#neither does the worn drama.

[cordeliawhohung]

google how to feel like you're not a terrible person and you're loved and you're worth loving and you're not annoying and you are a good friend no borax no glue enter

[sailforvalinor]

You know, I’ve said for a really long time that I dislike enemies-to-lovers, but I’ve realized this isn’t actually the case—I just dislike badly executed enemies-to-lovers. And, because this is possibly the most popular romance trope in YA (and most other literature, if we’re being honest), we’re seeing a lot of bad enemies-to-lovers right now.

I think what really irritates me about it most of the time is that authors want the "enemies-to-lovers" dynamic but don't really want to put in the work involved to make it convincing. Characters have to have some reason to hate each other to this degree, have to have some foundation for their relationship to stand on, but sometimes authors just want to skip to the witty banter in the ballroom or the intense rapier duel on the roof with underlying romantic tension without justifying to me why all this drama is happening in the first place.

Also, a lot of authors, especially in the YA fantasy genre, seem to default to "we are on opposite sides of a political conflict" or "you said something rude to me the first day we met" as a format to copy-and-paste their protagonists into and then leave it at that. And to be clear, there isn't anything wrong with these formats--plenty of good stories exist with these used as their basic structure! But it becomes a problem when you plug in a trope like this and assume it will do all the heavy lifting for you. It can easily come across as boring or lazy writing, just like with any poorly-employed cliche or trope.

However, cliches and tropes are not bad! The reason that an idea becomes a cliche or a trope is because it is so generally well-liked that authors are motivated to use it over and over again. These ideas naturally become cliches when they are used so much that the audience gets worn out on them, or it is used as a shortcut by less experienced authors to hide poor writing. But this does not mean you have to avoid any and all cliches at all times. One of the best skills to build as a writer is recognizing when you are using a cliche, and how you can best work that cliche to your advantage—giving the cliche a fun twist, adding layers and details (and-then-isms), subverting the cliche entirely, or just committing to the bit and writing the cliche straight as best as you possibly can.

All of this to say, here are a few variants, subversions, and fun employments of the enemies-to-lovers trope that I just personally think work really well:

Both people strongly and vocally dislike each other, but there deliberately doesn’t seem to be any logical reason as to why, at least to the audience—and it doesn’t really matter (Benedick and Beatrice from Much Ado About Nothing. Also I realize that there is a line that suggests that they may have possibly been engaged at some point before the play, but I would argue that since we never find out why they fell out, and this is never brought up as a major plot point, it doesn’t really matter.)

Person A is a part of a group or regime that actively harmed Person B or someone close to them, but Person A was not actually directly involved—however, Person B still holds Person A responsible (Zutara, I still think Kataang is superior, but I won’t deny that this ship works. This one can be a bit cringy if played up too much or if it goes on for too long, but it works as a short-term stint)

Both people make snap judgements on the other’s character upon their first meeting—judgements that are incorrect—and go on to wrongly villainize each other’s character (Lizzie and Darcy from Pride and Prejudice, of course)

Person A did some grievous wrong to Person B in a past life, but one or neither of them remembers until they’re already in love (Reaper and Sunny from Goblin, I realize this is a little specific but my gosh does it slap and people should do it more often)

Similarly, Person A and Person B communicate via indirect means under aliases (i.e. letters, emails, chat rooms) and are falling in love, but hate each other in real life (You’ve Got Mail/She Loves Me)

Person A is sent to assassinate or otherwise harm Person B by the organization that they work for, but when Person B kills them with kindness it makes them spiral into a huge identity crisis (Luke Skywalker and Mara Jade from Star Wars Legends. I really need to do a complete breakdown of this ship sometime because it goes so much deeper than this, but there is way too much to talk about with them on this post—suffice it to say that they are very underrated and absolutely fantastic)

Classic enemies-to-lovers except it’s only one-sided—Person A hates Person B but Person B is absolutely clueless. I can’t think of a good example of this right now but I know I love it when I see it

Neither of them really actively dislikes each other, but they’ve gained such a reputation for their bickering that to admit that they might like each other would be too embarrassing and a blow to their public image (again, can’t think of an example but I know I’ve seen it done...I guess the latter half of Much Ado counts)

Classic enemies-to-lovers but instead of transitioning directly to lovers they become friends, leading into a enemies-to-friends-to-lovers pipeline—the best of both worlds! (Again, Luke and Mara. Also dare I say Raven and Beast Boy in Teen Titans kinda-sorta?)

[thequeenofthewinter]

Fic Friday

It has been two months, but I have finally returned with more words. <3

Rating: E (canon-typical violence, explicit content, check the tags)

Genre: Romance, action, adventure, drama

Pairing: Dahlia Wintersnow (OC Dragonborn)/Ulfric Stormcloak

Link: An Invincible Summer

Snippet:

For a few moments, Dahlia hesitates as the gold embroidered velvet hangs there in her hands, fingers absentmindedly stroking over the patterns there. It shimmers back as if in answer to her musings--a ridiculous notion to be sure. While the enchantments themselves flickers of magic, no sentience is held therein. Fabric is fabric, and to be afraid of such a thing is silly.

Dahlia shakes out her robes and turns to Ulfric who is looking at her curiously. "These have never been worn. They're the new ones Colette had sent after the War." She worries her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment before continuing, "I had not wanted to put them on for obvious reasons, and well, now it does not feel like I am much of a mage at all."

He waits for her, sensing she is not quite done. Numerous times over the years, particularly after the First Great War, he has seen the same hesitation from those returning from battle after many years of being off the field.

"I am soon expected to take on the apprentices which Faralda deems ready for more Restoration training, and I don't--" She shakes her head and turns from him.

"If you do not try, you will never know." One of his arms comes up to squeeze her shoulder, pulling her back against his chest. "Besides, I know what you are capable of. We all do. It is a great and terrible burden to carry on one's conscience, but I also know you are not one to run from what is difficult. Neither of us are."

She sighs and leans back into him."How did you do it?"

It is a simple enough question; however, it holds a deceptively complicated answer. "I do not know if I am honest. Only that I continued on one day at a time." He sighs. "It got easier at some point."

"When?" Her eyes sparkle with hope as she looks up at him.

"After you walked into my life."

She shakes her head at him. "Because it is your birthday, I will allow you to tell me pretty lies."

[welcometolotr]

Elrond doesn’t know what his great-grandmother looked like.

[read here or on ao3]

Elrond doesn’t know what his great-grandmother looked like.

Every work of art that he sees - murals, illuminations, paintings, sculptures, torn-up charcoal sketches - looks different. Sometimes she’s got light skin and short hair. Sometimes she’s blue, with grass growing out of her scalp. Sometimes, her skin is as dark as the night, and with the shadows about her you cannot tell where her hair begins or ends. Are her eyes starry, or abyssal? Did she have hands, or branches?

Maedhros and Maglor never saw her. Anorin, one of Maglor’s horsemen, did, but her description was of a fog that surrounded you with music. 

He doesn’t have any memories of his mother speaking of Lúthien, but he does have a little pin that he was sure was hers. It was on his dress when he and Elros left Sirion for the last time, and its worn brass surface bears the profile of a bear with a music note in its mouth. “That’s grandma,” Elros told him confidently when they were eight, with all the wisdom of their favorite nurse Gereth. Elrond still wasn’t sure if he’d made it up.

The tales that circled Beleriand were nearly as muddled as the art. After the War of Wrath, it became common for each culture to standardize their depictions of Beren and Lúthien, so that Lindon’s stories told of a silver-haired couple with elegant hands and gowns of holly, and the city of Eastvein within Khazad-dum spoke of an impossibly tall pair with skin the color of smoky quartz and crystal droplets threaded through their beards, which they braided together when they were at rest.

Elrond liked that one. Moreso than Eregion’s tradition, at least, which spoke of a beautiful elleth who became old and withered as Beren became young and hale. But he also remembered all of the stories that came before, and with each one he looked in the mirror to try and tell whether any of them could be true.

And then, one chill autumn day, he read Bilbo Baggins’ description of the master of the last Homely House east of the sea. “The master of the house was an elf-friend,” Bilbo had written. “He was as noble and as fair in face as an elf-lord, as strong as a warrior, as wise as a wizard, as venerable as a king of dwarves, and as kind as summer.”

Elrond looked at his fingers then, turning them over to examine the quill-callouses that had long ago replaced sword-callouses. He recalled the last tale that he had received from Minas Tirith from Mithrandir, years back, whose narrator had spoken of an aged wraith whose purpose was to record the histories of all people; who drifted about an immense manor in a valley far to the east, his shadows cooling the hot sun and his hair floating about him as if unbound by nature’s forces.

The peoples of Lothlórien knew him to be an elf; an almost-prince who married their favored daughter. Those in Númenor before its fall knew him to be a king, a Man who had tugged on his bloodline and found the will to rule the Eldar, the king who allowed his brother to die and his kingdom to fade. And Bilbo, full of the cultural context of the shire with its second-cousins-four-times-removed and divorces and family comedy-dramas, knew him to be an elf-friend, aware of Men and Elves but maybe neither.

He looked at his hand again, watching for a moment as his nails flashed crystal-clear and caught the light. Then they became dull again, and he curled his fingers up. 

Maybe all of them were true, each in their turn.

[highly-important]

Sincerity and Irony

People are getting sick of irony. The self-aware one-liners of the MCU were once refreshing but have worn out their welcome. (“Marvel One-Liners” is now a buzzword  for lazy or cliched writing.) Shit like HBO’s Velma is being described as “too snarky for its own good.”

The problem is that its lazy, or its so ubiquitous that it’s boring, but its also that this type of self-conscious comedy sabotages any sense of sincerity, suggesting that writers are embarrassed to be telling this type of story.

With the advent of postmodernism in the 60s, irony dominated entertainment and was pivotal in exposing the hypocrisies of issues like the Vietnam war. Television adopted a self-depreciating, ironic attitude to make viewers feel smarter than the naive public, and flatter them into continued watching.

Irony, sarcasm, snark, absurdist humor, etc, are all great for ripping off the mask and revealing the unpleasantness underneath. But once all the unpleasant realities are exposed, the illusions debunked, what’s next?

The Onion’s spoof of an Applebee’s campaign, encouraging hipsters to visit the restaurants “ironically” in order to mock the food, service and atmosphere. Then a second ad campaign, encouraging middle-age adults to go to Applebees to mock the hipsters. Neither group is actually happy about what is going on. The Onion video points out that irony and formality have become the same thing. At one time, irony revealed hypocrisies, but now it simply acknowledges one’s cultural compliance and familiarity with pop culture. Rebellion has been annexed by the commercialism it attempts to defy.

From David Foster Wallace:

Anyone with the heretical gall to ask an ironist what he actually stands for ends up looking like an hysteric or a pig. And herein lies the oppressiveness of institutionalized irony, the too-successful rebel: the ability to interdict the question without attending to its subject is, when exercised, tyranny. It [uses] the very tool that exposed its enemy to insulate itself

HBO’s Velma can’t joke about how teen drama lures in viewers with gratuitous sexuality and nudity while simultaneously trying to lure in viewers with a gratuitous locker room shower scene. It doesn’t matter if you’re ironically eating at Applebees or sincerely eating at Applebees, you’re still eating at Applebees.

The irony isn’t exposing any hard truths about the world we live in, it’s not rebellious at all, it’s simply pointing out its own willing compliance. Its defending itself from criticism by making the observation about itself before someone else does.

It’s sly, its disingenuous, its pseudo-sincerity. As David Foster Wallace puts it, “irony and ridicule are entertaining and effective, but at the same time, they are agents of great despair and stasis in US culture.”

The distinctive feature of satire, the thing that separates it from other forms of humor and that makes it defensible, is that it is a narrative means of presenting an argument against something that the satirist finds objectionable. Irony actually needs to be balanced out by sincerity or else what is the point?

This is also my problem with shows like South Park and the philosophy of “making fun of everything equally.” Roger Ebert on Team America World Police said this: “I wasn’t offended by the movie’s content so much as by its nihilism. At a time when the world is in a crisis and the country faces an important election, the response of Parker, Stone, and company is to sneer at both sides -- indeed, at anyone who takes the current world situation seriously.” 

But now, all we seem to want to do is keep ridiculing stuff. Post modern irony and cynicism just become an end to itself. This is cringe culture. This is CinemaSins. No one wants to talk about redeeming what’s wrong, or even enjoying what you like, because you risk just coming across as sentimental and naive to the weary ironists. Irony becomes a cage.

I won’t go into this too much, but this is also the problem with trying to satirize hate groups, racists, nazis, etc.

It reminds me of a lot of the ways in which transphobic people are ridiculed because they don’t seem to understand what pronouns are. Example, “GOP candidate roasted on twitter after calming there are no pronouns in the constitution.”

But we all already know her statement isn’t about grammar - what she is actually saying that trans people don’t belong in America. Pointing out her grammatical mistake doesn’t expose what’s under the mask, it redirects our attention to the mask. But we already know what’s under the mask. 

Imani Barbarin puts it best in this tik tok response to the video “John Stewart obliterates Oklahoma State Senator Nathan Dahm.” In Barbarin’s words “Republicans and alt right largely do not care if they are hypocrites. They’re not concerned if they’re seen as liars.”  “The space that we are in has shifted so far right that we forget they want to kill people. The debate is over.”

We are not dealing with rational or reasonable people. They are just fascists who want a group of people dead.

1920s Germany had an active queer nightlife scene. Cabaret performances often satirized politics and the Nazi politics. They were entertaining, I’m sure they were empowering, but satire didn’t stop the Nazis.

 I started writing this, because I found this quote from an interview with Howard Ashman that i think is really interesting:

 “Little Shop of Horrors satirizes many things: science fiction, ‘B’ movies, musical comedy itself, and the the Faust legend. “Little Shop of Horrors satirizes many things: science fiction, ‘B’ movies, musical comedy itself, and the the Faust legend. There will, therefore, be a temptation to play it for camp and low-comedy. This is a great and potentially fatal mistake. The script keeps its tongue firmly in cheek, so the actors should not.  Instead, they should play with simplicity, honesty, and sweetness--even when events are at their most outlandish. The show’s individual “style” will evolve naturally from the words themselves and an approach to acting and singing them that is almost child-like in its sincerity and intensity. By way of example, Audrey poses like Fay Wray from time to time. But she does this because she’s in genuine fear and happens to see the world as her private ‘B’ movie--not because she’s “commenting” to the audience on the the silliness of her situation. Having directed the original New York production of Little Shop myself, and subsequently having seen it in many versions and even many languages, I can vouch for the fact that when Little Shop is at its most honest, it is also at its funniest and most enjoyable.” 

The bold highlights are mine.

It would have been very easy for this film to try and deflate the silliness and strangeness of its own set  pieces. But instead of winking at the camera and pointing out how stupid it all is, it challenges us to invest in its world and take its characters seriously.

I think that there is still a place for irony, and that irony can still be done in radical and exhilarating ways. But I think in our current landscape, the real risk-takers and rebels are the sincere - those who risk the eye rolls, the yawns, accusations of naivete or sentimentality or melodrama. We need songs and stories that are real and sincere and empathetic. We need to fortify ourselves against nihilism and hatred.

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington: Genre and Themes

At first glance, indeed, even at second glance, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington doesn’t seem to really lend itself to a specific genre the way The Goonies or The Princess Bride did.  Whereas those films positively dripped with the atmosphere of an adventure or fantasy film, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington is considerably more ‘real world’ than that, without necessarily heading into ‘slice of life’ territory.

If story is the backbone of a film, the underlying solid base, then genre is the trappings, the flavor, the seasonings the writers get to play with to create their final dish.  Some stories automatically come with pre-packaged genre, as it would seem, stories like Frankenstein seem little suited to be anything other than a sci-fi horror film, after all, but most, and indeed some would say all stories have the capabilities of remaining solid in their identities, even with a completely different genre than we’re used to.

In the case of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, however, there doesn’t seem like there’s a lot of ingredients to mix.

Officially, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington is labeled as a ‘political comedy-drama’, an eclectic mishmash of styles that doesn’t necessarily rear its head too often in the realm of film.  Political films tend to be more true stories like All the President’s Men, or thrillers like The Manchurian Candidate.  Mr. Smith Goes to Washington is neither.  However, that isn’t to say it’s not political.

The entire world of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington is politics.  It lives and breathes the inner workings of American bureaucracy, without either exploiting or sugarcoating it.

It is, at its core, an anti-politics political film.  There is no pleasure that the film derives from exposing any corruption, nor does it take pains to pretend that corruption does not exist.  It freely paints the politicians and the non-politicians as people, dealing with consequences to their actions: from Senator Paine, the tarnished hero, to Clarissa Saunders, the cynical, worn-out tool of Washington.  The focus of the story is not so much on the inner workings of the state and country as it is the people that perform them, that manipulate the cogs of the machine to their own benefit, and those who stand to prevent it.

It’s not a very technical film.  You don’t have to have a degree in law in order to understand the film, or allow it to resonate, and that, perhaps, is what makes it so special.

The ‘political’ slant of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington isn’t in the process that Saunders outlines to Jefferson in order to get his bill passed.  On the contrary, the bill itself is a minor incident, the catalyst that forces the corruption out into the open.  The story isn’t about the bill at all, nor is it even about the plot of the other politicians: it is about the politicians themselves.  There are no parties mentioned, no real figures portrayed, no accurate historical events referenced: and yet something about this film did strike a chord in the very real Washington D.C.

Upon Mr. Smith’s release in Constitution Hall, DC dissolved into uproar about the film’s portrayal of American politics, to the point that Alben W. Barkley, the Senate Majority Leader at the time, remarked that it: “makes the Senate look like a bunch of crooks”.

In other words, something about this film struck some people, mostly the people in Washington, the wrong way.  And yet, even at the time of its initial release, audiences, the Mr. Smiths of the USA, adored it for a reason.

At its core, chiefly, yes, Mr. Smith is a film about politics, and even history.  Every fiber of the movie vibrates with patriotism, with love for America, and with pride in democracy.  The film is not a condemnation as such as it is a warning: ‘we will lose what we have built if we think only of ourselves.’  It is a perfect combination of both a celebration of America’s past, and a concern for the future, a notation of the path the nation’s leaders seemed to be going down.  Mr. Smith Goes to Washington is a story about big P Politics, all right, but it is not a scowling, scolding film, pointing an accusatory finger at the little p politicians, the fallen white knights.  It is instead a film that holds up a figure of a person who knows on what the country was founded, and believes in it so strongly enough that he forces a change, even if it’s a small one.

And the film is also pretty funny, too.

The genre of ‘comedy’ tends to bring to mind slapstick or wordplay classics, and in the 1930s, the ‘comedians’ definitely had their specific brands: the Marx Brothers, the Three Stooges, Laurel and Hardy, and others were taking cinema by storm.  Audiences, especially in the middle of the Great Depression, desperately wanted a laugh, and even though there were no pratfalls in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, there is a wry sense of humor about it, particularly near the beginning.

Early scenes in this film play almost like scenes from a ‘fish out of water’ comedy, with Jefferson Smith having no idea how to function in the new, fast-moving, cynical climate of Washington D.C.  Other characters, such as Saunders and Diz, exist as quip-generating machines, full of the fast-paced, witty dialogue characteristic of films of the time.  Many of the more comedic sequences in the story come about through direct conversation between Saunders and Smith and the subsequent clash of ideas and personalities.

So yeah, Mr. Smith is a pretty funny movie at times.  I must admit though, it’s hard to make the argument that it’s a comedy.

Smith’s plight is not comedic, at least, not more than halfway through the story.  He is not a comedic figure, nor are most of the characters around him.  While one could make the argument that the initial conceit of the story is comedic, I am hard pressed to agree that the story remains a comedy throughout.  If anything, the throughline of tragedy seems clearer, notably in the character of Senator Paine.

Paine is what Smith could have been: a noble figure broken by greed, by corruption, by fear, turned into another cog in someone else’s profit machine, willing to throw countless people under the bus for gain.  By the end of the story, he is not only guilty, he is convicted, ashamed after being forced to confront what he has become.  His story nearly ends in suicide, and it certainly ends in the ruination of his career, after having thrown away belief in all of the words he is so used to spouting.  He is the warning thrust up before contemporary Washington’s eyes: the white knight tarnished by greed.

Smith’s story, though uncorrupted, is similarly bleak: unbelieved, unheard, and unable to get the word out, he ends the film exhausted and crushed after hours of seeming futility.  The film’s happy ending does not come as a result of all of his hard work, but through the guilt of Senator Paine driving him to confess.  Smith does not reach the climax of the film like a comedy protagonist does at all, but like a tragic hero.

And yet, this film isn’t a tragedy either.

So what is it?

I have a theory: that a film’s genre can be best solidified through a few major checkpoints: its themes, and its characters, specifically its protagonist.

The themes of Mr. Smith are obvious ones: duty to one’s country, certainly, but honesty above all.  The liars are the villains, and the heroes tell the truth.  The story is built around good morals and simplicity, with the center of virtue being Mr. Smith himself.

In another era, Smith himself may have been a knight in shining armor, risen to his position from peasantry to achieve noble deeds.  As it is, in 1930s America, Smith is an ordinary man in an extraordinary position: an everyday guy elevated to the position of senator.  

Of course, the intention was never to give him any real power, but nonetheless, power he wields.  And it’s his decisions on handling that power that set him apart from the other characters.  He behaves very much like a normal person, an average citizen in a political jungle with very little navigation.  There is no hero’s journey here: if anything, Mr. Smith finishes the story as a broken, more cynical character rather than a triumphant hero.  The victory is in refusing to compromise your principles, no matter the cost or circumstance, and there is no dragon to slay here: just men, corrupted by power.

In other words, it’s a drama.

While there are many forms of ‘drama’ in the broad spectrum, typically, the term ‘drama’ means that a subject is more dramatic than humorous, with a primary element of the story being conflict, but not necessarily of the physical kind.  It’s a story with more of an emphasis on who the story is happening to, and why, with less concern for what exactly is happening.

Such is the case for Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.

Mr. Smith is a story about real people, people you or I might know, from the virtuous Jefferson Smith to the cynical Ms. Saunders, to the corrupt, but still human, politicians, some malicious, some merely led astray from their previous values.  This is not a story of ‘heroes vs. villains’, this is a story about the ‘Right Thing to Do’, and the people with the courage to do it.

And that’s most of its appeal.

Capra’s passion is for people in this film, the everyday, the ordinary, the ‘Little Guy’ who becomes, not a dragonslayer, but a man with the opportunity to truly do some good, faced with tough decisions.  It’s a story full of heart, sprinkled with humor, and loaded with humanity as it views, through very human lenses, the world of politics through a protagonist who’s meant to be a fish out of water.

That is Mr. Smith’s legacy.

The story isn’t groundbreaking.  The cinematography isn’t breathtaking.  The writing isn’t jaw-dropping.  But the people, the characters, live and breathe on the screen as people, characters that the audiences love, and cheer for.  We root for these people because of the drama of the situation, and the time and care that the film takes to delve into them.

That, more than the politics of the situation, is the reason people return to this film again and again.

And that, the people, the characters, is what we’ll be turning our attention to next time.

[autisticandoddlyspecific]

It's 2:40am and I just imagined a bunch of shit about Sun and Moon in the world of fuckin Hazbin Hotel of all things, specifically to build up to the dumbass ship of DCA/Alastor. So yea here are my notes.

Sun suddenly wakes up in like an alleyway or something in hell. The sound of the city – including the anguished screams, drunk arguments, and the occasional distant gunshot or explosion – overwhelms him. Sun, dazed and confused, is probably harassed by somebody lying around in that same alleyway and quickly darts off to avoid further issue. He’s immediately horrified by the grimy and gore-stained state of the streets, and decides to just keep running. Still in shock, he notices a few posters scattered about on the ground. One’s a very worn and barely legible one drawn in what used to be a fun handmade drawing of the “Happy Hotel”. He figures based off the name and the art that it might be in a cleaner state than his current location. He finds his way to the hotel, noticing it’s new name, “Hazbin Hotel”. He wonders for a bit if they went under some kind of rebrand, and if this change means it isn’t the happy place he was hoping for, but he decides to knock anyway just to see. He’s greeted by Charlie, who welcomes him in. 

At some point, he gets a moment to sit down, and starts coming out of shock. Probably whilst talking with Charlie. He starts to break down, crying he doesn’t know where he is or how he got here. He learns he’s in hell fairly quickly, and is unsure as to why. Does that mean he has a soul? Upon being asked, he simply answers that he is not human, that he never was. Just created as a theater robot, then a daycare attendant, and suddenly he was here with no warning. Charlie takes compassion on him in his distressed state, and assures him that the hotel is safe, and he is welcome, soul or not. Based off what we see in the end of the first season of the show, Lucifer probably lives at least part time in the hotel to be part of his daughter’s life and all, so it could be this soon that Lucifer is prompted to take a look at Sun, revealing a sort of soul, not quite like the human souls or the smaller sparks of life in beings such as Razzle and Dazzle(r.i.p). Also it’s a sort of dual-soul thing going on where it’s like two cells not quite done with cytokinesis. Sun isn’t sure yet that he’s okay with people knowing about Moon, so he doesn't give that away. The exact moment is pretty flexible and I could also hc that Charlie possesses the same ability so it doesn’t really matter if Lucifer actually stays there lol.

Sun gets along with Charlie, and is given a room despite his insistence that he doesnt need to sleep. She’s all like “You still need a place to yourself to relax!” so he relents. He’s pretty amazed at having his own fully furnished room. Even in its best state, Sun and Moon’s room in the ‘plex was just storage basically. Boxes.

I also imagine that he’d clash a little with Niffty, as they both have their own ideas of how things should be done to keep an establishment in working order, and neither likes their work being interfered with. Sun is also both disturbed and disgruntled at the fact that Niffty hunts down bugs with needles, intending to stab them, rather than use anything like bug traps or poisons.

Even more, Sun’s put off by Alastor, as he literally cannot look at him with his robotic eyes without visual distortion and glitches. At some point he’s gonna ask if Alastor can make it stop and he will, but I don’t know how long that’d take.

Before long, some unexpected event occurs, and the lights go out. Until this, he’d never been in any area too dark. He’s in some room alone at this time, and someone hears odd noises or something and either checks on him or just runs into Moon. Moon is immediately ready to fuck shit up, and unable to think clearly. He causes some drama and mild property damage, but fails to seriously hurt anyone before being trapped by at least one of the powerful magic users in the building. Charlie probably summons a light source, which upon realizing Moon reacts negatively to, brightens it enough to bring Sun out. Sun is probably nearly inconsolable and at least half-expects to be thrown our or decommissioned for what just happened, and Charlie asserts she wouldn’t, immediately understanding that Sun is suffering and unable to control what happens when it's dark, and offers to help. During this conversation, Sun either intentionally or accidentally lets it slip that something is wrong with Moon, and that he isn’t supposed to be like this.

This is the latest possible moment the existence of some sort of soul-like essence in Sun and Moon can be discovered, as Charlie asks to see what’s inside them to make Moon act this way. Sun is hesitant, as it requires turning off the lights to get a good look, but is assured by those present that now that they’re not being caught off guard and already have their weapons/magic at the ready that they will be able to handle it. Sun also needs to be reminded that Charlie genuinely wants and likes to help people, and Sun is gonna be a little caught off guard by being indirectly referred to as a person. He probably hugs Charlie, and asks her to be careful. Moon is like a rabid animal, but ultimately helpless with Alastor there, keeping him in like a barrier or whatever. Charlie examines the infection on Moon’s half of the dual-soul thing, and Vaggie and Angel taunt Moon with anything that triggers more aggression to make the infection more apparent/distinct and easy to remove without collateral damage. Vaggie just points her spear more aggressively at Moon, awkwardly shouting that she’ll hurt him and other people, and Angel goes like “OoOoOh I have a gun! And drugs!” Which sets moon tf off. "And sex toys!" and Moon isn’t having it and does more rabid animatronic shit which is funny as hell tbh, and was the intended effect. Charlie starts separating the infection from Moon, causing him to screech, flail around like that slug that touched the salt in that one tiktok, and claw at his face before going still. His red eyes fade as he goes quiet, before his hands slowly twitch, and his eyes light up blue. 

Moon is free from the parasite in his head, and falls to his knees. As the magical barrier recedes, he has no idea what to feel. He also just isn't sure what’s going on because he hasn’t had much of a coherent thought of his own since arriving in hell, but he has the vaguest idea. Moon’s like “How could I ever repay you” And Charlie’s like “All you have to do here is try your best.” and I think now’s a good time for Moon to get his turn to cry into her shoulder.

Over the course of the first few weeks at the Hotel, Sun, and eventually Moon, realize they are doing things they never were built or programmed to do. They learn they can emote with their faces much more than they ever could’ve before. They can cry with tears. They can get sleepy, and sleep like human sleep. They can even eat and drink somehow.

The first few interactions with Alastor are brief, most likely, the few words they do exchange being somewhat frustrating. Alastor doesn’t have any interest in associating with Sun and Moon, mainly as an extension of the general distaste he has for modern technology, partly because Sun said some passive aggressive things about/to Niffty. But a few taunting words with a thin veil to sound like a mockery of encouraging words is totally on the table still. 

Yea idk im going to bed.

[severussnapeconfessions]

I need a chaotic scenario where Severus and 7th year reader are locked in the chamber of secrets and 7th year reader just starts sharing awkward , emotional , and drama filled secrets with him . She also sings muggle songs to kill time and all of it just gets snapes nerves to the point where he just tells them to shut the fuck up and that he isn't a therapist . But then 7th year reader is like "well based on how you act , you definitely have secrets too". Then Severus just trauma dumps and then reader pulls out a random notebook and he's like what the hell are you doing and she tells him she is "helping him resolve and his reorganize his thoughts" but she writing a biography on him and he does not find out till her book is published . Teehee it's so chaotic .

My imagination is running thin, you have all worn me out today. I've never had so much interaction. Let's try.

Shit this is awfully long. I apologize.

It was a Hogsmeade day (yes, again) meaning that most of the students were blissfully out of the castle, which gave Severus plenty of time to wander. Most of his 5th year house mates were out, and Severus heard a particular conversation in the common room that spiked his interest.

"Did you know we have a secret room at Hogwarts?" one of the Slytherin boys said.

"Yeah it's the room of requirement. You have to-" - a girl said, but was interrupted.

"Not that one, everyone knows about that room" the boy said. "It's totally secret no one knows where it is. It's Salazar Slytherins' secret chamber. Merlin knows what he is hiding in there."

"My grandmother told me there was a creature inside. She told me that only the true heir of Slytherin would be able to open the Chamber, and use the creature to kill mudbloods. To purge the school of filth." - you said, joining the conversation.

"That's barbaric" the first boy added. "And I'd appreciate if you didn't use those words."

Severus interest peaked, and he needed to find that room. When the rest of the group scattered around, he approached you. You looked older than he was.

"Hello." he said awkwardly "I heard the conversation you were having over there. Do you know where the chamber is?"

"Hey you. No, the only thing I know is that the access is through one of the bathrooms. My grandmother never got into details."

"Can't you ask her?" he sounded wishful

"She's dead." you said dryly.

"Oh. Sorry. Well..." awkwardly he continued "I'm going to check on the bathrooms. Do you want to come with me?"

"I have an idea where it could be, but we have to be careful not to be caught." you smirked and elbowed him, leaving his side and motioning him to follow.

"Here. I think it is this one. The only question is, how do we open the door? And where the hell is the door?" - you sighed

"Only the heir of Slytherin could open the door. Does it need blood?" Severus asked

"It could be. Any idea where to smear the blood?" you asked.

"No, but neither of us are heirs of Slytherin." Severus pointed

"No, but it is worth a try. I am pure-blooded, who knows?" you said, pulling out your wand from your robes and dabbing at your palm to cut it just enough to have droplets of blood.

"Great, now smear the blood anywhere you can. We have no idea where the entrance is... try the toilets." Severus said

"I am absolutely not going to rub an open wound on a toilet."

"Fine, try... the faucets. It's right in the middle, looks as impossible as any other option here." Severus said, sounding defeated.

You complied, and rubbed your palm over the faucets. A loud churning sound of pipes and stone began to fill the room, and what felt like an earthquake followed.

"Bloody hell you're actually the heir!" - Severus was gobsmacked and tried to stay steady, grabbing her robes and pulling her backwards, away from the opening that was forming.

"I didn't know that either!" you said, truthfully, staring between the faucets and your hand.

When the motion stopped, you approached the opening. It looked like a well.

"I'll go first, if I don't get back, take my Potions book and give it to Lily Evans please." Severus said, putting his wand between his teeth, grabbing the handle nearby the stairs and began descending the well.

After assuring you that the perimeter was safe, you descended and joined him. Some minutes later, both of you were in the very middle chamber of secrets, staring at it's enormity and emptiness.

"My grandmother never told me about this part." you admitted.

Severus stood silent.

"I wish she were here with me" you said gloomily.

Unable to remain silent and not make it more awkward, Severus made small talk.

"For how long has she been gone?"

"Two years. I was your age when I lost her. She was almost like my mother. I grew up without my true mother. She died as well when I was a baby. My father was never in the picture. Pure-blooded but a weasel." you sniffled after replying.

"I am sorry about your loss. I am sure she is very proud of you, both of them, actually." Severus offered, smiling softly at her.

"Right. Now, how do we get out of here?" you were getting too open with a boy you barely knew.

"I don't know. The entrance is no longer visible. Do you think it has a timer of sorts?" Severus asked, eyeing the room

"It could have... If I am the heir of Slytherin it should allow me to leave but at the moment there is no exit visible. Let's wait for a bit."

"Alright."

To his annoyance, your idea of passing time was different than his own. You began to sing.

"Love hurts, love scars Love wounds and marks Any heart Not tough or strong enough To take a lot of pain, take a lot of pain Love is like a cloud Holds a lot of rain Love hurts Ooh, ooh, love hurts"

Severus' hair was already prickled in annoyance.

"Must you sing? I was trying to think in a way of getting us both out of here." Severus said between clenched teeth. It didn't help that the bloody room was empty and echoed loudly.

"Sorry. It is my way of coping." you said miserably.

"I understand, but you are not alone in this room." Severus said, annoyed.

"I just miss my grandmother." you pressed, rather offended at his annoyance.

After some minutes of blissful silence, the singing continued.

"It seemed so hard for me to share It's even harder now that you're not there (Now baby) I'm losing sleep over the secrets that you keep (Oh baby) I'm losing sleep over the secrets that you keep"

"Are you serious?" Severus barked "Please submit yourself to the 4th floor of St.Mungo's as soon as we are out of here if you think that singing off key is a healthy way of coping."

"Don't be a prat. And by the way, everyone has secrets. And if the way you act is any hint, I'd say you have a ton of secrets too"

"If I do, I will not share them with you." Severus said, under his breath.

You pull out your notebook and begin scribbling.

"What's, that, what are you doing?" Severus asked, eyeing the notebook from a distance

"Nothing, just organizing my thoughts. You should do it too. You're always so angry. You're just a kid, what reason do you have to be always so angry with everyone?"

"I'm not always angry at everyone, just with a specific group of people." Severus said.

"Why is that'?" you asked, and continued scribbling.

Severus sighed in defeat and slumped to the floor, not really looking at you but staring blankly at the open mouthed wall behind you.

"There's this girl, Lily. She used to be my best friend even before Hogwarts... And you see..."

Severus poured his heart out to you, and you took notes of almost everything he said.

Eventually the chamber shook, and both of you motioned to get up and smeared your blood on the wall that held the previous entrance and exited the chamber.

22 years later, Voldemort had fallen, and a barely alive Severus was declared a war hero, convicted of the murder of Albus Dumbledore, sentenced to a domiciliary prison regime for two years. To his dismay, one of the owls he received on the afternoon after his trial, was heavy and voluminous.

A book.

He unwrapped the parcel and saw his own face, and the title

"Severus Snape, the war hero's love story. by Y/N Y/L/N"

Finite.

notes : no, the chamber doesn't open with blood. lot's of canon inaccuracies to accommodate the requestor's demands.

PHEW

[kabutoraiger]

watched 2 different recent shows starring one of my favorite cute jdrama ossans (mashima hidekazu) since they were both subbed by the same person and the links were right there and it was like well why not. so i might as well do a joint review of them too.

coincidentally they both also feature a FL who's potentially down to fuck that middle aged man which is often an added draw for me but in advance i'll just say that i would not recommend either of these shows on that front.

"halation love" is a pretty limp lowkey mystery/"psychological thriller" where it being a fairly low budget show is kinda what damns it the most bc it's like. the cast is so small that once we eliminate both of the FL's sort of love interests as suspects who else could it be other than Guy C? there's not really any other recurring characters?

the FL here is also this aggravatingly bland doe-eyed waif who blinks confusedly through the whole ordeal & does things like apologize (in a genuine manner) to the guy who just tazed her & tied her up. just a spark of personality in this girl would've gone such a long way.

and this is just petty but they consistently put her in some of the ugliest clothes i have ever seen in a drama.

overall: not really recommended. mashima-san gets all bloody at one point though and it's very nice <3

"shoumonai bokura no renaimon" is a bizarre slice of life about a ~40 y/o guy who's contacted by his one true love from college only to find that she's actually dead & the one who contacted him is her teen daughter who looks exactly like her.

slice of life doesn't always need a coherent thesis statement i guess but i was still really perplexed about the messaging of this one. the ML and his childhood friend who's carried a torch for him for 25 yrs get into a relationship then later break up bc even after agreeing to date he never seemed to think of her romantically, only saying yes to make her happy/bc it would be an "easy" logical relationship. her putting her foot down against this is painted as a good move.

and yet in the end both the main women get into relationships with other men that neither of them ever display romantic attraction towards, who have seemingly just "worn them down" through persistence (not in the creepy way, but still). and THIS is painted as sweet. like ?? ??? it's the same thing though....

it's just a very frustrating straight people show in general. the best moments in it are probably the bits of cross generational bonding, and i kept waiting for the shoe to drop and for the daughter character to finally realize that her feelings for this 40 y/o man are actually "wanting a dad". dad & daughter are what most of their interactions read as. like, extremely so. at one point she calls him to pick her up at the park bc she fell off the jungle gym. (this 17 y/o girl kinda being written like she's 10 is a whole other can of worms, but.)

you could really do something with that, like a contemplation on the way society trains us to prioritize the idea of romance so much that we sometimes can't register other types of affection.

but the revelation never comes. she continues insisting she's romantically into this guy until getting rejected years later as a college student.

overall: also not recommended. but mashima-san wears many knit sweaters in it and looks very adorable :3

[mariacallous]

From the moment a shaky, expletive-filled video emerged of Russian mercenary leader Yevgeny Prigozhin’s private plane plummeting from the skies near Tver, speculation has run rampant. Whether sabotaged, bombed, or shot down, such a public and spectacular elimination of such a high-profile political challenger precisely two months following his insurrection, we’re told (with good reason), could only have been the handiwork of Russian President Vladimir Putin.

Yet what the entire Prigozhin drama—from mutiny, to accommodation, to fiery demise—means for the Putin regime has been wholly speculative, because our well-worn metrics of regime strength tell us little about a personalist autocracy where political power has become divorced from popular sovereignty. Without a better framework for understanding Kremlin politics, predictions about the future of Putin’s Russia increasingly rely on conjecture, hand-waving, and wishful thinking, with little thought to the mechanisms of political change.

Two months ago, the speed and ease with which Prigozhin’s Wagner mercenaries moved from their positions in Ukraine, took Rostov-on-Don, and sped toward Moscow—and then relented just as suddenly—surprised political watchers in Russia and around the world.

At the time, many made breathless predictions about the Putin regime that failed to materialize. Prigozhin’s Wagner mercenaries did not march on the Kremlin and topple Putin’s regime. The demoralized Russian military in Ukraine did not fall back in disarray: The front did not collapse, and the war did not end. Indeed, the Russian defenses seem to have stymied the much-anticipated Ukrainian counteroffensive.

Domestically, Russian political, military, and economic elites have not fractured, leading to the anticipated mass chaos (“bardak” in Russian) or civil war. The Russian Federation did not fragment and dissolve into its various ethno-national regions. The Russian state did not collapse. Neither did Putin.

In fact, Moscow, its people, and elites seem to have dusted themselves off from the Prigozhin mutiny and returned to “normalcy,” or whatever passes for it in Russia these days. “Spin dictator” Putin has employed diplomacy and the Kremlin public relations machine to reassure allies and Russians that all is calm and well. Even the anticipated mass military purges and upheavals have failed to materialize. Beyond the very public disposal of Prigozhin, other Kremlin personnel decisions appear to be both marginal and handled far from the public eye.

Yet the most curious legacy of the Prigozhin mutiny was the near-universal consensus that it had “weakened” Putin’s regime. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky called Putin’s response to the armed Wagner rebellion “weak.” Former U.S. ambassadors to Moscow for the Obama (Michael McFaul) and Trump (John Sullivan) administrations gave identical assessments. Russia-watching foreign-affairs mavens David Remnick, Ian Bremmer, Evelyn Farkas, Tom Nichols, Tom Friedman, Mikhail Zygar, Mark Galeotti, Alexandra Prokopenko, EU foreign-policy chief Josep Borrell, Boris Grozovski, Timothy Snyder, and virtually every pundit imaginable concluded that Putin was weaker after Prigozhin’s mutiny than before it.

The obviousness of this consensus is matched only by its vacuousness. Not only does no one know what this purported weakness means, analysts don’t even know what it looks like or how it is measured, rendering it all but useless as an explanation for Kremlin politics. It feels right that the rebellion of a onetime ally would hurt Putin—but actually showing how is the challenge.

The brief post-coup career of Prigozhin has only underscored regime strength as nothing more than a journalistic cliché. If Prigozhin’s challenge weakened Putin, then Putin defusing the crisis and co-opting the Wagner units surely strengthened his regime? Nope. According to Brian Klaas in the Atlantic, “Every moment that Prigozhin lived made Putin look weaker,” emboldening his enemies. Max Boot in the Washington Post concurred that Prigozhin’s return to Russia reinforced “the impression of Putin’s weakness.”

So if Prigozhin’s political challenge makes Putin weak, and accommodation also makes Putin weak, then surely we should agree that the spectacular elimination of Prigozhin makes Putin strong, right? Some, like Boot, claim it shows Putin is “as strong as ever”; still others run with headlines boldly proclaiming that “Prigozhin is dead, but Putin is still weakened.”

This is madness. If everything equates to weakness, then regime strength and weakness cease to be useful political concepts.

There are some areas where we can put hard numbers to Putin’s power. We could examine Russia’s military strength or weakness with reference to the number of troops, weapons, and diminishing capabilities and discipline over time. We could examine Russia’s economic weakness by pointing to diminishing GDP, living standards, employment, or the dips in the ruble’s exchange rate—usually portending economic calamities that never seem to materialize. But military power and economic performance are different from regime strength and stability. Politically, what do we look at to gauge whether Putin is strong or weak, much less to determine whether he’s getting stronger or weaker over time?

In liberal democracies—in which sovereignty lies with the people—we equate leadership strength with popularity. And there is a logic to it: A leader will look to remain in power by bolstering their popularity to get reelected. A weak leader will have difficulty rallying support for their legislative agenda and will likely get voted out of office. The leader is gone, but the system endures.

Putin’s Russia, of course, is no liberal democracy but a personalist dictatorship in which the leader is the system. So how do we measure leadership strength or weakness?

Most have begun by simply applying the popular-support metric of liberal democracies: Logically, Putin is strong because of his persistently high public approval ratings, juxtaposed against his widely loathed predecessor, Boris Yeltsin. Consequently, one hallmark of Putin’s two-decade rule in Russia has been a state-run media environment cultivating an image of leadership, swagger, and economic and political stability to bolster Putin’s approval numbers.

Divining just how much public support for the increasingly authoritarian Putin regime is genuine is a tricky business. Pollsters used to simply ask respondents whether Russia needs a “strong leader” or a leader “with a strong hand,” but these subjective results were meaningless, as a democratic Winston Churchill could be perceived as a strong leader just as much as, say, an autocratic Saddam Hussein.

Increasing domestic repression—especially with the escalation of the war in Ukraine—has prompted researchers to devise ever-more creative survey metrics to sidestep conformity pressures and gauge regime support. Still, the fundamental question remains unresolved: How do public image and popularity—genuine or not—matter to the strength or weakness of the regime itself?

In summarizing the state of the art in Kremlin studies, Columbia political scientist Timothy Frye’s 2021 book, Weak Strongman: The Limits of Power in Putin’s Russia, suggests how the practical trade-offs between political repression and fawning propaganda constrain Putin’s political strength and latitude for policymaking. But if Putin was already a “weak strongman” before the war, what does it mean now that he’s apparently even weaker following the Prigozhin mutiny? And somehow weaker still following his assassination.

The answer is that we don’t know, because regime power in Russia has become uncoupled from popular sovereignty and the will of the people.

From the outside, we don’t objectively know how—or even if—relative differences in political strength (however measured) lead to different political outcomes in Putin’s Russia. If we had a better grasp of this relationship, then perhaps our analyses of Kremlin decision-making wouldn’t so often be reduced to constantly invoked Putin-as-a-cornered-rat tropes.

One reason Westerners don’t know how to properly conceptualize regime strength and weakness as a variable in Russian politics is because they repeatedly and mistakenly impose Western liberal conceptions that sovereignty ultimately lies with the people onto a Russian environment where that is no longer the case, if ever it was.

Putin’s decadeslong ratcheting-up of “new authoritarian” repression and propaganda has succeeded in removing the Russian people as a collective political force in Russian politics. An atomized, apathetic people cannot coordinate together en masse to overwhelm the powers of Putin’s authoritarian state. This is not to exonerate the Russian people from the crimes committed in their name but more to lament a pitiable state of affairs.

At the height of the Prigozhin mutiny, many jumping to call it a “civil war”—fearing a “brother killing brother” scenario as the Russian people sided with either Prigozhin or Putin—miscast an elite struggle within the Kremlin as a societal challenge to the political regime itself. Ultimately, such public-uprising scenarios failed to materialize, not only because of public apathy (it’s hard to have a civil war where no one cares), but because regime strength is disconnected from the people in the first place.

When Putin imposed forced conscription for an increasingly unpopular war, many expected massive resistance and backlash against the regime. Instead, the only mass movement was of draft-age men toward the borders. Fleeing the country is an individual decision; mass opposition requires deep societal trust in other would-be resisters not to kowtow to the regime’s truncheons. Whatever social solidarity that, for instance, mobilized Russians to rally against the hard-line Soviet coup of August 1991 has been successfully drained, as an entire generation has grown up knowing only the increasingly repressive Putinist autocracy.

And when Putin launched his ill-advised war on Ukraine in February 2022, many placed their hopes in fantasies that the Russian people would rise up. Dissident oligarch Mikhail Khodorkovsky called for a “revolution” to topple Putin. Pundits publicly wished for putschist elites to do the will of the “long-suffering, much-bamboozled Russian people.” It didn’t happen. After the few sporadic protests were put down by force, there has been not even a hint of an uprising. If Prigozhin’s all-out military insurrection and march on Moscow couldn’t stir the Russian people from their oppression and apathy, it is hard to imagine what could.

This is not merely the usual parsing of opinion survey methodologies to divine whether citizens of an increasingly repressive Russian state are genuine in their support of the Russian president. Instead, this gets at the more uncomfortable core question: Does it matter if the Russian people support Putin or not? Even in the most fundamental political questions—dealing with war and peace—the people seem to be an afterthought.

With political power and regime strength completely divorced from popular sovereignty, the entire notion of a political leader being strong or weak loses all meaning, as it has become unmoored from the bedrock of political authority. Putin’s potential future political decisions may reflect any number of variables—brokering deals between rival Kremlin clans; satiating interpersonal rivalries; weighing military, economic, or geostrategic trade-offs—but attributing any particular decision to Putin’s relative political strength or weakness is an exercise in futility without grounding in popular sovereignty.

An alternative way to conceive of political strength or weakness would be in terms of the potential range of institutional levers, personnel choices, and political options available to the leader. A strong leader—unencumbered by checks on executive power—would have a wide range of options, whereas a weak leader would be more constrained. If we understand Putin to have been weakened by Prigozhin, what exactly is it that Putin cannot do now that he could have done before the mutiny? How has he been constrained? And by whom? If anything, the very public demise of Prigozhin should underscore the unconstrained breadth of Putin’s political options.

Understanding Russia better may mean coming up with better frameworks for explaining Putin-era policymaking—or living with the uncomfortable humility that we simply may not be able to anticipate future political trajectories using such outmoded tools.

[devilisln-moved]

“ 𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑𝐒 ” 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐍.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 … 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.Matt Murdock 𝐞𝐲𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫. Complicated. By comic canon it seems to range between blue and green (and of course in the TV show, his eyes were brown because Charlie’s are brown), but I don’t like that most artists make his eyes...regular for lack of a better way to put it. I can put up with a lot of bullshit when it comes to superhero comics, but it bugs the shit out of me that there’s rarely any portrayal of lingering damage from being splashed with a chemical that instantly blinded him. So I head canon that he has cataracts and some scarring around his eyes. (It also makes more sense in my mind why he’d wear his shades predominately in public and/or around strangers and clients. That makes more sense as something he’d be a bit self-conscience about than ‘oh, I have an unfocused gaze that might unnerve people’. ( for reference, googling cataracts helps, also he has them in the movie).  𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞 / 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫.red, usually worn short and neat 𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 6′1 ” 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞. Suits, athletic wear, and anything soft and cozy. I wouldn’t say he has a particular aesthetic. Tends to avoid prints. 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞. listen, I mean, he’s got a great body.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 … the inside 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬. The answer to the question of if what he does in Daredevil being no when it comes to being a worthwhile pursuit  𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞. I feel like he’s a sucker for “gourmet foods”. 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐯𝐞. Day to day existence living as a blind man and the tiny little ways ease of accessibility is hindered for him.. 𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞. a  Better work/life/vigilantism balance.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 … thoughts 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩. Probably just mentally cataloging his plans for the day. 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭. justice (just a bit cheeky) 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝 usually he’d too exhausted to be thinking about much of anything. 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 Compassion

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 … what’s better 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐯𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐩 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬. single. 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐎𝐑 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬. brains. 𝐝𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐎𝐑 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐬. neither, he’s not really a pet person.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 … do you 𝐥𝐢𝐞. Yeah, he lies a lot. Partially out of necessity, but also because he tends to project a particular image that he doesn’t like to disturb too much 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟. Yes? No? It’s complicated. 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞. oh yeah. 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞. Depends really. Due to being vigilante, he has to/ends up doing things that would deem him a bad partner: Lie, cancel dates, and act very secretively.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗 … ever been 𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞. no  𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐬. Prescription painkillers. 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐧. Not really, due to disability, he’s always going to end up othered to a certain degree.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 … favorites 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫. I don’t think he has an affinity for a particular colour. At least he doesn’t conceptualize it the way someone who can see. There’s less of an emotional connection and more of a clinical one, knowing intellectually what he looks like (red hair, fair skin, athletic form) and using that to teach himself what colours probably look good on him.. 𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥. still not much of an animal person. 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞. He likes very talky movies, for obvious reasons, but on a whole he prefers listening to audio dramas because they’re much more evocative for him. 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞. He doesn’t game, it was never really a part of his life growing up (accessibility options being as they were until recently and growing up poor). As an adult, he really doesn’t have the time. 

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 … age 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐞. Oct. 20. 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞. we’re gonna set the baseline at 35. 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲. in college. He was somewhat of a late bloomer. 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫. Not really, although I think he tends to gravitate toward people closer to his age or a bit older because they’re more settled with themselves..

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 … in person 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲. confidence, a hint of danger, good sense of humour 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐲𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫. n/a. 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫. n/a 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫. talk, listen to music, spar, sex

𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 …

’ 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞: — changing lives (for the better). ’

’ 𝐢 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥: — tired. ’

’ 𝐢 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐞: — my melancholy.’

’ 𝐢 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬: — when things were morally simple. ’

’ 𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡: — I didn’t feel like the world was on my shoulders. ’

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: @taissakingston​

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 : free for all~

[wardrobeoftime]

any costumes worn by leyla tanlar in mehmed the conqueror.

I assume you mean the Turkish series Mehmed: Bir Cihan Fatihi, right? Because that is what game up on Google when I search for Mehmed the Conquerer series. I haven't watched it but I remember it coming out a few years ago because I searched for English subs but couldn't find any. Unlike some other Turkish series, it also isn't available on youtube. So for now I have to decline because I have neither watched the series nor the ability to get files for it. The imdb page does list the series' name as Fatih for Germany but I have never seen it on any streaming service here either, so that confuses me a bit.

Maybe @awkward-sultana can help you better. She did some other Turkish period dramas in the past. Not sure if she has access to this one.

[safethaw]

A Guide To Roof Melting Methods.

Winter's charm: snowfall that wraps the world in a silent, glistening blanket. But let's get real; those snowy rooftops can be more treacherous than pretty. And boy, if I had a penny for every time I cursed a stubborn icicle... Why Should I Even Care About Roof Melting? Picture this: an afternoon sunbeam reveals long, sparkly icicles hanging from your roof, turning your home into Elsa's palace. Sounds dreamy, right? Until one of those sneaky icicles hints at a dreaded ice dam, risking leaks, damaged shingles, or compromised insulation. Yep, suddenly, those icicles don't seem that magical. 1. Heat Cables: The Toasty Scarf Your Roof Didn’t Know It Needed Ever worn a heated blanket? That's what heat cables feel like for roofs. They're snuggled in zigzags along your roof's edge. Plug 'em in, and it's like giving your roof a warm hug. Just be wary of any DIY mishaps - ending up in a knotted cable disaster isn’t the goal here. 2. Roof Raking: A Little Sweat Never Hurt Nobody Hark back to the times when elbow grease was the answer to most problems. Grab a long-handled roof rake and scrape off that pesky snow. It's not glamorous, but neither is a roof leak! 3. Calcium Chloride In A Stocking? Grandma Never Mentioned This Trick! Pop some calcium chloride into a nylon stocking and lay it on your roof. Watch as it creates melted pathways for water, like mini roof rivers. But, a word to the wise: it's effective, but not the most plant- or roof-friendly method. Tread carefully! Enter, Safe Thaw: Your Roof's Superhero (Without The Cape) If Mother Earth crafted an ice melt, it would be Safe Thaw. Friendly to both your roof melting and the daffodils below, this chemical-free, granular ice melt does its job without leaving a trail of destruction. And hey, bonus points for being perfect for limestone driveways! A Little Detour: Limestone Driveways In Winter Got a limestone driveway? Winter can be its drama season. But guess what can be its saving grace? Yep, Safe Thaw. Use it, and watch your driveway face winter like a champ. 4. Attic Insulation: It's Like Wearing A Hat, But For Your House Remember being told to wear a hat in the cold because that's where we lose most heat? Houses kind of work the same way. Boost your attic's insulation game, and you've got a cooler roof, fewer ice dams, and more peace of mind. 5. Give Your Roof Melting Some Breathing Space: Ventilation Matters Like us after a run, roofs need to breathe. With good ventilation, your roof cools down, making it less of a melting-freezing ice factory. Combine this with solid insulation, and you've got a winning combo. Wrap Up Navigating winter's rooftop challenges might feel like learning a new dance. There'll be stumbles, maybe a few mumbled curses, but with tools like Safe Thaw and a sprinkle of determination, we've got this. So, here's to embracing winter, icicles and all, but on our terms! Read the full article

[frozendeity17]

Aaallll fifty of them, in order, punk! :p

Alright, here we go:

Lumity and Percabeth. Yes, I know TOH just ended and TLT won't be coming out for a hot sec, no I do not care.

Never had one specific color, though I've definitely always preferred cooler colors. Used to love greens, but now indigoes, violets, and dark blues are more my style. Still love a good forest green though.

All of the quotes on that one doc abt unlikely posts. Also, "I think it's silly to be ashamed of your art because it's not in a museum and of your voice because it's not selling out stadiums. There will always be people who enjoy and appreciate what you can do." -Tumblr user venuskissed

Private. I'm not one to share my birthday.

Also private. Not today, fae fuck.

See #4.

Honestly, I don't know. I think I give them in all of their forms, but as for receiving, I think affirmation is what does it for me. Might be physical contact though, I do love hugs.

Probably a drama, I did like How to Get Away With Murder, even if I only got through the first season and a bit. Designated Survivor was awesome too.

Spain, for one. I don't know what it is about the place, but it has a charm about it for me. Maybe it's the weather. Aside from that, Greece and Italy would be awesome. I'm a little bit of a mythology nerd, so seeing all of the temples and wonders built for these ancient gods sounds like an awesome experience. If I could choose more, Norway and Iceland are both incredibly beautiful places, and I do kind of prefer the cold. Also, I've always wanted to see the aurora borealis in person.

Ooph, this one is difficult. There are a lot of great scents out there. Vanilla's a long-standing favorite, I remember once bringing a bottle of it to school once to show to my friends. Cinnamon rolls smell delicious, as does that smell from the candles we always used to buy. It might've been sandalwood, but I've never been quite sure. Also, there's this one perfume my mom's worn for as long as I can remember - it's a little too sharp to be entirely pleasant, but it's flowery, and nostalgic for me.

"City of Angels" by Em Beihold. She also wrote the trending songs "Numb Little Bug" - the "Do you ever get a little bit tired of life" one - and dueted "Until I Found You" with Stephen Sanchez. I think her songs "Too Precious" and "12345" are also really good.

Stalker. But seriously, probably one of the places listed in #9, or back home, as I have some stuff to do there.

Vanilla. Most pure chocolate ice creams have a bad aftertaste.

Donuts. I don't know what it is about cake, but I've never seemed to like it all that much, even the good ones. It is, honestly, my least favorite dessert that I'll actually eat - I even like eclairs, which are literally just pastry around messy whipped cream that gets everywhere, more than cake. I particularly hate it with that weird gel writing on it. Just...urgh. Donuts are chill tho, and I'll never turn down a solid frosted with sprinkles or Boston Creme.

Black. It's reliable, doesn't stain easily, works well in formal outfits, doesn't show sweat stains, and works on most complexions. Also, I never really wear much color regardless. I would miss that one blue dress shirt I really like - it's comfy as hell.

Haven't read one in ages, despite my massive TBR, but off the top of my head, probably "With great power comes great need to take a nap," by Nico di Angelo from PJO, if only because of how ridiculous yet true it is.

If I can't handle myself In a fight, I'm not subjecting any of y'all to that.

Ice cream. It's more reliable and easily accessible for me, and frankly, cotton candy is too dry as a dessert.

A famous engineer, hopefully. Being an author would be cool, too.

I do not have pet peeves, I am a pet peeve.

Basic Bitch. I suck at fashion and aesthetics and currently have neither the desire nor the capability to improve. My wardrobe is composed entirely of thin shorts, tracksuit pants, and t-shirts, with a singular formal suit. Might try to start painting my nails soon, see how that goes.

As prideful as it may sound, my intelligence. I don't have much street sense, to say the least, but I have a good factual memory, am good at logic puzzles, and am a quick reader, and I'm rather proud of that.

Saturday. Nothing to occupy that day, nor the day after. It's excellent. My favorite weekday? Probably Thursday. Dunno why, it just vibes the best.

I am SUCH a bad night owl. I don't even know why, I always regret it in the mornings too. I guess it's just kinda freeing, not having the expectations.

Neither, hot chocolate reigns supreme.

This is the first half, the second half to come, as Tumblr apparently has a character limit.

[ketso]

Episode 31

Today, the Maphumulo family is coming over to make right what the Twalas did wrong by paying lobola for me. Now that Senzi’s surname has officially changed, we can proceed with our traditional part of the wedding. I’m most surprised by how open-minded Senzi is to cultural practices. He is a church boy through and through - hell, a whole senior pastor. There’s a part of me that’s also not shocked because every time I’ve had to tell him about cultural things that I had to do, he was never against it. He was always supportive. But ja, Bab’Shaka is not playing games. He also wants the membeso to happen today, so that’s also happening.

I’m at my dad’s house because all of these things have to happen here. My mom and Bab’Khotso stayed at a hotel last night. The Maphumulo family is arriving at 6:30am, so I see my mom, Bab’Khotso, Rena and Mo arrive now at 6am. My girls are also here - they slept over from yesterday already. I was never going to do this without them so hey… Mam’Thandeka, Khanya and Khosini are also already here. The house is vibey nje already. My dad’s arranged wife is also here. Well, she lives here. The Buthelezi family got my dad married to someone my age who happens to be from a royal family. Ku-interesting shame. But I try not to give her a hard time, so we are cool. I’ll probably never see a mother in her, but hey, I don’t have to be a bitch. Khanya is forever making jokes about sleeping with our dad’s wife. They used to be funny, but now they make me uncomfortable. Khosini is just mad at the world - as usual.

No one knows that I’m pregnant. Just my mom, Bab’Khotso, Rena, Mo and Khanya. I haven’t even told my friends. Khanya knows everything. I could safely say that he’s my best friend. He promised not to tell our dad and I trust him.

“What is this one doing in my house?” My dad says to my mom about Bab’Khotso. He is being so unnecessary.

“He’s here to support uWandisa. I don’t see what the issue is.” My mom.

“He is not Wandisa’s father. I am.” My dad.

“UThandeka is not Wandisa’s mother, neither is your wife whom I’ve never met but has been more than comfortable around my daughter. But do you see me get all unnecessary?”

“Maphuthi, kukwami la!”

“Nami nginayo indlu yami. And I can just as easily move lo mcimbi to my house. Sesiyahlonipha nje, sihlonipha oButhelezi who don’t even deserve the respect. Awu kahle nge-drama!”

“Maphuthi!”

“Baba, yini manje?” I intervene.

He looks at me.

“Hey mom. Bab’Khotso, hey.” I say hugging them.

“Akayena ubaba wakho lo muntu”, he says.

“He is. He’s mom’s partner and I’m not going to disregard him just because you don’t like him. Hai bo.” I say.

We are saved by the cars beginning to park at the gate.

Yoh!

-

The rectifying of issues meeting is actually done quite quickly. Before I know it, there is even slaughtering that is happening to seal the deal. The mqombothi does what it didn’t do when Senzi came here as a Twala… it brews. It overflows and we know that all is amazing - livumile icamaku!

Now I’m dressed in my isiZulu outfit - without the isiqholo. The isiqholo will be given to me by the Maphumulo family to show that I am their bride and that their Senzi is the one who has made me a wife. Isiqholo is only worn by wives.

The membeso goes very well. Senzi gifted everyone in my family - Mam’Thandeka included. He even gifted my dad’s new wife, which honestly warmed my dad’s heart. But my dad got hella mad when he gifted Rena, Mo and Bab’Khotso. But he will get over it. He has to. I’m just glad that he didn’t cause a scene.

After this, we have lunch. Senzi and I have to go around and thank people for coming. Most people really just want to take photos. We take the photos and mingle with people. Ntuthuko is actually here with Tamia, and they really look amazing together. I honestly love to see it. Senzi and I sit with them because Tamia is the one person who had the sense to organise us plates. But there’s no space at their table for us to sit. So, Tamia gives up her chair and sits on Ntuthuko’s lap. Senzi sits on her chair after saying thank you, then I sit on his lap, and we start eating.

“You look gorgeous, makoti.” Tamia says.

“Thank you, babe. And I love what I’m seeing here - you and bhuti. Will I be getting my thank you flowers anytime soon?” Me.

The guys laugh and Tamia blushes. Then she says, “I’ll definitely make it up to you. Trust.”

I keep eating my food and smile at them.

“Will you be at the umabo and umbondo next week?” I ask Tamia.

“If Ntuthuko asks me to come with him as his date, I’ll come by.” Tamia says.

“What if I just invite you? I mean… you are my friend, right?” Me.

“Of course. Then I’ll be there”, Tamia.

“As her friend and as my date”, Ntuthuko says.

Senzi and I look at each other. We smile at each other and we continue to eat.

The rest of the Tholoana Kingdom gang shows up, led by Reahile.

“Apparently, we are all heading back to the kingdom in a few minutes… le makoti.” Rea says.

“Really? As in a few minutes?” Me.

“Your dad is turning shit up. Everyone just wants to get the fuck out of here”, Rea.

I’m actually annoyed.

“Ey, are you all ready to go?” Bab’Shaka asks us.

“Bhuti, uvaya nathi?” Senzi asks Ntuthuko.

“Yeah. Tamia and I are all packed. We will be driving in Tamia’s car.” Ntuthuko says.

“I drove down with pops. Can we catch a ride with you then?” Senzi.

“Even better. Let’s bounce.” Ntuthuko.

“I need to get my bags.” I say.

“We can help, babe”, Khanyisa says.

I head into the house with Khanyisa, Nandi and my girls.

Before I leave, I have elders I’ve never even met in my life telling me how to be a good wife. I sit here and listen while my friends pack my bags for me into Tamia’s car. Ntuthuko’s car is in the kingdom, he flew here so they are mobile with Tamia’s car/s. This talk takes about an hour and a half, then I’m finally released. My dad’s new wife, Siyanda, is the one who walks me out. She gifts me a grass mat, umkhonto and some beads. My dad is waiting for us at the gate. When we stand next to him, he gives me a hug, wishing me well… then he tells me how proud he is of me and that I must look after myself.

Senzi finally comes to us. He takes my hand. I’m sang off to the Maphumulo family. I get into Tamia’s Mercedes Benz GLC Coupe, sitting at the back with her. Senzi is in the passenger seat and Ntuthuko is driving. He leads the way, hooting as he does this. He has the makoti in his car. I feel like I haven’t seen my friends properly all day today.

-

The next week, umabo

The umabo celebration is just as festive and nice. Today, we are in Tholoana Kingdom at Senzi’s dad’s place. Tamia is sleeping over at my home because she’s just Ntuthuko’s girlfriend and Bab’Shaka doesn’t play those games. But I included her in my squad and she’s been here dancing with us and sitting with me on the grass mat as well as forming part of my squad (Tamia, Morafe and Bassie) that gifted Senzi’s family with very nice gifts. I gifted the three grannies from eMtubatuba - his grandfather’s wives. They were so happy! Wow! And they danced! Yoh, they danced for those gifts. They actually did a full performance for us. I saw Tamia just smile so wide. I’m sure she was like, “this will be me soon”. And shame, I also have hope.

Then I gifted Mam’Fifi. She was also extremely excited. She also danced for the gifts. I gifted Senzi’s brothers, Akwande and Ntuthuko. Akwande was just very cool about it. Ntuthuko is the one who celebrated and danced for his gifts. I then gifted Bab’Shaka and Lady Laura. Lady Laura was the only person who was not happy. She was just so bitter. She took the gifts and walked off. She didn’t even sit on the chair and allowed my squad to dress her up. She literally just grabbed the blanket and grass mat, then walked away. Bab’Shaka danced though. He was happy. Then I also gifted Luhle. She had Lady Laura’s energy, but wasn’t as bad. Now the time for me to go and hand over the blanket that I am covered with to my mother-in-law arrives. I don’t know which mother to hand the blanket over to. I look at my mom. She gets it. I see her run to Bab’Shaka. Bab’Shaka and his three mothers gather and discuss a bit. He talks to Lady Laura and I see her throw her hand at them, walking away. Mam’Fifi goes to sit on the chair. I look at my mom. She nods her head.

I start singing. My squad helps me up and they walk me to Mam’Fifi in song. When I get to her, I do a bit of a dance for her then I take off my blanket and put it on her. We smile at each other. She gets up and we dance together. I catch Senzi laughing… he is soooo happy. This day is just so beautiful. So so so stunning.

The moment finally comes where I now have to confirm to everyone present here that Senzi didn’t steal me. It’s time for me to culturally claim my man before every single person present today, confirming that he is the love of my life and should any cow lay eyes on him, the Maphuthi in me will brew like it never has before. When it comes to my Senzangakhona Maphumulo, the sweet and down-to-earth Wandisa will become a beast you’ve never seen before. So, after I’m asked before every person here whether or not I love Senzi and that I’m consenting to be his wife, I carry my grass mat - singing and dancing in front of everyone as I make my way to the man that has asked me this question. When I finally get to the man, I put the grass mat at his feet. There is ululating and dancing all around. Senzi, Ntuthuko, Akwande, Banathi and Mnqobi stand up from where they are - in amabheshu wabo - and dance for me. It’s actually such a beautiful thing to witness. It’s just a beautiful day.

People are now directed to go and have lunch in the erected glass tent. I’m taken to a rondavel with Senzi. The whole Maphumulo family is in here. I’m introduced to the Maphumulo ancestors as their bride. Inyongo is now put on my wrists as well as Senzi’s wrists. We are both so happy. We start hearing thunder - standard procedure in this place. Rain nje.

I’m taken into the house to change now into the clothes that the Maphumulos got for me as their new bride. But first, we go into Bab’Shaka’s office where our lawyers are already seated and waiting for us. Bab’Shaka organised for us to come and sign our marriage contract here. I’m so happy. We are married in community of property. Senzi did not want it any other way. Ntuthuko and Tamia are our witnesses. Bab’Shaka and Mam’Fifi are also our witnesses.

Tamia appreciates me including her in everything. It’s somehow bringing her closer to her man. Soon, this will be her.

Now, Mam’Fifi and Luhle are now dressing me up in my bridal attire. Luhle is so sour, so Mam’Fifi and I are chatting and having fun while doing this. I wear my black isidwaba. I wear a white vest-like t-shirt. I wear cow skin around my neck then I put beads on top of it. I wear isiqholo made of pure cow skin. I wear white all-stars. I have beads around my wrists and my ankles. I even know that I look stunning.

Senzi and I now finally walk into the tent. People are ululating to us walking in as husband and wife. I’m presented as his bride and I’m showing him off as my husband. We even do some dancing when we get to the front. We are very happy. I’d do this over and over and over again. I am Mrs Wandisa Xolile Maphumulo.

-

I went to sleep at 7pm. I just got sick nje. I found my mom and told her I’m unwell. Bab’Khotso told Bab’Shaka and Mam’Fifi that I need to rest. Mam’Fifi remembered that I’m pregnant. She let me in the house and made up a lie about me having to be indoors by 7pm. They told Senzi that I was feeling a bit sick. So he came in, showered with me, got me into pjs and while trying to put me to sleep, he fell asleep too. My man bakithi.

I woke up this morning around 5am to throw up. I then heard noise in the kitchen, so I quickly showered, got into a decent dress, doek and sandals, then went downstairs to help with breakfast. Luhle and Mam’Fifi were having a go at it.

“Sanibonani”, I interrupt the moment.

Mam’Fifi looks like she has been crying.

“Can I assist with breakfast?” I ask.

Mam’Fifi smiles at me. She instructs me to get the eggs started. I nod my head with a smile and get started. Luhle marches out of the kitchen. I hear Mah take a deep sigh.

“Mah, are you okay?” I ask her.

“Yaz Wandi, I don’t know anymore when it comes to Luhle. Shaka wants to kick her out permanently. I’m busy fighting in her corner because it’s not right that he writes her off. Kodwa I’ve reached my limit now hey. This girl has eaten at me for years now. I’m just at a point where I’ll let Shaka do whatever he wants because I cannot keep doing this.” She says.

“Mah, if you don’t mind me asking, why does she hate us so much?” I ask.

“She doesn’t hate us. And I try to remind myself every time that it’s not me… it’s not me that she hates… she just has been through a lot and she’s not exactly the strongest person. She used to go to therapy and it helped her a lot. I don’t know why she stopped. And now she’s determined to not go back.” She says.

“Ncesi mah. Don’t let it get to you. Do you know how much Ntuthuko and Senzi adore you? You’ve done nothing wrong, mah. You are an amazing mother. Thina siyakuthanda.” I say.

She smiles at me then says, “Ngiyabonga. I needed to hear that.”

I notice that she’s making porridge as well.

“Why are you making porridge, mah?” I ask her.

“The gogos enjoy their porridge before they dig into the big breakfast”, she explains.

“Oh okay.”

“Mina ngakotiza eMtubatuba. Mornings are porridge and tea, then the big English breakfast…”

“Am I dressed appropriately, mah?”

“Khululeka Wandi, you are good. Why are you even awake? I thought you’d be tired after yesterday. Plus, it’s still pouring outside. How come you didn’t want to sleep in like everyone else?”

“Morning sickness. And I also just wanted to help. You guys are the sweetest family any girl could dream to be married into. I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness. I also want to feel helpful.”

She smiles at me then says, “Just know that we don’t have any expectations. Uyingane yethu nawe. If Senzi, Ntuthuko and Akwande can sleep in, so can you. Akuna makoti la”, she says.

Such a sweetie pie.

“When are you seeing a doctor?” She asks me.

“As soon as we get back to Johannesburg”, I say.

“UShaka tells me that he and Senzi are having conversations about you and Senzi moving this side permanently”, she says.

“Yeah… Senzi and I are also talking about it.” I say.

“How do you feel about it?” She asks me.

“It’s not the worst thing that could happen to me. My mom is here. But I’m also very happy for Senzi and ubaba, you know. Senzi is connecting with all of you and I can see how much you all mean to him. I wouldn’t stand in his way if he wanted to come here. We just have to sort out the logistics of it. Senzi has to get a transfer from work to be based here. I’d have to sell my businesses and start something new here. Then we’d have to decide what we do with the house.”

“So if all goes well, you’d be open to coming this side?” She says with excitement.

I nod my head with a smile.

…

Rain in Tholoana Kingdom is just hectic. It rains all the time here. And sometimes, one will assume that it just rains when one is around, but nah… I’d be talking to Ntuthuko over the phone and he’d be telling me how rainy the day is. How big are their water reserves? I wonder if they ever get natural disasters.

Ntuthuko and I walk into the dining area for breakfast, and we find our dad already seated. Mam’Fifi is dishing up for him. I find that Wandi has already dished up for Akwande, Ntuthuko and I. The grannies are also eating. Apparently, they made Luhle dish up for them. She’s sitting here and she’s sour.

“Siyabonga makoti ngokusiphatha kahle kangaka”, Ntuthuko says - loudly may I add. We all just giggle at the table.

“Can I please be excused?” Luhle says, rolling her eyes.

I don’t know what her issue is. No one ever does anything to her. No one. In fact, most of us prefer to behave like she’s not even here. But yena shame, she always marks her attitude present.

“Cha Luhle. Hlala lapho udle like everyone else.” MaTango says.

“Angilambile, gogo”, Luhle.

“Udle nini, Luhle? If you are full, what are you full on?” MaTango.

“Gogo, I need to head to the airport. I have a standby ticket. So, any plane that has a spot, I have to be on it.” Luhle.

“I can get you a ticket, Luhle.” I offer.

“Did I ask you?!” She barks at me.

“Haaa!” Wandi reacts – and not in a nice way.

“Yini wena? Are you already forgetting your place?” Luhle says to Wandi.

“Don’t talk to my wife like that! I was just offering. If you don’t want the favour, you just had to say no thank you. You exposing your ill-manners so loudly is very unnecessary”, I tell her.

“Maybe you must go tell that to your mother before you come at me. She just sticks out like a sore thumb everywhere she goes because you seem to forget who your mother is… and for what? For Refiloe?!” Luhle says.

Wandi throws her cutlery on her plate now. I can just feel and see her getting ready to throw hands.

“First of all, you don’t know the first thing about my mother or my relationship with her, so I’m not sure on what authority you are talking about her on. I’m trying to understand where you get off. I understand that you are probably projecting because you losing your mother will always be a crutch for you, aiding you to disrespect people who have been nothing but good to you because you lack ukubonga… but I’d urge you to grow up a little bit ucale ukubala amagama wakho. Not all of us are going to tolerate your inability to control yourself for years. Get help and deal with your issues because one day, you’ll catch some of us on a bad day and it will not end well.” Wandi is really irritated now and I’d rather it be me who tells Luhle to shut up than Wandi. I’ll be forgiven in this house for fighting with my sibling. My wife will be judged forever.

The table is silent.

Luhle is breathing heavily.

I just stare at her.

“I want to die”, Luhle says.

My dad just continues eating his food. He comes off as if he doesn’t give a shit. Mam’Fifi is just unsure about how to be. The grannies stare at Luhle. Ntuthuko just eats his food as well.

“Maybe when I’m dead, it will be a favour to everyone because none of you care about me. You all want me dead anyway. Without me, this family will be perfect. I’m the black scar in this perfect family that you wish to cover - hopefully even hide from the world. I might as well just die.” Luhle says.

“Yoh, this food is amazing. Can I get seconds, my love?” My dad, blatantly ignoring Luhle.

“Ai nami ngiyezwa nje, baba. I’m joining you with the second plate.” Ntuthuko.

“Gogo, kumele ngihambe manje and leave this perfect family alone. Angifunwa la”, Luhle.

She stands up and leaves the table.

“She just needs a good beating lo”, MaTango says now that Luhle has disappeared.

“Uzokubophisa. She has rights”, my dad sarcastically says.

“I told you, wena Shaka! I told you and Kenosi that you were ruining this child! You should’ve let this child live eMtubatuba with us like you did with Nompumelelo and Ntuthuko. You told me stories and said I was being unfair to Kenosi. You told me I must give you and Kenosi space to be her parents.” MaTango is not letting this go.

“Mama, I know that I messed up. Ntuthuko told me how much I’ve messed up. I see it in Fifi’s eyes every time she has nothing to say about the way that Luhle treats her. I know, mama. But I’m not going to apologise for doing what I thought was best at the time. I’ll apologise for failing Luhle and my family because manje, we can’t even have peace whenever Luhle is around. And I apologise for that. I’d love to do better with the kids that will still give me a chance. But as for Luhle… she has four more months before I completely cut her out of my life.” My dad is a bit extreme in his discipline measures, this I must just highlight. In the bit of time that I’ve known him, he really just goes for the maximum punishment with Luhle.

“Weh Shaka! Why are you acting like uLuhle uyaqala ukuziphatha ngalendlela? Luhle has always been this way! Always! From when she was a child! She always thought she was too good to do chores. She always thought she was better than everyone else - including her siblings. She was always the exception to the rule. I told you and Kenosi that you are creating an animal out of that child and one day, you will live to regret what you were creating in her. Aph’amanga wami?! Now you don’t like what you have created, you take guns out on her? You take her out of luxury houses in LA and put her in flats. You take her cars away and now she must use busses when she didn’t even use taxis here in Tholoana Kingdom. What do you think will happen?! She will get worse! She will act out! You can’t just become a parent overnight when you’ve been her friend all these years! Awukahle wena!”

I see Wandi stealing looks at me. I see Mam’Fifi playing with her food, barely looking up. Ntuthuko is just sitting here, ready for the conversation to be over. My dad is genuinely remorseful.

“Shaka, letha uLuhle kulezizandla zami. Ngizom’lungisa ke mina.” MaTango.

“But gogo, you promised me that the holidays would be mine and yours”, Akwande says.

We all smile at him, especially my father.

“Khululeka wena khehla lami. Ngiyoqondisa igwegwe nje kulodadewenu bese mina nawe, si la”, she uses her hands to show that they are tight.

“Ay gogo, Sis’Luhle is always angry and always complaining. She’s going to ruin my holiday at home. I go to Mtubatuba for peace. I’m not going to get that if Sis’Luhle is there. She must just go back to LA.” Akwande says.

Tense!

MaTango looks at my dad like she wants to slap him now.

“Woza la, sthandwa sami… Iza kugogo”, MaTango says to Akwande.

Akwande behaves like a baby and goes to MaTango.

“What do I always tell you about umndeni, khehla lami?” MaTango.

“I know gogo, kodwa -

“What do I always tell you, khehla lami?”

“Akuna doti for umndeni.”

MaTango nods her head then says, “Exactly. Udadewenu akathathi kahl’ ekhanda. Kufanele simusize, khehla lami. No one has to be left behind. And wena, khehla lami… igama lakho u-Akwand’impumelelo kwaMaphumulo. Liyasinda lelo gama, khehla lami. Kufanele ukuthi wena uwandise impumelelo kwaMaphumulo - not only for you, but for umdeni wakwaMaphumulo. It is your responsibility to make sure that nobody gets left behind. Nang’uNtuthuko umfowenu. Yin’ intuthuko, baba?” MaTango.

“Progress.” Akwande.

“Eh hhe! For as long as wena uwandisa impumelelo kwaMaphumulo, umfowenu uzokwenza isiqiniseko sokuthi kunentuthuko nalapho kunzima khona. Siqala ngodadewenu, khehla lami.”

“So, what does Bhut’Senzi get to do?” Akwande says.

I actually feel like laughing. But I’m also annoyed because why am I getting dragged into this?

“He’s already started his job. ULuhle doesn’t dance on his head the way that she does on all of your heads. He helps her and tries with her, kodwa he also draws a very firm line with her. Luhle needs that. Nina bafana bami, nawe makoti wami, I’m asking… ngiyaphaphatha bantabami… don’t give up on Luhle and don’t leave her behind. Your lives are progressing so well. Don’t leave udadewenu behind. Wena makoti, uwena umakoti okuyena yedwa esinaye la ekhaya. Masekufik’ abanye, kuzoba uwena umakoti omdala. Ngiyacela sisi, siphathe kahle wenze nesiqiniseko sokuthi siphathana kahle la ekhaya.”

I see Wandi nodding her head. But she’s also looking at me like, WTF?!

Akwande dragged us into this for absolutely no reason.

“We go back home today. Sihamba noLuhle. Give me a year with her.” MaTango says.

My dad rubs his face like he knows this is going to be war.

-

My dad and Mam’Fifi have taken the grannies and Luhle back to eMtubatuba. As expected, Luhle protested. But when MaTango whipped out her whip and demanded she runs to the car immediately because she doesn’t negotiate with kids, she went to the car crying nje, then left with them. Now, Ntuthuko is also packing his things. Wandi and I are also packing. We have to head back to Johannesburg tomorrow.

“I want to go see my girl”, Ntuthuko says. He and Tamia are our daily bread these days.

“Wandi is going kubo to see her mother then fetch Tamia. Asambe naye.” I tell him.

He’s suddenly excited.

“Akwande, uhamba nathi?” I ask him.

“Yes please, bhuti. I’ll hang out with Rena and Moloko.” He says.

“Okay. Get a jacket ke. It’s raining phandle.” I say.

“Okay bhuti. Ngiyeza.” He says then heads upstairs. He’s very respectful. I’d live with him any day. Even Wandi said that she wouldn’t mind him visiting us during school holidays. He’s very well-mannered.

After a few minutes, we are locking up and heading out to Wandi’s mom’s house.

Wandi is sitting at the back with Akwande and they are having a whole conversation. It’s so interesting that Ntuthuko and I actually listen in.

Wandi: “So, when would you want to start interning for something like that?”

Akwande: “Well, I’ve done research on coding and computer sciences, and I liked it. But now, I need to be in the day of someone who does that job to see if it’s something I want to do for the rest of my life. So now I have to find a coding person. Banathi’s mom said she’d help me. She doesn’t work anymore, but she knows people in the industry. The people mostly sound like they are in South Africa”.

Wandi: “That makes sense. Data scientists and analysts are not as many in South Africa. There is a shortage of the skill. So in SA, you’d be shadowing them through the lens of a new career industry all together”.

Akwande: “Yeah. I asked my dad if I could go to the UK and study there. An international degree would be nice. Plus, I’d get a job there as well as I study.”

Wandi: “What did he say?”

Akwande: “I don’t know. My mom just started crying and saying that she wasn’t ready for me to go so far away. So, my dad asked me what’s wrong with the universities in the kingdom. And there’s nothing wrong. In fact, our universities are rated as one of the best universities in the world. I just -

Now we are all silent and curious for him to finish his sentence.

Wandi: “You just?”

Akwande: “I hate that I’m the child that was born after Sis’Luhle. She messed up everything. Now everyone treats me like they are fixing their mistakes that they made with her - on me. My parents suffocate me because they have to be extra everything with me. Bhut’Ntuthuko is different with me. He’s funny with everyone else, but to me, he’s like my second dad… my third parent… he also treats me like he’s scared I’m going to mess up. I like going to Mtubatuba because there, gogo lets me explore who I am and understand myself a little better. She lets me be free. What I like about her is that she doesn’t treat me any different from the way that she treats other people. Now that Sis’Luhle is going to impact that too, I just feel like… I wish I were like Bhut’Ntuthuko and Bhut’Senzi who were born before Sis’Luhle came.”

Ntuthuko and I look at each other.

Akwande continues, “At least in the UK, I’ll be on my own. No one will be suffocating me the whole time. I’ll be able to live. And no offence to Sis’Luhle, but I don’t want to be responsible for her. Not even dad wants her and she’s his kid. I don’t want that responsibility.”

I see Wandi just hugging him. Ja no, this family has a lot that it’s dealing with.

The silence is broken by Ntuthuko’s cellphone ringing. Mbali is phoning him. I’ve learned that she is baby-mama number one. He answers through the Bluetooth connection.

“Hi Mbali”, Ntuthuko.

“Hey, kunjani?”

“Ngiyaphila. Wena?”

“I’m good. Lalela, my mom passed away this morning.” She says.

“Yoh, sorry san”, Ntuthuko.

“Ngiyabonga. But I’m thinking ukuthi now that she has passed away, kuzofanele ngithole noma ngikhokhele umuntu to stay with the kids. With the work that I do, I won’t be able to live with them here in Hillbrow. They are better off eMtubatuba. My siblings won’t take them. I have an aunt who’s willing, but she wants to get paid. So, I’m not sure if you’ll be able to assist me with that.” Mbali says.

“Yaz Mbali, I’ve been thinking a lot lately… I’ve been thinking of taking Thulisa to come and just live with me.” Ntuthuko.

This has Tamia written all over it.

She’s quiet.

“Hello?” Ntuthuko.

“Why now? What’s changed? You haven’t even paid damages for Thulisa, now you suddenly want to step up and be her parent? For the past twelve years of her life, that was never a concern for you.”

“Ja well, I’m in a better place now to do it.” Ntuthuko.

“Is it because of that girlfriend of yours who is also making you not pay us support anymore? Suddenly, you can also shop for your own kids and pay schools directly? What exactly did you tell that girl about us? Did you portray us as gold diggers or something? That all we want is your money? Thulisa is your child! These kids are your children, Ntuthuko.”

“Thulisa is my child. But I know you have a problem with my decision because I was also indirectly supporting your other kids that are not mine. I’d like to take my child. And I’ll pay inhlawulo for it if I must. But maybe this nanny conversation is a conversation you need to have with your other baby-daddies.”

“Mxm”, she says then hangs up.

“Was that a yes?” Ntuthuko asks us.

Akwande is the first to burst into laughter, then Wandi and I also laugh.

[songmingisthighs]

Hooked

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

ch. xlvi - kinky fantasy

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??? × reader, ateez × reader

A freshman hookup rekindled into something new. With an incentive, of course. But what would happen if your 'relationship' led you somewhere you never thought would happen to you ?

When you got back to the frat, you realized how silent it is. Usually, the boys would be running around everywhere, wreaking havoc in the best way possible. But the silence that enveloped the frat was quite a nice change. Slightly eerie, but still nice.

Realizing that there were probably no one around to bother you, you decided to try on the new clothes you just got.

You got into your room without closing the door all the way, leaving it slightly ajar. You put the shopping bags on your bed and put your own bag next to them.

Without wasting much time, you immediately unpacked the contents of the shopping bag, grinning at the items you bought. You bought some clothes that you'd wear out but those weren't the ones that made you feel giddy and excited.

Your hand excitedly reached into the black shopping bag and took out the contents carefully. The boys had been quite affectionate with you lately and you've been getting laid way more than you usually did. That increased your libido and was actually why you went shopping.

The fabric of the lace black and red bustier set was different compared to the pink babydoll. You had also paired a black choker and black mid-thigh length stocking for the bustier set and white thigh-highs for the babydoll. You laid them both to decide which one to try first.

Finally, you decided on trying the babydoll first. You slipped your clothes off and began putting on the garment. As you had hoped, it was perfect for you. It's the perfect amount of cute combined with sexiness but is still comfortable. The fabric felt soft on you and it just made you felt good.

Lastly, you decided to go all-in and try the thigh-highs as well. You sat at the edge of your bed and began pulling one up your leg.

But as you were putting on the other one, someone had opened the door, making you jump up to cover your body with the shirt you had just worn before you took it off. Not that it helped cover anything.

"(Y/N), I heard you came back a- what are you doing?" Jongho blinked his eyes innocently at you, half in confusion.

Neither one of you said anything, only staring at each other. You, not knowing exactly what to say or how to explain yourself. Jongho, still not realizing that you had been caught off-guard trying on your new lingerie.

It wasn't until Jongho's eyes shifted over your body that a smirk appeared on his face. "Oh, I see what you were doing," he closed the door and walked over to you. He knelt in front of you and carefully took a hold of the thigh-highs that was pulled up only until your calf, "may I?" he asked, looking up at you.

You bit your bottom lip but nodded at him. Before his hands moved to pull the thigh-highs over, he nodded at the shirt you were using to shield your scantily clad body.

"Show me what you were trying on," he ordered. You blushed but obeyed him promptly. You put the shirt down onto the bed and let his eyes roam over your body.

You knew Jongo has quite the baby girl kink so when his tongue darted out to lick at his bottom lip, you almost whimpered submissively at him.

His eyes slowly move downwards from your face to your chest and then to your thighs, and finally to the thigh-highs. As his fingers glided over the thin material, his eyes followed up very slowly. Once the material was fully on you, he let his fingers traced over the hem before it rested on your inner thighs and his lips left a trail of kisses from your knee up to your thighs.

"Please tell me you bought this for me," he mumbled against your skin. You held back a moan when his hands began squeezing your thighs, one of his hands snuggly in between your legs, strategically placed so close to your core.

"I mean, you were one of the few main reasons I bought this particular piece," you giggled when he bit lightly at the skin of your thigh. He groaned lowly at your response before suddenly pouncing on you, hovering over your body as he melded his lips with yours.

Your hands immediately tangle themselves up in his hair, tugging on them and letting your fingernails scrape on his scalp. His lips moved with yours to express his urgency, you knew he wanted and needed you that moment.

"J-Jongho," you called out to him. He only grunted in response, lips too preoccupied nibbling your bottom one and hands roaming all over your body, enjoying the feeling of your lingerie. "Jongho," you called him again, whining.

Reluctantly, Jongho got off your lips and moved to the junction of your neck, "what?" he mumbled against your skin. Without having to look at him, you knew he had his eyes closed. Whenever you have the chance, you'd most likely dress up a little for him. Visual stimulation tends to drive Jongho a little crazy and when he does, these tend to be mind-numbingly amazing.

"I'm still on my period, Ho," you told him. When you felt his lips stopped moving on your skin, you bit your bottom lip in anticipation of what his reaction might be.

He suddenly dropped his whole body weight on you and rested his chin on your chest. He was looking at you with the best puppy eyes he could muster, "does that mean I can't fuck you?" his bottom lip jutted out adorably. You cooed at him, your hands moved to push his hair away from his face, "Unless you want a messy, bloody dick, then I'm afraid not," you pouted back at him.

Jongho groaned loudly before burying his face on your chest. "This is not fair, I really wanna fuck you and this little outfit made you look extra fuckable," you heard him grumble even though it was a bit muffled. You chuckled at how he's acting right now, "you drama queen, there are other ways to get your dick wet,"

At the proposition of having other options, Jongho lifted his head up at you, interested. "I can always suck you off," you suggested, "or jack you off," you added, "or I can use your thighs?" he asked. You tilted your head at him, "what, like humping on me?" he rolled his eyes at you, "no, like fucking myself with your thighs,"

You pondered over the idea for a bit. You may not be able to get your pussy pounded right now, but the idea of having Jongho used you like a sex toy is beyond arousing.

"Okay, how do you want to do this?" you smirked at him. Hearing your confirmation, Jongho visibly perked up. "You're not gonna regret this," he said before returning to connect his lips with yours in a heated kiss.

You moaned when you felt his hands reached up and squeeze your boobs. His fingers slipped into the cups of your bra to play with your nipples. He expertly rolled and pinch them, playing them however he likes. The added pleasure from his toying on your chest shot straight to your core. Your thighs automatically widened and grind onto Jongho's hips.

When your core made contact with him, you could feel how hard he is through his sweatpants. You moaned into his mouth at the thought of how he was probably already leaking.

Your hands move on their own, shoving into his pants to feel him, He was already erect, his cock felt heavy and hot in your hand.

As you began to stroke him slowly, Jongho grunted into your mouth. His teeth sunk into your bottom lip when your thumb pressed on his slit. Though it stung slightly, the feeling soon dissipated and turn into added pleasure.

When Jongho began grinding into your hand, you felt like you wanted to see more. So your free hand tugged on his sweatpants to conveyed what you wanted to him. Jongho leaned back slightly to see your pouty face. How he loves it when you're whiny and begging for him.

He simply chuckled but granted your request. He scooted backwards to his feet and began undressing. As he slowly peeled his shirt off, revealing his broad chest and shoulder, your legs dropped open and you immediately press two fingers to your clit, making you moan. Just before Jongho pulled his sweatpants off, he heard you moaned and smirked teasingly, "didn't know me stripping would have such an effect on you," he simply said before pulling his pants and boxers off with one single motion.

At the sight of his erection, your eyes zeroed in on it. Your eyes glazed over the pretty veins on it and you licked your lips when you see his reddened tip, his precum only making his cock look even more appealing.

Jongho chuckled at the way you're blatantly checking his dick out. "You can have this inside your pretty pussy after you're done bleeding," he joked which made you scowl at him.

Instead of getting back on top of you, he swept the shopping bags off your bed and plopped down in the middle of it. He turned his head to you and patted his lap, "hop on baby," he grinned.

You giggled at the way he addressed you but immediately move to straddle his lap. Once you were situated comfortably, you began grinding your clothed core directly on his dick whilst maintaining eye contact with him. With the intensity of everything, Jongho was looking at you with a very wild, animalistic stare.

"Let me rephrase what I said earlier," his hands shot up to your hips and he held you still, "once your period's done," he thrust his hips towards your core, sending you gasping and almost toppling over due to his strength, "I'm not," another thrust, "letting you," another thrust, "get off," another thrust, "my dick,"

At his last word, he pulled you down onto his chest and melded your mouths again, "keep your legs straight and closed, baby," he mumbled against your lips.

You did as he told and soon enough, he manoeuvred his dick with his hand to slip between your thighs. The feeling of his dick between your thighs felt different but in a good way. While you usually could feel him directly inside of you, the feeling of being so close to having him inside but not being able to really do so increased your desire to have him.

Jongho thrusted slowly at first, wanting to see how you'd react to the new position. "Tell me," you started, detaching your mouth from his to nibble at his earlobe, "did you learn this from watching porn?" you asked. He craned his neck to expose more of his skin to you, "do you study before tests?" he answered back.

You rolled your eyes at him and bit on his collarbone, "how dare you compare me to tests," you mumbled against his skin. He chuckled but ignored your comment.

He moved his legs to trap you between his strong thighs, making sure that he's snug between your legs. At the change of position, his dick is not only snugly in between your legs but was also pressing at your pussy.

As he increased the speed of his thrust, you moaned loudly when his hips rub against your clit deliciously. Jongho took pride at how loud you're being, "don't hold back, baby, no one's home other than us,"

You did, in fact, moaned louder. Especially when he started to literally use you like a sex toy. He gripped your hips and thrust himself furiously. You knew that he was only thinking about making himself cum. Not that you were complaining because he was doing everything and your job was only to lay there, looking pretty. There was even the added bonus of your pussy receiving some indirect attention.

To add to his pleasure, your hands began roaming on his chest and playing with his nipples as your mouth leave marks on his beautifully tanned skin.

Jongho groaned when you pinched both of his nipples rather harshly. "Make yourself cum for me, Jongho, make me not regret buying this piece of lingerie," you moaned into his ear. With the way your teeth tugging at any skin you could reach and your hand teasing his nipples, it didn't take long for his hips to falter, a sign that he was so close to his release.

You pushed him to the edge by clenching and unclenching your thighs as your lips found their way back to his. Whilst your tongue lashed with each other, you felt Jongho stilled and warm spurt of his cum painted the back of your thigh. To prolong his climax, you ground yourself on him which proved to be effective.

As he relaxed and tried to catch his breath, you simply lied on his body with your arms underneath your head. Your fingers traced shapes on his chest while his tugged on the fabric of your babydoll.

"I really do like this lingerie," he said, breaking the silence. You giggled and looked up to him, "of course you do, Jongho, I know your style," you said before pressing a kiss to his chin.

He suddenly reached to the bedside table to take a few tissues to clean you up from his cum. When you were cleaned up, he patted your butt with a smile on his face, "now, I'd like to see what else you bought so you're gonna do a little fashion show for me,"

You squealed in delight at his idea and immediately jump up to do what he said.

As you were pulling the garments from the bags, Jongho's eyes followed after your movements as he smirked, "and who knows, maybe that'll lead us to a second round," he joked.

You threw a random piece of clothing at him but laughed nevertheless.

"You wish."

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