#to be regarded in an ill manner

[reginrokkr]

𝐂. Khaenri'ahn survivors struggling to escape to the surface of Teyvat.

...Most people fled aboveground with the Schwanenritter, and only we are left hiding down here... ...For my mother, this is as far as she can go. Even if we went into the wilderness, we would never survive. I have to stay together with my family... ...Terrifying rumors are spreading. Those who went aboveground and returned say that they have personally witnessed those who fled to the surface being afflicted with a strange disease and turning into monsters... ...I don't know how long it's been. The surrounding area has calmed down, but our supplies have nearly been exhausted...

This is part of a journal that was found not too far from the giant door to Khaenri'ah in the depths of Sumeru and this... is quite sad to think about. That there were people who couldn't even make it to the surface at all and had to meet their end there. Moments like this one does feel unjust for those who didn't deserve to be stripped from their homes and their families, let alone be cursed.

#◟༺✦༻◞ events to be remembered in blue veins ┊addendum.┊ #for the 100th “minicanon” #this is quite ominous #kind of feeling bad that it's with a topic like this #but such is fate djfhjg #there is another thingy #that I might address if I remember #that the Khaenri'ahn knights that fought in Sumeru #had an ill reputation #because of all the rumors spread about Khaenri'ah #as it was known that monsters came from there #but it's unfair for these knights who fought #for a country that isn't their own #to be regarded in an ill manner

[wonder-worker]

Margaret of Anjou’s visit to Coventry [in 1456], which was part of her dower and that of her son, Edward of Lancaster, was much more elaborate. It essentially reasserted Lancastrian power. The presence of Henry and the infant Edward was recognised in the pageantry. The ceremonial route between the Bablake gate and the commercial centre was short, skirting the area controlled by the cathedral priory, but it made up for its brevity with no fewer than fourteen pageants. Since Coventry had an established cycle of mystery plays, there were presumably enough local resources and experience to mount an impressive display; but one John Wetherby was summoned from Leicester to compose verses and stage the scenes. As at Margaret’s coronation the iconography was elaborate, though it built upon earlier developments.

Starting at Bablake gate, next to the Trinity Guild church of St. Michael, Bablake, the party was welcomed with a Tree of Jesse, set up on the gate itself, with the prophets Isaiah and Jeremiah explaining the symbolism. Outside St. Michael’s church the party was greeted by Edward the Confessor and St. John the Evangelist; and proceeding to Smithford Street, they found on the conduit the four Cardinal Virtues—Righteousness (Justice?), Prudence, Temperance, and Fortitude. In Cross Cheaping wine flowed freely, as in London, and angels stood on the cross, censing Margaret as she passed. Beyond the cross was pitched a series of pageants, each displaying one of the Nine Worthies, who offered to serve Margaret. Finally, the queen was shown a pageant of her patron saint, Margaret, slaying the dragon [which 'turned out to be strictly an intercessor on the queen's behalf', as Helen Maurer points out].

The meanings here are complex and have been variously interpreted. An initial reading of the programme found a message of messianic kingship: the Jesse tree equating royal genealogy with that of Christ had been used at the welcome for Henry VI on his return from Paris in 1432. A more recent, feminist view is that the symbolism is essentially Marian, and to be associated with Margaret both as queen and mother of the heir rather than Henry himself. The theme is shared sovereignty, with Margaret equal to her husband and son. Ideal kingship was symbolised by the presence of Edward the Confessor, but Margaret was the person to whom the speeches were specifically addressed and she, not Henry, was seen as the saviour of the house of Lancaster. This reading tips the balance too far the other way: the tableau of Edward the Confessor and St. John was a direct reference to the legend of the Ring and the Pilgrim, one of Henry III’s favourite stories, which was illustrated in Westminster Abbey, several of his houses, and in manuscript. It symbolised royal largesse, and its message at Coventry would certainly have encompassed the reigning king. Again, the presence of allegorical figures, first used for Henry, seems to acknowledge his presence. Yet, while the message of the Coventry pageants was directed at contemporary events it emphasised Margaret’s motherhood and duties as queen; and it was expressed as a traditional spiritual journey from the Old Testament, via the incarnation represented by the cross, to the final triumph over evil, with the help of the Virgin, allegory, and the Worthies. The only true thematic innovation was the commentary by the prophets.

[...] The messages of the pageants firmly reminded the royal women of their place as mothers and mediators, honoured but subordinate. Yet, if passive, these young women were not without significance. It is clear from the pageantry of 1392 and 1426 in London and 1456 in Coventry that when a crisis needed to be resolved, the queen (or regent’s wife) was accorded extra recognition. Her duty as mediator—or the good aspect of a misdirected man—suddenly became more than a pious wish. At Coventry, Margaret of Anjou was even presented as the rock upon which the monarchy rested. [However,] a crisis had to be sensed in order to provoke such emphasis [...]."

-Nicola Coldstream, "Roles of Women in Late Medieval Civic Pageantry," "Reassessing the Roles of Women as 'Makers' of Medieval Art and Culture"

#historicwomendaily #margaret of anjou #my post #henry vi #yeah I don't necessarily agree with Laynesmith's interpretation (that it was essentially Marian with an emphasis on shared sovereignty) #which she herself says is 'admittedly very speculative' #as this book points out that interpretation tips the balance too far on the other side and has a somewhat selective reading #It's also important to remember that this interpretation was not really reflected across wider Lancastrian propaganda at the time #which isn't really talked about - let alone emphasized - as much by historians but remained focused on the King #For example: look at the pro-Lancastrian poem 'The Ship of State' which hails Henry VI as a 'noble shyp made of good tree' #and emphasizes how he was widely supported and defended by many great Lancastrian lords and the crown prince #but not Margaret who was entirely absent #also look at the book 'Knyghthode and Bataile' (presented to Henry) and Fortescue's various pro-Lancastrian texts in the 1460s #even the recording of that Yorkist trial which was iirc reported in the 1459 attainder #all of these were entirely conventional and highlighted the presence and importance of the King. Margaret was not emphasized. #so either the Lancastrians were impossibly inconsistent about what message they actually wanted to convey about the role of their own queen #or the Coventry pageants were not actually meant to emphasize Margaret in the lieu of Laynesmith's interpretation #and would not have been viewed in such a manner by contemporaries #I think we should also keep in mind that we don't really know what Henry VI's condition was like at the time of MoA's entry to Coventry #we know he had been injured in St. Albans and had only just recovered from his second illness #this is especially important to consider since we know he had also arrived at Coventry before Margaret but much more discreetly #and was not welcomed by any pageants that we know of. This is VERY unusual and can be best explained if we consider the fact that he #may have simply not been in the right state (be it physical or state of mind) for it at the time #in which case the pageants for Margaret should be viewed as more of a improvisation/cover-up/temporary measure to bolster prestige #or Henry may have deliberately taken a more discreet role to emphasize the position of his heir - especially important after the long wait #imo I think Kipling's interpretation (ie: that they addressed Margaret but really referenced the prince & heir) makes a lot more sense: #'Coventry [...] regarded Margaret's entry as a kind of triumph-by-proxy: the Queen entered the city but Coventry received its Prince' #though I think he tends to view Margaret as more of a cipher (and has a very questionable view of Henry VI) which I also don't agree with. #The pageants very much DID focus on and reference her but they most prominently emphasized her 'motherhood and duties as queen' #ie: I think Kipling and Laynesmith tip too far on opposite sides and I think this interpretation takes the most realistic middle ground

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Alastor - [ DEVOTION… PT.1 ]

xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxx

[ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ SLIGHT AGE GAP ] + [ ARRANGED MARRIAGE ] + [ BREEDING KINK ] - ( there’s a lot to unpack in this one, I know, but you’ll enjoy it.. also pls kindly lmk the artist for the fanart I used so I can tag them thx! )

xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxx

Alastor Hartifelt was a fantastic husband.

No one could deny that.

Especially not his darling wife of one year and counting.

You, his sole companion during childhood, dawning from a rich family that occupied an estate near his family’s plot of farming land, and exceptionally infatuated with him early into your friendship.

From the very first time you met him out in the sprawling green meadows of Louisiana’s swamped countryside you found comfort in each other even amidst being ignored or teased by other children.

Their shared hatred and resentment towards you and the older boy cultivated an odd but strong bond between you two, and soon your strife to fit in seemed less appealing than being his truest friend.

Alastor immediately became protective of you, finding your shy nature welcoming like his own mothers, but also irritated by those who wished you harm for the simple fact that your family was better off than their own.

If anyone dared to pick a fight, tease, or berate you Alastor was right there to come to your aid. You’d tell him time and time again that fighting for you wasn’t worth it, that seeing him hurt wounded you more than their words, but for some baffling reason he’d never head your pleas.

Why?…

In retrospect Alastor wasn’t sure of the reason himself but he was certain it had something to do with the way you returned the favor by protecting him in your own subtle ways.

Your arms remained wide open when he needed an embrace, voice full of tender understanding when the two of you held quiet conversations late into the evening, and generally being his safe place when the rest of the world refused to be.

You were his darling from the very beginning…

His everything…

Yet, Alastor wouldn’t dare say it aloud..,

The two of you couldn’t be more different to those who observed your relationship from the outside. Alastor held an air of confidence wherever he went, suave, and well mannered. He could be cunning when provoked, dangerously charming to get his way, and refreshingly decisive under any amount of pressure.

A man every woman in New Orleans wanted, craved even, but it was well known the famous radio host had you at his side.

You, the city’s undisputed princess, daughter of a wealthy businessman, but regarded as the furthest thing from a ‘spoiled brat’. It was expected for those in higher circles to have sour and condescending attitudes but you proved to be different. Soft spoken, interested in the arts more than being out on the town, and some might’ve considered you ‘sheltered’ in terms of upbringing.

The contrast between Alastor and yourself brought about many whispered rumors and questions.

“How’d a sweet little thing like her end up with him?”

“Doesn’t he want someone better suited? Whats so special about her?”

“I hear, he married her for the fathers money. Don’t blame him for it either…she’s a real peach…”

“A little young for him don’t you think? She’s a lovely broad though…”

You’d heard it all. Every sort of rumor or piece of gossip people had to offer you’d picked up on rather quickly and at first it bothered you, but overtime seeing Alastor act indifferent to the scandalous comments made you less weary of them.

He’d never entertain the scrutiny, choosing to remind you his decision to marry wasn’t fueled by any ill will and as his wife you’d never need to worry about him caring for you.

Alastor’s always had, even when he’d left New Orleans to build his career he still thought of you from time to time, but that’s all he’d ever done.

Cared for you…

Love seemed to allude his spectrum of emotions and vocabulary. Yes, he shows you affection, buying expensive gifts, making sure you never lifted a finger for anything other than cleaning or cooking when needed, and proudly showing you off on his arm at parties and social events he attended.

Yes, he strived to hide his murderous tendencies, taking extra lengths to shield you from his ‘hunting’ escapades by planning them weeks before, and then going as far as discreetly cleaning his bloody clothes and weapons the night he returns while you slept soundly in your shared bed.

Alastor took great care in showing you he cared but defining his love for you was never addressed.

Not even on your wedding day.

It was as if he’d scripted his vows to say nothing of the emotion and even avoided saying “I love you” back when you’d accidentally let it slip out during your own speech for him.

You hadn’t pressed the issue at all, knowing Alastor struggled with concepts of intimacy and devotion since childhood, but the lmawing teeth of doubt pricked your skin harder with each passing day of your marriage.

Had you made a mistake agreeing to marry him?

Was he seeing someone else?

Someone knowledgeable of the world, maybe more experienced in life than you were, or more attentive?

Was she prettier?

Were you not his kind of woman?

Where did he go so late at night, at random times of the month, with a leather bag in his hand and a wide smile on his face?…

Had Alastor been seeing another woman for a whole year and you were just too oblivious or infatuated to notice?

Did he even like you anymore? Could he ever love you…?

Were you not enough for him?

Thoughts plagued your mind constantly, causing you to be quieter than usual, and less receptive to Alsstors lingering presence.

Your back was to him, giving a good veiw of your small frame as you cooked in the large kitchen. The familiar sight brought a smile to Alastor’s face. You were so focused, hair tied back by a white silk bow, and a sheer floor length robe to match.

He’d bough both for you only a week prior, claiming he couldn’t just let the items sit in the display window when you’d been staring at with such bright stars in your eyes, but in truth Alastor had imagined you wearing it just as you were now and couldn’t resist buying it on the spot.

Your husband remained silent as he watched you waltz around the kitchen, chocolate brown eyes peering over the top of his glasses as he did, but his smile faltering seeing the distress in your delicate features.

You weren’t the type to frown often, always emitting warmth and sweetness, so the rare appearance of anguish in your expression perplexed Alastor.

What had upset his darling wife?

Who would he have to kill?….

Asking what was troubling you would surely give him answers to both questions.

He stepped forward, coming from round the corner to enter the kitchen fully before striding over to stand by your side as you began to mix what he assumed was dessert in a bowl.

Albeit, he was probably right knowing you had a vicious sweet tooth.

“Strawberry cake I presume?” Alastor finally speaks, making his presence known with a cheeky remark, and you nearly jump out of your skin hearing his silky voice resonate around the room.

Your head snaps up to look at him, eyes wide with slight surprise, but they quickly soften as he smiles. A blush creeps onto your cheeks as he steps closer, initiating his usual habit of brushing a stray strand of hair from your face before kissing your temple gently, and only pulling away when you squeak out a greeting back to him.

“H-hi Al…you’re home a bit earlier than I expected…” you swallow thickly, staring at him adoringly for a moment before lowering your gaze as tinges of guilt build in you. “I’m sorry dinner isn’t quite ready yet…” you whisper, feeling shameful, and more agitated with yourself than before. Alastor had and would never berate you, unlike most men of the time he saw no benefit in treating his wife like a slave, and made an effort to remind you not everything had to be perfect.

“It’ s alright, darling. You needn’t rush yourself,” his voice is low, simmering with reassurance as he lifts your chin with his thumb and pointer finger. You smile nervously as your eyes meet his again, his touch firm and electrifying all at once, and your tummy doing several flips when he smiles back at you.

Alastor studies your face, attempting to pinpoint the source of your masked sadness, “You seem…troubled, sweetheart. Is there something wrong?” His genuine question brings a shock to your heart, tongue going numb as you race to think of a believable reason for your dampened mood, “I…I just had a little mishap with this cake batter is all!..”

You step away from him, turning to face the semi clean counter with a false air of cheeriness surrounding you. The fear of sounding needy and demanding while telling Alastor the truth keeps you from being honest with him outright.

Fake it.

I shouldn’t worry him with my insecurities or doubts…

It might push him further away…

The whisk in your hand spins in tight circles as you focus on mixing the overdone batter, beginning to thicken itself more than necessary as you kept going, using the task as a distraction from Alastor’s keen observance.

Something was wrong.

He was sure of it now.

His eyes narrowed behind the circular glasses, hands finding your waist as he came to stand behind you, allowing his chest to press against your back, and his head lowering to tuck into the crook of your neck.

A shiver racked your body as he exhaled a long, steady breath onto your skin. Your hands faltered, flurried movements becoming lax as you froze in his embrace, “When’d you start lying to me, ma chère…” Alastor mumbled into your ear. Every nerve in your body was on alert, shocked that he’d went much further than his usual bounds of physical affection, but pleasantly delighted he’d given it to you.

“M’ not lying,..”you try to uphold your lie through rising pants, tempted to moan quietly feeling his lips graze behind your ear, neck, and bare shoulder while your robe shifted lower. You weren’t certain if Alastor was inching it down by his own accord or your subtle squirming against him was to blame.

The ending result was the same either way. Your upper body gradually becoming exposed to his leering gaze and the cool air. Alastor hummed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest and flooding your mind repeatedly as he placed chaste kisses on your neck.

“I wish I could believe you, darling…” he chuckled lowly, hands inching towards the lace ribbon keeping your gown tied shut, and with one gentle tug he rendered the fabric useless. “Al..” you whined in slight surprise as he snatched the ribbon off, letting it unravel into a small pile on the tile floor before sliding his cold hands up the expanse of your heated torso.

Nothing.

You were wearing absolutely nothing underneath the thin robe and Alastor audibly groaned when he realized it.

Had you planned on this?

Were you just waiting for him to venture further with you?

All this time he’d watched you frolic and pace around your shared home, wondering what was hidden under you seemingly modest clothing….just to find you wore nothing at all…

Oh, what a rare occurrence it was for him to be such a blind fool.

Your hands flew to grasp Alastor’s wrists as he held you tighter, kneading your soft flesh lovingly, and taking his time to admire every dip and curve you had to offer him.

“Al…please..” you begged, visibly shuddering as he nipped at your neck and played with your breasts. “I won’t go any further until I hear the truth from that pretty mouth of yours, sweetheart…”

Damn it….you cursed yourself, slowly losing the will to think as his lips found the most sensitive area on your neck, bruising it with his tongue teeth until you whimpered and rushed out a jumbled explanation for your heavy mood.

“I…Imscaredyoudomtlovseme…th-that you d-don’t want me- Ahm…” you soft voice reached a new octave as your husband slid his free hand between your thighs to cup your mound, gingerly kicking your legs apart with a nudge of his foot against your own, and you tensed all over as he did so.

Fuck, he could definitely feel how desperate you were now, essentially a mess already without Alastor doing much of anything, and embarrassingly unable to control your arousal.

“Love, hm? That’s what’s troubling your precious mind?…” Alastor mulls over your confession, able to maintain his composure despite heat rushing straight through him to the head of his cock as he slid two fingers into your dripping cunt. You jolted from the sudden intrusion, head lulling back to rest on his shoulder as he pumped them in and out of you at a leisurely pace, curling his deft digits fowvard every so often to make you shiver.

His thumb found your clit, pressing defined circles into it as he began to ease your worries, “Love, ma chère, isn’t what I feel for you..” Alastor lets out a soft laugh, trying to calm his own mind before clarifying his vague statement all while pushing you near the edge of your first high.

“No….I feel much more than love for you, my dear. Devotion is a better term…obsession at times…” he admits the darker side of his affection through heavy breaths, cock twitching in his dress pants when you mewl in understanding. Your warm cunt suffocates his fingers for a moment, walls fluttering as the knot in your core threatens to undo itself, causing Alastor to sharply exhale from the inviting fluctuations.

Your lips parted to warm him of your impending orgasm but only a strained moan tumbled off your tongue. Alastor needed no other sign to tell if you were close, inwardly prideful he could make you come with ease.

“Go on, come undone for me , darling,” he insists in a hushed groan, his fingers stretching your walls in a fluid rhythm to drag your climax out, and you could’ve tumbled to the floor from the sheer intensity of the knot inside you snapping on his command.

Thankfully his taller frame kept you securely trapped between him and the counter that you soon found yourself sitting on the edge of after Alastor slipped his hand away from your throbbing cunt.

You watched with a dazed eyes as the older man licked a stripe of your cum off his fingers, brown eyes sliding shut as he let out a satisfied grunt before staring at your willing form perched on the counters edge.

The sight drew a his hidden hunger closer to the surface, toying with his self control as he took it in, and urging him to act on a primal instinct he’d only ever describe as “intense affection”.

Was that a flash of red in his eyes just now?

No , it couldn’t be…

You weren’t left much time to decipher the hungry glint in his eyes before Alastor reclaimed his position near you. His slender waist slotted perfectly between your thighs, the robe now draped off your back, and your hair gradually falling loose from its simple updo as his hands traced your sides.

“Love, sweet girl, is for lonesome fools…” Alastor pressed his forehead to yours, letting you chase his lips for one heated kiss after the next, and only denying you another to whisper against your soft and slightly swollen lips.

“Neither of us are alone or fools, correct?” He huffs as you nod slowly, bringing your hands up to undo his tie, and then proceeding to expertly unbutton his vest and dress shirt.

The general charm that Alastor maintained completely dissolved into pining under your gentle fingertips, an almost desperate shot of adrenaline consuming him as you peppered kisses along his jaw and neck.

If what he said was truly how he felt about you…it was enough to stamp out your doubts, allowing the adoring side of you he’d grown familiar with to resurface, “No…we aren’t,” you respond with a small smile.

He tips your chin up, placing a deep kiss on your lips as he shrugs his shirt and vest off, setting his glasses to the side as well before reaching for the leather belt on his waist.

You paid his actions no mind, busy with fighting his tongue for dominance, but admitted defeat quite fast as his wandered your mouth in expert fashion.

Your soft hands passed over his chest, moving up to tangle in his soft curls, gently tugging the strands to earn a groan from him. Alastor pulled back, a single line of spit connecting you two as he did so, and his hair falling in front of his eyes as he stared down into your tear glossed gaze, “You’re mine, ma chère. Til death and beyond…”

You nod, halfway coherent, but mustering the will to answer him with a content smile.

“Til death…” you repeat the phrase, mind reeling further from logical thinking as Alastor hummed hearing your dazed response, head nestled in your neck once more before he trailed open mouthed kisses down the expanse of your trembling frame. He brought himself as close as possible to you, smiling on your skin as you gasp quietly feeling his clothed erection press flush against your bare stomach, leaning further back in his hold embrace him better. You feared making a mess of the counter but as Alastor trailed his lips down your body and kneeled between your legs he gave one swift snap of his fingers to eliminate the obstacle entirely.

What?….How in the world did he do that?…

Your curiosity would’ve prompted you to ask him about the absurd occurrence if it weren’t for the anticipation rushing your blood as he came face to face with your cunt. “Alastor?…” you squeaked his name softly, attempting to close your legs when he sighed out a warm breath on your glistening folds, but he held them open using one hand with ease. The other resting steady on your waist, guiding you to lay back onto the cold marble countertop, and lingering there as you obeyed his wordless command.

“Good girl…” he praised, tone deepening as you whined quietly, the sound morphing into a loud moan as he lazily flicked his tongue over your slit once…twice…and a third time.

“More…” you pant in the midst of moaning, head craning to the side while your back arched and the urge to scream built in your chest as Alastor obliged your request with vigorous intent. He hummed melodically as your taste seeped onto his tongue, walls ever so sensitive as he explored them tirelessly, and a smirk playing on his lips as you writhed in pleasure.

Your face was soon flushed completely, eyes watering as they rolled slightly with each pass of his tongue over your cunt, and your small hands returning to tug at his soft brown hair. Another coil spiraled in your stomach hearing him groan in response, seeming to enjoy how roughly you pulled his hair, and his gaze drifting up for a split second to get a good view of your satiated state.

Seven hells….she looks even lovelier like this…

Alastor unconsciously drags you closer to his face, not caring at all when you lock your legs around his head and cry out from the borderline bruising hold he has on you now. “Oh god!…” you yelp, throwing him a bewildered glance before tossing your head back as he lapped at your clit like he’d starve to death without it, and the relentless attention to your bundle of nerves was the last thing you could comprehend before the knot unwinded itself.

Your vision blurred over, everything starting to spin as your cum gushed into his mouth, and the tears you were fighting to hide slid freely down your face as he downed every single drop your body offered.

It was all too much, the hunger in his eyes, his hold on you, and your high that never seemed to subside even as he broke away from your cunt with a satisfied smile on his face.

It was all too much at once….

Your head buzzed with euphoric afterthoughts, incoherency daring to cloud your senses entirely, but the sound of Alastor’s voice near your ear successfully halted the sensations long enough for you to comprehend what he was saying.

“You taste divine, ma chère…” his musing flusters you, a light shade of pink coating your cheeks as he dips his head to steal a kiss from you, “Al…” you sigh into his mouth, biting back a keen smile, and wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him near.

He chuckles hearing the unsteady tremor in your tone, adding onto his compliment after capturing your parted lips in another deep kiss, “I presume you’ll feel just as wonderful with me inside you, sweetheart…”

His assumption proved true. So much so that the moment his cock passed through your slippery folds a heavy groan of your name was the first and only thing he could manage to say. “Y/n….mon amor…” Alastor held you underneath him, not daring to move without completely relishing in the way your cunt wrapped around him first, and your broken moans dizzying the last bit of self control he was clinging onto.

You tried not to seem overwhelmed, with your legs wrapped around his waist, and your hands cupping his face to keep him as close as possible while your body adjusted to his size. With furrowed brows and a soft smile you praised your husbands well endowed length as he finally drew his hips back, leaving nothing but the head his cock resting in you.

“You…feel…s’good….” You whisper, breathless as he slams back in, swallowing your pleased cries with one tender kiss after the next. He tasted like you, hints of bourbon lingering on his tongue from the drink he’d poured himself before leaving the station, but your essence more prominent than ever.

All that he was, all that he did, and would ever do revolved around you.

His darling wife…

His one and only….

It showed through the sweet phrases he muttered against your lips as he took his time to please you, pace slow and deliberate, but the execution precise and cutthroat.

You weren’t sure when you’d raised your voice, crying out louder as he abused your sweetest spot continuously, and only going silent when a inaudible scream begged to leap from your chest while his cock bullied into cervix. Stars collected in your vision, hands clawing at Alastor’s back as you tried to hang onto reality for dear life, but failing miserably when he sped up his thrusts.

A subtle laugh passed his lips, eyes glinting with greedy lust as your head flew back, exposing all the love bites he’d left on your delicate skin, and the sight caused his cock to twitch inside you.

“F-fuck….Al!” Your eyes watered once more, sliding shut as a familiar pressure built in your core, rapidly gaining density the longer Alastor fucked into you.

He groaned at the sound of you shouting his name in such a twisted mix of ecstasy and anguish. Your soft voice becoming tainted with an edge he’d never imagined it could have. “Close already, my dear?..” he teased you, smile as smug as ever as he stood up straight, hands gripping either side of your hips, and his gaze lowering to where you two connected.

“Look…at…that…” he mused, suddenly slowing his thrusts to a painfully harsh pace, fixated on the way your cunt continuously creamed on his length. Alastor bit his tongue to keep from growling at the view, barely registering your whines and pleads for him to go faster.

“Al…Alastor…please..m’ begging you…please…” you felt your thighs shake as he continued his lazy strokes, clearly wanting to drag the ordeal out for his personal entertainment, and his lack of sympathy for your plight in that moment edged you even closer to cumming.

He knew it too…

That infamous grin on his face as he watched you resort to quiet sobs and desperate moans was a sure sign of the fact…

Alastor knew you needed him, loved him, lived for him..

“Please what, mon chere?” He bit his lip, unhooking your legs from around his waist to push them to your chest, giving his cock a new angle to stretch your cunt with.

You felt like passing out then, all strength evaporating from your body as he reached places inside you that surely didn’t exist before. His taunting didn’t make your dazed state any better, “Please, ruin you? Please, love you?… Let me hear you loud and clear, darling..”

Before you could register the words they flew from you mouth in a hushed flurry of need.

“Please…love me…fuck me like you love me…use me…I don’t care anymore…”

Alastor immediately rewarded your answer, wasting no time as his hips snapped into yours feverishly, flooding the kitchen with the sound of skin against skin.

“Lovely…” he cooed, voice thick with tension as he stared down at your overstimulated form, and within seconds of the praise slipping off his tongue you came undone. He followed shortly after, not caring to ask where you wanted his release, and you made no protest as the warm white liquid spilled inside you.

All you could do was stare, mouth falling open as he fucked his cum deeper, “It’s high time you became a mother, mon chere. You’d like that wouldn’t you?..” Alastor rambled, hardly coherent as his high coursed through him, but his statement crystal clear to you.

“Yes…” you whimper in response, walls clenching his cock as the thought of carrying his child sprung into your mind. “I’d love it…Al.”

His heart nearly stops as a genuine closed eye smile graces your face, a light blush painting your cheeks as he kisses them gently while gingerly slipping his softened cock out of your leaking heat. Alastor then lets your legs fall, lifting you to sit up straight on the counter again before wrapping his arms around your waist.

You hang onto him for balance, feeling entirely small in his grasp, and finding comfort in the embrace as exhaustion trickles in.

Alastor breathed in your sweet scent, beginning to pull your robe back on your tired form before reaching for his dress shirt. He was careful not to stir you away from his chest as he shrugged the clothing back on

“I’d love you and our child more than anything…” he nonchalantly mumbles, kissing the top of your head, and chuckling when your tied eyes go wide with undeniable hope.

“More than anything?…”

“Anything, my dear…” he repeats himself with a soft smile, bringing a hand up to push fallen strands of hair from your face.

That was when it occurred to you…

Alastor Hartiflet could love…

He’d always been able to….

And he loved you enough to share it with another…

How surreal….

xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxx

This entire 1st part was brought to you by the Great Gatsby movie soundtrack…❤️ you’re welcome… ;)

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

Actually it MIGHT BE 12 inches if we are being honest… ❤️ credits to creator.

#Spotify #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel alastor #human alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #alastor fluff #alastor hartfelt #alastor smut #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon #hard thoughts #alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #alastor x oc #alastor human

[pseudowho]

Kingsman!AU: Galahad/Nanami Kento

You become the latest Kingsman...and the man who sponsored you is so much more than the gentleman he presents himself as.

Warnings: Best if you've seen the Kingsman films! 18+, MDNI, soft!Dom Nanami, SecretAgent!AU

A little series of smutty drabbles...also planned, Higuruma, perhaps others, for now.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

It was, without a shadow of a doubt, the strangest job interview you had ever had.

Handcuffed, in an East London Police interview room, after assaulting five (...six? Seven?) police officers at an anti-government protest, you were scruffy but unharmed. The blood on your hands was not your own. There was a high flush on your cheeks, ripped clothes casting an indifferent, messy disdain to the situation you found yourself in.

There was a knock at the door, three brisk taps. You did not answer-- a pause. Three further raps at the door.

"...come in?" You asked. The door opened a crack. No further advancement.

"...may I?" A voice, velvet smooth and low, asking your permission.

"I...dont see why it would be my choice," you offered, stretching your hands against the cold metal of your handcuffs.

The door opened slowly, filled by a broad, tall man, blond and outstandingly handsome, with neither a hair nor thread out of place in his Savile Row suit. Over his arm rested a neatly folded overcoat, and a glossy-handled men's umbrella. His hat never graced his head indoors, and was, as such, clasped in his hand. He raised one fine eyebrow at you, his expression unreadable.

"It would be ill-mannered of me to consider it anyone's choice other than yours," he offered coolly, sitting opposite you, "considering you are the only occupant of the room." A moment of silence, again, as you regarded each other.

"Are you...my lawyer?" The man's nostrils flared slightly in suppressed mirth.

"Good heavens, no. No, I have come with a job opportunity." You blinked, certain you had heard wrong, while he continued, "I saw your performance, on my way to work, and I must say I was rather impressed. Seven officers, in under a minute. All incapacitated. Outstanding. And you're untrained, too. And, you did so well at University-- first class honours, correct?"

"Who the hell are you?" You spat, bristling under the man's casual knowledge of your life. The station's assistant looked awkwardly between the two of you as he dropped off two chipped police-issue teacups and saucers of anemic-looking tea. The blond man took the cup and saucer so gracefully, considering the enormity of his hands.

"Ah...quite right. I haven't introduced myself. Nanami Kento-- it's a pleasure to meet you."

You faltered again under his icy regard. Nanami took a sip of his tea. He paused, looking down at it with a hint of despair, before placing it down and delicately clearing his throat.

"...delicious," he lied.

"Are you...MI5?" A brief smile from Nanami, in response. He reached for something in his pocket.

"No," he responded, clipped, "we are not. But, we are in service to King and Country, and we are the sort of agency who punch up, instead of down. And...we find ourselves one member short."

Nanami slipped a thick, embossed coin over the desk to you; a circle, with a sideways "K". Nanami stood up, abruptly, inclining his head to you.

"All charges against you have been dropped. Your interview will commence, at..." Nanami looked at his watch, "...five o'clock this afternoon, should you wish to accept. If you press that coin for five seconds, my associate should send you the details."

You sat, stunned into silence, with the coin in your hands. Nanami Kento looked to you with twinkling eyes, at the door. You felt the twist of fate in your belly, and the pull as Nanami Kento walked it away with him.

"Good day to you. The pleasure was all mine."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

It had taken you over an hour to walk from Whitechapel to the Savile Row address. As bedraggled as you were, you passed through the bustling gentry and street performers of Covent Garden, skirting past the Savoy...before reaching the hushed, golden backlit glow of an exquisite Tailors shop. Letters were embossed upon the windowpane, glimmering gold on a backdrop of finery.

Kingsman.

A tinkling bell; an incongruous stranger, entering an unfamiliar domain. A familiar stranger, strong and smiling, upon the couch. Your breath hitched before you spoke.

"...you're here." Nanami folded his newspaper, standing up, before welcoming you to a changing room, that was not a changing room.

"You're late," he whispered against your ear, as the ground under London sank beneath your feet.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"...that's mad." You stood in front of a glass window, somewhere far beneath Surrey, gazing in wonderment upon an aircraft hangar full of billions of pounds worth of mercenary equipment. Nanami chuckled beside you. You missed the almost fond sideways glance he passed you.

"I thought the same," he hummed, "when I was brought here, for the first time. I thought someone was playing some tremendous joke, for all the world but me." You were silent, dry-mouthed and swallowing.

"Tell me something..." you insisted, your palm pressed flat against the glass.

"...anything," Nanami reassured, soft and sincere.

"If I pass this-- this test," you whispered, turning to him, "will I get to work with you?"

Nanami smiled, leaning upon the handle of his umbrella, one leg crossed upon the tip of his toes behind the other.

"I'm counting on it."

Another man, tall and lithe, with inky black hair and a hooked nose, arrived with a clipboard. He offered you both a lopsided smile-- "Galahad-- good to see you, my friend"-- white sleeves rolled up against a tailored waistcoat--

-- a rich, Scottish brogue--

"...are you ready to begin?"

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Not only had you passed these months and months of bizarre, deadly tests...you had excelled.

Nanami had remained, always, at arms' length...a distant advisor. An odd, gentle promise. He could not offer any tangible advice, and you could see him itching to, at points.

It was down to the final two; you, and some Cambridge yuppy who could trace his family lineage back to the Battle of Hastings.

You stepped through the dormitories, late at night before the final test, your German Shepherd bounding ahead to sit diligently at the foot of your bed.

You felt a strong arm loop around your waist, and a hand over your mouth. A familiar cologne that made your stomach clench. You stood, pressed against his clipped, firm body, tucked into a camera's blindspot.

"Listen to me," he hissed in your ear, "Do you trust me?"

You nodded, not hesitating for a moment. Nanami's belly flipped to feel your hot little breaths around his hand.

"Good...shoot the fucking dog." You squeaked, trying to turn to him. He pinned you flush against the wall. His chest rumbled against your back.

"Trust me. Shoot the dog."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You shot first, without a moment of hesitation. Your opponent returned to Cambridge. You became a Kingsman. Both dogs survived the trial.

The hamper that Galahad, your new partner, sent to your home, was nothing short of the finest luxury.

"To my Very Best Bet", read the lovingly annotated card. You brushed it against your lips, wishing it was his fingers instead.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

The wallet was a supple brown leather, smooth and warm. You knew it belonged to Galahad, from the faint smoky cologne that lingered upon its skin. Merlin gave you Galahad's address. You missed the knowing smile Merlin also gave you.

Your stomach flipped in your belly, all the way through Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens. You passed beneath trees hundreds of years older than the establishment for which you now worked, treading upon the footsteps of Kings and Queens.

The first fresh flakes of snow kissed upon your lips, by the time you turned to the towering white grandeur of Kensington, very much not where you were from. You were freezing, your little hands clenched in your pockets, but hot with anticipation.

Reaching a fine, tall townhouse, all Georgian architectural triumph, you pushed through the black metal gate, rising up white stone steps. You hesitated only briefly before tapping the door, heavy, and gilded forest green.

"--just a minute-- please excuse me--...oh. Hello."

Galahad stood at the door, as...relaxed as you had ever seen him. His crisp white shirt was unbuttoned to his chest, and his waistcoat hung similarly open, with tie tails trailing down his chest. With his sleeves rolled up, and a pinstriped apron tied round his waist, you swore you almost saw him blush.

"...to what do I owe the pleasure?" He breathed out, finally. The apples of your cheeks, pink with the cold, dimpled under your smile. You reached out to Galahad, his wallet clasped in your hand.

"You forgot something," you offered. His hand reached out immediately, a goodness, thank you, you shouldn't have upon his lips, before your cold little fingers grasped under his own.

"You are miles from home," he rumbled, chastising, "and you are freezing cold." You tipped on your heels on the doorstep, placating him with a finger to your lips, and a glint in your eye. You moved to go down the steps, but your fingers remained clasped in his.

"Where are my manners? You should come in...of course."

"Galahad, don't feel oblig--"

"Kento, please," he ushered you inside, a hand ghosting over the small of your back, "if we're going to share dinner, we should not pretend to be strangers."

Kento's house bore all the opulent gloss of its noble history, with fine black and white checkered tile flooring, and twisting dark oak bannisters carrying the high staircase away from you. A receiving room beside you, bigger than your whole home, bloomed beneath the sultry flicker of a fire, the only source of light in the room. The kitchen lights spilled inwards, a herby bourginon aroma drawing you in.

You slipped your coat off your shoulders, and blushed, as Kento stood behind you to receive it. His heart pounded under the effort of containing his thrill to have you in his home. The thought of being alone with him, like this, had occupied your mind at night, for so many months.

"Sit, please," Kento insisted, heading to his drinks cabinet. Two slim, hazel eyes darted to you in question; "...can I tempt you?"

You settled on the sofa, antique, and likely much older than you; "Ah...wine?" Kento smiled, heading over to you with a bottle in his grasp, and two slim-necked glasses between his fingers.

You shared the bottle-- dinner was forgotten, cooking slowly on the back burner. You felt yourself becoming supple, warmed by the fire, the wine and the company. Within just a few hours, you and Kento laughed together, both liquor-dishevelled, hands brushing forearms on the back of the sofa. His calloused fingertips were electric against the inside of your wrist.

"You really were, you know," Kento hummed, placing down his unfinished glass of wine, "my best bet. The best gamble I...I ever made." You didn't know how you had ended up drawn so closely to him. Your legs tangled in his, head radiating from his thighs into yours. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling you gently, insistently, closer to him.

"I don't normally do this," Kento bargained with himself, whispering against you, his tongue swiping out to dampen your plush lips, "it isn't very-- I really shouldn't, I-- dinner first, at least--" You couldn't help but drown under him, silent in the pools of his dilated pupils as he pressed you to lay back on the sofa, climbing over you, and trapping you beneath him.

"...can I tell you a secret?" Kento murmured against your neck, melting you under his lips and tongue. His hand moved down to undo the buttons of your silk blouse. You nodded, feeling him shiver as you did the same to his shirt.

"...I left my wallet behind on purpose," he rumbled, predatory. The tension snapped. His lips crashed to yours, with Kento groaning into your mouth, tongue trembling against yours. Ripping at the buttons of your blouse, his gentlemanly self-restraint was all but abandoned.

Stripping you, freeing your breasts with bitten-back growls and murmurs, Kento rolled you onto the Persian rug in front of the fire, crowding over you and taking one breast between his lips, licking your nipple into his mouth as his enormous hand pawed at the other.

"--beautiful...beautiful, you know that? Always thought...if you hadn't made it in...I'd have brought you home anyway..."

"Ken--Kento, I--" You broke off into breathy, high moans as Kento's hand slipped down, clutching at your pussy beneath your skirt. His hand scraped the lace edges of your stockings, his breaths frantic and panting with hurry.

"Say my name...again," he panted, strong fingers cupping your sex, moving to massage you, desperate need radiating through his hand. Kento pressed hard enough to massage your clit through the lips of your pussy, you mewled, squirming under him as he growled, "Again. Say my name."

"Kento," you squeaked. Your voice seemed to make Kento frantic, and he pulled off your skirt, your stockings, your underwear, until you were suddenly, blissfully bare beneath him. He knelt, still fully clothed in front of the firelight. His barrelled chest rose and fell, a high blush across his sharp cheekbones.

"This isn't...how a gentleman behaves," you gasped, one arm draped over your eyes. You heard Kento chuckle, cracking his knuckles above your prone, trembling curves. You heard the wolfish grin in his voice.

"Oh yes it fucking is."

One of his hands draped between your breasts, running down your chest and belly, to graze fingertips over your mound. His eyes flicked up to yours again, dark, hungry and questioning. You floated, somewhere both above and beneath him.

"Anything...anything you want," you keened, "whatever you want." Something tightened in Kento's jaw. His fingers trailed lower, grazing your plush lips again, dipping beneath to stroke up and down the slick length between your entrance and clit.

"...what a dangerous thing to say, to a man like me...I don't get treats like you often." Kento pressed two fingers slowly into your clenching heat, eyes rolling back with a fractured moan, gripping you to him by the hip. His cock strained against his trousers, and he moved lazily to unzip himself, shaking with self-restraint. He could not bear the way you twisted and squirmed, to feel his thick fingers fucking into you.

"...good girl...how does it feel? As good as your own? Did you touch yourself, like this, when you dreamt about me?" You could only nod in response, moaning and reaching down to clutch his wrist. His fingers curled upwards towards your soft sensitive spot, buried into you up to his knuckles, and swirling his fingertips over the spongy patch. You sobbed into his touch and he folded over you, shushing, pressing kisses to your temples.

"It's alright, darling...I felt it too...I'll show you. How I touched myself...thinking about you." Kento shuddered against your neck, his fingers still working magic into your belly. His cock flopped heavy into his hand, thick, long, and Kento felt so touch-starved as he closed his eyes, raising his thumb to stroke around your clit, imagining it was his weeping cockhead.

He shushed you again, chasing you up the rug as your pleasure built, heat surging through your thighs and belly. Kento couldn't help but fuck into his own fist, lubricated by his pre-cum, overheating with the need to sink himself inside you, and paint you white with his seed. He cracked his neck from side to side. Doubling down, his fingers picked up speed, pressing your clit until you writhed, your nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt.

"That's it...that's it...let it happen," Kento whispered into your neck, still fucking into his fist against your belly as you climaxed, hands tangled in his mussed hair, burning under the weight of him. His fingers fucked you through the haze of pleasure, nose stroking into your hair, whispering his praises against your ears; "...so proud of you...such a good job...so proud of you, my little gamble..."

Your thighs threatened to flop to the sides, soft and lazy after your orgasm. Kento nestled himself between them, cockhead stroking between your folds, and you whimpered to feel your sensitive clit nudged. Folded over you, Kento met your eyes. A slightly guilty smile ghosted over his face, his voice shaking, seemingly coming back to himself. He resolved to restrain himself;

"I, uh...usually have better manners. This was unprofessional of me. Ungentlemanly, even. I...I insist we...leave this here, and do this properly. Now, we sh-- haaaaah, fuck-- shit-- you--"

Interrupting Kento, you had waited for his cockhead to stroke down to your entrance before fucking him inside you, rolling your hips up to trap his cock inside your walls. You wailed around the stretch, Kento's cock huge and pulsing inside you, and Kento lost his mind.

Grasping your hips with vicious strength, he cursed, rutting into you with abandon. You felt his fat, blunt cockhead jabbing against your cervix immediately, and Kento leaned into it, tilting your hips to fuck you deeper, overtaken by a primal need.

"...little minx...I offer you--ahhhh fuck-- dinner, and you...you offer me...your cunt...just like you, shit--"

You giggled, breathless against Kento's feral attentions, and the sound shot straight down Kento's spine. Your laughs caught in your throat when he held his hips flush to yours, barely pulling out, bullying into your pussy with no restraint.

You felt the steam of sweat beneath Kento's shirt, felt how badly he needed this, and revelled in the way he fell apart above you, his cock milked by your wet, velvet heat. Kento leaned back just enough to see where his cock disappeared into you.

The sight had him reeling, and he came with a bark, spitting and swearing against his total lack of self-control. You felt his cock twitch and bound inside you, spattering your walls with thick stripes of cum. Kento crumpled onto his elbows, face twisted in euphoric agony to see you bite your lip at him, rolling your hips to milk him of every last drop of cum.

Gasping for just a few moments, before rolling his shoulders with soft cracks again, Kento pulled out of you, flipping you over so your face pressed down into the rug. You squealed to feel your hands drawn behind your back, and the soft shhhhff shhhfff shhhhhffff of his tie being pulled free of his collar.

Face down, and arse up, Kento dipped his fingers into your cum-dripping, twitching hole.

"That's how a boy does it," Kento growled, beginning to thread his tie around your wrists, "now lets show you how a Kingsman does it."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Getting to wax lyrically about my beloved London was a treat.

Up next: Higuruma Hiromi/Merlin

#Pseudowho's JJK x Kingsman AU #jjk #kento nanami #jjk nanami #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento #pseudowho #nanami fluff #nanami kento smut #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento x you #nanami #kento nanami smut #kento nanami x y/n #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami x reader #nanami smut #jujutsu nanami #Haitch

[verstappensrealwife]

Just Friends - Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

fluff. approx. 2300 words

warnings : drinking alcohol, mentions of drunkness, kissing.

a/n: fully aware i just posted the poll an hour ago but i was too excited to write this idea, its 2am, and it was winning the poll anyways.

lando norris masterlist - here. f1 masterlist - here.

You have known Lando practically since the day you took your first breath—well, maybe not quite that early, but close enough. He was barely two when you entered the world, your mothers having been friends since their school days. So, it was only natural that he made an appearance at the hospital with his mother to welcome you into the world.

His first reaction upon meeting you was a mixture of surprise and disappointment, his innocent query about your gender met with tears when your mother revealed you were, indeed, a baby girl. It's a story you never fail to bring up whenever he expresses admiration for you.

"Y/N, you're such an amazing person," he mumbled, his words slightly slurred from the alcohol, as you practically carried him through the pulsating lights and booming music of the club. His arm draped heavily over your shoulders, you were on a mission to save him from humiliating himself with an ill-advised karaoke rendition of a Queen song.

"You didn't think I was this great when I was born," you quipped, your own sobriety a stark contrast to his inebriated state. In fact, you hadn't planned on being in the club at all. It was Lando who had insisted on your presence, summoning you to "rescue him from this esteemed establishment!"

Today, Lando, you and a few others found yourselves dining together. The evening air was balmy, with the soft glow of summer casting a golden hue through the windows, illuminating your face in a particularly enchanting manner.

He won’t deny looking at you a little longer sometimes, and quickly coming to his senses by stopping immediately. Just a friend.

You found yourselves amidst the lively celebration of a friend's engagement, nestled by a large window that framed the enchanting evening sky. The restaurant exuded a cosy ambiance, with lush greenery draping the walls and vibrant artwork adorning every corner. Across the room, the exposed brick walls added a touch of rustic charm to the eclectic space.

The table before you was a veritable feast, adorned with an array of delectable dishes and overflowing drinks—empty glasses serving as a testament to the spirited revelry that had unfolded. Amidst the cheerful chatter of your companions, you found yourself engaged in a spirited discourse with your friend beside you, passionately expounding on the intricacies of drink measurements, though your slightly slurred speech betrayed your less-than-sober state.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft, ethereal glow over the scene, you settled your portion of the bill and rose from your seat, bidding farewell to each friend with warm hugs and heartfelt kisses. Exiting the restaurant alongside Lando, you were met with the cool night air and the anticipation of your awaiting ride.

With the Uber en route and a mere seven minutes away, you and Lando stood side by side in comfortable silence, the faint glow of his phone illuminating his features as he scrolled through Instagram. Occasionally, he would eagerly show you a post, finding amusement in the most obscure content, prompting an amused quirk of your eyebrow or an incredulous shake of your head.

When he insisted on the hilarity of yet another post, you regarded him with mock incredulity, your eyes silently questioning his sense of humour. His playful insistence only served to deepen your amusement, eliciting a hearty laugh that bubbled from deep within your chest.

The video showed himself as “Lando Norizz”.

"I do have ‘rizz’, you know," he declared with mock indignation.

“As if,” You snorted, “Prove it tough guy.”

Drawing closer to you with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. The proximity of his body, the warmth of his breath against your skin, and the intensity of his gaze should have rendered you speechless—if only you were sober. Instead, you couldn't help but burst into laughter, the sound ringing out into the night air.

Apologies tumbled from your lips between fits of laughter, though any offence Lando might have felt had quickly dissolved into shared amusement. Chuckling together, you settled into the Uber, the echoes of your laughter filling the night as you made your way home.

As you stumbled through the door of your apartment, Lando in tow, the weight of laughter and shared moments still lingering in the air, you tossed your keys onto the side table with a careless flick and collapsed onto the inviting embrace of the couch. Without missing a beat, Lando joined you, his presence a comforting anchor in the whirlwind of the night. With an affectionate eye roll, you nudged him playfully as he settled beside you, the warmth of his body a familiar presence against your own.

He reached for the remote, his fingers brushing against yours in a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down your spine. He flicked on the TV, the ambient murmur of the characters serving as a gentle backdrop to the two of you being occupied by other things. Despite the lure of the TV screen, your attention remained steadfastly on the book you were reading, Lando’s on his twitter feed.

"Was my charm really that terrible?" he queried out of the blue.

You glanced up, eyebrows knitting together in contemplation before offering a nonchalant shrug. "It wasn't horrendous," you admitted.

"So... any pointers? What went wrong?" he pressed, a hint of curiosity lacing his words.

"Because I was a tad more drunk thirty minutes ago, and besides, we're friends," you replied matter-of-factly, returning your attention to the book you had been engrossed in.

As the weight of your words settled between you, Lando felt a pang of realisation pierce through him like a dagger. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a truth he had been oblivious to until that moment. The casual dismissal of his attempts at charm stung deeper than he cared to admit, a stark reminder of the invisible barrier that separated them. With a heavy heart, he watched you return to your book, the distance between you feeling more pronounced than ever before. In that fleeting moment, Lando's gaze lingered on you, his heart aching with the silent acknowledgment of what could never be—a realisation that left him feeling more alone than he had ever felt before.

He coughed awkwardly, the sound breaking the tense atmosphere like a fragile thread snapping under pressure, and rose from his seat with uncharacteristic haste. "I- um- I'm gonna go to bed," he mumbled, his words stumbling over each other in a clumsy attempt to fill the silence.

"Alright," you replied, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips as you watched him retreat. "No funny business in my spare room!" you called after him, injecting a note of levity into the moment.

His laughter echoed in the hallway, a bittersweet melody that lingered long after he had disappeared from view, leaving behind a lingering ache in his chest as he wrestled with the realisation that his unspoken desires would forever remain unfulfilled.

The next morning, as you nursed your slight hangover with a steaming cup of coffee, you sought solace in scrolling through TikToks in the comfort of your kitchen. The first few videos passed by in a blur of mundane content, until your own face suddenly appeared on the screen.

You weren't a celebrity by any means, but being known as Lando's friend had its consequences, as evidenced by the video capturing the previous night's awkward encounter outside the restaurant. Your groan echoed in the quiet kitchen as you watched the clip unfold, realising with a sinking feeling that your innocent moment with Lando had been misconstrued by the watching world.

He was mere centimetres away from you in the video, his gaze unmistakably fixed on your lips with an intensity that made your cheeks flush with embarrassment. It was clear to anyone watching that his intentions had been misinterpreted, yet the damage had already been done. As the video looped, each replay serving as a painful reminder of the misunderstanding, you couldn't help but wonder how something so innocent had been twisted into something else entirely.

As you read through the comments, a curious mixture of amusement and surprise washed over you as you noticed a recurring theme emerging: shipping you and your friend, Lando. At first, you couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, scoffing at the playful speculation and fanciful theories concocted by strangers on the internet. But as you delved deeper into the comments, something shifted within you.

With each passing remark, you couldn't shake the nagging sense of recognition that began to take hold. You found yourself reflecting on the countless moments you and Lando had shared together— the inside jokes, the late-night conversations, the unwavering support through thick and thin. And as you considered the undeniable bond that existed between you, you couldn't help but acknowledge the striking parallels between your friendship and that of a romantic relationship

Suddenly, the playful banter and lighthearted teasing that had once been the hallmark of your friendship took on a new significance, leaving you grappling with the realisation that perhaps there was more to your connection with Lando than you had initially realised. With a newfound sense of introspection, you closed your phone, the words of the commenters lingering in your mind as you pondered the possibility of something more between you and your friend.

As the minutes ticked by and your thoughts swirled with newfound clarity, a profound realisation settled within you like a weight in your chest: you wanted him. Wanted him in a way that transcended the boundaries of friendship, in every conceivable sense. You wanted his laughter to be the melody that filled your days, his warmth to be the comfort that enveloped you in moments of doubt, his presence to be the anchor that grounded you amidst life's storms.

Yet, amidst the fervent desire that pulsed through your veins, a gnawing uncertainty gnawed at the edges of your newfound revelation. Did he feel the same? Did he see you as anything more than just a friend? The questions lingered, casting a shadow of doubt over your burgeoning feelings, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of apprehension at the prospect of laying your heart bare.

With a heavy sigh, you leaned back against the kitchen counter, the weight of your newfound realisation settling upon you like a mantle. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with the potential for heartache and rejection, yet amidst the swirling tumult of emotions, one thing remained clear: you couldn't ignore the undeniable truth of your own heart any longer.

As he strolled into the kitchen, the sight of him shirtless and clad in joggers that seemed all too familiar sent a jolt of warmth coursing through you. Yet, as you met his gaze, the weight of your realisation pressed heavily upon you, urging you to confront the truth that had been swirling in your mind. "Did you know people shipped us?" you blurted out, unable to contain the urgency in your voice.

He shrugged nonchalantly, a flicker of something unreadable flashing in his eyes before he masked it with a casual indifference. But you knew better. You could see the subtle tension in the set of his jaw, the guardedness in his expression. He had known—had felt the weight of those speculative gazes just as keenly as you had. "I guess so," he replied with a noncommittal shrug, his tone carefully neutral. "Why?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications, and you found yourself grappling with the sudden urge to lay bare your heart before him, to confess the depth of your feelings and the tumultuous journey of self-discovery that had led you to this moment. But as you met his gaze, the uncertainty that clouded your mind held you back, leaving the words trapped on the tip of your tongue, unspoken yet pulsing with a fervency that threatened to consume you.

Without a word, he took a step closer, the distance between you shrinking until you could feel the heat of his body radiating against your skin.

In that charged moment, with the weight of unspoken words pressing down upon you, you felt something shift within you—a primal urge to seize the moment, to bridge the gap between friendship and something more. And so, fueled by the fire of your newfound realisation and the palpable tension that hung between you, you closed the whole distance between you in a single, daring move.

With a trembling hand, you reached up to cup his cheek, the warmth of his skin electrifying against your touch. And then, with a surge of courage that bordered on reckless abandon, you pressed your lips to his, the kiss a declaration of desire and longing that transcended words.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the intoxicating sweetness of the moment, the taste of him searing itself into your memory with every brush of his lips against yours. And in that fleeting instant, as the world fell away around you, you knew with a certainty that resonated deep within your soul: this was where you were meant to be.

As you pulled back, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips, you met his gaze with a newfound sense of clarity and certainty. And in the quiet understanding that passed between you, there was no need for words—just the simple, unspoken acknowledgment of the bond that had always been there, waiting to be embraced.

With a soft laugh and a tender squeeze of his hand, you knew that whatever the future held, you would face it together, hand in hand, hearts entwined in a love that was as simple as it was profound. And as you leaned in to rest your head against his chest, basking in the warmth of his embrace, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement for the journey that lay ahead—a journey that promised to be filled with laughter, love, and countless moments of simple, unadulterated joy.

El fin.

this is the best thing i have ever written in my many years of life. thank you me.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris #ln4 #mclaren f1 #oscar piastri #op81 #lando x reader #landoscar #fernando alonso x reader #charles leclerc x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula 1 #max verstappen #lewis hamilton #charles leclerc #smut #fluff #angst #fem reader #lando norizz #max verstappen x you #lando norris x you #lando norris x oc #lando norris x female reader #charles leclerc x you #scuderia ferrari

[drac-kool-aid]

Seward's bone deep desire to run away from the asylum is not exactly surprising. There have been a lot of really good meta posts about how the return of Van Helsing into his life is the turning point where we see the caring and good side of him and how we can interpret his life as a student in Amersterdam as one of freedom and happiness. How he is part of the tragedy of manners, how strict social expectations allow Dracula to persist, and how they only exacerbate the unhappiness of the characters.

And I think the tragedy of Seward is that, really, he should not be the head of an asylum. It's a job that brings him no joy, and he's BAD at it. We can all recognize that if your first reaction to going back to work is "What if I just leave it all." That isn't a healthy work environment.

Now, in the modern day, the ability to pick and choose a work environment, even to leave one that is damaging your mental health, is a privilege. (IT SHOULDNT BE, but it is). And, although it is definitely reaching crisis levels in modern times, major changes in your career have almost always been difficult (unless you are really rich, or a particular brand of academic in the 17th-18th century, or both).

Seward can't just leave and become a surgeon. To give up the lofty position of "Head of an Asylum" would be unthinkable in the 1890s, especially for a reason like "Being here is basically turning me into the Joker." Like, how would Seward explain that in polite society? Would they accept that reasoning? Would they create salacious gossip if they didn't? Can Seward leave his position without losing a great amount of social capital?

Probably not.

His rise to head of an asylum, as many have pointed out, was meteoric, to say the least. It has afforded him status and respect and also left him deeply, deeply fucked up. And he can't leave!

I think his desperate attempts to quantify Renfield's behaviors into a new mental illness are telling in this regard. Maybe he is too used to having to meet some sort of expectation, and now he thinks this is the logical next step (It's NOT, but I digress). The feeling of having to keep performing above expectations, grasping at straws to do so, and subsequently burning oneself out (as well as others around you) and engaging in unethical practices? Idk. It sounds like something that would happen today. (tbh there are probably a ton of Sewards out there today, as there are still systemic problems within the mental health system that allow for the dehumanizing and abuse of patients).

It doesn't excuse his behavior. Nothing he does to Renfield is excusable, but I think it does explain some of the *why*. He isn't just cruel for cruelty's sake.

So, tldr I guess: I think reading Seward as someone who got stuck on a career path that he realized was unfufilling and that he ends up hating. Social conventions restrict him from just quitting without and a (socially acceptable) good reason to do so, and a lifetime of being regarded as one of the smartest people in the room means he can not allow himself to fail. Unfortunately, this also means he can not admit when his actions or his ideas are wrong when it comes to his job.

(But he can show that uncertainty FOR Lucy, and TO Arthur and Van Helsing, which speaks his trust and love for them)

#dracula daily #jack seward #re: dracula #i think im rambling #but this kind of hit me #Jack's trapped in the asylum too in a way #only difference is his place of power allows him to take out that frustration on others #and i think it speaks VOLUMES that one of Jack's first entries was about how he regretted exacerbating Renfield just to study him #and as the sleepless nights and days filled of performing a job that he hates (and cannot bring himself to admit he hates) #as well as the depression from rejection #he stops feeling guilty

[sharpedgedfool]

Here's Blaze! Her name is is Iris Flare, I started giving them just generalised names in English as I started incorporating more than Scottish folklore into these guys so it didn't make sense to have them all named in Gaelic, the Seasons travel constantly all over the world as they come and go with their seasons so I thought I'd be fun to assign different cultures to each of them!

Some more extensive lore under the cut!

Summer is the second most targeted Seasonal Spirit, but unlike Winter who is largely hated, Summer is regarded as a loved season and those challenging her often want to overthrow her place with malicious reasons, she has no gripe about fighting back but can often leave damage in her wake due to the nature of her flames. She does not see as much war as Winter but she fights just as fiercely. Summer is often compared to Winter but is adamant she does not agree with the ill-manner most refer to Winter with. They've never met but she is not disillusioned by the endless praise she receives against criticism against him. She firmly believes that all seasons are just as equal and should not be given favour over another. She hears about Winter mostly from the birds who migrate between their seasons, and she knows that if Winter was so bad then no bird would make the journey there willingly to avoid her own.

In contrast she is close to the other two seasons Spring and Autumn. She is the second youngest of the four, the order being Winter, Spring, Summer then Autumn. Her and Autumn are particularly close as she helped guide him through his first season when he was largely unprepared for it. Her and the other seasons took up the mantle willingly with an expectation on what their duty was. Iris used to be a mortal Royal who stepped up to inherit the responsibility when a rival kingdom set out to slay the previous Season, her family were historically friends of the Fae so she was asked for specifically and knew what she was getting into and did - and still does - take the responsibility very seriously. She doesn't often engage in festivities without request, but enjoys talking with every being of life regardless of status within a court (or outside one even).

Her flames are an indicator of her emotional state, they sometimes change colour and the temperature can range, so mostly she tries to keep calm and dim her flames especially around dry times in the season, her Sari is woven to be flame-resistant and prevents any accidental burns so she doesn't often take it off. Her jewellery are a close replica of the ones she wore as a mortal, it has been eons since so she pays tribute to the memories even as they grow faint. Ironically she mostly enjoys the rain when she can let her flames burn as bright as she likes. She enjoys flying as high as she can, where the only thing that can catch fire is herself, and the chill allows her to push her fire beyond what she could do safely on the ground.

#oriontag #fae au #blaze the cat

[teaboot]

Well you see the interesting thing about social etiquette is that calling anyone at all any kind of epithet is generally regarded as crude and ill-bred behaviour, but seeing as you're specifying "women" as a homogeneous, monolithic group in this context, I'd bet that you're less concerned about my manner and composure than you are with making a statement about the patriarchy at large- which normally I'd applaud you for, even agree with you- however the inane way in which you present this piping hot take to my door makes me feel like you're not actually a good-faith progressive feminist doling out the most basic-ass, grade-one, first day of preschool-ass, bland-ass, seen-it-before takes I've ever seen like a scientologist dishing out scripture to college students, but more likely just a Radfem or Terf seeking out a blog big enough to grandstand their own rote, tried-and-true "sounds reasonable" stepping stone to pave the pipeline for other well-intentioned young feminists to slide down into the swamp of looney-tunes-ass gender-conformists wearing sexism under a different hat that you yourself have bought into, so no, I think I'll just keep being a rude bitch, with my bitches, cause I'm a bad bitch, and I bitch with who I wanna bitch with at bitches I wanna bitch at, regardless of gender, cause female identity and expression is not a sickly twin forever at the mercy of being defined by that which opposes it or stands beside it, and I do what I want

Bitch

#Girl go home #Radfem cw #Terf cw

[anghraine]

It's obvious that I'm adamantly opposed to the idea that Darcy does not deserve Elizabeth's good opinion/love, doesn't deserve his happy ending with her, is generally inferior to her, whatever.

I will say, however, that there is someone who has a good opinion of him that he does very little to earn. I think you could make a much better argument in that case that he doesn't really deserve it. And yet it's so endearing:

[Mrs Bennet:] “Mrs Long told me last night that he [Darcy] sat close to her for half an hour without once opening his lips.” “Are you quite sure, ma’am? Is not there a little mistake?” said Jane. “I certainly saw Mr Darcy speaking to her.” “Ay, because she asked him at last how he liked Netherfield, and he could not help answering her; but she said he seemed very angry at being spoke to.” “Miss Bingley told me,” said Jane, “that he never speaks much unless among his intimate acquaintance. With them he is remarkably agreeable.”

-

Jane's reaction to Wickham's story:

“Laugh as much as you choose, but you will not laugh me out of my opinion. My dearest Lizzy, do but consider in what a disgraceful light it places Mr Darcy, to be treating his father’s favourite in such a manner,—one whom his father had promised to provide for. It is impossible. No man of common humanity, no man who had any value for his character, could be capable of it."

Jane passing on Bingley's account:

"I am sorry to say that by his account, as well as his sister’s, Mr Wickham is by no means a respectable young man. I am afraid he has been very imprudent, and has deserved to lose Mr Darcy’s regard."

Jane after Wickham's story becomes common "knowledge":

Miss Bennet was the only creature who could suppose there might be any extenuating circumstances in the case unknown to the society of Hertfordshire: her mild and steady candour always pleaded for allowances, and urged the possibility of mistakes; but by everybody else Mr Darcy was condemned as the worst of men.

Jane after Elizabeth tells her about the Hunsford proposal:

She [Jane] was sorry that Mr Darcy should have delivered his sentiments in a manner so little suited to recommend them; but still more was she grieved for the unhappiness which her sister’s refusal must have given him.

Jane is so sad about how sad Darcy must be!

“His being so sure of succeeding was wrong,” said she [Jane], “and certainly ought not to have appeared; but consider how much it must increase his disappointment.”

Jane's response to hearing the truth about Wickham:

What a stroke was this for poor Jane, who would willingly have gone through the world without believing that so much wickedness existed in the whole race of mankind as was here collected in one individual! Nor was Darcy’s vindication, though grateful to her feelings, capable of consoling her for such discovery.

Jane still vicariously suffering for Darcy:

“Wickham so very bad! It is almost past belief. And poor Mr Darcy! dear Lizzy, only consider what he must have suffered. Such a disappointment! and with the knowledge of your ill opinion too! and having to relate such a thing of his sister! It is really too distressing, I am sure you must feel it so.”

Jane even points out that Darcy's general behavior and demeanor never struck her as all that bad:

[Elizabeth]: “There certainly was some great mismanagement in the education of those two young men. One has got all the goodness, and the other all the appearance of it.” [Jane]: “I never thought Mr Darcy so deficient in the appearance of it as you used to do.”

Elizabeth keeps so much of her relationship with Darcy hidden through the later novel that Jane doesn't have reason to say much about him, but after their engagement, Elizabeth worries about her family's response:

she anticipated what would be felt in the family when her situation became known: she was aware that no one liked him but Jane

When Elizabeth tells Jane about the engagement, Jane is shocked and baffled. Elizabeth assures her of her change in feeling, and adds:

"But are you pleased, Jane? Shall you like to have such a brother?” “Very, very much."

Jane continues to be worried that Elizabeth doesn't really love Darcy and wants details that she eventually does receive.

“Now I am quite happy,” said she, “for you will be as happy as myself. I always had a value for him. Were it for nothing but his love of you, I must always have esteemed him; but now, as Bingley’s friend and your husband, there can be only Bingley and yourself more dear to me."

Yes: Darcy is more dear to Jane than her father, mother, other three sisters, friends, and four uncles and aunts.

As for Darcy, he certainly likes and respects her. He describes her in the letter as amiable, cheerful, engaging, and explicitly excludes her from his criticisms of the Bennets. Back at Netherfield, he's noted as ignoring Miss Bingley to be polite towards Jane, and after his own engagement, he points out Elizabeth's care for Jane as early proof of her own goodness. Jane is one of only three characters he refers to by their first name alone by the end of the book (the others are Elizabeth and Georgiana).

So it's not that he doesn't appreciate her in his own way. I actually think the quiet rapport between them is really cute even though Jane is the person who suffers the most for Darcy's mistakes. But damn, Jane.

#jane and darcy brotp is so important to me because jane is... like that #anghraine babbles #long post #austen blogging #austen fanwank #fitzwilliam darcy #jane bennet #elizabeth bennet #jane austen #pride and prejudice

[probablyasocialecologist]

The Holocaust was undoubtedly one of the greatest tragedies of modern history, where millions of innocents were murdered in an unspeakably cruel and industrialized manner. Also true is that this was not the reason for the creation of Israel, which had its colonial seeds planted nearly a century prior. It was not remorse that motivated the colonial powers to support Israel, powers which were actively committing genocide against multiple colonized populations. Framing the creation of Israel as repentance for the Holocaust is not only historically inaccurate, but deliberately paints the legitimate rejection of its creation at the expense of the Palestinians as complicity with Nazi genocide. It transfers Europe’s guilt onto Palestinians, where they become the embodiment of everything the grandchildren of fascists claim to despise in their grand quest for (empty, symbolic) redemption. A redemption with the theatrics and loud proclamations of regret and change, but none of the substance. At the end of the day, nothing can justify the ethnic cleansing of the Palestinian people, who share no blame for the barbarity of Europe’s pogroms and genocides. Palestine has always been home to countless refugee populations; Jewish people fleeing persecution and finding a safe home in Palestine was never the issue. The issue is that these ideals of coexistence were never reciprocated by the Zionist movement, who showed disdain towards Palestinians from the very beginning and sought to take over the land. It sanctioned its own settlers working with Palestinians, even calling Arab labor an “illness” and forming a segregated trade union that banned non-Jewish members. In 1928, the Palestinian leadership even voted to allow Zionist settlers equal representation in the future bodies of the state, despite them being a minority who had barely just arrived. The Zionist leadership rejected this, of course. Even after this, in 1947 the Palestinians suggested replacing the Mandate with the formation of a unitary state for all those living between the river and the sea, to no avail. These gestures were brushed aside, as they did not benefit the Zionist leadership who never intended to come to Palestine to live as equals. For decades Palestinians have been massacred, their homes stolen and destroyed, ethnically cleansed into refugee camps and denied their right of return. The notion that these colonial powers were ever concerned about Jewish safety as they fomented the conditions that made pogroms possible and denied Jewish refugees safety within their own borders is absurd. So too is the idea that Jewish people from all over the world must all live in a singular nation-state in the Middle East where they are a demographic majority to be safe, that the eradication of anti-Semitism around the world is a lost cause, and that whatever violence is wreaked upon Palestinians for the maintenance of this regressive demographics-obsessed state is justifiable.

#israel #palestine #zionism #holocaust #antisemitism

[painted-bees]

Since I've been rotating Raf's mental illness in my mind this month as a way of smoothing my own brain, I've been thinking a lot about the ways his PPD and CPTSD symptoms interact, and how it affects his behaviors.

Firstly, Raf's paranoia isn't commonly accompanied by narcissistic traits. That is to say--he's not especially prone to believing that people have him on their mind all the time. If he walks past two people laughing, it's not his gut instinct to think that they are laughing at him. However, it is certainly his gut instinct to assume that they are laughing at someone.

But, unless they deliberately pause to regard him in an off putting way, his brain isn't gonna jump to the conclusion that he's the topic of their little chortle.

In fact, Raf rarely feels like he is being deliberately belittled by honest remarks when they are simply worded poorly. In some ways, he greatly prefers being called a jackass, to his face, in flat tones--than to receiving sweet, placating platitudes in a kindly tone. No matter how genuine the kindness may be behind the latter, Raf generally tends to interpret it...poorly. It gives him a really bad gut feeling, like they're buttering him up, mincing their words in a shallow attempt to gain his good opinion...all so that he won't suspect them later. Suspect them of what? Who knows. Something bad, something exploitative, something abusive. To him.

Raf doesn't suspect that everyone is out to use or exploit him. He fully believes that most people are capable of not thinking about him at all--even if he is physically present around them, such as in a busy train station. However, he does suspect that everyone who goes out of their way to interact with him, and especially everyone who wants to get to know him only do so in order to use or exploit him. And his basal understanding of human behavior is, generally, that kindness and good manner are most frequently used as tools of manipulation for personal gain rather than as an expression of genuine love and care. And he recognizes that this is only possible as a successful tool of manipulation because, just like him, everyone else wants to be genuinely loved and cared for.

Even his uncle, whom Raf does genuinely loves and trust, is suspected of being as kind and accommodating as he is to Raf only because doing so soothes his uncle's guilt and gives him a moral leg up over the rest of Raf's family. And part of Raf's initial willingness to trust his uncle is that his uncle never really...denies that this is, at the very least, a part of it. And--if that's all Uncle Bill really wanted outta Raf, then that was a perfectly livable arrangement.

Raf's CPTSD, on the other hand, generates the shame that serves as the crux for a lot of his self-critical introspection. Even before his diagnosis, he was harboring a sense that something was really, deeply wrong with him--like he wasn't a real person. And so, it felt radically audacious to assert that he deserved to behave as a real person; which included the right to feel and act upon anger and sadness--and to have those emotions received and treated with any level of respect by those around him. Until his final year at Juilliard, he was kind of in a placid(listless) state of learned helplessness. He'd do what ever he had to do to meet the expectations of his peers and instructors (namely, amphetamines. So much amphetamines.) It was just baaarely enough to get him his degree, and it ran him ragged and beyond resentful. He fully left Juilliard with the mindset of "I'm entering my villain era, I'm fully committed to being a Bad Guy, I am ok with everyone hating me now". And the "bad guy" behavior was just...saying no to stuff he didn't want to do, self-isolating, and outwardly expressing/lashing out when something viscerally upset him.

Which...thanks to the personality disorder, meant he became prone to yelling at people and accusing them of hurting or betraying him when they, in fact, did not. Especially...almost specifically the people closest to him, who cared the most about him and whom he cared the most for. And that's quickly what lead to his diagnosis, which kinda put an end to his 'villain arch'. So now he's back to reckoning with that sense of "something is really, deeply wrong with me", but at least now he has a growing understanding of what that is. And also the notion of "I have the 'bad person' disease--I am a Bad Person if I act on my core suspicions and beliefs, I cannot fucking trust myself, I can't trust my own perception of people or events." And now he's gotta balance that with whole "I deserve to feel safe, comfortable, and respected" alongside the critical notion of "but so does everyone else".

He hates it when people try to get to know him, he is fundamentally mistrustful of people. But at the same time, he has a lot of difficulty balancing his boundaries against the infringement of other people's boundaries--and the root understanding of "Something is wrong with me, I'm the problem, the fact that I think other people are the problem--is part of the problem that is me." is what motivates him to delay acting upon his negative impulses as much as is is able to, and to exercise kindness even when it feels like he's walking directly into a fire.

So, his overall kinda...thing is "I don't trust any of these guys, they clearly want something from me, and if I let them get close enough, they won't care if they have to hurt me to get it[PPD] but I'm a fundamentally busted person with a fucked up perspective and thus it is actually safer if I prioritize their comfort over my own[CPTSD] within certain parameters[therapy]"

and, idk...the big flashing red "ISOLATE, ISOLATE, ISOLATE" sign shows up in there on a frequent enough occasion that he just...has no real friends, despite a billion "good" acquaintances.

Despite all his mistrust and suspicions, the feelings of being fundamentally unlovable for willfully/protectively limiting the range of his 'usefulness', his terminally pessimistic outlook on the nature of human beings--he craves so tremendously to be loved and cared for and held and reassured in such a way and to such an extent that could never be fully sated, I am sure. But he couldn't stand to receive it from someone he can't believe in.

Margie accidentally hack speedran his CPTSD coping mechanisms so hard that she clipped through his paranoia until the collision error launched her into Trusted Person status. And he's just mostly confused and a bit anxious over how it all happened so fast.

[that's a joke...kinda]

#hi-note #rafael #I know Raf's stuff isn't as widely a shared and relatable experience as Margie's stuff #but idk there's...stuff here idk haha;;

[blues824]

How about Female ubuyashiki in the remarried empress.

👩‍🦯A ill noble woman who is known for her heat of gold and motherly figure for most nobes they all call her mother in a respected manner.

🌸Her being there for navier when she is having difficulty with rattrash and sovieshit and calming her down even staying a couple of months in the eastern empire.

👩‍🦯How would everyone react to her slowly dying of her illness but she doesn't care about it she cares more about others than her health and always treats people with respect.

🌸imagine kosiar being her husband and how caring he is about his lovely wife and them already having children because they never know when she dies so her children whoud be there for kosiar when she passes away .

👩‍🦯The children don't have the same illness as their mother so they will have a normal life unlike their mother so kosiar whoud not have to worry about them dying before he does.

🌸How would everyone react to kosiar being a father of twins (spoilers navier get pregnant with twins later in the Nov ) and that the children are absolutely angels like the mother.

👩‍🦯Imagen the twin children of the female ubuyashiki and kosiar hanging around navier and them being more behaved than rattrash and them being loved by everyone.

🌸Imagen rattrash trying to spread rumours about her because she thinks she is a easy target because of her personality and illness only for people to get mad at her.

👩‍🦯Imagen rattrash pushing her and trying to make herself the victim only for people to help her up and ask her if she okay glaring at rattrash and people wanting her to apologise for pushing her even sovieshit can't do anything but to say she needs to apologise.

🌸She has always a person guiding her because of her losing her eyesight and loves to walk in the gardens to enjoy the beauty of natures.

👩‍🦯Her training crows to speak and sending a few to navier and the crows singing happy birthday to the and Queen and the crows vibing.

🌸What whoud be there reaction is she died because of her illness and seeing all the nobles morning her death and sending there regards to kosiar.

(I don't know why but that crow in the picture is so adorable)

Preface: You are a part of the nobility who is loved by all because of your motherly attitude towards everyone. You are married to Kosair, which makes you Navier and Sovieshu’s sister-in-law. Your children, one boy and one girl, are the perfect mixture of you and Kosair.

Sovieshu

He also considered you a ‘motherly’ figure, as you always offered him guidance in both political and personal matters. His earliest memories consist of him leading you through the palace gardens as he told you about problems he was having in his daily lessons. Needless to say, you were very close.

Even when he took on Rashta as a mistress, you gently asked him if he thought that he made the best choice for the Empire. You did not discriminate, even when he made mistakes, and that’s what he appreciated (and no, he did not harbor romantic feelings for you). Even after you were wed to Kosair and had children, the closeness between you two was not severed. He still went to you for advice. 

He was originally going to name one of your children the Crowned Heir of the throne if he and Navier did not conceive, but Rashta was pregnant so that threw a wrench in his plans. Still, you harbored no resentment. You even congratulated him on the news (although, you knew that it wasn’t his).

However, he also knew of your sickness. That was mainly why he had to lead you through the gardens, since the illness left you blind. He was aware that you wouldn’t live long, as your family was often cursed. It was typically thought that when you take the last name of another man, your illness would be cured but you chose to keep your last name. Your children had the name of Trovi, though.

When you inevitably passed away, it was the first time that everyone in the Empire gathered together to mourn. Even some people from different Kingdoms and Empires attended the funeral procession. Tears ran down Sovieshu’s face, and he held his wife to comfort her. Your spirit, before ascending, was happy to see that the Emperor and Empress came together for one final time.

Rashta

You were the first person to make her feel welcomed into the palace, and she appreciated it. However, she realized that since you were loved by everyone, both high-ranking and not, ruining your reputation would do good for her because all of the negative attention wouldn’t be on her anymore. Plus, you knew that the baby wasn’t Sovieshu’s. You had told her that you didn’t judge, but she felt threatened.

She invited you for a walk in the garden, and you accepted as long as she would guide you through. An odd request, but she agreed. Within the garden, she led you to the center, where she pushed you to the ground and screamed. A guard heard and went to investigate, only to find you on the ground. Rashta tried to say that you had tried to attack her, but the guard told her that you were blind.

That guard reported it to the Emperor, and he was angry at his mistress for daring to harm his ‘mother’ and try to paint herself as the victim. However, you argued that you weren’t terribly hurt, and maybe just got a bit of a scratch at the most. Thus, the punishment should fit the crime.

Of course, the fact that you were blind caught your attention. So, she asked a servant to bring her to see you, and you gladly accepted her into your chambers. There, you opened the conversation with ‘What is wrong, my child?’ She didn’t know how to beat around the bush, so she directly asked how you became blind. You smiled before giving her a painfully honest answer. It made her tear up a bit, to be honest.

When you passed, she did not attend the funeral procession. She was advised by the Emperor as well as Duke Ergi not to, as the people were still angry at her for hurting you even though that was. However, once you were buried, she placed a single white tulip upon your grave. She has been told that it would be best, as it is a symbol of an apology.

Navier

Since you were her sister-in-law, it was no wonder that you both were very close together. She too seeked out your wise counsel when she went through times of despair. It was a surprise to no one that a lot of the nobility had given you the honorary title of ‘mother to all’. She often leads you through the gardens whenever she is troubled about something, and your conversations always leave her mind at peace.

Your twins were her niece and nephew, and she loved them dearly. They were quiet and kind, just like you, but they weren’t afraid to stand up for the people that they love, just like Kosair. Navier loved it whenever she heard them yell her name and she would kneel down to hug them. She was happy that they did not inherit your disease, as that meant that she would only lose one person that was important to her.

Speaking of your illness, she also knew of it, and she saw how you pushed through it day after day. There were times where you couldn’t get out of bed without major assistance, which did make her uncharacteristically upset. She could tell that your twins and her brother were silently suffering at seeing you sick and weak.

She was definitely angry when she heard that you had been pushed to the ground by the mistress, but she was surprised to see you arguing that you weren’t hurt badly and thus any punishment given to Rashta should be light. But, she was not going to argue against you, as you always knew best.

When you passed away, she stood with her older brother and her niece and nephew as she cried. It was raining that day, and black umbrellas as well as black attire under a sky of rain clouds were all that could be seen. Sovieshu surprised her by wrapping an arm around her shoulder, and she let a few tears fall. She swore that she could feel your spirit next to her.

Every year, for her birthday, the same crows that you trained would come and sing her Happy Birthday.

Heinrey

He had first met you at the ball, and he could see that you were basically like a mother to all of the noble families. So, he chose to get to know you since you were a motherly figure to Navier. Almost immediately, you both were sitting down as you listened to the problems that he was having.

This is where he accidentally lets it slip that he is the bird that keeps visiting Navier, and you smile as you say that you can’t see anything, so you can’t say anything. Heinrey had noticed that you weren’t looking at him throughout the whole conversation, so now he realizes that you are blind. Your husband, Kosair, actually led you everywhere.

During his visit at the palace, your husband brought your children to see Navier, which was the first time that the Prince got to see them as well. From what he could tell, they looked like Kosair but acted like you. They seemed to not have inherited your curse as well.

Unfortunately, he was not informed about your declining health, as it was deemed to be untimely since his brother was on his deathbed as well. So, when he inherited the crown of the Western Kingdom and went to visit Navier, he was wondering where you had gone. Unfortunately, the wound was still fresh when he asked Her Imperial Majesty.

It felt like he actually lost his mother all over again. He mourned, and he did not take the grief well. However, your last words to him were in a letter, and they were to make the Empress happy. So, he would do that to the best of his ability because it’s what you would have wanted. 

Kosair

You both first met when you were children. Sure, you both were betrothed to one another considering it was believed that if you got your husband’s last name then you were exempt from the curse, but he still loved you with all his heart. However, for some unknown reason, you stuck with your original name. As sad as it made him, he did not argue against your choice.

The twins that you had given birth to were his entire world aside from you. His daughter and son had him wrapped around their fingers. He never told you this, but he was glad that you chose to give them his name, Trovi, instead of Ubuyashiki. But, you were still suffering from the curse, so he believed that it was his job as your husband to help you.

He loved leading you through the garden that you both had grown because it was a symbol of how you built a life together through the struggles. You loved that he cared about you so much, and it was always a wholesome moment. Eventually, your children would inherit the Manor and the garden, and you hoped that they would continue to help it thrive once you had inevitably passed.

Unfortunately, your health had deteriorated to the point where you were bedridden. Kosair held your hand and placed a kiss on the back of it as he spent as much time as he could by your side. Your children cuddled up next to you, which made you smile. Your crows were perched on the window sill, letting out sad cries.

Then, you passed away peacefully in your sleep. Because you were loved by everyone in the Empire, your funeral procession was one that would be typically for the Imperial Family. Everyone, aside from Rashta, attended. Kosair and your children as well as Sovieshu and Navier stood front and center as the High Priest said some words over your casket. Once the casket was covered with dirt, your husband placed your wedding ring within the dirt so that it would be buried with you.

#remarried empress #the remarried empress x reader #the remarried empress #remarried empress x reader #sovieshu vict x reader #sovieshu vict #emperor sovieshu #sovieshu x reader #sovieshu #rashta x reader #rashta #navier trovi x reader #empress navier #navier trovi #navier x reader #navier #heinrey lazlo #heinrey alles lazlo x reader #heinrey alles lazlo #heinrey x reader #heinrey #heinrey lazlo x reader #kosair trovi x reader #kosair x reader #kosair trovi #kosair

[cosmicjoke]

What Levi's Lack of Response to His Assault Tells Us:

Something else I want to talk about in "Bad Boy" is how Levi reacts to the treatment of the men who assault him, and what it tells us about him and his expectations for how he should or would be treated.

He doesn't cry, and he doesn't beg, and he doesn't expect anyone to help him.  He’s essentially non-reactive. 

Levi nearly gets beaten to death, and he's obviously in extraordinary pain, and he also gets threatened with sexual abuse, assault and kidnapping.  But he never really shows any fear, even as his face is twisted in agony and desperation, and he never really protests the treatment he's receiving, either through tears or pleading. He never shows any offense at how they speak to and about him. He never asks them to stop hurting him, and he never even tries to defend himself or get away. Even after being brutally beaten, kicked viciously in the chest/abdomen, he only tells the men to give his mother's tea set to him, that it belonged to her. He doesn't beg them to stop, or beg for mercy, or for his life, he simply keeps insisting that the set isn't theirs.

What this tells us about Levi is that he's used to this kind of treatment.

A child who wasn't used to being beaten or roughed up in this manner, or even threatened in this way, would with certainty cry and even fall into hysterics. They would scream and beg and cry for help. They would be sobbing. They would be terrified.

But Levi displays none of these behaviors. In fact, he even shows defiance in the face of their treatment, insisting they give him back what, by rights, belongs to him, and only fights back when they start speaking ill of his mother, something which highlights, once again, Levi's heartbreaking and inherent selflessness, that even then he felt others were worth fighting for, even as he felt no such inclination to fight for himself, something we see in him again and again throughout the main story. He did this knowing it was only going to result in him being hit again, knowing it was only going to result in him being more badly beaten.   He was willing to take that to defend his mother.

But again, Levi's lack of response, his lack of tears, lack of fear, lack of any attempt toward self-preservation, tells us that Levi is used to being smacked around and beaten up. That he's beaten almost to death, and he still doesn't show any fear or beg for mercy shows he's been raised to expect this kind of treatment, and that he's been raised to believe this is what the world is, and this is how people will treat you, that this is how he expects people to treat him.

It's pretty obvious to me from this that Kenny used to beat Levi, and that he let Levi get beaten by other men, probably in some twisted attempt to bring out Levi's power.

Further, the fact that Levi showed no, true initiative to fight for himself, despite the kind of treatment and threats he was being subjected to, shows that he didn't care if he lived or died, that he had no real regard for his own life, well-being or safety. It shows a breathtaking lack of self-worth. 

That’s what happens to a person who’s been repeatedly abused and exposed to deep trauma, physical, emotional, and mental, at the very least.

Further still, when Levi finally does fight back, his attack is completely ineffectual.  This shows us that, while Kenny taught Levi to fight, Levi himself showed no real ability, strength, talent for or natural inclination toward violence.  Despite Kenny’s lessons, Levi is still helpless, and even exceptionally so.  I’ve always thought if someone with a propensity for violence, like Eren, for example, had received the kind of training Levi did, he would have been deadly.  He was deadly, even without training, as we see with how he approaches Mikasa's kidnappers.  But we see here that Levi is completely at the mercy of these men, because, as I’ve said again and again, Levi isn’t naturally inclined toward violence.  I don’t think it comes naturally to him at all.  What this tells us is that, almost certainly, Levi was on the receiving end of many bad beatings without being able to actually defend himself, and doubtless all manner of other abuses.  And that would only have been worsened by what we see here in him, which is a total lack of will to live or sense of self-preservation. 

It isn’t even a will to live that makes Levi eventually kill these men.  It’s simply the awakening of his Ackerman powers, compelling him to act in defense of himself without thought, an instinct to survive sparked and driven by something outside himself. 

This story just continues to shatter my heart into pieces.

Levi really is a miracle of a man.  That he’s still so good, and so caring, and fights so hard for others, despite all of this… God, it’s truly devastatingly tragic. 

#Levi Ackerman #Bad Boy #bad boy spoilers #attack on titan #shingkei no kyojin #analysis #commentary #meta

[iluvzaddies]

run rabbit run (3)

pairing: yandere!childe x reader

warnings: unhealthy behavior/relationship, violence, nsfw

inspired by: episode 8 of the hbo series “the last of us”

summary: you are out of food as well as medical supplies, so in order to save your father, you take matters into your own hands. you unexpectedly run into a young master in the forest, who is after the same rabbit as you. since he is persistent on getting the rabbit, you make a bargain with him. he develops a liking to you and decides you are his new personal little rabbit.

you didn’t understand how your father knew master dickface. was he famous or something? but you had never heard of him until recently today. could he and your father be acquainted in some way? was your father working for him?

no, that would be ridiculous. not in a million years would your father ever be acquainted with any ill-mannered, selfish, power-hungry bastards, let alone work for them… but, it was a possibility. he had become distant lately and there were times where he was like a different person to you.

“father, are you working for him?”

he didn’t respond, but his face said it all. his attempt in having a stoic expression failed.

you stood up from the ground, backing off from him. “what else have you not told me?”

“(y/n), come back here–“

“tell me! you know i don’t like secrets!”

he released a heavy sigh, rubbing his face. “this will be a lot to take in… but just so you know, (y/n), i’m doing this for you, okay? you are my top priority, my highest concern. everything i’ve done is to make sure you are healthy and safe.”

you nodded. although you were freaked out, you were eager to hear the truth, but a few knocks on the door made you and your father pause and turn to the door.

you furrowed your brows at your father.

“do not open it.” he said sternly.

a few knocks turned into multiple knocks. it gradually got louder and constant to the point where you were starting to become infuriated by it.

“father–“

“ah, shit.” he cursed through gritted teeth. “hide, (y/n)!”

just after he said that, the door swung open violently. you couldn’t leave your father behind, so instead of hiding, you wrapped your arms around him to shield him from whoever forced the door open.

it was him, master dickface.

“sorry about that.” childe wore a crazed smile, his cheeks red in result of seeing his object of desire. “i just missed you terribly, my rabbit. i couldn’t wait a day to see you again.”

“you!” your face scrunched up in anger.

he entered your house casually as if he owned the place and whistled as he looked at his surroundings. “oh, dear. you call this a house?”

“shut up, you have no right to barge in here! this is trespassing! i’ll report you to the authorities!” you tightened your arms around your father, careful not to touch the area of the gash.

“me?” he threw his head back, laughing at your response. “you’ll report me to the authorities? do you know who the authorities are in snezhnaya?”

“why are you asking me that? what are you playing at–

“the fatui are the authorities of snezhnaya and i so happen to be a part of the fatui.” he boasted proudly. “of course, with a higher status and rank.”

you felt your heart drop.

please, let this whole thing be some sort of strange dream. you pleaded to the archons.

childe was one of those heartless supposed leaders of snezhnaya who had ridiculous beliefs regarding the sky above. worse of all, you had threatened him. you had threatened a fatui harbinger and that very harbinger was standing before you, inside your house. the house you considered your safe place had become tainted by the presence of childe.

if childe was a fatui harbinger and your father was working for him, that meant your father was a part of the fatui as well. that fact made you want to vomit.

“you don’t know anything, huh?” his eyes flickered to your father. “your daughter’s such an innocent thing, mr (l/n). she’s so adorable, she makes me wanna ruin her innocence.”

“master childe… please… what do you want?” your father asked in a husky voice.

he snapped his fingers and two pyro agents appeared behind you, each grabbing ahold of your arms. “hey! let go of me, you fuckers!” you struggled, trying to break free from their grip. you couldn’t, but even if you were able to break free from them, you stood no chance against them.

the pyro agents were trained in combat, you weren’t. childe had a vision, you didn’t. and your father was injured. there was nothing you could do.

“i want your daughter. simple as that.” he shrugged.

your father lost it. “over my dead body!”

“over your dead body? is that so?” childe threw his fists down, unleashing a set of weaponry made of pure water. (yk his e-skill idk how to describe it)

“no! stop!” you yelled in panic. “don’t hurt him! i’ll do anything! spare him!”

upon hearing your words, childe got rid of his weapons and went up to you. he leaned towards your face, the close proximity making you heat up. you felt a pair of lips behind your ear trailing down your neck, leaving butterfly kisses, and your hand being intertwined with another.

“then, give yourself to me.”

(part 4)

taglist:

@kaeyas-eyepatch-69 @yummyberry @katthehatt @lynvrie @dreamlessnight @bluerskiees @haikyuusboringassmanager @scarasvision @hudiebutterfly @ieathairs @kazusbby @vvyeislazzy @ursinaw @fantasy-enthusiast @weepykisser @cryoarchoness

the pyro agents holding down the reader, watching childe being slightly intimate with her:

CAN SOMEONE DRAW FANART I REALLY WANNA SEE UR OCS LIKE HOLDING A RIFLE OR WITH CHILDE OR IDK BWBDKWNNDW

#childe x you #childe x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere x reader #yandere childe #yandere childe x you #childe smut #yandere genshin smut #yandere genshin au #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin smut #yandere tartaglia #genshin series

[opal-owl-flight]

Gonna be interrupting the ongoing Neo3 saga for a bit, because something serious needs to be addressed.

Its come to my attention that there have been some serious allegations against me and another member of the Magoverse server. The posts were brought to us by someone in said server and that’s how we all found out.

Im here to provide proof against them.

TLDR: There has been a person lying about some very serious matters. I will discuss and provide proof against their claims below.

A former member of our server, giyagas-strikes-back, has claimed that I have been generally harassing them while they were there. They have stated that they have no proof of their accusations. There is no evidence of this because it did not happen at all.

I did not abuse or harass them. All I did was address the behavior that was making other members of the server uncomfortable. We were not once rude to this individual. We had spoken with them regarding their disruptive behavior multiple times, including their disrespect towards our members when they had asked them to tone things down and failed to regard such wishes.

 Seen below:

For this next series of screenshots, they were involved in an rp involving sudden angst/violence that made members in the server uncomfortable. I was not the one who addressed the concern, but I did agree with the point of the one who did.

Another event where they commented something negative about something and someone else talked to them about it. Again, I was only agreeing with someone else, I did not speak harshly to them at all:

We never held a grudge against them, and only spoke to them in this way when they made someone uncomfortable.

Additionally, they told us that they were at least 13 (minimum age for joining the server) when we talked to them. We all thought we were speaking to an individual who would handle criticism we gave them seriously. We found out later that they were lying about their age:

Because we weren't notified, it only came to our attention much later into their membership, as is shown here. (Edited Discord notifications do not provide an "unread message" tag, and with a massive influx of members coming in at that time, this message was quickly buried.) We do not accept members under the age of 13 in our server. Every member under the age of 18 must inform us that they are a minor (no specific number required, just that they're under 18), and they are given a tag indicating that they are a minor. Additionally, we have multiple guidelines in place regarding minors and VC manners. We all mind our distance. To note: Before we could confront giyagas-strikes-back they left the server. We are unsure if they left because they caught wind we knew about them lying about their age, or if they left because of the multiple times that members of the mod staff had been forced to step in to handle behaviors or statements made by them that made other members uncomfortable.

An extra note to add, giyagas-strikes-back claimed that all this happened in a server where the “mod was always away”. We are the mods, and they were fully aware of this. The status of our mods is very apparent and in no way shape or form secret. Even our nicknames are given a specific color to indicate that we are the mods of the server. We only ever interacted with them on the specific server that we mod, so I am unsure if this is another lie, or if they legitimately didn’t realize we were mods and that is why we kept addressing their behaviors with them.

They also mentioned that I associate with Blaze, who they claim said weird stuff to them/is grooming them. But doing a quick search on a statement they made proves otherwise:

I believe these allegations are an immature act of retaliation due to our addressing their ill behaviors.

Theres one more thing I need to address. It was also brought to my attention that someone is claiming I stole an AU. I was never approached about this, neither has Blue as far as I am aware, and honestly have no idea what AU they're referring to, so I'm going to assume it is CtyH (Close to Your Heart, the au where Mags marries a god). We first discussed this au last January 26, 2023 -- here are screenshots of the first discussions about it. This AU started off as an offshoot to my interp and evolved from there. If anyone ever felt I had stolen something, it was never brought up with me or Blue, and I never wrote this AU with anyone elses in mind.

In closing: A healthy reminder. When people are accusing others of something, never take just their word as fact. Always look into it before making your own decision about the person in question, even if it comes from someone you trust. Never let anyone's opinion be your opinion. Always, ALWAYS, find the facts and discern for yourself! Make your own choice. Don't allow others to choose for you. Take this evidence as you will, but please, if you know those responsible for damning our names and making these baseless claims, we ask that you do not harass them on our behalf. We will not tolerate anyone speaking ill of them in my name. Yes, what they are doing is bad, but would any of us be better if we reciprocate in the same manner? That helps no one. Instead, simply inform and educate others. Be peaceful, be respectful. Be polite. Do not attack these people under any circumstances.

#opal owl hoots #negative #please dont attack anyone over this.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Riddle, Vil: A Family Affair

Riddle’s vignettes are so… interesting?? We can see how he’s trying to take small steps to have more agency. I like to think that, very slowly, he’s coming into his own as a young man, an entity separate from his mother.

It’s nice that Riddle’s Groovy shows him in a fun pose. You’d think that someone as strict as him wouldn’t want to fly abnormally, but you can tell it's a manner that's unique to him. Riddle may be upside down like Floyd is in his own Broomquet Groovy, but you can tell that there is a marked difference between the two. Riddle’s holding bis broom in a much more secure way, which is reflective of his personality, whereas Floyd is much more precarious in his pose. It reflects their personalities well!

And now we wait for Jamil’s Birthday Platinum Jacket SSR… 👀

A Boy in Bloom, and his Flowering Future.

“What do you want to do in the coming year?”

Riddle cleared his throat and stood straight as he provided his reply. He was the model student, interviewee... and, of course, birthday boy. "I would like to expand my culinary knowledge."

Vil arched a perfectly sculpted brow. "Judging by your prompt response, I take it that you studied the interview questions and prepared suitable answers for them in advance. How like you--but what a surprise that you have a goal that isn't related to school. You're infamous for your tenacity in that regard."

"I-I am capable outside of the realm of academics too!" Riddle hastily said with a frown. “… Though I admit I may be lacking in some departments. That is precisely why I would like to dedicate time and energy to strengthening my areas of weakness.”

"Oh, please. You can't possibly be as nightmarish at cooking as..." Vil paused, shuddering, "Lilia is."

The birthday boy paled at the mention of his senior. Lilia, who left kitchens looking like a natural disaster had torn through an active warzone. Lilia, who tossed in everything under the sink and then some. Lilia, who was known across campus for all manner of food borne illnesses and poisonings.

"Surely not!!" Riddle insisted. "I know how to read and follow a recipe! The issue lies in flexibility. Trey is able to make an entire meal just from leftovers, but I wouldn't be able to do the same."

"My, if you're concerned about food waste, couldn't you simply ask Trey to teach you? I'm certain he wouldn't refuse you. That man is too nice for his own good."

"Perhaps that's true. But even so... this is a skill I'd like to learn for myself. I don't want to become overly reliant on others' strength. What I must cultivate first and foremost is my own. To that end, I plan on enrolling in more Master Chef courses during my time at NRC. There are many styles of cooking I've yet to master. For example, Trey prepares meals that are very different from that of my mother."

"How so?"

"Well..." Riddle hesitated. The way he gnawed at his lower lip reminded Vil of an anxious rabbit--a far cry from the self-assured dorm leader he knew Riddle as.

"Mother cooks with nutrition as her priority. She is very health conscious and goes out of her way to ensure that I am eating what I need. When I am studying at home, she brews tea to drink. It's rare that my entire family comes together for a meal, given that we're all busy.

"Meanwhile, Trey's food is... I can't quite put a finger on it, but it's flavorful and fun, yet balanced. The experiences are unique from my time at home. Sometimes it's something warm, hearty, and comforting like hamburger steak. Sometimes it's something hopelessly indulgent and loaded with sugar, like tarts decorated with jewel-like fruits."

"Your eyes are shining." Vil smirked. "You enjoy his cooking that much?"

"I don't understand it myself," Riddle replied, scrunching his brows. "When Trey cooks, people are lured by the smell and gather around the table, wanting to join for the meal. It happened the other day when I was to eat with him and Cater. Ace and Deuce barged in on us, and... well, I suppose it wasn't all bad. We had a delightful conversation over lunch. There's something magical about that."

"There is a different feeling to eating with others than alone," Vil agreed with a slight nod. "My father and I can hardly align our schedules, so it's rare that we can sit down and eat together. Then again, maybe it's that rarity that makes us appreciate those moments all the more."

"That's right. It's a special spell that I realized I can't reproduce. Just memorizing the recipes and recreating them... that alone isn't enough."

"Fufufu, so you want to master that kind of 'magic'. That's surprisingly cute of you."

"N-No, you're mistaken! While it's true that cooking would come in handy for entertaining guests, it'd primarily be for self-sufficiency. After all, it's not as though I can always ask Trey or my mother to cook for me." Riddle shifted from one foot to another. "Someday, I'll have to move out of my dorm as well as my house, and live independently as a fine adult."

"Yes, cooking is an essential skill for that distant future. Have you already started on making those arrangements?"

"Er, not yet. I've been looking into it, but to actually take those first physical steps is... that is, I don't know how my mother would react."

"She sounds very stern from what you've told me of her. However, every mother must let her child go eventually."

"Maybe so, but I have never known my mother to back down from her beliefs. She's... not a woman you want to challenge." Riddle's voice strained at the final word. It was the lightest way he could put it, too afraid to acknowledge the whole truth. "I've tried to get her to hear me out, but..."

"If you can't draw that line in the sand now, then when? It will only make things more difficult for you when you start live alone."

"I'm fully aware of that." He couldn't bring himself to say more.

Vil sighed, bringing a hand to his temple. "... Listen, Riddle. Think of life as a stage, and you as the actor upon it. Worried about how the audience will react to your performance, working tirelessly to hone your craft.

“When the lights dim and the cameras turn off, the staff and the audience leave the theatre. You’ll be left only with your own thoughts. The onlookers may have one impression of you—but when the curtains fall, so long as you are proud of who you are away from the public eye, that, I think, is a sign of true maturity.

“If it’s courage and confidence that you seek, then you must work toward it. Never let your eyes stray from it. Even should the world deprive you of a happy ending, you must claw for it, believing that, someday, it will be yours.”

“Vil-senpai… Is this your way of encouraging me to see my goals through to the very end?”

His upperclassman scoffed. Thin, soft—like a rose petal, almost imperceptible as it passed upon a breeze.

“Think of it what your will. I merely speak from my own experience,” Vil replied. “We are both prideful NRC students at our very cores. Standing strong on our own two feet is something we all desire. That we can one day recognize that dream… It goes for us all.”

“Recognizing a dream, hm?”

How curious. I wondered not too long ago if it was really possible. Now, here I am, taking those first, small baby steps. A world where I can think for myself, live by my own rules… It sounds like a wonderland within my reach.

Soon, but not yet.

“… One day,” Riddle whispered to himself. “One day, I’ll be the person I want to be.”

Not the person I’m told to be.

A palm came against his back—a pat from Vil. “Really, I thought the dorm leader of Heartslabyul would know better than to mumble. You’re usually so good at barking at your card soldiers. Do remember to speak up—now, and forevermore.”

“I don’t recall asking for your advice.” Riddle brushed off his touch, stepping forward with his broom at the ready. Still, he chuckled. “… But yes, I will work on gathering my courage so that I may be comfortable leaving the nest. Thank you for your concern, senpai.”

“Ara, what cheek.” Vil tossed his golden locks. “If I’m to share the stage with you, then of course your skills must be on par with mine. Don’t you dare disappoint me, understood?”

“Hmph, when have I ever been the type to fall short of meeting expectations? Observe.”

Riddle confidently mounted his broom, assuming the position he had practiced many times over. There was a diagram of this exact pose in the mountain of textbooks he had in his dorm room. Straddling the handle between the legs, arms straight and steady, one hand gripped over the other, elbows locked.

He could have been the textbook diagram himself.

When Riddle looked up, he saw the vast sky, sunlight spilling across the sea that surrounded the island. Sunset on its way to soon paint the day with darkness.

The sky… It connects many different places and people. The future is stretching out before me, chalk full of possibilities.

Then… I can try, can I? To soar, to break free. Just this once…!!

Riddle’s hold on his broom tightened.

He called forth his magic, letting it pool around him in a shower of scarlet sparkles. The power collected, coalescing as a tingling warmth dancing across his skin, until he at last unleashed it in one burst. Like a cap popped off on a bottle.

Riddle buckled off, propelling into the air in a corkscrew motion. Rose petals fell free from his bouquet, perfuming the summer sky with them.

“Whew…!”

He stopped spinning, flying forward upside down. The world shifted, shapes and colors rearranging into a new perspective. His head and vision spun, seemingly colliding all of his senses against one another.

A moment or two later, and they had rattled neatly into place.

Riddle looked again, taking it all in. Rich gold dappling the grand spires of Night Raven College, the honeyed aroma of roses, the wind from on high tickling his lashes. The delicious freedom of flying freely.

“… Hah.”

Who knew it could taste so sweet?

#twst #twisted wonderland #Riddle Rosehearts #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #twst scenarios #Vil Schoenheit #twisted wonderland scenarios #disney twisted wonderland #spoilers #Riddle birthday takeover #something no one asked for