find themselves trapped in a thunderstorm. The only choice you have to make is to be present, to feel your fingers tangle into sheets and in her hair. To feel her tongue press against the most sensitive part of you and hum as you gasp your ever-approaching climax.

It’s a similar kind of easy to push her onto her back, to mount her while she grips your hips.

“You’re gorgeous,” she says, breathy and barely above a whisper. “Literally so gorgeous.”

All you can do is fuck yourself up and down the toy and let the heat from your abdomen travel up to your chest and cheeks. This¸ you think, as she rubs her thumb over your clit. This, is where you belong.

[lovingempress]

I think I'm gonna stay on Tumblr through this for a few months, try it out and everything and see if it smooths over. I mean, I like Tumblr, and most of the stuff I look for isn't really NSFW (also Ace here 😉), and I mostly like to look at that stuff in an admiring or dissecting way, since I have little-to-no sex drive. The lack of art may bum me out a bit (how will I survive without the smexyness that is YoI's Eros?! The hilarity and fluffiness, how shall I go on without it~?), but I can always find that on other sites.

They're saying that written erotica is still okay as well, so I'll still have romance fanfiction drabbles and snippets here if the writers don't leave. (yes I am aware of how weird that seems, to say I'm asexual but also admit to reading and looking at NSFW erotica, but I really like the intimacy of the relationships. Plus, it's like wish fulfillment because I'm highly unlikely to ever get into an actual romantic relationship of my own without feeling repulsed by sex *shrugs*)

I think, I'd move on from Tumblr if all the fanfic writers I'm following leave, and go follow them to wherever they'd moved on to (lol such a stalker 😂). That is basically how I even got here after all; I wanted more fandom content, a bunch of artists & writers were posting on Tumblr, so I got myself a Tumblr account and never regretted it. 👍🏼 My blog is mostly reblogs of fanfiction and signal boosts/news, with the occasional art, tutorials, and writing advice.

Basically, I'd have to make the accounts for it first, but I'd still follow my favs around~!

(I sound like such a creeper omfg 😅🤣)

For the other bits, on if you'd stay or not @hi-pot-and-news , I can't really give advice either, haha *sheepishly rubs head* I think, it really depends on how you feel about Tumblr, and why you have an account. Like, for me, I'm obsessed with Fanfiction and I like the positive posts on here (it really helps make my entire day better), so I'd probably stay until either those were gone, or until I no longer enjoyed the platform and it's contents.

Recently, I'm mostly only here for bits of fanfiction that never get put into their fanfic accounts (it's like how some people search for deleted scenes of a movie; there's just something so satisfying about the content~ ☺️), or word of god from the authors; so, like I said, I'll probably be here unless all of the authors and artists I follow stop posting, and, even then, I'd keep my blog as a just-in-case, maybe.

What about everyone else? @akaluan @wolfsrainrules @araceil @north-peach @worldtravellingfly @helly-watermelonsmellinfellon @pitviperofdoom @hiruma-musouka @cooliogirl101 @math-is-magic @luki-fanfic @lectorel @silenceia @abalisk sorry for tagging, but I'm kinda curious now that it's been brought up~ I'm definitely missing a lot of other blogs, so I might add to this as soon as I remember their names 😅

Apparently we’re all leaving?

So Tumblr’s new anti-horny policy has everyone in a panic, and that’s just on the first day. I keep seeing post after post of how to follow on other sites, and how to backup blogs, and how some bloggers are closing up shop entirely and just… going.

Do I have to explain exactly how depressing I think this all is?

Listen, I’ve never posted NSFW (I’m ace and slightly sex-repulsed), so this purge and new policy is unlikely to effect what I post, but if the blogs I follow are jumping ship, should I stay as well? I currently don’t have an Instagram or Twitter – I’m super socially-stunted and have no idea what to do there; this is why I only started using Tumblr just this year. It feels like I just got here and now the party is already over and I didn’t even have much of the fun every kept telling me I would have.

So, should I make an Instagram and Twitter? Would any of y'all be interested in that? To be honest, I can imagine the post I make translating well to what I’ve observed of those sites, but if you guys are leaving….

I don’t know. I don’t want to be here all alone if everyone is moving on.

Tell me your thoughts, please.

[haggardandjaded]

My Dream Job

My dream job, huh? Well I suppose everyone has one, or more of that and most of them probably don’t get to achieve it hence why it was called a dream job. Otherwise it would be a regular job. But it does not mean that they have stop pursuing it, they will continually pursuing it one way or another. And for me, I do have it although it consistently changed as I go through my phases of life. My first dream job started when I was a kid.

Masa itu aku berumur 11 tahun. Seorang budak lelaki yang normal yang tiada apa-apa kelebihan luar biasa. Aku bukan lah seorang yang aktif bersukan dan juga bertubuh sederhana kecil. Dan aku telah diasuh dan diajar untuk menjadi seorang yang pintar dalam akademik. Kerana menurut abahku kalau aku belajar bersungguh-sungguh dan berjaya memasuki universiti mengambil jurusan medik kelak dewasa nanti aku tidak perlu mencari kerja sebaliknya kerja yang akan mencari aku. Begitulah logik fikiran bapaku, seorang pesara tentera yang kini menjadi seorang pemandu teksi. Jadi aku turutkan sahaja permintaan abahku. Abahku seorang yang amat tegas, aku masih ingat aku pernah dipukul ketika aku berumur 6 tahun kerana tidak menghafal sifir 12. Jadi sepanjang proses pembelajaranku di rumah aku akan sentiasa dipukul jikalau aku tidak tahu jawapan kepada sesuatu soalan atau mendapat keputusan peperiksaan yang teruk. Ya, teruk di sini bermaksud mendapat keputusan ‘B’. Untuk keluar daripada kecaman itu aku akan melukis. Ya, itu lah bakat terpendamku yang aku berjaya cungkil sendiri. Jika ada masa lapang atau abahku tiada di rumah aku akan selalu melukis watak kartun kegemaranku. Dan dari situ terlintas cita-cita aku untuk menjadi seorang kartunis. Kartunis seperti Masashi Kishimoto, mangaka terkenal yang menghasilkan Naruto, satu komik yang ku kira komik paling hebat dalam dunia. Aku banyak menghabiskan wang saku membeli komik Naruto sebagai bacaan dan rujukan. Tapi pada suatu malam, abahku telah memeriksa beg sekolahku sebab dia mahu melihat adakah aku telah menyiapkan kerja sekolah dan dia terjumpa buku lukisanku. Aku dipanggil ketika sedang tidur dan dirotan kerana katanya aku membuang masa melukis kartun walaupun aku telah menyiapkan kerja sekolah dan mendapat keputusan yang cemerlang baru-baru ini. Semua buku lukisanku dikoyak dua bahagian dan selepas itu aku dimarahi. Herdik bapaku, “Hang lukis kartun ni bukan ada faedah, tak boleh buat duit pun, besaq nanti hang nak kasi anak bini hang makan apa?” Dan mulai dari itu aku berhenti melukis dan memadamkan cita-cita aku.

And that’s it. My first ever dream job. Gone. And I can’t draw anymore. Well, I still can draw but the result isn’t as good as it used to. While I despised my father for that, I’m glad that he raised me as the person I am today. But then I suddenly developed a new dream job. It was during my high school period. I got straight A’s for my UPSR and enrolled into one of the greatest high school in the country, Malay Secondary School in Ipoh. So I studied there and fell in love with History. Partially, it was because the way my teacher taught me. To Cikgu Shanun if you are reading this, terima kasih banyak-banyak Cikgu. History suddenly does not become a boring subject instead it became an interesting one. But mostly it became interesting because every time I learned I felt like there’s a sense of richness in each of the culture or civilization. Like if human actually sought after something and devoted themselves to it, we can be great again like all the greatest in the past. After all history is meant to be repeated am I right? Then SPM came. I got an average score with a few B’s and a C. Ironically my result history does not repeat with me. But luckily my father was somewhat okay with it until I decided to pursue History course for university because at that time I aspire to be an archeologist. Yes, that’s my second dream job that I developed over the years during my high school period. I wanted to be an archeologist. I want to uncover hidden civilization and the true story of the foreign unknown. But of course, my father is against it. He scolded me and said with my decent result I could actually applied for Matriculation for ‘Sains Hayat’ or apply for any university that passed me on taking medicine. And if I did apply for History-related courses he said he won’t support me, ever. And the same phrases was uttered again. “Hang belajaq Sejarah ni bukan boleh pergi jauh pun, tak boleh buat duit pun, besaq nanti hang nak kasi anak bini hang makan apa?” So as a loyal son I follow his order and buried archeologist down further in my heart where I can’t reach. So, as you can expect I am now neither a cartoonist nor an archeologist. I’m just a final year student taking IT course. Far, far, far deviated with what my father wanted and what I aspire to be before this. But hey at least now I’m free to make my own decision. I can set my own path, my own journey. Thus, led to the big question here, what is my dream job now? At this phase of life, my dream job now would be a writer. Hence, why I’m a writing this. At daytime in the near future perhaps I’ll be working as an IT guy, but at night or during my free time I can still write and continue to pursue my dream job. Just write about stuff that lingers on my mind. Write about random pieces that tell about my feeling. Write about whatever story that I could think of. And I think being a writer is probably the best dream job I have ever had as it is a bit mixed of being a cartoonist and archeologist. I create something new while uncover the truth. My writing could be from my imagination, my history or somebody else’s story. Same goes to this story. And you’ll never know.