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ghoulie-67-baby · 7 months

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Disrespect- Wizarding world.

Summary: You’re tired and overwhelmed and in a serious bad mood, bu that doesnt mean you can take it out on Remus without punishment.

Warnings: Pet names, disrespectful behaviour, nudity, Sub & Dom dynamics, subspace, punishment, crying, spanking, little angsty.

Pairing: Wolfstar x GN!Reader.

Word count: 2,300.

"I'm just trying to help you, Bunny, it'll make it easier for you," Remus muttered mindlessly as he skimmed the pages of his book. I rolled my eyes and huffed out a breath before throwing my own potions book on the bed away from me, sour-faced.

"Y/N, watch your attitude." Sirius piped up, raising his eyebrow at me. I ignored him and buried my face in the blankets of Moony's bed. I knew the use of my name instead of a nickname was a serious warning rather than a passing comment but I wasn't in the mood for him to complain about my behaviour. I was stressed, overtired, overworked, overwhelmed and in need of an escape into my subspace but hadn't had the chance for a while.

"I'm just saying, if you don't get some work done now then you'll end up stressing and cramming all your work in at the last minute. You know I'm right Bun." I scoffed, lifting my head as I sat up and staring at the lycanthrope who looked rather surprised at me.

"I'm not a child Remus, I know how to manage myself." I shot back, glaring slightly as I hopped off the bed in a huff.

"Last warning Y/N, you won't be told again." I met Sirius' gaze, challenging him slightly with a scowl.

"Whatever," I knew I was being unreasonable but my bad mood had taken over completely. "Stop acting like you know everything Remus." That was my last word before I grabbed my bag and stormed out of their dorm and down to the black lake for some alone time.

———————————————————————————————

Two days had passed since I had spoken to Remus like crap and on the first day I didn't speak to either of them, knowing they were too pissed off, the second-day things seemed to have settled a little, speaking to me but not being as close and open as they usually were. The guilt of the situation had hit me hard and I scolded myself in my head every hour as I watched how Remmy had shut down a little, distancing himself. I had nested myself into bed at night in the girl's dorm, feeling unusually cold because my boys weren't cuddling me to sleep but I was also too stubborn and hated apologising.

Knowing if I didn't apologise it wouldn't be resolved, I had stashed myself way in their dorm room after my lessons so that when they got back from their lessons I would be there and I could bite back my stubbornness and say I was sorry to my boyfriends. I had planted myself in the middle of Remus' bed with my books around me, completing homework, so that I would be the first thing he saw when he walked in which meant he couldn't avoid me. I had changed out of my uniform shirt and gown into one of his shirts and the bottom half of my uniform to be more comfortable and mostly so I could smell him around me.

Just as I had predicted, Moony walked in first, laughing alongside Sirius, until his gaze fell upon mine and then the laughing stopped much to my disappointment; I loved the sound of his laugh. He walked over to his bed, placing his things on the bedside table before I caught his attention by holding my arms out for a hug. I knew he wouldn't deny me a hug even though he was mad. I wrapped my arms around him and cuddled into his neck, guilt setting in again when he kissed my cheek.

"How was your day Poppet?" I peeked over Remmy's shoulder at Siri, giving him a small, unsure smile.

"Boring and tiring, my head feels frazzled," I muttered, pouting slightly. Remus released me from the hug and continued to put all his things away, changing into sweatpants and a cardigan as he went. I watched with sad eyes as they flickered between the two marauders. I was staring at my hands in my lap as Remus came and sat on his bed, book in hand, and rested on the headboard. I crawled over to him, biting my lip unsurely before sitting beside him and waiting for him to look up.

"What do you need?" He raised an eyebrow but didn't look up, his voice was flat and void of emotion. I had really upset him this time. "You just gonna sit there watching hmm?" I shook my head and lifted up his chin so he would look at me.

"I wanted to say sorry Moony, I shouldn't have spoken to you like that and I know it was wrong." His eyes observed me the whole time as I fought the tremble of my lip. "I didn't mean what I said and I won't do it again. I know you're jus' trying to look after me." I played with his fingers as I spoke, a nervous feeling running through me at the thought of him not accepting the apology and hating me.

"Thank you for apologising Bun, I'm glad that you recognised your mistake and were able to be brave about it. I just care about you is all and I don't want you making yourself ill over work. Next time just listen if I advise you on something okay?" He soothed, his hand squeezing mine as I nodded at him. "Good." I smiled slightly, looking up at him. I knew this wouldn't be all, after all, I was due a punishment and was happy to take it, I had behaved badly after all.

"Y/N come on Poppet, the sooner this is over the sooner you can cuddle and rest." Sirius beckoned me over but not before Remus gave me a quick kiss on the lips, making me smile against him. I stood in front of Sirius as he made himself comfortable on the big armchair, my hands crossed in front of my lap. "Strip to your underwear Poppet." I did as I was told, not wanting to get in any more trouble but left my socks on to keep my toes warm. He nodded as I did and folded my uniform onto the chest at the end of his bed. Within seconds I was back in front of him and he had his hands on my hips. "Now, you know you have to be punished for your behaviour s'be a good Puppy and take what you're given, okay?" I let my eyes glance to Remmy on his bed who sat reading his book, letting Sirius get on with the task at hand. Siri began to pull me closer to him, so he could lay me across his lap but before he could I planted my feet firmly on the ground. The look of annoyance on his face unnerved me, making Remus look up at my defiance but I pouted at him sadly.

"Remmy, I'm sorry," I whispered, "Siri kisses?" My eyebrows furrowed as I bit my lip and tangled my fingers together.

"Of course Poppet." A grin spread on his face as he pulled me in for a kiss, being gentle and comforting as he brushed my hair behind my ear. He knew how on-edge punishments got me and was typically gentle unless he was in a terrorising kind of mood. "Now do as you're told and lay across m'lap, don't want more punishment than is needed do we?" The question was rhetorical and a warning at the same time so I wrapped my arms around his leg whilst I laid myself on his legs, face down.

I braced myself for the first swat as he rubbed my butt, running his fingers over my pale skin which we both knew wouldn't last long. My body tensed as his hand was removed and came down on my flesh with a crack. It wasn't the worst I'd had off him but I knew it would feel worse once my skin started to welt and become more sensitive. The second one came quickly after and I winced at the feeling, shifting uncomfortably until his free hand came to rest on my back, both comforting me and holding me still. I became more sensitive every time his hand came into contact with my ass, after trying to keep my eyes open the tears began to sting them and I squeezed them shut as I whimpered and winced at the pain, my body jolting with each hit.

It felt like I had laid there for hours as each swat followed on from the next, alternating between each side and different areas so it didn't do too much damage. My whimpers soon turned into little cries and then into full-grown sobs which I huffed out, gripping the material of Sirius' trousers as tears spilt over my cheeks and onto the fabric. I had given up wriggling around and trying to stay quiet, knowing it was pointless as my skin seared. Broken sobs filled the room as the spanking came to an end, leaving me with a welted ass, tear streaks everywhere and laboured breathing. Once he had finished, Sirius leaned down and pressed a small kiss to my sore skin, rubbing his thumb over my back in comfort.

"Okay, Poppet, all done now." He sat me up gently so my legs were on either side of his body, smiling at me as I whined when my skin pressed against his trouser material. There was the terrorising side of him, amused by my discomfort.

"All done?" I whimpered, rubbing my eyes as I hiccuped out more sobs.

"Yes Poppet, all done. You took it so well, like a good puppy." I nodded and fell forward onto his chest with a small huff in exhaustion as he soothed me. My hands shook as they curled into his hair, playing with the strands whilst Remmy wandered around the room to find something. I struggled to keep my eyes open as tiredness and headspace set in making me feel fuzzy and soft.

"Bunny, you have to let us put some cream on before you sleep, where do you want to lie." Remus appeared in front of me with a concerned look on his face. I opened my eyes as wide as I could, pouting at his statement but sitting up slowly. I tried to ignore the soreness of my skin as I did but the way the material rubbed against it made the tears appear once more. With an accompanying cry, I held my arms up at the lycanthrope, making grabby hands as he cooed at me. "Okay Bunny, I've got you little one." He recognised the signs of subspace and picked me up, holding me to his chest as I wrapped my legs around him. The two walked over to Remus' bed and sat down with me lying on Moony's chest so my backside was accessible. "Y'gonna let Pads put some aloe on Bunny, it'll help with the pain." I nodded, remembering the reason I had gotten myself into this mess and scooting up Remmy's chest to rest my head in the crook of his neck for my own comfort.

I hissed as the cold cream came into contact with my hot skin, soothing the red, hand-print-shaped welts as I tightened my grip on my Dom. Once in a while, a whimper escaped my throat and a kiss was pressed to my head or the small of my back as they both soothed me. The cream had been applied generously before they manoeuvred me into a loose pair of their boxers and left on Remmy's shirt. I clambered back onto Moony's lap and nuzzled into his chest, drawing patterns on his cardigan as he petted my head sweetly.

"You did so good for Pads today Bun, I'm so proud of you." His coos filled me with happiness and I sighed in relief.

"I thought y'both wouldn't want me anymore 'cause of the way I spoke to you Remmy," I muttered into his chest, fingers tightening in the material of his cardigan. "You do still want me right?"

"Hey little one, of course, we do, we'll always want you Y/N, a bit of bad behaviour because you've got a lot going on isn't going to change that." He lifted my head so I could look into his eyes as he spoke and I nodded, biting my lip. Sirius came to join us on the bed and sat beside Remmy leaning against the headboard.

"Don't ever think we don't want you Poppet," He chipped in, "We know it's difficult for you and sometimes you need something to help you relax or put you back in your place. There are times when you're gonna lash out but that doesn't mean we'll ever not want you." I giggled as he tickled my ribs gently, rolling his eyes playfully at Remus' warning look as if to tell him not to get me wound up when I needed to rest.

"Come on now Bunny, settle down and get some rest." Remmy laid me between the both when he noticed me rubbing my eyes with balled-up fists, yawning as my body started to shut down. I cuddled into Remus' side as I burrowed between them both, too tired to care about my skin rubbing against the material of the boxers lightly.

Night Remmy, Night Siri," I mumbled with closed eyes, smiling as a blanket was pulled over me and Sirius cuddled me from behind, careful of my butt. "Love you both so much."

"Goodnight Bunny." Remus soothed, kissing my head.

"We love you too, Poppet," Sirius added, kissing my shoulder.

And with that, I fell into the best sleep I'd had in the past week, glad I'd made up with the two most important people in my life.

#wizarding world x reader #wizarding world imagines #wizarding world #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #brat!reader #sub!reader #dom!remus lupin #sirius black #sirius black x reader #dom!sirius black

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vimesbootstheory · 3 months

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it's exciting times! I am launching my solo practice in april and I feel like celebrating progress so please know that I have already:

been fired :\ but it was the first step!

named and registered the business with the province & the cra

secured office space in a beautiful building, wonderful location, very reasonable rent, comes with the main furniture I thought I'd have to buy

got a business line and a business email

got pretty good headway on developing a website

set up my online booking and practice management software

got a business bank account

arranged for a logo to be designed -- thanks pawan babe I love you with my whole heart

picked up some secondhand kids' books and games for reinforcement. need more though.

hemorrhaged money out of my ASS ordering speech & language assessments and therapy materials. mostly the assessments. good fucking lord I'm in the wrong corner of this field, I need to get into assessment development.

got one (1) client waiting in the wings lol

biggest to-do items left to cover:

ADVERTISING. I need my logo before I can do much of this. this includes things like business cards, taking the website off construction mode. ... social media bleh.

learn quickbooks + get an accountant

figure out how insurance works

write up intake and consent forms

become at peace with being up to my ears in debt for the next couple of months, armed with assurances that, practicing solo, I actually don't have to see that many people to be doing pretty well for myself.

#erin's adventures in slp

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sweetdreamsjeff · 1 year

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1994: JEFF BUCKLEY, GRACE

BY P. SCOTT CUNNINGHAM

This story tells itself backwards.

July 1998

When my best friend Nick and I get to Memphis, we drive downtown and start looking for a place to get ribs. All we know about Memphis is what we’ve been told, that it’s the home of two things we love, blues and ribs, so when we see a sign for “B.B. King’s Blues Club,” we assume that fate, and not roadside advertising, has led us there. We sit down and eat and are ecstatic to discover that, yes, these are the best blues we’ve ever heard and yes, these are the best ribs we’ve ever eaten. We’re nineteen, driving west.

After lunch, we take a walk, following the gentle slope of the street until it dead-ends, and then down something that isn’t really a path to the banks of the Mississippi River. No boats are passing by. The water appears calm and peaceful. I feel like I could dive in and swim across to Arkansas, no problem. In my head, I say a prayer, or something like it. After standing in silence for a while, we turn and head back to the car. Nick takes his shift at the wheel, and I pick the music. I put the CD into the slot of my Honda Prelude and tell Nick to get into the right lane and slow down as we cross the Hernando de Soto Bridge. As the first notes of “Mojo Pin” float into the car, the river comes into view, and I cry quietly into my palm. Nick doesn’t ask me why.

Press twice. Previous track.

August 1997

I’m at Borders Books and Music when I learn how Jeff Buckley died. The revolutionary thing about Borders is that it has listening stations for a curated selection of albums. Previously, I had to buy albums without having listened to a single note of them, so the opportunity to preview a CD, even if it’s only the ones the store has selected, never ceases to amaze me. But today my eyes are drawn to the magazine rack, specifically to the cover of the latest issue of Rolling Stone, which proclaims Puff Daddy as “the new king of hip-hop.” Beside his face is a smaller headline: “The Haunted Life & Death of Jeff Buckley.” I grab the magazine and sit down on the carpet.

On the day his band was supposed to arrive in Memphis to record his second full-length album, Buckley had taken an early evening swim in the Mississippi River, floating on his back in a deceptively calm eddy while singing Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love.” Despite his friend Keith’s protestations, Buckley let himself float farther out, and as a boat passed by, he disappeared into its wake. Six days later, authorities found his body at the foot of Beale Street, tangled in some branches. They identified the corpse by its navel ring and three toenails painted green. None of Buckley’s friends were surprised by how he died. “It’s typical Jeff,” his road manager said. “He was a butterfly.”

As I try to reckon with the news, a small detail in the article stops me. Buckley was raised under a different name: Scott, which is my name, too. Well, actually, it’s my middle name, but it’s what I’ve always gone by. My parents named me with the intention of calling me by my middle name, so on the first day of class every year, when the teacher took attendance, looking for someone named “Phillip,” I’d go through the same explanation of, “yes, that’s me, but no, it’s not me.” It always felt like a lie I’d been coerced into and forced to perpetuate. As a teenager, the structured misrecognition of my name felt like something more: a misrecognition of me. But here was Jeff Buckley, who had also been tagged at birth as a “Scott” but, at some point, had escaped it. Buckley had become who he was meant to be, and then, at the peak of his artistic powers, as the new self he’d manifested was about to bloom again into a new project, he was lost to a different kind of misrecognition. The river, looking so calm, must have seemed like it agreed with his mood, and what does a happy man do? He goes swimming.

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June 1997

I’m working at an off-off-Broadway theater in SoHo and crashing at my friend John’s parents’ apartment in Brooklyn Heights. Every morning I walk to the subway, cross under the East River, do ten or twenty jobs no one else wants to do, then cross back beneath the river. When I get back to the apartment, I go out onto the balcony and wait for John to get off work. His parents are never around, so we have the place to ourselves. Every night John and I eat pizza and drink beer out on the ledge, which has an unobstructed view of Manhattan’s financial district. From right to left I can see the Brooklyn Bridge, Wall Street Pier, Governor’s Island, the Statue of Liberty, and up above it all, the World Trade Center, like two giant front teeth in the mouth of the island.

One morning, on my daily walk to the subway, I notice a laminated sign affixed to the side gate of St. Ann’s Church. On it is a picture of Jeff Buckley and a set of dates beneath it: (November 17, 1966 – May 29, 1997). May 29th was almost a month ago. I stop and stare at the sign, in total disbelief. I don’t have a cell phone or a computer, so I have no idea how to confirm or deny this news. It doesn’t seem real. Why haven’t I been told? Why isn’t everyone talking about it? I’m in New York City after all, where Buckley moved in 1990 and played regular gigs in small venues before his debut full-length album, Grace, came out. This city is where the son of Tim Buckley made his own name. But no one is saying anything. They’ve just hung this pixelated image of his face and these two dates, the parentheses around them like bars in a stanza.

Press twice. Previous track.

July 1996

I tell Pauline what happened. She says, “Get out.” I go.

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May 1996

Jeff Buckley, the world’s greatest singer, describes himself as a “chanteuse with a penis.” His voice is at once deeply corporal and completely ethereal. He seems angelic not in the sense of being holy but in the sense of having both human and non-human parts, a dick and wings. When I listen to Jeff Buckley, which is usually when I’m making the long drive to Pauline’s house, I believe there’s something inside me waiting to emerge, something of equal beauty to Buckley’s voice, except its emergence is being thwarted. The sound of that voice, how it rises from a throaty whisper to a high, powerful wave, forms the shape of emergence itself—it sounds how I want to be, and makes me believe, perhaps falsely, that Buckley’s voice is a mirror of my internal self. It’s just right now that my Buckleyness remains invisible to others, or at least I believe it does, which amounts to the same thing. Sometimes I think it’s just a matter of time before it emerges, but most of the time, I believe it’s my own fault, that I haven’t tried hard enough to find the angelic piece of myself, or worse, that I don’t deserve to find it. The fantasy I have when I dream of being a rock star is that, while performing, whatever is beautiful inside of me will suddenly emerge and become visible, that people will finally see me the way I want to be seen. But maybe what I’m actually dreaming about is my singing masking what’s ugly about me, so that I can still be loved.

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April 1996

This is how I change my life. At a Day’s Inn in Tampa, while sharing a room with David, I invite Tara to stay with us too. The three of us laugh and joke until it gets late, and then David falls asleep, and instead of going back to her room, Tara stays, and she and I do what we’ve been dying to do as quietly as possible in the double bed a few feet away from David’s. This happens every night for three nights. This, after all, is the Florida High School Drama Competition, where those of us who can most expertly disappear into the lives of others win awards, so it feels natural to pretend like Pauline doesn’t exist, and neither does Tara’s boyfriend. Our secret seems like a play that has a beginning and an end and no effect whatsoever on anyone who hasn’t seen it, and no one has seen it, not even David, who has been asleep the whole time. If the play had a name, it would be “Hallelujah,” or “Lilac Wine,” or “Lover, You Did Come Over.” I know what I’m doing is wrong, but Jeff Buckley has taught me that the value of an experience is not qualitative. It can’t be reduced to good or bad; the only thing that matters is amplitude.

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February 1996

On the passenger seat, I keep a Case Logic sleeve that fits exactly ten CDs, and while I change out the other nine, Grace stays in the front slot. It’s the first album I always reach for when I don’t know what to listen to, because, no matter my mood, I always want to listen to Grace. Or rather, I always want to be in the mood that Grace puts me in.

I’ve recently taken a Meyers-Briggs test that told me that I should become a minister, and what is a minister, I ask myself, if not a person who is called by a higher power? I don’t believe in God, but I do believe in romantic love. I don’t know if I’m in love with Pauline because so far the relationship is easy, and because I listen to Jeff Buckley so much, I know that being in love is supposed to be a huge mess. Love, according to Grace, is a force that makes you behave irresponsibly; it makes you feel alone; and it makes your voice vault into the upper registers of what’s possible.

Jeff Buckley sings really, really high, and I tell myself that when I finally develop the ability to sing, I’ll also sing really, really high. Why? It seems to me that unless you’re hitting a register well above your normal speaking range, you can’t access the emotions required to sing about love. Love can be extreme joy or utter sadness but never anything in between. Like a divine ordeal, love breaks us to prove that we believe in it, so doesn’t that make Jeff Buckley my religion? And in the church of the Honda Prelude, am I not both Buckley’s deacon and parishioner? As he preaches, I all but raise my hands and close my eyes and beat my chest. Every weekend, I drive through the sticky heat of another South Florida night, past Cheesecake Factories and California Pizza Kitchens, past walled neighborhoods with names like The Preserve, The Hunt Club, and Broken Sound, all the while aching to be transported to wherever Buckley’s voice exists, be it in some other city or plane of existence. Every night is both charged and empty as I drive toward its interior, marking the progress home by the exits on I-95, each one like the name of an album Jeff Buckley hasn’t made yet, but will: Forest Hill, Lake Worth, Lantana, Congress, Atlantic. The first time Pauline brings me to her room, I notice a quote on her bulletin board, right beside the light switch: “Everything is sweetened by risk.” She says she doesn’t know who said it, but to me, it sounds like a line from Grace.

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December 1995

At a club on Washington Street in South Beach, I hand the bouncer my fake I.D., which isn’t even a driver’s license. It’s a University of Kentucky I.D. that a friend made on his computer. The bouncer quizzes me. “What year did you graduate high school?” I hesitate, and then say, “’92.” “Should’ve been ’90,” he says, but he hands the laminated card back anyway and pulls the rope aside. Once we’re in the club, Pauline says to me, “That’s why we have the girls walk in first. They’re not going to turn away eight girls because of one bad I.D.” Her boyfriend didn’t come out tonight, and by virtue of everyone else being paired up, she and I end up hanging out, which eventually leads to us walking down to the beach. We sit on the ramp of a lifeguard house and talk. If a swimmer were in trouble, a lifeguard would run down this ramp at full speed and launch into the ocean, wrapping the body of the drowning into their arms. But now, under the moon, there are no swimmers, no lifeguards. There are hardly even waves. The ocean pulsates gently, like a vocal cord, and after the noise and lights of the club, the beach feels like an afterlife. Pauline says, “I just want to have as much fun as possible before I graduate,” and I do what Jeff Buckley would do. I lean over and kiss her.

Press twice. Previous track.

July 1994

Three things happen in quick succession: (1) I get my driver’s license; (2) I inherit my sister’s Honda Prelude; (3) Grace comes out. It almost feels like Grace is released because I suddenly have a place to listen to it all by myself, with the volume turned up toward the sun. I’ve never loved an album like this. It feels like something more than music, a premonition or a haunting. Nothing much has happened to me in my life, but this feels like the beginning, the origin story. The car is black and fast and the windows are tinted so it always feels dark inside. Learning how to drive stick was a process of letting the engine teach me what it wanted, and now that I have it down, now that I can stop on the only hill in town, the one made by the Atlantic Coastal Ridge, the place where the ocean used to end, I can feather the clutch until it sends the car into a paroxysm before releasing it and letting the gasoline flood outwards, sending the chassis into a pure forward motion that looks like a believer catching the spirit. I’m sixteen years old. I can go anywhere. All the people I will hurt I’ve never even met.

P. Scott Cunningham is the author of Ya Te Veo (University of Arkansas, 2018). His poems, essays, and translations have appeared or are forthcoming in The Nation, American Poetry Review, Gulf Coast, POETRY, A Public Space, Harvard Review, Monocle, and The Guardian, among others. He lives in Miami, FL, where he serves as the Executive Director of O, Miami.

#jeff buckley #P. Scott Cunningham #stories from fans #fan stories

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imaslutforremusandsirius · 3 years

Note

Can you please do a mean Dom Harry smut

His sanity

Guess who's back

Warning: 18+

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The door to your shared home slammed shut with a deafening thud, followed by heavy footsteps. You jerked with momentary fear of the intrusion until you saw Harry standing in the doorstep of your living room.

You put your book upside down on the couch and get up to greet Harry properly. When you were close enough to see your boyfriend‘s emotionless expression, your smile went from happy to timid, until it disappeared completely. Harry seemed to be looking right through you, his whole body trembling with an effort to keep his magic inside. His aura was overwhelming, so intense that you stayed a few steps away from him so as not to be completely surrounded by it.

Harry seemed to notice your mistrust and carefully put his wand on the side, his green eyes now fixed on yours. Not that that would make a big difference, he could crush you without the stupid stick if he wanted to, but it was a sign to you. A sign that he was still in control, even if only scantily.

It was deathly quiet for a passing moment and a trembling breath escaped your drying lips. You hadn't even noticed to what extent Harry's magic was crushing you until he closed his eyes and seconds later the air seemed more bearable again.

You knew that this night could end dangerously, that Harry's sanity was hanging on a millimeter thin strand, but no matter how hard your brain tried to stop you, your feet had already made their decision. Only when you felt his warm breath on your lips did you realize that you had moved. Harry was motionless, hands still shaking, clenched in firm fists.

There was a gleam in his eyes, something that resembled a warning. You couldn't hold yourself and in the second in which you hugged your warm body against his trembling one, Harry's disciplined posture shattered into a million pieces. He buried his trembling hands in your hair and pressed you closer to him, his mouth dominated yours with so much strength, as if he was trying to drown in the taste of your lips.

Harry pulled and tore at your clothes until you stood completely naked in his arms. His hands were everywhere and nowhere at the same time, never long enough in the places that ached for his touches. Taking quick strides he forced you to walk backwards, pushing you into a seating position on the couch. You stared up at him compliantly, making him smirk at you with obvious delight. Your book long forgotten on the cold floor.

He was silent when he opened the buttons of his shirt, his bright eyes followed your hands and he watched you as you undid his belt. He lifted his brow as your hands left his body to rest submissively on your thighs.

„Did I tell you to stop?“ He whispered softly, teeth gritted together.

You shook your head and blinked up at him, mulling over your next sentence.

„You didn‘t tell me what you want...“ You said softly, not wanting to awaken his anger, which was simmering very close to the surface. You saw it glinting impatiently behind his irises, waiting for the perfect moment to sink its teeth into your soft flesh.

„Want me to spell it out for you? Get on your fucking knees and suck my cock.“ He hissed, eyes flashing with irritation.

You immediately fell on your knees, barely feeling the pain and pulled on his clothes until they rested by his ankles. His cock hit your face and you looked up at your boyfriend, tongue outstretched to lick the underside. Harry's control burned through and he pulled your head back until your neck protested with the pain. His other hand smeared his cock on your lips and cheeks, spreading his cum on your skin and smiled as the lower half of your face shone with him. Oh exactly this view he wanted to burn into his brain forever, you on your knees like his personal whore, nothing else but the thought of his cock in your stupid head.

His hand on your jaw opened your mouth wide to insert his cock, deep needy moans escaping him when you ran your tongue along the underside of the tip. Without paying attention to your well-being he started to fuck your mouth, eyes narrowed and lips parted, his groans were so desperate, he sounded like your mouth couldn't satisfy the hunger in him. Harry wanted to be inside of you, to he ached to hear your pretty whimpers and pleads.

„Your mouth isn‘t enough. Tell me what else can you offer me?“ Harry snarked, giving you a challenging grin.

You tried to pull away but he kept your head in place, pouting when you didn‘t answer.

„What is it, can‘t talk?“ Harry chuckled, eyes flashing with evil amusement when you struggled to breathe with his cock stuffing your mouth full.

„How rude of you. I should teach you a less-“ Harry‘s voice broke off with a surprised gasp and his hips bucked forward. He gave you a glare and you only sucked him harder for it, knowing that you were pushing his buttons just right.

„You wanna play? Hm? Is that it?“ Harry grunted, already forcing your head to lean on the seat of the couch, one knee resting beside your head. „Alright, take it then.“

Nothing could have prepared you for the punishing thrust of his hips. He almost crushed you against the couch, his balls pressed against your chin. You were forced to stare up in this position, your vision obscured by the tears rolling down your temples, but it was worth it, Harry was irresistible in this position. Fuck, the way his head was leaned back, mouth wide open and he sounded the room with his rough voice, your name on his lips like a prayer. Jaw sharp and veins visible in his neck, upper body tense and hands buried in your hair.

Black dots danced in front of your eyes, your nails left long, angry scratch marks on his arms and legs. The pain only made him more aggressive and he pulled himself out of your mouth.

„Stop crying, you wanted to fuck me, remember?“ Harry kissed you hard again, teeth and lips met painfully but you didn't care.

„I want you to let yourself go. Show me what you want.“ He whispered hotly, groaning into your mouth when your hand wrapped around his cock again.

„Want you to fuck me, Harry please.“ You pleaded, pressing desperate kisses all over his throat, nipping at some places to leave your marks. Harry loved being covered in your bruises.

„What? Can‘t hear you, sweetheart.“

He was doing it on purpose at this point, wanting you to beg for him to take you.

„Please“ you whined, tightening your hand around him painfully, but Harry wouldn’t be Harry if he didn‘t enjoy pain.

„Please fuck me, take me-“ Your voice cut off with a sharp cry when two fingers pounded into you with such speed you came seconds later, vision exploding with a blazing white light.

„Yes, cum!“ Harry commanded, drunk on your screams of pleasure, craving to feel your cunt tighten around his cock and not his fingers.

"More" you gasped at the overstimulation but still pressed your cunt against his fingers, "Cock, want cock."

Harry proudly boasted that he reduced you into a mindless cock slut with just his fingers. He sat on the couch and gestured on his lap, arms spread out on the armrest in a dominant manner. There was that cool, dangerous shine in his green eyes again and his expression was illegible. Harry was unreachable and you wanted to see him fall.

Your breathing was irregular as you crawled up to him, your hands sliding gently over his legs. Harry let you do it and admired your naked body, his eyes fixed on the lips you are biting on.

"You wanted my cock so come on and fuck yourself with it" Harry commanded and you whined submissively, seating yourself on top of him. His cock brushed against your sensitive inner thighs, leaving a hot trail of his cum and your spit on your skin. Sinking down your eyes rolled back, lips parting into a silent o and you sat there for a few seconds, getting lost in the feeling of him so deep inside of you.

Harry's hands clung to your hips and he moved in circular motions, watching you intently as you moaned and squealed whenever your clit rubbed against his flesh or the tip of his cock hit your g-spot.

"I'm barely doing anything and you're already shaking." Harry forced out, thighs clenching under yours when you gave him a look so full of pleasure and submission that it overwhelmed him. He could do anything to you right now and you would go with it. Harry was drunk on that power, thumb pushing past your spit glistening lips to make you suck on it.

"Everyone always thinks you're so fuck do that again so fucking smart and proper, but ah look at you now..." His voice was trembling with bliss, your quick thrusts and sharp movements making him weak.

You keened, clinging on this shoulders when Harry lifted his hips to literally drill into you, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you against his sweat soaked chest.

"Should show them how dumb you are" He hissed, biting at the skin of your jaw, "Show them how much of a fucking slut you can be."

The only sounds you could make were high-pitched moans, his dirty words only made you hungrier for him.

"Only here to make me cum" Harry moaned at last, letting his deep voice flow freely in the room, "Only here to take my cum, hm?"

You cried out, going faster when you felt the familiar ache in your stomach, the tension building up rapidly.

"Yes!" you sobbed, "Give me cum pleaseplease!"

Holding you down on his cock by your shoulders Harry pounded up into your pussy, once, twice and on the third push you came with a shout, biting into the thumb he pushed inside of your mouth again. Harry let out a broken groan at the sight of your release and came only seconds later, going momentarily silent with the amount of pleasure flodding his blood. He didn't let you go, holding you down until you were dripping with his essance, uncomfortably full with him.

"There you have it" Harry mocked, breathlessly, "Full of my cum, just the way you like it."

You whimpered when he pulled out, clenching around nothing to keep in as much of him as you could. Harry pulled you on your knees and pushed you forward, craning his neck to watch his cum drip out of you.

"You're making a mess, sweetheart" His fingers pushed his cum back inside, pinching your thighs when you scrambled to get away. "Stay still, I want it to stay inside."

"Sensitive" you whispered, legs trembling to keep yourself upright on his lap.

He finally took his fingers out when he was satisfied, pushing his fingers past your lips and watch you suck them clean.

"Satisfied" He raised a brow, ready to fuck you again if you were to say no. He is a gentleman after all.

"Yes, thank you." You mumbled around his fingers, content to just lean against him and dose off with his fingers gently pushing in and out of your mouth.

Harry leaned back as well, the tension from before falling away. He let himself dose off, enjoying the calmness of his mind while it lasted.

#harry potter smut #harry potter x reader #harry potter #dark!harry

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yourultraarchive · 3 years

Note

hi! idk if you do these types of things but if you can can you help me with coming up with a hero name for my oc? I think I'm pretty much done with their characterization and stuff so,, her quirk is just regeneration. she can't heal other people or anything, she just has rly developed regeneration powers for herself... sorry to bother you during the holidays and have a good day!! i rly love your blog!!

No problem, I don’t mind.

There’s a couple ways to go about naming your OC (either hero or villain!), so here’s my ideas on where to start based on observations from canon characters (so examples will be listed):

Just use their actual name, if they don’t plan on keeping a secret identity (Shoto [his hero name uses just katakana instead of kanji like his real name], Nejire-chan [“Nejire” is also in katakana rather than hiragana like her real name])

Name them directly after their quirk name or give them a name inspired by their quirk’s name (Earphone Jack, Tailman [Tail], Invisible Girl [Invisibility], Welder [Weld], Vine [Vines], Comicman [Comic], Boomerang Man [Boomerang], Centipeder [Centipede], Bubble Girl [Bubble], All For One, Overhaul, Chronostasis, Mimic [Mimicry], Twice [Double], Mr. Compress [Compress], Dabi [Japanese for “Cremation”, the unofficial name for his quirk])

Name them after one of their special moves/skills, or an aspect of their quirk/the biology related to their quirk (Ectoplasm, Snipe, Gunhead, Muscular, Blueflame)

Name them after their theme or aesthetic (The Wild Wild Pussycats [all named after breeds of cats], Pinky, Chargebolt, Cellophane, Phantom Thief, Kurogiri [Japanese for “Black Fog”])

Transliterate/translate their name or the kanji in their name (Sun Eater [Amajiki 天喰 = heaven + eat, so his hero name is an English interpretation/translation of his surname], Sisicross [肉倉 = shishi + kura, alternate transliterations/romaji combined with the initial of his first name gives you “sisi + cra + S”, which is how you pronounce his hero name], Hawks [a kanji in his name translates to “hawk”], Gentle Criminal [a kanji in his name translates to “gentle”])

Make it a pun somehow (Deku [pun on the kanji in his given name], Uravity [pun on her whole name, also a creative transliteration], Tentacole, Dynamight [not the actual translation/romaji of Bakugou’s official hero name but it’s a good pun], Cementoss, Grand [based on the onomatopoeia for “shaking/vibrating”])

Make a pop culture or historical/religious reference (Gran Torino [the Clint Eastwood film where an elderly man mentors a teen boy], Tsukuyomi [a Shinto deity], Emily [the horror movie “The Exorcism of Emily Rose”], Gevaudan [a beast of French myth/legend], Chewyee [Chewbacca from “Star Wars”], Mirko [a real life pro fighter], Tiger Bunny [likely a reference to another hero anime “Tiger & Bunny”], Selkie [for both the mythical creature and his seal quirk], Godzillo)

If the character comes from a legacy or has a particular inspiration, their name should reflect that (Red Riot, Ingenium, O’Clock II)

Name them after their goal (Lemillion, Endeavor, Stain [if you interpret it as his target being the “stains” on the hero industry])

Just pick a name that sounds cute/cool, or is within your character’s personality to choose (Can’t Stop Twinkling, Froppy, Jack Mantis)

Take a page from classic superheroes’ books and name them what the press would call them if they saw them, ie. Gotham news outlets seeing a man dressed like a bat and calling him Batman, Metropolis/the Daily Planet seeing the big S and calling their hero Superman.

Hopefully this helped inspire you for ideas!

Happy holidays! Plus Ultra!

-archivist

#Anonymous #asks #replies #archivist #tips #names #getting started #character design

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g7mafiascenarios · 3 years

Text

The Gentleman.

synopsis : A very fine gentleman saved her from being kicked out of her important class not realizing who he really was.

characters : Mark Tuan, Ahn Athena, Sara, Hina

genre : mafia!mark, got7!mafia

warnings : swear words.

The school gardeners were peacefully sweeping the floor with a hum that was previously filled with loud laughters and footsteps on the grounds, now enjoying the peaceful sound of silence for about an hour.

The students were all in their respective classes since it was way past the start of school hours, but the silence was interrupted by loud, clicking sounds of heels running through the ground, to a familiar student.

They were particularly shocked to see the student, never seeing her coming later than the actual timing. She was known in school for achieving the best grades, had never dropped by a grade and mostly, she was never late for class until today.

Athena woke up by someone shaking her ever so roughly to see her younger sister, the icy white head looking down at her with her iconic black leather jacket with an amused look.

“Sis. I don’t know if you’re aware but don’t you have classes today? To cut your words short, it’s 9.30 in the morning,”

With that Athena started to bolt up from her own bed, quickly taking a shower - then choosing a random outfit not caring how she looked. She checked her phone with a curse, to see 100s of calls and texts from her two best friends.

But she started to curse under her breath more as soon as she drove, realizing that today is the most important class and she knew she can’t miss it. As soon as she parked her Lamborghini in the school compound, Athena started to run her way into the school grounds, not caring for the looks from the school gardeners and the cleaners.

The only sound she could hear was her high heels and she regretted so much for not caring about her outfit - realizing her class was in the 3rd storey.

As she was about to turn a corner, Athena bumped into someone - causing her books to fall abrupt, bringing herself to fall backwards on the butt. She groaned slightly before quickly grabbing her books when her gaze caught a hand holding onto her favorite class’s book towards her.

Her eyes slowly glanced up, to see a very good looking, handsome - not to mention hot but she knew it was inappropriate, staring at her.

The both of them were the only ones in the hallway. Athena thought she was late for classes too, seeing he looked young, his silky hair was dark in color, like hers His skin was slightly pale yet his lips was pinkish - but the way he dressed was too formal to attend a class.

Perhaps he was a student under fashion.

“I think this is yours?” He interrupted her thoughts with a slight cough, causing Athena to quickly grab the book from his hand.

“Thank you so much! Gosh, I’m late for class and it seems you are late too? I guessed…?” Athena smiled a little, earning an amused plus surprise look from him. At first, he looked like he wanted to reply to her but instead, he gave a smile.

“I guessed too.. Well.. which class are you going to?”

“Anatomy & Human Biology, the lecture theatre.... So, I’m heading there now!” Athena took a few steps backwards while slightly bowing towards the man before fully turning her back towards her.

“Wait!”

Athena slightly looked behind to already see him running towards her with a smile. “I’ll accompany you and don’t worry about me, I won’t be in trouble for missing a class unlike you who has to keep her name up on the achievements board,”

Small glances were made towards her as soon as she sat on her seat. Athena can’t lie that she felt a little uncomfortable with their stares, but rather than staring at her weirdly, they were giving her stares that showed fear and worry.

An hour ago, as soon as the man walked towards her to the lecture theatre, he was about to leave her when he overheard the loud voice coming from the closed off door.

“No means no, Ahn! I don’t care if you’re from the most powerful family or you’re the smartest kid out of everyone here! Late students aren’t allowed to come to class! So now before—

Instantly the professor’s words were cut off as soon as the door was opened alarge, to see the man that had accompanied Athena. He was staring quietly towards the professor.

“Mr Tuan—

“The girl is with me, I was talking to her. So stop acting like a dick and just allow her in before I personally kicked you out of the school,”

And here she is, sitting in her own seat with thoughts lingering through her mind about the man. He didn’t even introduce himself to her yet he somehow knew about her.

Athena didn’t want to sound arrogant but maybe he knew her since she is always the talk in the school regarding her grades and her in general.

As soon as the professor allowed her into the theatre, she couldn't help but glance towards the fine young man who was watching her through the slightly opened door, letting out a small smile before turning his back to leave.

But she wondered why her classmates looked a little frightened, when the fine young man spoke - all heads were turning towards him when he spoke and they would turn towards her.

Who is he?

Also, Athena swear she had seen him before - she wanted to have a good look, staring at his eyes for a good 15 seconds but it would be weird, wouldn’t it? Staring at a stranger’s face when you don’t even know who he is.

Sooner or later, the professor dismissed his class and Athena could see the way he was rushing so quickly, his face was so troubled as he ran out from the class. With that, she just shrugged her shoulders - not minding the professor since he was really being a dick to her.

Walking out of the theatre, Athena decided to meet her usual 2 friends near their lockers that were placed side by side, to already see the two of them - looking slightly worried.

Hina saw her presence from, as she nudged the other girl who was looking afar- to follow her friend’s gaze.

“Tina!” Sara called out and Athena quickly looked both directions before running towards them, afraid she might bump into someone, just like how she bumped into the fine young man earlier this morning.

“Are you okay, Athena!? What exactly happened that you had to talk to the founder?” Sara was rambling her words, earning a weird look from Athena as she was stuffing her books into her locker.

“What?! What founder? Well I was late for an hour for cla—

“What!?” Both the girls exclaimed in unison, causing students to look their way with a weird look - Athena was already frowning so deeply, wondering why her best friends were so worried.

She was just late for an hour.

“I was late for an hour for my favorite class, if you guys don’t get it,”

“No! We perfectly get it, but the fact that we hear rumors saying you were with the founder and to sum it up, did he… did he threaten you?” Sara whispered, looking at Athena with slightly wide eyes.

“No…. Threatened..? Hold on, guys! I don’t understand! What rumors are you guys talking about?” Athena tilted her head slightly as she leaned onto her locker with folded arms.

Sara turned towards Hina who was quietly staring at Athena.

“There were rumors saying the founder threatened you for being late for class,” Hina stated and Athena raised her brows. Threatened?

Athena recalls her morning, trying to remember if someone had threatened her.

Well, looking back, her little sister hasn’t once threatened her, the school gardeners were giving her amused looks and then she bumped onto the man who helped her also accompanied her to class which somehow threatened her professor.

Her best friends might be mistaken who threatened who.

“Well, the only one who threatened someone, was the man who accompanied me to class. He kind of threatened Professor Rad? Well he said he would kick him out of school if the Professor didn’t let me in class. You know how Rad is,” Athena rolled her eyes then shaking her head.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Sara muttered slightly, her eyes looking towards Hina then Athena.

Okay that’s it,

“Okay, you two are acting weird. What’s the big deal? And you guys keep mentioning the word ‘founder’?..... What founder are you guys talking about?” Athena questioned, looking obviously too confused about what’s going on.

Both Sara and Hina looked towards each other, as if reading each other's mind.

“You don’t know, don’t you?” Hina muttered slightly and Athena was about to reply to her when all of a sudden, students were starting to hurry themselves - looking towards a direction as they ran towards the cafeteria.

Hina who was known to have a good eye-sight out of the 3, gasp slightly before lowering her head slightly. Sara followed where she was turning at, soon followed her gesture.

Athena, who was sighing while looking around, caught a pair of eyes staring at her, deeply - he was surrounded by 6, eye-catching, tall and muscular men who dressed somehow similarly to him.

The man who bumped into her, slightly stopped at his tracks - turning towards her, then letting out a small smile before following the others who had walked ahead. He didn’t even see Athena return her smile.

Sara and Hina saw the interaction between the two of them, and as soon as the group of men left fully, they turned towards Athena.

“Holy cra— Athena! Do you even exactly know, or recognize who bumped onto you earlier this morning?!” Sara exclaimed in a whisper as her head turned towards where the men had left.

“Well speaking of him, he just walked past us and he smiled at me,” Athena answered simply and Sara’s jaw widened. She didn’t know if she should be fan-girling or be scared of her best friend.

Hina who was being quiet the whole time broke the silence.

“Athena, the one who you bumped into was Mr Mark Tuan. He is the founder of our school, he owns this school and a few others plus, Mr Mark Tuan is a member of Mr Lim Jaebeom’s mafia group ”

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ⇿ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

#got7 mafia au #got7 mafia #got7 mafia scenarios #got7 mafia imagines #got7 mark #got7 mark scenarios #got7 mark imagines #got7 scenarios #got7 imagines #what if he is a mafia

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violinsweetiemiss · 4 years

Text

Phoenix Aurora (Got7 Jinyoung X OC) Chapter 1

Yuan Dynasty, Year 1300

On a well trodden forest road, a large caravan of horses, men, and carriages moved swiftly along the dirt path, the steady sound of rolling wheels and horse hooves heralding their approach to anyone who was up ahead. A tall white and blue flag waved in the air from where it was attached to the front of the first carriage, leaving little question about who the large traveling group belonged to. Commoners on the road scattered to make room for the travelers, their gazes barely daring to look up even briefly at the elaborately decorated caravan. Still, the same words echoed silently from their closed lips and carefully averted gazes.

Travelers from Yuan.

It was a time in China when the Mongols ruled the empire, the continent having been taken under their control for many years. And, as of a few decades ago, their control had spread beyond China and into nearby Korea. On paper, Korea was ruled by the Goryeo empire, but everyone knew who the real people in control were. And right now, the sole person sitting at the top of that vast territory was currently sitting in the midst of the caravan, hidden in a carriage behind a cloth screen.

Up ahead, a young child holding a basket of flowers bravely dashed up to the caravan and held up a flower.

“Lady, would you like to buy a flower?” She called, dashing alongside the moving carriage. Before the person sitting in the carriage could speak, two guards grabbed the child and pulled her away.

“Move aside, you brat.” The guards snapped, “This is no place for you.”

“I only wanted to sell flowers!” The girl protested persistently, “Please, I need the money!” The struggle continued for a few moments longer before a voice interrupted from inside the carriage.

“What’s going on?” The voice was crystal clear, and held an aura of authority even from inside the carriage. The entire caravan came to a stop, and one of the guards came over to the window cut into the edge of the front carriage.

“I apologize, Your Majesty. This child was creating trouble.” He replied.

“I only wanted to sell flowers!” The little girl insisted again. The commoners who had been on the road stopped to watch what was going on, fearful looks in their eyes. The Mongols had a reputation for being a warrior tribe; this child was certainly finished. There was a long moment of silence, and then the curtain covering the front of the carriage was pulled aside. A lithe figure leapt easily from inside, landing with a soft thump onto the dirt road. It was a tall young woman, dressed in elaborate sky blue and grey robes that went down past her knees and was belted at the waist to show off her slender figure. Her long hair was intertwined with delicate braids, and a simply beaded headdress swayed and clinked in the wind from where it sat on her head. Her eyes, sharp and steady, looked from the guard over to where the child was being held, still holding her little basket of flowers. Walking over, the young woman looked at the flowers in the girl’s basket, then at the guard’s hands gripping the child.

“Let her go.” She said firmly.

“But Your Majesty!” The guard protested, but the woman’s sharp gaze cut off any other protests that had risen to his lips, and he did as he was told. The young woman looked from one guard to the other, and then without another word, she reached out and slapped both guards each on both sides of their faces. The resounding smack echoed loudly in the clearing where they stood, and even the commoners gasped in surprise at what had just happened.

“Who taught you to treat a child this way?” The young woman growled, “Certainly I never gave such orders. Or did you think that my thoughts did not matter simply because she’s just a child?” The men gasped and fell to their knees.

“We would never dare to think that way, Your Majesty!” They exclaimed, “Please spare our lives!” The young women glared at them both, making the men squirm uncomfortably.

“You are both demoted to manual labor for the rest of our trip to and at Goryeo.” She declared, “Now get lost!” The men scrambled away, and the young woman knelt down to look at the little girl at eye level.

“Child, why are you out here selling flowers by yourself?” She asked softly, gently checking the girl’s arms for injuries.

“My mama has to take care of my siblings.” The little girl replied tearfully, “I’m the oldest, so I have to help make money!” The young woman’s gaze grew warm as she heard the girl’s answer and she carefully fished out some coins from the sachet at her waist.

“Take this.” She said, handing the money to the child and taking the flowers out of the basket, “I will buy all your flowers today. Go home now, it’s not safe outside by yourself.” The little girl’s eyes lit up in delight and she bowed happily at the young woman.

“Thank you, Lady!” She cried, “Thank you!” The young woman smiled and rose to her feet, staying in place until the little girl disappeared into the distance. Another soldier appeared behind the young woman.

“Soyoung, was it really necessary to give that much money to that child?” He asked. The young woman, Soyoung, smiled as she looked back at the soldier.

“She is a brave child, and a responsible one.” She responded, “She reminds me of myself, when I was younger. I couldn’t just let her go empty handed.”

“And if she was lying to you?” The guard asked. Soyoung grinned and patted the guard on the shoulder.

“Hyojun, don’t you trust your ruler’s eye by now?” She asked, “That child was nothing more than a pure eldest sister. There wasn’t a shred of intention to defraud me.” The guard, Hyojun, smiled and bowed his head.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” He replied, “Let me help you back into the carriage.” Soyoung smiled and nodded.

“How much longer until we reach Goryeo?” She asked as Hyojun gave her a hand to get back into the carriage.

“Perhaps half a day, Your Majesty.” Hyojun replied, “We are getting close.” The young woman nodded and waved her hand.

“Let’s get going then.” She ordered. Hyojun bowed in acquiescence and returned to his place at the front of the carriage.

“Set off!” He declared. As the large group off, the commoners on the road behind them chattered away at the scene that had just unfolded.

“Who was that?”

“I’ve rarely seen a woman with so much authority before!”

“Didn’t you hear what the guards said? They called her ‘Majesty’!”

“Then...you’re not saying that was…!” The peoples’ words trailed off, none daring to finish the sentence. Still, all of them knew who they had just come across.

Jang Soyoung, Empress of Mongolia and sole ruler of the Mongol Empire.

________________________________________________________________

Kaesong, Goryeo

The capital city of Kaesong was a busy place, filled with everything from bustling markets, children running up and down the streets, restaurants with delicious smells wafting from their open doors, and houses of all shapes and sizes lined up next to each other. On one corner of the city sat a building completely different from the rest. The royal palace glimmered in the sunlight, it’s tall walls blocking outsiders from viewing an entirely different world inside, save for the tops of green-grey rooftops peeking out from within.

The royal library sat near the middle of the palace, placed strategically for ease of access by members of the royal family and ministers alike. The library was an impressive sprawling structure, filled from end to end with all sorts of texts, some of which couldn’t be found outside the palace walls. In one corner of the library there currently sat a young man curled up comfortably on one of the plush sofas, both hands holding a book that he was reading in delight. He was so fascinated in the text he was reading, he completely failed to notice a set of approaching footsteps and the voice calling his name until the speaker was right in front of him.

“...young. Yah, Jinyoung!” Park Jinyoung, the fifth prince of Goryeo, looked up with a start as the sound of his name broke through the text he was reading. A scowl graced his lips at being interrupted, but it broke into a grin as he realized who was standing in front of him.

“Hyung-nim!” He exclaimed, “What brings you here?” Jaebeom, the Crown Prince of the Goryeo empire, smiled and ruffled his younger brother’s hair.

“I’ve been looking for you.” He replied, “You were so engrossed in reading as always that you didn’t even hear me approach!” Jinyoung grinned sheepishly and closed the book he was holding.

“My apologies, brother.” He said, “This book is far too interesting!” Jaebeom chuckled.

“That’s what you say about everything you read.” He teased, “Have you read the entire royal library yet?” Jinyoung shook his head.

“No, but one day I will!” He replied with a grin. Jaebeom chuckled and pulled Jinyoung to his feet.

“Come with me.” He said, “Father has asked to gather all the princes in his study.” Jinyoung tilted his head curiously, then frowned.

“Is this about the Mongol empress visiting?” He asked. Jaebeom nodded and Jinyoung sighed deeply.

“Hyung, I don’t know why we all have to attend this lavish banquet that Father is holding for the empress.” He complained, “Is she really going to pick a husband out of all of us, like the rumors say? Whoever she picks has to go to Mongolia with her, don’t they? That’s ridiculous!” Jaebeom stopped as they neared the library entrance, nearly causing Jinyoung to crash into him.

“Jinyoung.” He said sternly, “Don’t ever let Father or anyone else hear you say that.”

“But it’s true!” Jinyoung protested, “I don’t like it when I hear people calling our royal sons designated ‘son in laws’ of the Mongol royal family!” Jaebeom turned and fixed a stern gaze on his younger brother.

“Like it or not, that is the way things are now.” He said firmly, “And I do not see things changing for a while to come. It is one of the ways we maintain a peaceful relationship with the Yuan royal family, and as future ruler, I will not see things come crashing down because rumors get around that my baby brother is displeased with the matter. Do you understand?” Jinyoung huffed and nodded.

“Yes, hyung-nim.” He said obediently. Jaebeom reached out and poked him on the face.

“Wipe that pout off your face, little brother.” He said, “People are watching.” Jinyoung sighed and nodded again.

“Yes hyung.” He grumbled. Jaebeom opened the library doors and let sunlight flood into the darkened room, illuminating the rows upon rows of books. Jinyoung straightened his back and brushed off his robes before following his brother out, making sure to look every inch the prince he was. He was only the fifth prince, with little wishes in life besides living peacefully while reading and learning all he wanted. But in the end, he was still a member of the royal family, and some things, like maintaining an authoritative image, were things he couldn’t avoid.

That, and meeting with potential foreign brides.

Fortunately for Jinyoung, he was certainly far from what a Mongol empress wanted in a husband. They were known as a warrior tribe, famed far and wide for their ability to strike quickly and deadly. That was how they had conquered large swaths of the continent, resulting in their large empire today. Certainly, the husband that their ruler would want was someone just like them, right?

________________________________________________________________

Imperial Study, a little while later

“Father.” Jinyoung’s voice cut through the hushed whispers that had immediately begun filling the king’s study as soon as the king finished his most recent announcement. Namely, that the princes, save for the crown prince, were all required to participate in a multi-round competition to show off their abilities in front of the Mongol empress in order to see who could win her hand. In theory, it was a glorious thing to win; whoever married the empress would help maintain the country’s peace for years to come, and live in the pure luxury provided by the Yuan dynasty. But at the same time, whoever won would have to leave Goryeo, go to a completely foreign country they knew little about, and marry into another royal family completely alien to them. Foreign princesses had married into other countries before, but princes marrying into other countries were almost unheard of.

“Yes Jinyoung?” The king looked over at his fifth son as the young man rose to his feet.

“Father, I’d like to be excused from the competition.” Jinyoung said with a bow.

“Jinyoung!” Jaebeom hissed under his breath, but Jinyoung promptly ignored his brother’s warning whisper.

“I am merely a scholar, the complete opposite of a warrior.” Jinyoung said, “I know little about the politics of the Mongol court, nor do I have any interest in it. I have no desire to marry the Yuan ruler.”

“Do you think your brothers are particularly willing?” The king replied, his eyes narrowing, “Jinyoung, all the princes who are of age to be married, including you, are required to participate in the competition in three days. No one will be excused.”

“But Father-!” Jinyoung began to protest, but the king cut him off.

“That’s enough Jinyoung, and that will be the last I will be hearing of that request from you.” The king said firmly, “You may not like it, but as a son of the royal family, this is one of the things you must do. Perhaps the empress will like you, you who are the complete opposite of her.” Jinyoung opened his mouth to protest again, but a sharp tug on his sleeve from Jaebeom cut him off again. Swallowing down a deep sigh, Jinyoung bit his lip and bowed obediently.

“Yes, Father.” As the princes rose and filed out of the imperial library, Jinyoung felt a sharp squeeze on his shoulder and turned to see Jaebeom.

“Hyung…” He said quietly, knowing he was in for a lecture.

“Jinyoung, what were you thinking?” The Crown Prince scolded, “There was no way Father was going to say yes.” Jinyoung dipped his head, knowing he had overstepped his boundaries with his request.

“I know...but...I thought it wouldn’t hurt to just ask.” He said quietly. Jaebeom sighed and patted Jinyoung gently on the shoulder.

“The sons of Goryeo have married Yuan princesses for generations.” He said, “Our generation will be no different.”

“I know.” Jinyoung replied quietly, “But that was when they married here. This time, it will be an entirely different situation.” Jaebeom nodded in agreement.

“No matter what happens, there is little choice.” He said softly, “We are all sons of the royal family.” Jinyoung sighed and nodded, quietly falling in step behind his brother as they left the courtyard.

I hope the queen doesn’t pick me.

________________________________________________________________

The next day, Jinyoung left the palace as usual and headed for the teahouse where he liked to spend the hours discussing poetry and literature with some young noblemen in the capital. He knew the king expected him to attend the banquet that night, but there was plenty of time between then and now. Besides, today was one of the few days he did not want to miss the chance to speak with his fellow scholars. Once every six months, he and all the other scholars in the capital would gather at the largest teahouse in the middle of the capital and have a friendly competition in poetry and the classics. They would each take turns posing a topic, and then each scholar would come up with a poem to match the topic. It was a well received event, and people often came for the rare chance to watch the young noblemen compete. Jinyoung had even heard of a few couples that were matched in the course of the event.

That of course, was not why he made every effort to attend.

It was one of the few ways he could escape the strictures and formalities of the royal palace, where he could simply focus on the words flowing across the pages of poetry. For just a few hours, he could forget his status, the power play that went on in court on a daily basis which he inevitably got drawn into one way or another, and just delve deeply into what he loved most.

As Jinyoung lifted up the hem of his robes and tread carefully up the steps to the open pavilion where the young scholars sat, his gaze lit up as he spotted a familiar figure.

“Youngjae!” He called, waving his hand happily. The person he called out to turned around at the sound, a smile filling his handsome boyish face as he quickly hurried over to Jinyoung.

“Your Highness.” He said with a polite bow, both hands folded in front of him, “Have you been well?” Jinyoung laughed and quickly lifted his friend up from his bow.

“Youngjae, Youngjae.” He said with a teasing smile, “How many times do I have to tell you? Out here, you can do away with the formalities.” Choi Youngjae was the son of the Crown Prince’s tutor, and had spent many years growing up in the palace together with the royal princes. Closer in age to Jinyoung than the other princes, the two had bonded quickly over their mutual interests in literature and poetry and been close friends ever since childhood. A talented and gentle young man, Youngjae had also been gifted with a beautiful voice that made ladies blush when he sang, leading to the nickname he had been given throughout the capital city, “little skylark.” Youngjae smiled shyly and gave Jinyoung a light shove.

“And how many times have I told you that some formalities must be kept?” He replied, “At least let me bow properly, Fifth Prince.” Before Jinyoung could respond, he heard someone laugh from behind him, and a friendly arm looped around Jinyoung’s shoulders.

“Leave him be, Highness.” The newcomer teased, “Youngjae has always been such a stickler for formalities.” Jinyoung chuckled and turned to give the newcomer a playful smack.

“Just as you’ve always ignored formalities, Yugyeom.” He replied with an amused smile. Kim Yugyeom grinned and bowed mischievously. The third son of one of the most successful merchants in the capital, he had been raised with the best education the city had to offer. As the youngest though, he was also the most coddled out of the family’s children, culminating in a playful personality and the ability to get away with just about whatever he wanted.

“On the contrary, I simply honor Your Highness’s wishes.” He replied cheerfully, “I am an obedient citizen, Fifth Prince.” Jinyoung chuckled and gave his two friends a light shove towards their designated chairs.

“Come, let’s go and sit down. The event will begin soon.” The trio of friends took their seats with a few polite bows to the other men around them, and soon the poetry competition began. As usual, citizens of all ages came to watch the event, their excited cries filling the air as the young men showed off their best skills. The hours flew by, and soon the scholars were posing their final topics. One of the young men rose to his feet, flipping open a delicate fan with a sharp thwack.

“I would like to pose a topic!” He declared, “In our world today, one of the greatest gifts for a poet is to have a place to enjoy peace and devote ourselves fully to our craft. Indeed, what can be more peaceful than the nature around us? And so, I would like to challenge everyone to create a poem about nature, that beautiful place which allowed the poets of old to be at peace and create so many pieces of art in the past.” The entire pavilion was silent for a few long moments as the young men pondered over the topic they had been given. Then, Jinyoung grinned and rose to his feet. He had often gone to travel with Jaebeom and the king to explore the world outside the walls of the palace and the capital city, and those trips had often included trips to the countryside where he saw everything from a babbling brook to drawing the grand mountains in the distance and catching fish in the rushing river.

“I have an answer!” He declared with a grin. The young men around him turned in anticipation, wondering what the prince had in store. Jinyoung took a deep breath and began reciting the poem that had risen to his mind.

“Walking alone on the left bank of the river

I watched the heron seek her reedy nest.

Watching white clouds, like feathered jackets fall

Into the space between two mountain peaks,

Even my soul found respite from her cares.

Only the restless river hurried on,

Sweeping from grottoes of the mountain gorge

Down to the level rice fields of the plain,

Hurrying, hurrying ever to the ocean.

Why do you flow so swiftly, little river ?

You will be lost in the blue space of the ocean

And to your mountains there is no returning.”

There was a long moment of silence as Jinyoung’s words hung in the air, then the spectators and the young scholars in the pavilion burst into applause.

“Brilliant!”

“Your Highness, that was beautiful!” Jinyoung bowed politely in acceptance of the praise.

“It was nothing.” He replied humbly, “I still have a lot of learning to do.” As the soft murmurs of praise from the young men under the pavilion died down, Jinyoung was startled to hear the sound of clapping rising above the soft din of the young men’s hushed discussions. Turning, his eyes widened as he saw a young woman walk up the steps and enter the pavilion. The scholars’ hushed whispers immediately rose in volume, startled at the sudden sight of the newcomer.

Save for the rare occasions when they were given permission to join with them, women never entered the teahouse pavilion while the poets were there.

Jinyoung carefully studied the young woman in front of him. She was dressed in a light yellow and seafoam green hanbok, decorated with elaborate patterns over the dress and at the sleeve cuff. It was an elegant dress, usually reserved for those of nobility, but something struck Jinyoung as different about this girl. On the outside, she looked like someone from Goryeo, but everything else about her said otherwise.

Unlike a young unmarried woman of Goryeo, she stood with her back straight and her chin tilted upward confidently, exuding an air of grace and refinement. Her long hair fell free down her back, held back by only a small hairpiece in the back. She reminded Jinyoung of a beautiful cat, calm, composed, and poised even as she stood in the midst of the young noblemen of Goryeo in front of the entire city to see. Her eyes, a rich dark brown, met Jinyoung’s unabashed, showing little care of the fact that he was a man and she, allegedly, an unmarried woman.

As her gaze met Jinyoung’s, he felt his heart skip a beat and leap into his throat in a way that it had never done before when he had been around women.

Being a prince, there was no shortage of young noblewomen around him at all times. But the way this young woman looked, the way her sharp gaze seemed to draw anyone deep into their depths, made Jinyoung feel a rush of emotions he had never felt before.

No,this was no young sheltered Goryeo noblewoman, hidden away from the eyes of outsiders by protective parents.

This was a woman who had seen, and been through, more than Jinyoung could ever imagine.

Who is that?

________________________________________________________________

Jang Soyoung had promised Hyojun she would stay under the radar while she took a casual walk around the capital to see how life was going for the Goryeo people. She had even gone through the pains of dressing in a Goryeo hanbok, although it had been more than a simple annoyance to put on the multiple layers and portions the clothing required. When she saw a crowd gathered by the teahouse in the middle of the city, she had only intended to stand by quietly and see what the people were getting so excited about.

For a little while, Soyoung had been bored by the event. It turned out to be little more than a group of Goryeo scholars joined together in a friendly competition. While the Emperor and Empress had made sure to give her the best education, Soyoung had been taught to be a warrior, not a scholar. Her mother had come from one of the top military clans in the country, and she had made sure that her daughter wouldn’t become a coddled flower, groomed to only marry and become a decoration in the corner of her husband’s home.

Then, one of the young scholars in the shaded pavilion caught her eye as he rose from his seat and posited a poem in response to the topic that had just been posed. He was a slender young man, dressed in a hanbok made of the finest material. He had a handsome face, with soft gently curved cheeks, bow-shaped lips, and warm dark brown eyes. Those warm eyes sparkled as he bowed politely to the other scholars around him before speaking. Oddly enough, Soyoung found herself listening closely as the young man recited a poem about nature, the short verses speaking of flowing rivers and herons. While far from a scholar herself, Soyoung found the verses both meaningful and evoking beautiful images of the wild nature that she personally loved. The way the young man spoke, so excited about a mere poem, drew her in and made her want to know more.

“Hyojun.” She said softly to her personal guard, who was standing closely behind her.

“Yes, My Lady?” He asked. Soyoung tilted her head towards the young man, who was currently receiving praise from the other scholars on the pavilion.

“Do you know who that is?” She asked. It wasn’t like she expected an affirmative answer; there were thousands of citizens in the Goryeo territory. While she knew Hyojun kept tabs on the situation in Goryeo for her, the chance that he would know any individual citizen was rather low. Still, it didn’t hurt to ask. And so, she was surprised when Hyojun chuckled softly behind her and replied.

“That, My Lady, is the Fifth Prince. His name is Park Jinyoung.” Soyoung turned in surprise.

“The king of Goryeo lets his son wander about outside the palace as he wishes, competing with other poets in public like this?” She asked incredulously. It was completely unheard of in Yuan; growing up, Soyoung’s brothers had been tucked away carefully in the inner harem with their mothers, and when they grew old enough, only then were they allowed to begin wandering among the limited confines of court and palace life. To wander so freely among the people was almost unheard of. Hyojun chuckled softly.

“My Lady, the Fifth Prince is the second son born of the late Goryeo queen.” He replied, “The king dotes on his two sons with the late queen the most. The other is the Crown Prince. The Fifth Prince has always shown an aptitude for scholarly works since childhood, and so the king has let him do as he wishes as long as he keeps up with his studies. You can see it as a good thing; it keeps the royal family closer to the people, rather than a higher power separated from them and giving orders. Don’t you like to do that too, My Lady?” Soyoung nodded thoughtfully.

“What an interesting man.” She said, “Then does that mean he will be at the banquet tonight?”

“He should be.” Hyojun replied, “He is of age to be married, and has been pushing it off for a while already.” Soyoung smirked slightly at the new piece of information.

“In that case, I shall take it upon myself to see what this beloved Fifth Prince is like outside the palace.” She declared. Before Hyojun could stop her, Soyoung stepped through the crowd and headed up the set of stairs leading up to the pavilion. Normally, she took great steps to stay unnoticed, even when she dressed down and went for walks in the Yuan capital. And yet, something made her want to know more about this young man, the one who spoke so deeply and excitedly of the wild nature. The fact that he was the Fifth Prince only piqued her interest even more. How a member of the royal family acted inside the palace could differ greatly from the way they acted outside of the palace, free from the strictures of propriety and the scrutinizing gaze of the king and the court officials. How this prince, who was so well regarded by everyone in the royal family, acted outside the palace could say a lot about him.

“My Lady!” Hyojun hissed, but Soyoung promptly ignored him. The soft startled murmurs of the scholars in the pavilion filled Soyoung’s ears as she stepped boldly onto the pavilion, but she ignored them all. It wasn’t the most conventional thing for a Goryeo woman to be doing, she knew. But at that moment, all her eyes could see was the Fifth Prince, Park Jinyoung. The young prince looked startled at her appearance, and for a moment, the two of them gazed at each other silently, each taking in the other person in front of them.

Then, Soyoung smiled ever so slightly.

Park Jinyoung, let’s see what you have in store.

#got7 #got7 jinyoung #got7 jinyoung scenarios #park jinyoung #park jinyoung scenarios #kpop fanfiction #kpop #got7 fanfic #got7 fanfiction #got7 au

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 5 years

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On Falling and Identity

One thing I’ve fallen out of the habit of doing is elaborate metas based on my fanfics every Wednesday. First I took a long hiatus to finish “What it Means to Be A Demon” and then I started posting it and it was angsty and that made me tired.

Plus, I’ve been posting chapters on Wednesdays, and busy enough that I couldn’t do a post and a meta.

But I have some time today, so I thought I’d share some of my thoughts on Falling and Identity. Because there’s more to “What it Means to Be A Demon” than physically and emotionally torturing Crowley (there’s that, too).

Names

One thing I think we can all agree on: the demons in Good Omens are not using the names they’d had as angels. We have plenty of examples: Cra(o)wley, Hastur, Ligur, Beelzebub, Dagon, even Satan (on the to-do list: re-watch while keeping track of various names used for the devil. I’m trying to remember where the name Lucifer is used outside Crowley’s drunken rant, and even that is a memory of their time in Heaven).

(Fun fact: when I searched the GIFs for “Good Omens Devil” one of the results I got was Gabriel, and...technically incorrect, but still accurate.)

Regardless, none of these really fit the pattern of angelic names (Gabriel, Uriel and Michael are all standard angel names; Aziraphale does fit this phonetically, but the spelling is different; Sandalphon less so, but still a traditionally angelic name). So, disregarding the possibility that angels somehow rebelled and Fell based on the names they already had, it seems clear that they chose new names after Falling.

Were they forced to change their names? Did they forget their original names? Did they voluntarily give them up? We don’t know this, but I’m sure going to speculate!

Crowley, however, is the only one we know who changes his name, from Crawly/Crawley (note it’s Crawly in the book but Crawley in the script book). It’s called attention to very early in both - the first post-Eden scene in book and show is our two maggot husbands lurking in the graveyard, and one of the first things they comment on is Crowley’s name change, “what’s he calling himself these days?”

I find it rather interesting that the demon who changed his name - something notable enough for others to comment on - is also the one who winds up the most independent, the most free-thinking, the most human.

Identity

Names and identity are tied together in Good Omens.

Most notable version of this is Dog, a terrifying hellhound who very abruptly isn’t. And the moment he changes is the moment he receives his name: in the book, his shape changes as Adam describes his ideal dog, but his personality changes at the naming; on the show, everything changes at once.

From the book: “The hound waited. This was the moment. The Naming. This would give it its purpose, its function, its identity.” (page 82)

There’s also the “Form shapes nature” passage on page 132 - in short, now that he looks like a small, yappy dog, he is a small, yappy dog. It can’t just be that simple, though - the Horsepeople (well, 3 out of 4) all spend much of the series walking around in very human bodies, yet their nature doesn’t become more human. So it’s not just being in the form, it’s accepting the form, letting the form be more than just the mask you wear.

So bring this back to the demons. On the series, we see that they have different forms in Hell and on Earth - not radically different, but the Hell version is more extreme.

Beelzebub in Hell

Beelzebub on Earth

Crowley even more so - he appears as a giant snake, as a human with snake eyes, and as...whatever that thing was at the paintball game. It was vaguely snake-y. So we know they have options for how demonic they appear. Whether by choice or some other means, Crowley’s habitual form is the most human. As a result, his actions seem to be the most human.

Importantly, while it might seem fatalistic to say “Names determine who you are, Form determines nature” - both of these are Crowley’s choice (and presumably other demons as well). He doesn’t want to look like a snake, so he doesn’t; he doesn’t think the name Crawly suits him, so he changes it. Changing his name, changing his form, creating his flash bastard persona - these are how he develops his identity. These are how he makes himself into something more than a demonic snake.

Headcanons

So now we get to the part where I explain how this ties into my story, “What it Means to Be A Demon.” I believe everything has at least been hinted at in the story so far, so I don’t feel as much like I’m spoiling my own plot.

Names were lost. I established this earlier in “Early Days,” but Crowley and the other demons can’t remember their original names, they were taken away as part of the act of Falling. For the purposes of “interpreting canon,” both options are plausible (names were taken or names were rejected), but this is the one I felt had more story potential, because it meant:

Identities were lost. This is a little tougher to explain, and I hope I’ve been able to make it clear in the story. The demons are no longer who they were as angels. They can remember their past lives...to an extent. Names and faces slide out of focus, scenes replay without context, they can’t connect things into a coherent story. And the sense of the being they were before the Fall is just...gone. They became No One.

Demons rebuilt new identities. They chose names for themselves, distinguished themselves, built up cults of personality if you will by attracting followers and supporters. Hastur and Ligur, for example, have clearly built their personalities around cruelty and intimidation, but each even has his slightly different brand, such as Hastur’s brutal honesty (a few metas have pointed out that he doesn’t lie, but his truths are extremely cruel). Appearance is also part of this - while the angels have a certain uniformity to their look, the demons each have a different take on the general theme of “humanoid but bestial.”

Demons, especially low-ranked demons, must fight to retain their identities. This is a major part of what’s going on in “What it Means to Be A Demon.” You sort of need other people to acknowledge your identity...this is something you’ve either experienced or not. Whether it’s a gender identity, a sexual orientation, a diagnosis, or just run-of-the-mill interests - when other people ignore, refuse to acknowledge or outright reject something about yourself you know to be true - it f***ing SUCKS. It makes you doubt yourself, it digs away at you, maybe it even makes you conform more to how other people think you should be, because you start to lack the strength to be who you know you should be, or makes you feel like a failure because you can’t be who they want you to be. In the story, Crowley (still Crawley, as it’s around 2400BC) is abused and tortured, but he’s also forced to take shapes based on what others ask of him; he’s told how to present, how to dress, where to go; the other demons even call him “Crawly” which sounds exactly the same but isn’t a name and trust me in these circumstances you can tell. And it wears away at him, makes him question who he is. Destroys the identity he’s built for himself

When they lose their identity, they become...something else. This is not really based on anything specific from the show, except the endless hordes of seemingly mindless demons in Hell. But if their identities are something they must fight to hold on to, what happens when they lose them? In my story, I’ve presented two options: the Nameless (basically mindless bodies who go where directed, do as told, don’t speak, don’t react, no signs that they even think), and Chaotic ones (imagine a Hellhound in human form - instead of mindless obedience, mindless violence). This is the fate that the demons - that Crowley - fight to avoid.

Crowley is not going to let this happen. I’m dead center in this story, so sorry if this is too much of a spoiler, but I did mark it Canon Compliant. The demon who makes an Arrangement with an angel, the demon swaggering around Shakespeare’s Globe, or performing daring Bastille and Nazi Church rescues, who asked for Holy Water because he was going to fight Hell if he needed to - that Crowley is not a demon under existential threat of oblivion. In “What it Means to Be A Demon,” his identity is under threat, because of the things he feels he needs to do to physically survive. But his story arc for this portion of the overall series is all about Crowley finding his identity, and forcing Hell to acknowledge it, one way or another. And over time - he changes to Crowley, he adopts Anthony and Anthony J as his names, his sense of style becomes more elaborate, more personalized, his possessions more solidly representative of his self. And, ultimately, he creates an identity that is strong enough to go against Hell.

So, those are some of my thoughts on DEMONS and FALLING and IDENTITY. I have mentioned that I have a lot of them. ;) If my ideas intrigue you (and if you have a strong stomach for angst and abuse), I hope you will check out my story! Here’s the link one more time:

Read it on AO3! (Rated T for violence, language, and potentially triggering scenes)

Here’s the whole series! (All but two stories are rated G, so if you prefer something lighter...)

#good omens meta #good omens prime #crowley #anthony j crowley #ineffable demon (crowley)#good omens hell #good omens fanfiction #good omens headcanons #ao3 link #sawdust of words #i wrote this instead of shoveling out my car #now i should probably go shovel out my car before it gets dark #oops too late

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mkobooks · 3 years

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“Surrogate Protocol” and Sing-lit

I’ve lived in Singapore for over a year and as an expat, I believe that it’s important to take the time to seek out books written by local authors that will probably not be as readily available once I move back to the US.

Surrogate Protocol by Tham Cheng-e, is probably the best “Sing-lit” I’ve read this year and perhaps my second favorite Singaporean book overall--as much as it shames me to admit it, it’s going to take something really, really great to beat Crazy Rich Asians. That said, it was far from the best book I’ve read this year. In terms of its “competition” from the other Sing-lit I’ve read recently, the bar was pretty low with my opinions ranging from “literally the worst book I’ve read this year and in the last five” (The HDB Murders by amateur writer Darren Goh) to “trying a little too hard to be literary so that it came off as cliche” (A Different Sky by Meira Chand).

So, what was Surrogate Protocol even about? How does it fit into the pattern I’ve observed in the Sing-lit I’ve read this year?

Surrogate Protocol is about an amnesiac barista named Landon Lock. He knows there’s something special inside him, but his memory is fuzzy and he struggles to remember anything past a few days. Everything he knows about himself is from reading one of the many journals he has diligently kept, recording the events of every day of his life... for over a hundred years. Because Landon doesn’t age and he doesn’t know why. If the premise of the book stopped here, then I think it may have even surpassed CRA for me because the biggest strengths of this book were the flashback sections in which he meets and meets and meets again a woman who is also unable to age. These flashbacks--which are framed as journal entries or as being triggered by therapy sessions--offer compelling episodes in Landon’s life as well as snapshots of historical Singapore. In addition, they go backwards chronologically, a narrative device which I always love reading and writing into my own stories.

However, this book is marketed as a “science fiction” story because there is some sort of shady organization of people hunting down and “milking” (as one character later puts it) these immortal people who have a serum in their blood that not only keeps them young but also creates a perfect record of what they’ve observed? It was never entirely clear to me nor was it particularly exciting or thrilling as I believe Tham intended. The climax of the book centers around a showdown of enemy agents fighting over Landon instead of on his past as I would have much preferred. As such, the conclusion to this book fell flat to me. I gave it 3/5 stars.

I found Surrogate Protocol disappointing in the end--like the author could have done by taking the story in a different direction. In the same vein, I felt the same way about A Different Sky, Rawa by Isa Kamari, and the two Tensorate novellas by Neon Yang that I read last year (I won’t even mention HDB Murders which made me wish I had Landon’s amnesia). All these books (minus Tensorate which was fantasy) deal with Singapore’s 20th century history: colonialism and tensions between the British and locals; WWII and the Japanese occupation; race riots and independence; and overall, the shift from the traditional “kampongs” and way of life into the modern Singapore that I know and love.

I’ve only lived in Singapore for ~14 months now, and a large-ish portion of that I was spent either our strict lockdown (the Circuit Breaker) or limiting how much I went out. I often lament that this country is great, but nothing happens here. Reading Sing-lit for good or for bad, is a reminder that though things are boring and peaceful now, the previous century was filled with so much tension and upheaval. This question of Singapore identity, how she overcame her growing pains, and how her authors see her is what keeps me trying again and again to find Sing-lit that not only entertains me as CRA did but also resonates with me. At the same time, each of these three historical novels had such a pro-Singapore--and by extension pro PAP--message to them. They’re not even subtle: Lee Kuan Yu had a cameo in two of them! So, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to get a truly honest perspective, at least from a book that’s published within Singapore and is marketed as Sing-lit.

Finally, Sing-lit is important to me as a writer currently living in and being inspired by Singapore. I’m in the middle of writing a trilogy of fantasy novels that borrow heavily from Peranakan and Malay culture and language as well as from the dynamic of Singapore being a “little red dot” in the middle of the “Malay World.” I accept that I’ll never understand what it means to be a native-born Singaporean, but by reading, I can try (lah!).

Surrogate Protocol by Tham Cheng-E My rating: 3 of 5 stars

#book review #reading #just finished reading #singlit #singapore #epigram books #can lah #writing #musings #literary analysis #american expat

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cosettepontmercys · 4 years

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answer the 10 questions of the person who tagged you and then create 10 of your own ! my responses are under a cut bc these got long !!

questions from @sydneyclarke:

what’s a dream you’ve had that you will never forget?

oh gosh i never really remember my dreams, ,,

dream trip?

going to europe ! i was supposed to go this summer to see sitpwg :( they’re supposed to reschedule to next summer though so hopefully !

sweet or savory?

probably savory!

what’s your biggest pet peeve?

people who don’t care

do you have any unpopular opinions on something that everyone seems to love?

i don’t know if it’s “unpopular” but chuck/blair are super gross lmaooo

if you could have any animal as a pet, what would you choose?

a dog !

do you know the reasoning behind your name? what is it?

my mom saw les mis and she liked it a lot !

what’s something you never leave the house without?

my phone !

what underrated book/tv show do you wish got more attention?

stitchers : ( also selfie

do you have any party tricks?

nope !

questions from @blafard

one memory you’d like to relive?

probably meeting stephanie for the first time, the last sd for marie, or when i met casey mcq back in november !

do you think ghosts and aliens exist?

yes

one food you’ve never tried but would like to?

hmm. maybe a casserole to see what it’s all about w the white ppl

what book can you reread without getting sick of it?

rwrb !

if you could take the place of any character in any movie, who would you replace and why?

astrid from cra ! i love her a lot. she’s got a good heart + she tries to do good in the world & make the best of things.

what was the last photo you took?

a photo of toto after my mom gave him a haircut

when was the last time you got to tell someone “I told you so.”?

probably the last time i talked to @bowene on facetime

what mythical creature do you wish actually existed?

hmmm pegasus ?

what are you interested in, that most people aren’t?

musicals that flop or never make it to broadway

best book of the decade?

ask me at the end of the decade :)

my questions -

what was the last song you listened to? what’s your favorite lyric(s) from it?

are you a night owl or an early riser

what’s something you know now that you wish you knew years ago?

what’s a book that you think everyone should read? what about a book that someone should read to get to know/understand you?

sunrise or sunset?

what fictional character do you relate to the most? why?

if you could become fluent in any language overnight, what would it be + why?

how do you self care?

what are your thoughts on toto? this is the most important question.

what’s something that makes you happy?

tagging: @bowene @blueganzey @thequeenosnes @percyjackosn @sscorpiusmalfoy @laurensambrose @lightandharmony @jercy @daywymack + whoever wants to do it !

#post: about me #post: tag game

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rubye402 · 4 years

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Getting some serious (cookie) dough

(Merry Christmas/ Happy Holidays everyone! I am a part of @portal-secret-santa ! Who's my present for? @mean-and-gay is the blog's name! They said some warm homey stuff would be something they would like. I assumed platonic sibling is OK? Anywho, but as someone who thrives off of found familial AUs, I decided on something like this between little Spacey and Wheats was a good idea! Also spinkled in Virgil and Rainbow core from Portal Stories:Mel for good measure, don't know if you know it but might as well include them, hope you like it either way buddy! ^^)

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

Craig sighed as he felt two pairs of eyes burn holes into the bag of chocolate chips he was currently trying to add to the bowl in front of him. "I've put eggs in here you two," he huffed turning around to the honey and blue eyed boys, "Eating raw cookie dough with eggs in it is how you get sick."

"Oh c'mon, mate," Wheatley huffed coming out from the 'hiding spot' of his and Kevin's, "Just a little nibble? I'm sure Santa wouldn't mind, yeah?"

"No!" Craig growled, "A nibble with you two will turn into a bite, then a handful, then next thing you know, there's no dough for anyone-!" Rick had walked into the kitchen as Craig was rambling and what ended it was his attention latching onto Rick holding the bowl up into the air, out of Kevin’s reach.

"Oh cra-"

"WHEATLEY! KEVIN!" Craig roared, Wheatley turning onto his heels.

"KEV! RETREAT! RETREAT!" Wheatley called out, panicked.

"RETREAT!" Kevin echoed, squealing and narrowly missing Craig's attempt to catch the much younger male. Craig growled, face growing heated.

"Easy there, Pinky," Rick chuckled, setting the bowl down again, "We might end up usin' your face to bake them cookies." Craig snapped his head towards Rick, making him jump a little.

"Shut up before I kill you too," Craig huffed, "Why do those two do what they do?! I swear, if I end up finding grey hairs come Christmas morning, I can and will-"

"Let me guess, tried to steal the cookie dough?" Virgil’s voice rung out. Criag sighed, turning to the Norwegian machanic and a familiar multi colored sweater right behind him.

"Yes..." Craig sighed in defeat.

"Kevin is a kid, and Wheatley has a sweet tooth, Craig," Rainbow added, "Of course they'd pull something to get a bite. Besides, those cookies you make are pretty good to top it off."

"Well, thank you, Jade," Craig softly smiled from the compliment, "I just wish that they would actually let the cookies be baked."

"Well no matter how you slice it, they're havin' quite the ball bonding," Rick smirked, "'member how, what, two, three years ago round this time that Wheats and Kev first were showin' signs of getting along?"

_______________________________________

Snow crunched and kicked up under little boots. Kevin had been playing in the snow with Rick and Virgil, Virgil had helped the little guy build a snowman, complete with a screwdriver handle nose. Rick had then proceeded to throw a snowball, hitting a bullseye on poor Virgil’s face, making Spacey laugh giddly.

Laughter kept echoing in the small yard and a snowball fight broke out, mainly between Rick and Virgil, but Kevin joined the fun and was occasionally thrown little, not very packed snowballs, as to not be hit with anything to much that would result in tears. Craig would kill both of them for that.

Speaking of, Craig was watching from the window with Jade. While Virgil was used to colder areas of Aperture and he spent most of his time in the garage tickering, and Rick just loved getting his blood pumping outside, Craig and Jade happily stayed inside, content to watching. While Craig also liked the cooler weather along with Virgil, and if Rick didn't like outside so much, he was sure he would have helped with the snowman. But alas, his books were not water, or in this case, snow proof. Jade was the one other than Rick that didn't like the cold much.

Wheatley was also watching, he didn't care much for the scene unfolding, but he did at least like the snowman... Until he saw Spacey, in the mist of trying to hit Rick, aciddently hit the snowmans head, making it crumple to the ground. The yard was deadly silent in shock, and even the little chatter Fact and Rainbow were having halted.

Then came the sound chocked sobs, making Craig rush to the door and outside, only putting on some shoes. Wheatley and Jade also followed the panic. Rick and Virgil already were on their knees trying to comfort him, but the sight of a panicked Craig quickly made them back off so he could try his luck. Kevin, knowing that Craig only softens this much when he wanted to comfort him, immediately buried his face into his chest. Wheatley and Jade caught up and since Craig was already holding Kev, proceed to the damaged snowman.

"Oooh," Rainbow hissed, seeing the assortment of rocks, sticks and the screwdriver all over the ground. Wheatley had stared at it, and almost subconsciously tried to mend the pieces together, only for them to not stick. Wheatley looked at the little guy behind him and nodded to himself, taking out the decor and slowly building up the head again, grabbing snow from the sides of it and trying to use it like glue.

Kevin sniffled and turned around to him getting the main two halfs to stick to each other. It was crooked, but they stuck, and nothing more snow couldn’t round out. As he slowly build up the head, Craig noticed that Wheatley was not wearing gloves, and his hands were red, but he seemed to not be affected by that or the water seeping up his pants.

Wheatley’s knees shaked in his trousers, but he was so close to being done. He just had to force the rocks and sticks in until they were burried into the face. Wheatley picked up the screwdriver and finally snabbed it in place before settling it on top of the body, slowly removing his hands, to make sure it didn’t wobble as he finally, finally stoon up, his legs shaking like a newborn baby deer. Rick, made sure to keep his arms wrapped around his waist to support his body from falling over. Kevin smiled and hugged his leg.

"Thank you, Wheatley." Kevin giggled. Wheatley looked down, surprised. None of the other guys really complimented him, at least, out loud. Actually hearing the praise instead of guessing if what he did was good was comforting.

"Y-Yeah, no problem, Kev." Wheatley smiled. He got a cold the next day, but it was worth it in the moment.

_______________________________________

"It was definitely something to see, and it gave us a hint that verbal reassurence would really make him thrive," Rainbow nodded, "He's kinda warmed up to everyone, but I think being the first to compliment him has it's perks."

"If I'm honest, the only thing besides that that I remember is feeling really bad for Kevin," Virgil recalled, "Oh, and the snowball Rick threw at me, that's pretty vivid."

"I suppose you do have a point then Rick-" Craig was going to turn around to him, but everyone in the room noticed that him and the bowl were nowhere to be seen. Craig's eyes twiched with rage and Virgil and Jade both backed away from a very angry Fact.

Rick hummed happily taking his own little portions of his deal and biting into it, "Gotta hand it to ya' I'd didn't think that you two would think out a plan like this."

"We had a whole year to learn from our mistakes and plan it out," Wheatley sighed putting his spoon in the now empty bowl, ruffling Spacey’s hair while said boy was enjoying the cookie dough left on his own spoon. "Give us some credit."

"OK, OK, true," Rick stretched, "Three. Two. Onnneee-"

"RICHARD!"

Wheatley and Rick high fived, knowing that they had pulled off the plan without a hitch. After all, Wheatley had a sweet tooth, and Kevin was just a kid...

And most of all, Rick loved to mess with Craig, of course.

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infpconfessionsoflife · 6 years

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INFPs From an INFP Perspective

I finally made the time to do it! I have met a handful of INFPs and this is how I view them :)

Able to figure out a situation in not very much time (amazing to watch not gonna lie)

Sensitive to conflict

Are you having an argument? INFP OUT! Unless it is something they firmly believe in that is... Then get ready to see some stuff

“Are you OK? You’re not mad at me right?”

Act like children, but then become the voice of reason

DIPLOMATS!!!

Serious one minute, showing you pictures of their doggy the next

Jokes about death, no, no baby why???

Quiet and doesn’t let people in very easily at all. Literally can take years.

When they do click with someone and trust them, they cling on and become your new best friend forever. No seriously, try to get ride of them.... you can’t

Reading the mood and sensing the tone and people’s body language. No, for reals this skill is amazing to watch

How is your day going? “Pretty good!” *2 hours later* “My life is utter crap”

Emotions, emotions and more EMOTIONS!!

Hangs out in the background until something serious comes up, then steps up and becomes the authoritative one that tells people what to do

The “mom” of the group

Loyal as they come

"YEET"

Fall in love with people and see souls rather than outer appearance

INFPs, do they worry about stuff? Yes, YES THEY DO!

Cute and squishy but full of anxiety

Worries someone is mad at them when they don’t text back

More Anxiety

They seem so pure, then nihilistic/dark humor comes out and you can’t believe it came from them, not to mention it was hilarious

Can be nihilistic, no it can get pretty dark. Who did you wrong baby? What happened to you

Has obsessions with random things, i.e. Collecting stuff, pets, books, etc.

Music is not a maybe, it is a must

I’m sorry were you- never mind, you weren’t talking to me, now INFP is embarrassed and wants to crawl into a hole

Some can be innocent, happy and the most positive people you will ever know

Others.... no so much, no not so much *shudders*

Firmly Stand up for what they believe

The chillest, un-chill people you’ll ever meet

Did someone call my friend a name or hurt my friend? Well, you have to die now

Protective, sometimes overly so

PRO-CRAS-TIN-ATE

“You’re an introvert?!?! I would have never guessed!!!”

“Want to read my writing?”

No one, seems to take them seriously

#infp things #infp #infp life #infp and infp relationship #16 personality types #16 personalities #mbti #infp feels #infp feelings

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phroyd · 5 years

Link

We lost a Great Journalist today, and there are very few, if any, working today, who could fill her shoes! We will miss you Cokie, and we wish there were more who could live up to your bar! - Phroyd.

Cokie Roberts, who drew on her upbringing in a powerful political family to fashion a career as a leading Washington journalist for NPR and ABC News, bringing a tough, knowledgeable voice to the rough-and-tumble political arena at a time when few women had national profiles in the news business, died on Tuesday in Washington. She was 75.

ABC News, in a posting on its website Tuesday morning, said the cause was breast cancer.

Ms. Roberts was known to millions for both her reporting and her commentaries, moving easily among radio, television and print to explain the impact of world events and the intricacies of policy debates. And in books like “Ladies of Liberty: The Women Who Shaped Our Nation” (2008) and “Capital Dames: The Civil War and the Women of Washington, 1848-1868” (2015) she highlighted the often overlooked role of women in history, especially political history.

“Cokie Roberts was a trailblazer,” Nancy Pelosi, the speaker of the House, said on Twitter, “who transformed the role of women in the newsroom & our history books as she told the stories of the unsung women who built our nation.”

Ms. Roberts, who joined NPR in the late 1970s and ABC News in 1988, carved out a career that served as an example to later generations of women in journalism.

“I’m proud as hell — proud as hell — to work at a news organization that has ‘Founding Mothers’ whom we all look up to,” Danielle Kurtzleben, an NPR reporter, said on Twitter. “God bless Cokie Roberts.”

In a statement, former President Barack Obama and the former first lady Michelle Obama called Ms. Roberts “a role model to young women at a time when the profession was still dominated by men; a constant over 40 years of a shifting media landscape and changing world, informing voters about the issues of our time and mentoring young journalists every step of the way.”

And President Trump, speaking to reporters on Air Force One en route to California from New Mexico, said of Ms. Roberts: “I never met her. She never treated me nicely. But I would like to wish her family well. She was a professional and I respect professionals. I respect you guys a lot, you people a lot. She was a real professional. Never treated me well, but I certainly respect her as a professional.”

If Ms. Roberts brought keen insight to her work, that was in part because she was a child of politicians, one who first walked the halls of Congress as a girl. Her father was Hale Boggs, a longtime Democratic representative from Louisiana who in the early 1970s was House majority leader. After he died in a plane crash in 1972, his wife and Ms. Roberts’s mother, Lindy Boggs, was elected to fill his seat. She served until 1991 and later became United States ambassador to the Vatican.

Ms. Roberts’s background gave her a deep respect for the government institutions she covered, and she didn’t hold herself or her journalism colleagues blameless for the problems of government. “We are quick to criticize and slow to praise,” she said in a commencement address at Boston College in 1994.

“But,” she told the crowd, “it’s also your fault.” Constituents, she said, needed to allow members of Congress to make the tough votes and “let that person live to fight another day.”

In an oral history recorded for the House of Representatives in 2007 and 2008, she expanded on the impact her childhood experiences had in shaping her views about America.

“Because I spent time in the Capitol and particularly in the House of Representatives, I became deeply committed to the American system,” she said. “And as close up and as personally as I saw it and saw all of the flaws, I understood all of the glories of it.”

“Here we are, so different from each other,” she added, “with no common history or religion or ethnicity or even language these days, and what brings us together is the Constitution and the institutions that it created. And the first among those is Congress. The very word means coming together. And the fact that messily and humorously and all of that, it happens — it doesn’t happen all the time, and it doesn’t always happen well, but it happens — is a miracle.”

Mary Martha Corinne Morrison Claiborne Boggs was born on Dec. 27, 1943, in New Orleans. She said that her brother, Tommy, invented her nickname because he couldn’t say “Corinne.”

She, her brother and her sister, Barbara, were immersed in political life, accompanying their father on campaign trips, attending ceremonial functions and listening to the dinner-table discussions that ensued when other political leaders visited the home.

“Our parents did not have the children go away when the grown-ups came,” Ms. Roberts said. “In retrospect, I’ve sometimes wondered, ‘What did those people think to have all these children around all the time?’ But we were around, and it was great for us.”

Although her father had considerable influence on her, so did her mother, who was active in furthering her father’s career, along with other women she came to know, like Lady Bird Johnson.

“I was very well aware of the influence of these women,” she said, adding, “I very much grew up with a sense, from them, that women could do anything, and that they could sort of do a whole lot of things at the same time.”

It was a theme she teased out in her 1998 book, “We Are Our Mothers’ Daughters.”

“For years my mother kept telling me that it’s nothing new to have women as soldiers, as diplomats, as politicians, as revolutionaries, as explorers, as founders of large institutions, as leaders in business; that the women of my generation did not invent the wheel,” she wrote. “In the past women might not have had the titles, she painstakingly and patiently explained, but they did the jobs that fit those descriptions.”

Ms. Roberts attended Catholic schools in New Orleans and Bethesda, Md., and graduated from Wellesley College in Massachusetts in 1964 with a degree in political science. In 1966 she married Steven V. Roberts, who was a correspondent then for The New York Times. Journalism was a largely male world at the time, something driven home to her when she went job hunting.

“In 1966 I left an on-air anchor television job in Washington, D.C., to get married,” she told The Times in 1994. “My husband was at The New York Times. For eight months I job-hunted at various New York magazines and television stations, and wherever I went I was asked how many words I could type.”

She eventually became a radio correspondent for CBS before joining NPR in 1978. (Sources give both 1977 and 1978 as her start year at NPR.) With her fellow newswomen Nina Totenberg and Linda Wertheimer, she began to change the journalistic landscape.

“As a troika they have succeeded in revolutionizing political reporting,” The Times wrote in that 1994 article. “Twenty years ago Washington journalism was pretty much a male game, like football and foreign policy. But along came demure Linda, delicately crashing onto the presidential campaign press bus; then entered bulldozer Nina, with major scoops on Douglas Ginsburg and Anita Hill; and in came tart-tongued Cokie with her savvy Congressional reporting. A new kind of female punditry was born.”

Ms. Roberts wrote a syndicated political column with her husband for many years. They lived in Europe for a time in the 1970s, and over the years she covered international stories, but Washington was her main turf. She covered Congress at a time when her mother was an increasingly important member of it, though that proved to be not as big a benefit to her professionally as it might have seemed, Ms Roberts said.

“She would never tell me anything,” she said in the oral history. “She was disgustingly discreet.”

Ms. Boggs died in 2013.

Ms. Roberts continued to provide segments for NPR even after joining ABC. The difference between the two, she said, was partly a matter of airtime.

“My average piece from the Hill for NPR would be four and a half minutes,” she said, “and my average piece for ABC would be a minute 15.”

At NPR, one of her regular segments was “Ask Cokie,” in which she used her vast knowledge of Washington, politics and history to answer listeners’ question on matters major, minor and obscure. One asked whether nuclear weapons could be launched by executive order only, absent Congressional authorization. One wanted to know where the phrase “lame duck session” came from.

In a recent installment pegged to the 100th anniversary of the House vote to approve the 19th Amendment, Steve Inskeep, the host, found himself interrupted by Ms. Roberts when he used the phrase “granting women the right to vote” to introduce the segment.

“No, no, no, no, no granting — no granting,” Ms. Roberts said in her characteristically emphatic style. “We had the right to vote as American citizens. We didn’t have to be granted it by some bunch of guys.”

She is survived by her husband; her two children, Lee and Rebecca Roberts; and six grandchildren.

Ms. Roberts received numerous honors, including sharing in several Emmy Awards. In 2008, the Library of Congress named her as a recipient of one of its “Living Legends” awards.

Ms. Roberts long had a front-row seat to history. In a 2017 interview with Kentucky Educational Television, she recalled a moment when she had to remind herself not to become jaded by that proximity. It was March 2013, and she was waiting in a cold rain for the Vatican smoke signal that would soon announce the selection of Pope Francis.

“Hundreds of thousands of people are pouring into St. Peter’s Square with the rain deluging them,” she said. “And my first reaction was: ‘Who are these people? What are they doing? That is crazy.’ And then I thought, ‘You jerk,’ to myself. ‘You are really not getting it. This is a moment in history that will be maybe the only time in all of these people’s lives that they have this front seat to history, and you’re so privileged you get it all the time.’”

But, she also reflected, big-stage moments give journalists only one part of the larger picture of their times.

“The individual interview with someone who is a mom in a shopping mall,” she said, “can tell you more about what’s going on in the world and how people feel about it than any of those grand things.”

Peter Baker contributed reporting from aboard Air Force One.

Correction: Sept. 17, 2019

An earlier version of a digital summary with this obituary misstated the sequence of Ms. Roberts's career. As the obituary correctly states, she was at NPR before she was at ABC, not after.

Phroyd

#abc news #npr #cokie roberts

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lesbianismx · 5 years

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CRA BASED/INSPIRED PLOTS

the following are crazy rich asians inspired plots that i really love and want to write. i won’t be using any names but most of them are based off of the books so light spoilers ahead if any of you are currently reading or plan to read them !!

all the pairings based off of canon ships are m/f so i’m writing them as such but they could easily be converted f/f or whatever you prefer !! (f/f is my preference)

like this post if you’re interested and i’ll probably slide into your ims to talk about writing these plots !!

BET ON IT

muse a is a socialite, someone everyone either wishes they were or wishes they were with. muse b is rough around the edges, doesn’t really care for rich people or high society. the two happen to be at the same place at the same time and muse a spots muse b from across the room, taking an interest in him right away. muse b is with a group of his friends, all of whom are lusting after muse a while he just doesn’t care. catching onto muse a’s interest in muse b, his friends make a bet with him, betting that he can’t bed and/or land a date with muse a. he succeeds, but muse a isn’t the prissy, uptight girl muse b expected her to be, he actually likes spending time with her and that really throws a wrench in his ‘hit it and quit it’ plan.

LEAN ON ME

muse a is a part of high society, comes from one of the wealthiest and most powerful families. muse b is the s/o of muse a’s cousin/sibling and comes from a middle class family who has been thrust into this chaotic world without any warning whatsoever. muse a’s cousin/sibling decided to bring muse b back home to meet the family without properly preparing them like muse a had told them to. muse b finds themselves in catty, ridiculous over-the-top situations they’ve never had to deal with before and muse a who knows this world very well and how to deal with the people in it, comes to muse b’s rescue multiple times. they had always gotten along, but it brings the two even closer together and oh shit, are those feelings developing?

SHE WILL BE LOVED

muse a and muse b were high school sweethearts. they fell deeply, madly in love. muse a’s family has never approved of muse b. not only does muse a come from an extremely wealthy family, they also come from old money and are quite prestigious. muse b also comes from a wealthy family, but they have new money wealth which isn’t considered elite enough. muse a’s family eventually drove them apart. fast forward years later, muse a is facing a divorce and crying on muse b’s shoulder about it. muse b has never stopped loving muse a, but decides to help muse a fix her marriage instead of swooping in for the kill. unbeknownst to muse a, muse b pulls some strings behind the scenes that should, in theory, help her out. unfortunately, it doesn’t all go according to plan. while muse a’s marriage is ‘fixed’ now, she’s more miserable than ever. spending so much time with and talking to muse b again may or may not have reignited old feelings...

WHATEVER YOU LIKE

muse a is a multi-billionaire business tycoon and muse b is an actress who is shamelessly obsessed with money and status. muse a is married, but that doesn’t stop muse b from going after them anyway. the two of them start engaging in a secret affair and between muse a’s bratty, spoiled daughter and muse b who is equally as bratty and spoiled (if not more), he really has his hands full. despite having more than enough money to throw at whatever he or anyone close to him wants, he’s typically very picky about spending. however, when it comes to muse b, he’ll buy her just about anything she wants. muse b seems to know just what to do/say to get her way, and muse a may have a bit of a soft spot for muse b.

#indie rp #indie bi rp #indie lesbian rp #( wanted | plots )#pls give me.....#( wanted )

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omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts · 6 years

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Head Over Heels (Pietro Maximoff X Reader)

Summary: Pietro’s flirts with you constantly, along with passing touches and glances, it leads you to wonder if his intentions are pure or mainly based on mindless lust. Not to mention he’s a huge tease.

Author’s Note: This is just a snippet, IDK if I’ll write more but I wrote it quickly and at midnight so it’s probably crap, but it’s fluffy af and while I write some others, here’s a preview/ first of another series to come cause I’m a sucker for Pietro y’all, super short lemme know if you want more @killjoynotes

Warning: Swearing, Fluff, a bit of alcohol

“Good morning, princessa,” an airy, husky voice with a familiar amused and flirty lilt says in front of you as you sit in the library with a book in your hands, sipping old whiskey you found in Stark’s cabinet, and your long legs kicked up on the wooden desk in front of you. Then your eyes flick up to meet a pair of stormy sapphire orbs that causes a familiar tug at your heartstrings.

The boy plays you like a fiddle with just his voice and he barely even notices, or at least you thought. But you wouldn’t be surprised if he heard your heartbeat from even that far away. You tear your gaze away from him anyway and return to the copy of Gone with the Wind in your unusually tight grasp, flipping a page nonchalantly and crossing your legs.

Pietro’s lips quirk and your heart nearly skips a beat, “The silent treatment,” he muses, zooming over to pluck the book from your hands. You frown and reach up for it, but he holds it high above his head, breathing a laugh, “What on earth did I do to deserve such a punishment?” he looks over your face, smirk widening at the dead-set and faintly irritated look in your (y/e/c) eyes. “Because I must hear your sweet voice again, princessa,” he purrs and you shake your head, but give in slightly as a fraction of a smile makes it way onto your face.

He full on grins, poking the dimple that’s appeared in your cheek, “Much better, now tell me, my favorite Avenger...” you roll your eyes at the nickname. “-about this book you’re reading?” he sits down on the edge of the desk that your feet lay on, casually picking your feet up and letting them lay across his lap instead. You flush but don’t protest.

“You’re genuinely curious?” you chuckle softly, finally speaking and taking another sip of the bitter liquor while searching for sincerity in his handsome features and finding just that.

“Very much so,” he nods, still examining the cover of the book like it’s the first time he’s ever seen one. “So tell me about it.”

You can’t help but smile at the seriousness of his tone, which is very unlike his playful and goofy demeanor. “Well...” you clear your throat and he gives you his full attention. “It’s about a woman named Scarlett O’Hara who-”

“And I’m already bored,” he musters up a yawn, stretching his long limbs, and revealing a strip of muscled, alabaster skin when he does so. You shake your head and gawk at him, he always has had the shortest attention span, having to be on the go at all times.

“Then why the hell did you ask?” you laugh, folding your arms over your chest.

He shrugs, licking his lips before smiling boyishly, “I only wanted to hear you talk again and I know how much you love the written word... more than you like most conversations. So it was a way for you to talk to me, but then I remembered, as much as I like you, that I don’t care,” he raises his shoulders again and hops off the desk, you purse your lips. “But I did enjoy you talking to me, as short as it was, perhaps we should do that again sometime,” he reaches forward to tilt your chin up and smile at you. “Or do other things that don’t involve a lot of talking.”

You blush every shade of scarlet at his touch and he takes notice with another lustful glance over your entire body.

“You’re a child,” you scoff, sitting up straighter in your plush chair and slapping his hand away, trying to ignore the frantic fluttering in your chest as you blow a strand of (y/h/c) hair that’s fallen over your narrowed eyes from your messy bun. “I talk to you enough, Pietro. And what makes you think that I’d get into bed with you?”

He leans forward, hands on either side of you, caging you in as his voice drops an octave lower, “Do you find me attractive, princessa?”

You chest falls and you have to stop your eyes from widening at his so blatantly forward question. “No.”

Smirk. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not,” your voice breaks at the evident lie.

You have to hold yourself back from smacking the shit-eating grin off his face, blushing crimson, you roll your eyes as a sign of giving in and you nod, “Yes, okay, I find you attractive. So what? Why are you asking me this?”

He clicks his tongue, “So many questions...” he brushes the loose strand of hair out of your face, your breath catching at his soft touch on your cheek. He moves to run his thumb over your parted lips, finding a drop of whiskey on the corner of your mouth before wiping it off, and licking it off of his finger, lips curling as he does so, tasting both the alcohol and you.

“How bitter for such a sweet thing like you,” he says, licking his lips and you frown, aggravated at his teasing but also reveling in his sudden burst of flirtatiousness.

Then he leans down, “And your initial one has been answered,” he smirks. “You’re crazy about me.”

“I am not,” you have to laugh at his brashness, flushing harder.

“The blush in your cheeks tells a different story, princessa,” he says and you rolls your eyes.

“The blush,” you lean towards him, matching his icy cool stare with a tilt of your head, an adorable pinch between your brow forming again that makes him smile. “-is from you touching me incessantly. That tends to happen when people can’t keep their hands to themselves.”

“How clueless you are for someone seemingly so intelligent,” he sighs wistfully, smiling smugly. Your frown deeply when you don’t know what he means, both curiosity and frustration swirling in your gut. “And so pretty too.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, speedy,” you pat his cheek, grabbing your book back when he’s distracted by your touch, and you stand up from your seat, only to be grabbed by the wrist and sped to the wall, back slamming against a bookshelf.

You sigh again, growing tired of his childish antics, “What the hell now, Piet-”

“Shh,” he presses a single finger to your lips, words lost in your throat at the simple gesture, and he presses closer to you, so the both of you are hidden from the incoming people in the room: Wanda and Vision picking out books.

Wanda huffs in annoyance at nothing in particular, “I am going to kill my brother when I find him.”

You look at Pietro with a flat expression and he flashes you a small, sheepish smile.

“Perhaps murder isn’t the best solution for this particular problem, my love,” the android looks sympathetically at his girlfriend and she shakes her head, taking a book from the shelf she’s had her eye on for awhile and the two of them walk out the room, Wanda grumbling a few more things on her way out.

“What’d you do now, speedy?” you tilt your head when you ask, raising both your eyebrows to stress how serious you are.

“That is not important, krásny,” he waves it off, neither of you making a move to get off the other. “What is important is that you are cra-”

“Not.”

“You very much are,” he smirks. If it weren’t for that pretty face and smirk of his, you think, he’d be six feet underground right about now because that mouth of his gets him into far more trouble than he’s worth

“Is this how you are with all the ladies? Or are you only this infuriating with me?”

He smiles, eyes glazing over your figure, “Infuriatingly attractive, apparently.”

You click your tongue, giving him a deadly look, “You little shi-”

“Now, now,” he presses another finger to your lips, shushing you once again. “Is that a way for such a beautiful lady to speak to someone? Especially to someone she’s crushing on...” he grins cheekily.

“You wish,” you roll your eyes.

“What a shame,” he whispers, continuing to toy with you. He’s always been a fan of games, especially if you’re the prize. He then pouts his bottom lip in the softest way, one hand reaching around to pull your hair out of its top bun, letting it fall on your shoulders. He runs a hand through it, playing with the ends like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Because I’m crazy for you, princessa.”

Then he’s walking, for once in his fast paced life, to the door, leaving you to fume and sit with his words hanging thickly in the air, stopping in the doorway to smirk at you once more, saying, “You should wear your hair down more often, miláčik, I like it better that way.”

Needless to say, you then wore your hair down like that for the next few days.

#pietro maximoff #pietro x reader #pietro maximoff imagine #i love pietro #wanda and vision #wanda x vision #pietro x you #youre amazing #i love you guys #marvel fanfiction

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