#and idk I do want to live outside of the south one day but i also don’t want to because of how ppl act like southern ppl are

[whimsyprinx]

ever few months something happens that makes me want to remind southern ppl that we’re not like a joke or bad or stupid or whatever else ppl like to paint southern folks as being

#whimsy whispers #especially marginalized southern people like people are so quick to forget that the south isn’t made up only of racists and bigots #like the south sucks for a lot of reasons but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a diverse array of people living here #and because we live here we know more than all else what it’s like and how bad it can be sometimes which is why it sucks even more when #people act like the south and every southerner as a whole is bad and bigoted and stupid ya know? #hi I’m sure I’m annoying with this but it just makes me sad because I’m so use to seeing people make fun of us or like talk genuinely badly #about us #and not just online or on tv but irl as well I’ve had people treat me like shit because of it #and idk I do want to live outside of the south one day but i also don’t want to because of how ppl act like southern ppl are #I know ppl who’ve moved from the south elsewhere and like they do get treated like dumbasses or shit because they’re southern #idk on one hand I feel like maybe I’ve being overdramatic but on the other it is an annoying and shitty thing to have to deal with

[vsaintsin]

Writeblr Re-Intro

Yo! I'm V Saintsin. Or V or Vin or Saintsin or whatever you want to call me that sounds right on your tongue. I'm a self-proclaimed Social Media fumbler who got a late start to the party and has never quite figured it out. I hate how hipster and edgy it sounds to say "I'm bad at social media" but like I used to work with some people who actually managed the social media accounts for the business we worked for and there were rules and whatnot and damn, I think online media is just not my medium. That being said, here I am! Hah

I'm an author and general mess who's hoping to be the miracle man (somebody who makes a living writing silly little stories). I do use a pseudonym but please hear me out when I say I didn't realize how edgy it sounds, it just has some sentimental value to my personal life. I'm so sorry that I sound like I'm in my emo phase HAHA

About me -

He/Him Transguy from the American Midwest (arguably the south, depending on who you talk to, but the older people still say "Sodi-pop" and "ope").

I'm dysautonomic, bendy, permanently sleepy, and a survivor of Crappy Doctors Who Suck At Doctoring.

I like DnD, Pathfinder, Baldur's Gate 3, Cyberpunk, Dragon Age, and other things in that vein.

I do make art of my stories and characters (Tablet is currently not working so I'm in a dry spell).

My writing background is predominantly ancient, dusty RPs from as far back as the foopets days and fanfic writing on Quizilla - I am an old and wizened elder of the net.

My formal education was music performance and behavioral neuroscience, I don't really know how I got where I am.

This is not my first rodeo with tumblr but it is the first time I have anything to SAY instead of just lurking.

In the event of malfunction, you can put me outside for 5 minutes and I'll probably factory reset.

My existence as I know it hinges on a massive number of sticky notes plastered throughout my room.

What I'm lookin' for -

Idk, whatever? I'm down for most things. Did you write it? Cool, let me see. I'm not too bent on genre or anything, just fascinated by the art of storytelling.

A bit tentative with fanfiction but that's just because if it's not a fandom I'm familiar with I am rather clueless about what the hell is going on and if it's a fandom I am familiar with I HUNT DOWN THE DEEP LORE.

I like art a whole lot, including fanart. Also art advice, love seeing things from different perspectives and learning something new.

Mutuals, really, for any reason. Building better connections on here, getting to know people. I am hideously bad at this but I try.

What I write -

Science Fiction with heavy subjects that matter to me - trigger warnings on a story-by-story basis.

High Fantasy (eventually books I think?) characters and their backgrounds for DnD and Pathfinder - I have been tempted to share these to help people get ideas or just for free use?

Things that I delete because I have crippling imposter syndrome and publishing makes me nauseous (doin' it tho).

Stories that I hope will make people feel less alone or that people could relate to, stories that I wish I had when life was worse and I was reaching out for anything I could find to keep me afloat, stories that try to be critical of things that SUCK in a way that's any helpful.

Lots of curse words and cussing (that's just how people talk 'round here), dubious science, things that I hope might make you cry but in a good way though.

Character-Driven stories that revolve more around the development of the person and less around the plot itself if that makes sense.

I've put blurb things below for my primary project/series which features a grumpy, queer, 37-year old chain smoking Frenchman and his misadventures with life and love and unbridled rage. If any of that sounds cool stick around and hang out? (This part is a plug bc I did a thing and I'm proud of it) And if my books sounds interesting the first one is 99 cents on Kindle and you just need a phone and a free app to read it!

THE SECRET OF LIFE (Published) - Sci-Fi/Psychological Thriller, Bi M Lead, Lovers to Enemies, AI but the oldschool cool kind not the real world thing that's stealing our future

Carlisle-Trystan Antoinette is a mercenary on a hard road, navigating life and death itself in an infinite cycle started by powers above his understanding. He has one mission - warn The Dianican Space Station of the coming threat and put a stop to a war that would encapsulate the whole of the Sol System before it can ever begin. Unfortunately for Carlisle, reality is a tenuous thing, made up only by our understanding of it. At least, according to his Psychiatrist, who tells him that there is no war, that he was never a mercenary, and that what Carlisle is experiencing is a severe but manageable psychotic break. Stripped of his combat enhancements, his bio monitor, and everything he's every known, Carlisle has a decision to make. Does he give in to the thoughts and memories, so real that he can almost taste them, or does he live a life of comfort and ease, returning to a husband and daughter that he left behind?

TWs: Domestic and War Violence, suicide, rape, medical trauma, grief, drug use

THE SILENCE OF ANGELS (Due July '24, TSoL 2) - Betrayal and Rage, Learning how to love again slow-burn romantic subplot, Learning how to Dad, A general inability for any one thing to just go right

(Quick Rough Blurb that offers no spoilers for TSoL) Making connections isn't easy for somebody who's accustomed to burning bridges. Isolation has always been Carlisle's mantra for surviving his life. Playing a role comes second nature, pretending to be the man that everyone else wants to see in him. When an old friend is murdered Carlisle finds himself as the primary suspect with all evidence pointing to him so clearly that even he calls to question what he is capable of. Unwilling to believe that he could commit such a heinous crime, Carlisle sets off to find the truth of his friend's death - was Carlisle framed or does he truly have the capacity to bring such harm upon those he loves? Old and new bonds will be tested, faith broken, and the future of everyone called into question as lines are drawn and sides are picked.

TWs: Violence, mentions of SA, graphic character death, more grief, more death

I don't know what else to say... Later!

#booklr #lgbt fiction #writeblr #writeblr intro #authors

[cod-z]

Being Used

You chose to read this, do NOT blame me if you ignore my warnings! TW: Manipulation, SA, Mental Manipulation, Power abuse, Degradation, Swearing, Comparing, DarkFic, just rlly fucked shit I thought of.

Pairing(s): 141 x Reader

| One-shots |

A/N: Been thinking about dark stuff…? Idk, I’m just out of it right now, my mentality is spiralling and I need to release these dark thoughts about the boys, using and abusing us.

Captain John Price who uses you to his advantage, to have control over you and using your being to bend against his will, use your mind as a second host like a parasite infesting into your brain. John Price who will make you second guess your thoughts, your pros and cons, your morals just because he can and will, abusing his rank against you as you suffer the consequences of his choices, whether it’s you who takes the bullets for the team or being the little, bitch you are on his desk being bent over and his cock being bullied into your cervix. He’d ravish and abuse you whenever and however he wants even if you were damaged, healing, doesn’t matter as long as he had gotten his fill from you because you’re a good soldier, a good soldier who’ll listen to the Captain, right? Right?

Lieutenant Ghost a darkened man, a former shell of the life he could’ve had, if his family was still alive minus the asshole of a father. If only he wasn’t weak and so naive back then perhaps he’d be different to the person you know as Ghost, using you just the same as Price but less soft and controlled, using you as he abuses his rank, humiliating you in front of recruits because he could. He’s breaking you like the world has broken him, jealous of the family that awaited you back home with love and care, using you so can know how he felt when he was younger. Taking you every which way just like Price but this time it was off and on base, slamming your doors open while he slammed you against the wall. You’ll help your Lieutenant, it wasn’t your choice.

Sergeant Soap he was more merciful than the other two seeing as being a Sergeant didn’t have the intense workload like the Captain and Lieutenant, no, but he used you for his high libido, always grabbing you into darkened corners, covering your pretty mouth while he ruts into your ass or cunt even if you begged him to stop. Now with his mentality, he was fine, sure he had his dark days when the mission went south but it rarely happened but when it did… hell would’ve been a better option to live in. He may not be of higher statue but he’ll treat you as the lowest of filth, embarrassing you further than Ghost ever will while he makes sure to implant thoughts into the recruits that you were nothing but a slut, even at your given rank, letting his ego fuel as you agree as he groped you. You let him do it, why? He wanted you and you wanted him, this is what you want, is it not?

Sergeant Gaz was a pretty-boy, in your eyes he did nothing wrong, never argues, never raises his voice, denying all the dark rumours that surrounded his picture perfect image, never wanting to burn that mental image of him. Gaz the perfect, pretty-boy. Wrong. Behind closed doors he’d degrade you, telling that your worth was beyond nothing but a speckle of dirt on the ground, using you as an outlet of his fury while he hate-fucks you onto the floor. If both of you were outside, he’d bury your face into the dirt and compares you to it, how you should be 6 feet under, harsh words and insults leaving his pretty mouth. Mentally and emotionally, he uses you to show that he wasn’t someone to be looked as perfect, he had his flaws, he had that same insanity as the rest of the Task Force and he’ll show you as the example. Anything for the pretty-boy…

#cod-z #call of duty fanfiction #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #task force 141 x reader #141 x reader #cod mw x reader #cod x you #modern warfare x reader #cod fanfic #captain price x reader #simon ghost x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #task force 141 #task force x reader #simon ghost x you #price x reader #johnny soap mctavish x you #kyle gaz x you

[suzdin]

Two For One

(Dave York x Max Phillips x f!reader)

Summary: You move from Texas to Boston to live with your boyfriend, but he dumps you soon after the move, and you’re forced to find your own place and get a job. You meet two men a few months later, Max Phillips, a regular at the coffee shop you work at, and Dave York, your neighbor. Things begin to heat up soon after.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-vampire Max, pre-Equalizer 2 Dave, small age gap (unspecified), no use of y/n, some angst, mention of self-unaliving, mention of divorce/familial trauma, mention of weapons, romance, no fluff, alcohol use, drug use, smut, graphic depictions of sex, rough sex, bondage, degradation, dubcon?, dom!Max, spanking, fingering, public masturbation, stalking, I’m not used to doing warnings I’m sorry if I missed anything, Max is an asshole and Dave is creepy, forgive me idk what I’m doing 🤷‍♀️

——

Dave York is an empty husk of a man ever since the divorce. Even more so since he had sunk all of his life savings—what little was left of it, after all was said and done—into some shitty, grossly overpriced apartment in Boston just so he could give Carol and the girls the space his ex-wife had specifically requested.

He wasn’t fool enough to believe he and Carol could somehow recuscite what once was there and now lost. That was a bridge that had been crossed and burnt to cinders years ago, little more than dust in the wind at present.

In spite of himself, the desire was still there on the longest, loneliest stretches of nights, lingering; hardly a flicker, but it was there.

Not to mention his girls. He missed Mollie and Alice so goddamn much. Twice a month visitations were not enough to diminish his need to be near them, protect them. It was even harder on his daughters, which was plain enough to see by their tear-streaked faces at the beginning and end of every weekend, with the middle being some kind of hazy, unsatisfactory torpor.

If not for them, he would have chosen somewhere cheaper to live. Mexico, maybe.

But he hadn’t. He’d chosen Boston, because it was just close enough to be within a day’s drive of the home they once shared in Virginia, but far enough for Carol to be satisfied that he wouldn’t randomly show up outside of scheduled visitations.

The reality of it all was enough to make him want to say fuck it and put a gun in his mouth. He’d do less damage to the girls that way, he thinks. A one and done.

That was until he met you.

He first noticed you at the bagel shop across the street, smiling pleasantly at the man handing you your everything bagel with extra cream cheese. Then again at the laundromat down the street, trying but failing to hide your lacy underthings from view; he was impervious to stop himself from stealing a glance at them when your back was turned.

It didn’t take him long to deduce that you lived in the building next to his. It was smaller, with only eight units, unlike his, which happened to be twelve. He’d learned that you lived on the top floor, in the smallest unit: a studio apartment at the end of the hall, which faced the street.

You were always so polite. Buttoned up, almost. You weren’t the typical, loud, crass Bostonian he was used to: you weren’t a local. The slight sweetness to your voice suggested maybe you were from somewhere in the south. It was faint, but it was there.

He would catch you carrying in groceries to your building sometimes. He always asked if you needed his help, but you never did, because you never had more than one or two bags worth. He never saw you with anyone, and the meager amount of groceries you had only cemented the idea that you lived alone.

He would occasionally find you bringing home liquor bottles, usually tequila or vodka, but even on those nights…it was only you.

In fact, in the weeks since he had first laid eyes on you, he hadn’t recalled ever seeing you with anyone.

It unsettled him to think of you up there, in your tiny studio apartment, drinking alone. Was there something—or someone—you were trying to forget?

He should be the one drinking with you.

There’s a small window in his bathroom where he has a scant view into your apartment, facing your front door. There isn’t much to see—fleeting glimpses if anything, a blue wall with pictures he can’t quite make out—but it’s enough for Dave. He likes to watch you leave for work, as he can often see your hand reaching for the keys you have hanging by your front door.

He’s gotten himself off a few times just seeing your soft, lovely hand, imagining how it would feel wrapped around his cock.

Dave doesn’t think he’s wanted anyone as much as he wants you.

——

You work at a coffee shop about three blocks from your home called The Beanery.

A dumb name, in your opinion.

You’ve only been working there about six months, but you’ve already been promoted to manager. It isn’t exactly the lifestyle you had envisioned when you made the trek from Fort Worth to Boston, but it pays your bills.

You’d been forced to get a job there when Jonathan—whom you’d moved to Boston for not even a year ago—had left you for another woman in upstate New York, leaving you to fend for yourself in an unfamiliar city.

You were only working there until you could make enough money to move back home. That’s what you kept telling yourself, anyway. It was hard to save when rent in this city was astronomical.

Dave is on one of his early morning runs past the coffee shop the day he finds you telling a man in a cheap looking business suit, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off.

Until now, he had never worked up the courage to go inside; to talk to you. He often saw you behind the counter, toiling away, a look of rumination gracing your features, as if you’d rather be somewhere else.

He’d always wanted to go in and order something overpriced that he didn’t even want…just to have the chance to talk to you more than a few mumbled words at a time.

But he never had, because he didn’t want to be a burden to you. Another faceless customer to make your day feel longer, harder.

That was until he saw you confronting a man who was easily twice your size. You were on the other side of the counter now, staring the man down, a fire blazing on your countenance that Dave couldn’t deny made him want to make the man disappear for good.

He’d made many men disappear. Men who were far more dangerous and terrifying than whoever this pathetic excuse for one was.

He’d never seen you this worked up before. You were always so quiet; so polite and unassuming.

You’re pointing at the door and telling the man to get the fuck out and never come back.

The man—whoever he is—squares up to you. Leans over you, trying to intimidate you as you stare each other down. His face is close to yours—too close.

It makes Dave sick. He wants to break the fucking man in half.

“What do you plan on doing about it, sweetheart?” the man asks you. Challenging you, with a crooked, shit eating grin on his face.

That alone is enough for Dave to do something about it. His need, his desire to protect something, someone—which he hasn’t been able to do in so long—now focused into a tight arc, right at you.

He swings open the coffee shop door, little bells chiming from somewhere above him, and closes the ground between himself and the other man faster than you think should be possible.

You see Dave before Max does. You recognize him from your neighborhood, and from all the times you’ve watched him jog past the coffee shop. You’d swear he had a crush on you, if you didn’t know any better.

He grabs a fistful of Max’s suit and yanks him back. It’s absolutely effortless for him—you’ve never paid much attention before now, but he’s tall. And broad.

It makes your breath catch in your throat.

He spins Max—who is now furious—to face him directly. Max looks as though he wants to throw a punch…until he gets a good look at Dave.

“Hey! What is your fucking problem, pal?” he fumes.

“I think the lady asked you to leave,” Dave states plainly. There’s an edge to it.

Max scoffs, inclining his head toward you now, smirking. “Is this white knight your boyfriend, or something?” he asks, his tone thick with consternation.

“No. Just…a friend,” you say, looking at Dave, who still has Max in his clutches. Dave stares back. You swear there’s something there.

“And if I don’t leave?” he asks, and you’re not sure if he’s asking you or Dave. You answer him anyway.

“I’ll call the cops,” you reply. Dave nods in silent approval.

Max rolls the edge of his tongue over his perfect white teeth, holding up both hands in defeat. “Alright, alright. Don’t have to ask me twice,” he says with a sardonic grin, turning to leave. “Coffee tastes like shit anyway.”

Dave releases his grip and Max turns toward the door. The two men shoulder each other as Max passes, and for a moment, you think there may be a fight. They stare at one another, sizing each other up; Dave’s face is stone while Max smirks, tauntingly.

It makes your skin prickle and your core flush with heat all at once, watching the two men posture like animals right in front of you.

Thankfully, they manage to restrain themselves and Max leaves without another word; you release the breath you realize you’ve been holding in all this time.

Dave’s face softens as he steps towards you, raising his hand to brush against your upper arm in consolation. He thinks nothing of it—an instinct from having maintained a protective role for so long—but the small touch causes you to flinch away.

“Sorry,” he says softly. He wishes he could touch you more; pull you into his arms. “I just— Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you answer. Physically, you’re okay. Mentally, however, you still want to murder someone.

You look over your shoulder in time to see Audrey—your new hire, and the reason you forbade Max from ever returning—push open the door to the back room, wiping her face as she does so.

Max had made her cry, and you couldn’t afford to lose another barista.

“I’m sorry, I need to handle this,” you tell Dave. You look to Vincent, who’d watched the whole thing unfold from behind the counter without so much as an offer to help, but you suppose he isn’t paid enough to care. Hell, you barely are.

“Let, um…” you look at Dave, gesturing at him with a flat, open palm, and you hope he understands what you’re insinuating.

“Dave,” he replies.

“Let Dave here order whatever he wants. On the house,” you tell Vincent, who nods.

“I’m sorry again, but it was nice to meet you, Dave,” you say, introducing yourself, as if he can’t read your name tag. “Thank you so much…for helping.”

You smile meekly and wave goodbye to Dave as you head to the back to hopefully calm Audrey down before she quits.

Your back is turned by the time Dave proffers his own weak smile and wave. He watches you go, mapping every delicate curve of your backside with his eyes.

He doesn’t take you up on your offer of a free item.

He has a man to track down.

——

You find Audrey in the back room, hunched forward on the edge of a metal folding chair, palms pushed into her eyes.

You really can’t lose another barista. You’re overworked as it is and Maurizio cut everyone’s hours a couple of months ago, causing several of your best workers to quit, bringing you back around to square one. If she goes, you’ll have to work doubles for the unforeseeable future and, well, that wasn’t exactly ideal, considering Maurizio was constantly bitching at you about overtime…as if you could even help it.

You’d quit yourself if that was in the cards right now.

“Hey…” you offer, softly. “You okay?”

Audrey has only been working for you for three days; Maurizio hired her. She wouldn’t have been your first choice, since she was a little slow to pick things up, the job itself seeming to overburden her—but you couldn’t afford not to give her a chance. You need to tread lightly to keep her from bolting.

“Hey,” she replies back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to lose it like that. It’s just—well, I’m going through a bad break up right now…” she admits, raking thin fingers through bright pink hair. “And him yelling at me about his drink being wrong was just…y’know. Last straw,” she laughs nervously.

You nod, feeling a little bad about passing judgment so quickly, knowing you know exactly how she’s feeling, since that was you only a few months ago. Still is, probably.

“I understand completely. I just got over one of those myself,” you confess, crossing your arms. “It’s fine if you need a minute. Vincent and I got the front,” you say, trying to articulate things in a way that will make it less likely she’ll walk—at least, that’s the hope.

You had been here since 4AM and your head was steadily pounding. You hadn’t had a cigarette in hours. And then Audrey had gotten the drinks mixed up—it happens—causing Max to lose his temper and call her a string of things you didn’t want to repeat, even in your mind.

Max had been a regular as long as you’d been employed, but he was also an asshole. A regular asshole. You wouldn’t miss him, his tacky suits, or his penchant for cutting in line anytime soon.

You had to admit it gave you a little thrill to finally stand up to him, the pull you felt between your legs an undeniable tell. You think he felt it, too. Not that it matters.

Audrey nods, rubbing at her eyes again. “Yeah. I’ll be up in a bit,” she says, and you try to hide your sigh of relief. “It’s just—is it okay if I um—take half an edible? To take the edge off?” she asks.

You could give two shits what people do in their free time, but at work? You almost say no—almost—but change your mind quickly when you see the grief still playing on her features.

Truth be told, that sounds nice right about now.

“Sure,” you tell her. “But only if you give me the other half.”

——

Blessedly, Audrey doesn’t quit. The edible elevates her mood—like, a lot—and yours, as well. You feel great the rest of your shift, finally getting off work at two, when Sarah relieves you of your managerial duties for the day.

She notes your change in attitude, which you have to admit has been pretty dour these past few weeks. You lie and tell her it had been an easy going day, purposely neglecting to mention Max. No need to bring your elation back down.

You gather your things to leave, exhaling a long, exasperated sigh as you go. You’re going to enjoy the fuck out of this.

As an added bonus, you have tomorrow off, which you’ll undoubtedly spend sleeping in. And tonight—drinking your weight in alcohol, most likely.

Whatever passes the time.

You’re almost all the way to your apartment, puffing on the cigarette perched between your lips, slipping into the breezeway that shoulders your building, when you hear a voice from behind you that you could discern out of a line up.

Dark, crooning, dripping with condescension.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

It’s Max.

You almost think you heard wrong, your mind still hazy from the cannabis in your system. Surely it isn’t him—that would mean he followed you here, which is just goddamn creepy.

Yet you’re not at all surprised when you turn and see him standing there with his hands in his pockets. He’s shed his jacket since you last saw him, now clad only in a crisp white dress shirt, gray slacks and yellow tie, the look finished off with some plain brown dress shoes.

You aren’t sure what Max does for a living and you’ve never cared enough to find out, but he has all the characteristics of a corporate vampire: nice pressed suits, pristine grooming, preternatural cunning and arrogance out the ass.

You find yourself palming the pepper spray you keep in your purse. You’d bought it after Jonathan had left. You had yet to use it, but today might be the day.

“Max, I’m sorry, my decision is final—“ you start to say.

“Is it?” Max asks you, cutting you off. “Because last I checked, the shop belongs to Maurizio, not you, darling,” he says, sauntering steadily closer.

“And I don’t care. I’m the manager, I have the right to ban you,” you respond, trying your damndest to cling to your convictions.

“Uh huh. We’ll see what Maurizio has to say about that,” he replies, grinning crookedly as he stares down at you with shimmering dark brown eyes. You aren’t sure when it happened, but somehow Max has gotten a lot closer, the wall of the building almost at your back.

He holds up his cell phone so you can see the screen: Maurizio Bernardi, saved as a contact, plain as day. You feel your face go slack with realization.

“You… how do you know Maury?” you ask, flabbergasted. Your head swims, and everything suddenly feels bright and fuzzy at the periphery of your mind; you must be coming down from the THC.

“We went to school together! Isn’t that wild?” Max responds with a snorting laugh, slipping his phone back into his pocket. You’re fully pinned against the wall now by his breadth alone, and he hasn’t even touched you.

You could end this easily in two seconds flat with a blast of pepper spray straight to his face. There might be some blowback with the light breeze whipping through, and you’d most definitely lose your job since he’s friends with Maury, but it would be worth it knowing you put Max in his place once and for all.

Right?

He’s so close that you smell the faint scent of cologne mingled with the underlying odor of sweat. You feel your heart beating at your temples. You hadn’t been with anyone since Jonathan left, and you couldn’t deny you were touch starved. You swallow and stare back, your eyes searing into him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he says, softly gripping your arm to remove your hand from your purse, as if he’s reading your mind. Your fingers go slack around the can of pepper spray.

“Wasn’t gonna do anything,” you snip, yanking your arm out of his grasp. “Can I go home now?”

Max crowds into your space, pushing you into the wall, gentle enough not to hurt but forceful enough to press your back to the rough of the brick. He plucks the now neglected cigarette from your other hand, which is burnt nearly to the filter.

“Filthy fucking habit,” he chides, placing it to his lips and taking a drag before discarding it between the two of you, where he snuffs it out with the sole of his shoe. “Didn’t figure you for the type.”

“You know nothing about me,” you retort.

“I know you tried to humiliate me today,” he says quietly. “I don’t appreciate being humiliated.”

“I don’t appreciate you yelling at my workers,” you bite back. You aren’t going to give him the satisfaction of intimidating you. “Do you know how understaffed we are right now as it is? I’m exhausted!” You attempt to duck under an arm; he blocks you.

“You manage—what? Six, seven people?” Max asks.

“Four,” you correct. “Because we’re grossly understaffed.”

He smirks. “That’s cute. Try three hundred. Then we’ll talk.”

“Okay, I get it. Point made. Can I go?” you ask, attempting to duck him again. He grabs your wrist this time.

“Not until I humiliate you like you humiliated me,” he threatens, locking eyes with you. His other hand drifts to the curve of your waist, almost swallowing you with the size of it. Your breath catches. He takes that as invitation.

“And just how do you plan on doing th—“

Your words dissipate mid sentence when aforementioned hand untucks your shirt from your pants, creating just enough of a pocket for it to slide in between.

You take in a deep breath as his fingers slowly glide up the plane of your stomach and rib cage; he reaches the swell of your breast, not hesitating at all to grab you there, reveling at the soft depth of it against his wide palm.

It’s fucked. Utterly fucked. A small part of you wants to kick him in the balls and run, but you can’t help but go boneless and pliant like fresh clay under his touch.

If you’re being honest with yourself, as much as you loathe him, it isn’t like you hadn’t thought about Max before today. He always looks so nice and sharp in his business suits; not to mention it’s been so long since anyone has put their hands on you. Your toys just aren’t doing the trick anymore.

You whimper and arch involuntarily into him. Judging by the flash of triumph in his eyes, he liked that.

“By making you scream my name so loud right here in the street, the entire state will know who I am by the time I’m done with you,” he taunts, accentuating his point with a tug of your nipple through the fabric of your bra.

“M-Max, I…” you half protest, half moan.

You what? You can’t? You don’t want to? You can hardly remember to breathe at this point.

“Yeah. Just like that,” he laughs softly. “You’ll be reduced to a quivering puddle by the time I’m through.” His other hand toys dangerously close to the waistband of your pants.

Your eyes flit to the street, which isn’t even twenty paces from where you’re wedged between him and the wall. No one is currently paying either of you any mind, but you have no doubt that would change if what he’s saying is true. You have zero reason not to believe him.

“Max, we can’t do this,” you say, finally able to find your voice. “Not here,” you add, so that he understands that you do want it, regardless of how fucked it may be.

He pops the top button of your pants. You do nothing to stop him.

“Then say the word, sweetheart. Tell me I’m not banned,” he whispers into your ear. “You’ll do that for me, right?” His hand skims lower, undoing a second button.

“You s-said… Maury…”

“I need to hear you say it,” he responds pointedly, grinding his pelvis into yours; the firm press of his cock dividing you at your center, pushing against your clit.

“Jesus… fuck…” you babble, your head falling against the wall with a painful thud.

You don’t need Audrey, right? Or time off, like…ever? The extra pay from overtime is nice…and Maury can bitch about it all he wants, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s his fault, anyway. Not yours.

Nothing matters right now aside from the man rutting deliciously into your lap.

You aren’t sure what’s come over you. It could be the THC still firmly rooted in your brain, or the stress of the job getting to you, or both. Whatever the reason, you’re impervious to resist him and his off kilter, douchey kind of appeal.

“Say it,” he whispers, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your flesh.

“My apartment is up-s-stairs,” you reply. He snaps his hips aggressively into you in retaliation, and you squeak.

“Say it,” he growls.

“Shit, Max! Fine! You win, you— You aren’t banned.”

“Good,” he responds with a wry smirk, dark eyes sparkling with gratification. You only just realize that your hand is twisted up in his tie, and his gaze follows your grip, fingers brushing along the inner line of your wrist. You shiver.

“Take me to your apartment,” he says. You let the words hang in the air between the two of you, eyeing each other; silently scrutinizing which one will break first.

Of course it’s you.

You don’t worry about fixing your clothes as you make a beeline for the side door of the building, Max trailing closely behind. They won’t be a problem in just a few minutes, anyway; hopefully you won’t run into anyone in the hall on the way up.

His hands are on you again by the time you reach the elevator, pushing under your shirt, pants riding down your hips when they have nothing to cling to. He presses you against the far wall of the elevator, teeth raking over your pulse point and bearing down. You moan.

“Knew you were a dirty fucking girl,” he groans into the curve of your neck.

You reach for his tie again, the other hand absently dragging his thigh for purchase. His hands squeeze your breasts, rolling them under the flat of his palm. You can barely breathe, let alone speak; you’ve never let someone manhandle you so brazenly before. And you kind of like it.

Finally, the elevator dings for your floor; Max pulls his hands free of your shirt and grabs you by the wrists, yanking you into the short and narrow hallway. You fall into his chest and he steadies you, hands bracketing around your hips.

“This one is mine,” you say, pointing to the faded green door over his left shoulder. For a moment, he steps back, allotting you the space needed to access your apartment.

You can barely get the key to slide into the lock you’re shaking so fucking bad, but you eventually get it to work.

Your apartment isn’t exactly tidy. You’ve never had company over before in all the time you’ve lived here, much less unexpected—you suppose it doesn’t matter, as he probably won’t even notice, or care.

You flick on the light and the small space is illuminated in dull fluorescence, revealing the whole 322 square feet of it, save for the bathroom. You toss your purse onto the couch, turning to face Max.

You start to open your mouth to offer him a drink—an engrained habit leftover from your upbringing—but he stifles the words before they can even be borne on your lips, a hand coming up to loosely circle your throat as he walks you backwards to the bed, his eyes hued inky black with lust.

It’s not at all surprising that he isn’t a man of formalities if his presence at the coffee shop is anything to go by. You would wonder if he’s this ruthless at his job if you didn’t already have a good inkling about that.

You jolt when your legs make contact with the mattress. He doesn’t waste time in removing your clothes once he has you there, beginning with your shirt, relieving you of the burden. Your bra is next, and as his eyes hone in on the hardened peaks of your nipples, you think to yourself you’ve never seen him look this pensive before.

“Fucking — perfect,” he whispers, rolling his thumbs over the stiff buds, eliciting a moan from somewhere deep in your chest.

The rest is a blur up until the moment he’s almost pushing inside of you, so desperate in his need to remove any offending article of clothing he somehow manages to do so in the space of a few seconds, your mingled clothes a discarded pile of rubbish on the floor next to the bed.

He’s more fit than you expect, the bulbous cut of his arms leading into sharp lines of pectoral muscles. His stomach is defined enough, in your opinion—a man doesn’t need rock hard abs to get you off, after all—the lower half of his torso curtained in a swathe of dark pubic hair.

His cock hangs low amid his thighs, already fully engorged, the head an angry shade of pink and weeping for you. You try to tear your gaze away as you take in the sight of him, and are only vaguely aware that he’s asking you something.

“—I said, do you have any condoms?” you realize.

Odd time to worry about condoms, when he had plenty of time to stop at the store on the way to you. It’s fine, though — you have some left over from Jonathan.

“In the drawer behind you,” you tell Max. He reaches around behind him, pulling one out a moment later, breaking the wrapper open with his teeth and rolling it over himself with expert finesse.

You scoot back on the bed, every nerve ending in your body on fire, your head falling back into one of your pillows as Max mounts and straddles you, caging you in with his long limbs.

He peers down at you, eyes shining dark with desire, his mouth so close to yours you can inhale his breath if you were so inclined; you want him to kiss you, to bite your tongue and lips with those perfect white teeth, but he seems to be intentionally avoiding doing so.

Keep it business. Keep it casual.

���Roll over,” he says softly, moving off of you, and for a fleeting moment, you’re nonplussed. You note a faint flash of yellow at your peripheral, and it takes you a moment to register what’s happening; you crane your neck over your shoulder to confirm your notion, spying the pale yellow shine of his tie unraveling between both fists.

“Cross your wrists at your back,” he quietly commands, his voice low and even, leaving no room for debate. A man skilled in so few words in the art of persuasion—of seduction.

You’ve never been tied up or restrained before—much less by a man you have absolutely no sexual experience with, one you probably shouldn’t put any faith of your safety in at all—but you obediently lattice your wrists at the bend of your spine, taking in a prolonged breath as your core thrums in anticipation between your legs.

Although you can’t see him, you can practically feel Max grinning at your back. You hear the smooth slide of silk between his fingers. A moment later, he’s slipping the tie under your linked arms, spiraling it deftly around your wrists until you’re completely bound together and the grip holds true.

You flex your hands against the makeshift cuffs, testing them. You’re surprised at how comfortable it is and how you can still rotate your wrists; only your arms are immobile—which is exactly what he wanted.

“On your side now,” he commands coolly. You don’t dare dawdle, scooting to one side as best you can, albeit with some added effort without the aid of your hands to push you over.

He slides into the bed next to you, pushing himself as flush as he can against your back since your arms are now in the way, pulling your leg up and over his hip, butterflying you open.

He reaches around to cup your sex, middle finger riding your seam until he reaches your expectant opening, pushing himself in to the first knuckle. He slides in easily and you can’t hide the fact that you’re already soaked.

“Fuck,” he whispers raggedly, his voice thick against your ear. “Somebody wants this.”

His erection drags over the hill of your ass. You’re breathing hard and your heart is racing a million miles an hour. You feel as though you could combust at any moment.

His finger slips further into your depths, languidly pumping until your arousal coats all the way to the final knuckle. He adds a second finger then, breathing heavily into the shell of your ear.

“You ready to take me, sweetheart? Fair warning—I don’t do soft.”

As if you had any other expectations after he just finished binding you with his fucking necktie.

“Y-yes,” you whisper, hoarse and oh so needy. His hand snaps against your exposed ass, your body recoiling at the sudden lance of pain.

“Beg me for it.”

“Please, Max, I need it,” you plead, your voice feeling small in your throat. You writhe against him to accentuate your point, your wrists flexing against the binds.

“Good,” he says softly, spitting into his palm and coating himself with it, sliding the head along your folds and notching himself at your entrance.

Your breath stalls when you feel him. He isn’t even in and it already seems like too much.

“Breathe,” he tells you, giving you a moment to pull fresh oxygen into your lungs. When your response is sufficient enough for him, he’s suddenly pushing into you, cleaving you in two; there’s a dull sting from how much he stretches you apart, and you’ve already lost your ability to think, to power your lungs.

“Breathe,” he says again, a venomous edge to his tone. “Don’t need you passing out on me.”

Cue your surprise when unresponsive isn’t really his thing. You’d always figured him as a much bigger creep than this, despite the fact that he literally has you pinned like prey.

You suck in more air as Max buries himself all the way to the hilt, softly spurring his pelvis deep, deep into yours from behind. “So fucking tight,” he rumbles against the rim of your ear, teeth scraping along the ridge of your jaw.

And then the onslaught begins. He’s right—he doesn’t do soft.

The first few gyrations, he’s pulling almost all the way out, only to crack his hips back into you as hard as he can, the head of his cock bumping the sensitive flesh of your back wall with each ministration. The sound that resonates is louder than expected and more than a little obscene, strangled whimpers escaping with each snap of his pelvis, skin slapping skin.

Each time the room goes silent in those void spaces between utterances, you almost think you hear something—or someone—in the hall just beyond the thin barrier of your door. Your neighbor, Mrs. Tobin? Hopefully she hasn’t heard anything. She’s already reported you in the past for watching your movies too loud—

But just as swiftly as the thought occurs to you, it’s just as easily dissipated, Max’s fingers digging into your hip to hold you in place as he begins to rail you as hard and fast as any man reasonably can, his breath hot and wet against the nape of your neck, every rough smack of his hips into yours a thinly veiled threat to unravel every last fiber of your being.

The sounds that you make in return are not human.

His other hand comes up to cradle your chin, bowing your neck to a barrage of pearly whites, bearing down on the delicate crossroads of your neck and shoulder. The sting of incisors making purchase with your flesh causes you to yelp, your head misty from the feeling, toeing a line between pain and pleasure.

“Good girl, sweetheart. Taking me like a champ,” he growls breathlessly.

The hand riding your hip slithers around to where he’s currently splitting you open, gathering your natural lubrication on the pads of his fingers as he begins to slowly admonish attention to your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Oh fuck!” you yelp, bucking involuntarily as you chase the feeling. That solicits a laugh from Max, who seems quite pleased with himself.

“You like that?” he asks you, all the while still pumping into you from behind with everything he can muster; you have to admit his stamina is admirable.

You make some kind of inhuman mewl in reverence. His touch stokes fire deep within you, your pleasure mounting to dizzying heights, and you can’t remember the last time a man made you feel so coveted.

You can’t believe you could have been doing this all these long and lonely months. You should bar him from your shop more often.

“Kiss me, please,” you whine, folding your head behind you to lounge against his shoulder. The grip on your chin tightens, fingertips digging in, almost painfully so; there might be bruises there later.

“You take what I give you,” he tuts, gnashing his incisors along the soft of your throat.

If it’s possible, his grueling, punishing speed increases to near paralyzing, and you’re close to seeing stars. His fingers swirl lazily around your clit by comparison.

And then, without preamble or warning, he stops, pulling himself free from you. You chirp in protest at the loss, your walls clenching around nothing.

“What? Max…”

“Face down,” he instructs. “Quickly, now.”

You shoulder the mattress for stability as you roll yourself over without use of your arms, hands straining against the necktie still spooled around your wrists.

He enters you from behind the moment you assume the position, pumping into you at a far more leisurely pace than only seconds ago.

The wide breadth of his palms splay across your ass cheeks, spreading you apart as he watches you swallow him from behind. He’s much deeper at this angle, the head of his cock kissing your g-spot with every slow thrust.

You flinch when you feel his thumb graze against the muscular ring of flesh between your cheeks. He chuckles darkly.

“Bet you’d let me fuck your tight little asshole, wouldn’t you? Such a supplicant little cock sleeve for me.” You moan at the derision. “Yeah, you are. Glad we agree.”

His hands bracket your hips with stupefying strength, which will most assuredly brand you with the lines of his fingers, but you’re sure that’s what he wants. He pulls you back into him, spearing you onto his length. The new angle makes you scream.

“That’s it. Take it all,” he rumbles, resuming the previous breakneck speed, railing you with such ferocity there’s no way in hell half the city isn’t aware of Max’s presence in your pussy right now.

“F-fuck, Max—“ you bite, the mention of his name only furthering him along.

He rewards you by moving his hand back to your swollen clit, fingers flicking over the sensitive nub until you’re gasping for air, a string of curses and otherwordly noises escaping your lips. You’re staggeringly close.

“That’s it. You gonna come for me? Come on me, sweetheart. I need to feel you.”

He impales you with uninhibited exuberance from behind, your bed shuddering from each impact, and you know you’ll be feeling him between your legs for a week.

A few more hard, rough administrations and the tether abruptly snaps, your orgasm washing over you, ripping through your entire being with a scream-strangled-moan that your neighbors will definitely hear if they happen to be home.

It doesn’t take Max much longer than you to come apart in your wake, his breath stuttering in his chest and a loud, guttural snarl bursting forth, and for several prolonged seconds as he milks the remaining traces of himself into the condom, you can hear just how easily he fell apart inside of you.

You press your face into the cool of the sheets beneath the pillow, breathing hard, waiting for Max to untie you as he pulls himself out of you with a grunt.

You think you hear a faint noise in the corridor again; it almost sounds like the squeak of sneakers on linoleum. And then it’s gone.

You really, really hope it wasn’t your neighbor.

——

Dave doesn’t have to track Max down; the contemptuous man practically delivers himself to your front stoop.

How convenient.

He first hears you in the small slice of courtyard that divides your buildings, his window always propped open at this time of day so he can watch for when you inevitably return home from work.

The sight of him instantly makes Dave bristle; moreso when Max crowds into your space, and it takes everything in him not to rush to your aid again, saving you from Max for the second time in the span of a day.

But it’s your receptiveness to Max’s attention that gives him pause before he has a chance to act brash. You were ready to string Max’s entrails from the streetlights this morning—and now here you were, moaning and arching into his touch. What changed?

Dave feels a lance of jealousy and in spite of the sweet sounds you’re making, his trigger finger twitches more than a few times.

He keeps his eyes trained on your face as he watches you, studying you from afar; the way your eyelids flutter shut, the small bite of your own lip. The image forever burned into his brain, going straight to Dave’s cock.

He should be the one making you feel good, making you make those pretty sounds; not some guy poorly portraying the role of a cheap car salesman.

He pulls his cock free from his pants while he keeps his eyes locked on you, stroking himself in semi-circular motions as you are subjected to being handled by another man, glimpsing a small flash of skin as Max lifts your shirt to fondle your breast.

Again, it should be him. Dave would treat you right. He would make you come so many times you would forget your own name by the time he was through.

And then you’re disappearing into the confines of your building with Max in tow before he can blink.

——

It isn’t difficult to get into the building. It’s actually alarming how simple it was for Dave to decipher, simultaneously compressing the pound and asterisks keys on the keypad next to the door until the light flashes green and he hears the click of a lock disengaging.

Too easy.

He finds your apartment just as readily, having memorized its location from watching you as frequently as he does. He takes the stairs rather than the elevator so that the sounds of the rickety old bucket don’t alert you to his presence, pausing at the top stoop of the stairs which just so happens to face your door.

Number 8. Your apartment is number 8.

He listens for any sign that he’s given his location away. When he’s convinced he’s safe from being discovered, he creeps closer to your apartment.

It isn’t what it seems like, he tells himself. He just wants to make sure you’re safe. That this guy doesn’t hurt you.

He wants to be there to protect you. At least, that’s what Dave tells himself.

He sits on the dirty linoleum floor next to your door, his back facing the wall. For the first several minutes, he’s able to contain himself, listening for any signs of distress.

That is, until he hears your sweet moans and whimpers, the sounds of rough sex drifting with very little left to the imagination into the corridor. Dave’s jaw clenches and he breaks into a sweat just from listening to your high, keening revelations of sex.

It should be him. It should be him.

He understands how wrong, how perverse and reductive it is, to be listening to you like this. To impede on your privacy for his own personal gratification. To be so fucking turned on by it. He knows this.

And yet he doesn’t give it a second thought when he slips his hand into his pants to fist himself, pressed up against your door, fucking into his clenched palm like a teenager with their first porno mag, at the lascivious sounds of you being fucked by another man—a man that should be him.

He has enough sense to check for cameras, at least. Doubtful they would even review the footage without cause, but a cursory sweep of the area doesn’t hurt.

There are none. Now it���s just a matter of not getting caught by one of the other residents.

Dave thinks of you. He pictures the face you were making in the courtyard, imagining himself in Max’s stead. He’s getting off to your beautiful noises, and god, are you good at making them. He wonders how high your whimpers could get if he were the one fucking you. How you would look sheathing his cock.

If you were his, there wouldn’t be a single day you didn’t know his touch.

It’s all too much. His head swims, his vision goes white. You make a particularly raucous moan and that’s all it takes, a sound escaping his lips before he realizes he’s making it, thick ropes of spend spurting onto his stomach beneath his shirt. Thankfully, you don’t seem to hear him, his own utterance of ecstasy drowned out by the cacophony of your own and Max’s as you each come mere seconds after Dave does.

He doesn’t have any way of cleaning himself up like this, and a heavy blanket of shame settles over him within moments of coming down from the high of his climax. He does what he can, rubbing the thick globs of semen into his skin until it disperses.

He registers a sound then—someone getting off the bed, he surmises—and quickly climbs to his feet, the sole of his sneaker betraying him in a rush of movement. Shit.

He makes a beeline for the stairs, hoping you didn’t hear. When no one says anything, he supposes you didn’t.

——

Dave finds you on the street later that night.

He can tell by looking at you that you’re freshly showered, your hair shimmering in the faint glow of the setting sun. You’re dressed comfortably in a plain black tank top that swoops down to reveal the barest hint of cleavage—lest you decide to lean over, that is—and bike shorts that are meant to replicate leopard spots, only in purple.

You have one of your reusable grocery bags slung over your shoulder, the large one with all the pictures of fresh produce printed on it, and Dave can tell by the heft of it that you’ve just come from the grocery store a few blocks down.

He can’t ignore you anymore. Not after rushing to your defense this morning, and especially not after hearing you getting fucked on the other side of the door while he came hard for you. He has to talk to you. He needs to talk to you.

He steps into your line of sight a moment later, apprehensively lifting his hand in a wave. You spot him right away.

“Oh. Hey,” you say. “Dave, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, quietly. His eyes rake over you. You swallow.

“I just wanted to check on you. You know, since this morning,” he continues. “I know we see each other around a lot.”

You nod and take him in; he’s massive this close, with broad, muscular shoulders. He’s wearing a Boston Celtics shirt and loose Nike shorts. Judging by the semicircle of perspiration flowering out from the V of his armpits, you deduce that he’s been jogging again. He does that a lot, you think.

And you would be right. His climax earlier wasn’t enough to quell his desire for you, to hamper the gnawing restlessness he constantly feels. He needed to expend his anxious energy somehow.

Jogging wasn’t working either.

And now that he’s this close, he wishes he could touch you. Pull you into his arms and kiss you—since Max hadn’t.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you for asking…and again for this morning,” you say.

He places his hands on his hips, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, of course. It isn’t—it’s not a problem,” he says. I always want to protect you, he wants to add.

An uncomfortable silence settles in the space between both of you. You think you should probably leave.

“Would you like to get dinner somewhere?” Dave suddenly blurts out, a desperate tinniness to his voice. He looks at the sad boxes of mac and cheese in your grocery bag—not even name brand, since you’re doing all you can to save money.

You almost say no. Truthfully, it weirds you out that you had sex with another man not even hours ago, and now your neighbor is asking you out to dinner when he’d barely spoken to you before today.

It’s not like the sex meant anything. Max had made that abundantly clear and besides, you still hated his guts. But two men in one day, while still struggling with a messy breakup? You aren’t sure if you can handle that.

You almost say no. Almost.

Dave offers to carry your groceries for you.

You let him.

Part Two

#fanfic #pedro pascal #max phillips #dave york #female reader #bloodsucking bastards #equalizer 2 #pedro fanfic #romance #writing #author

[bookofmirth]

What comes after this - elucien 1/5

Summary:

Elain is put to the test as the Night Court’s newest diplomat. Her first job? To travel to the Day Court and go head-to-head with her mate. Lucien has recently established his position in the Day Court and knows two things. The first is that he dreams nonstop of a mate who seems to want nothing to do with him. The second is that he cannot, under any circumstances, allow her to get the best of him at the expense of his new court.

Tags | politics, fluff, mating bond, idk if it will get smutty but I do have a definite Plot, no warnings thus far

Written for @elucienweekofficial prompt "courtiers"

read it on AO3 | tagging: @thelovelymadone upon request and @spell-cleavers because I told her this has Helion and LoA and it does, just for her! | 3.9k words

---

Elain Archeron blinked in the brightness of the Day Court. She’d been to the Spring Court with its overabundance of gardens, the Dawn Court with its painterly skies, lived in the Night Court with its velvet-rich midnights, and somehow, she had not been able to fathom just how much more alive the light could be when it was at home in its namesake court.

Elain was jostled slightly in her carriage, one of the comforts of her human life that she hadn’t yet let go of. The Archerons had had more carriages than they needed, before the years they’d been forced to go everywhere by foot, unable to afford the care and keeping of even a single horse. The return of their ships - along with their father - had initially signaled a return to normal, but Elain hadn’t realized at the time that everything had irrevocably changed when that golden monster Tamlin had roared his way into their home.

Feyre offered to winnow Elain south to the Day Court, but the idea was too foreign for comfort. Elain had barely been able to enjoy the return of the warmth of her own bed and a wardrobe that wasn’t handed down from Nesta when humanity had been snatched away. And besides, she wasn’t entirely sure that she trusted magic. Feyre said that winnowing was perfectly safe, but Feyre also seemed to find the shadows and darkness of the Night Court a comfort. It was a darkness that Feyre insisted was soothing, but Elain couldn’t shake it while in her sister’s court, even when she sat under the full midday sun. The darkness there lay upon her like a too-heavy blanket, when all Elain wanted to do was slough it off and take her first true, deep breath in what felt like years.

But in the Day Court… Elain pulled back the small, flower-patterned curtains of the carriage window, closed her eyes to let the golden light dance on her lids. No, Elain would take her carriage. She would wear her human clothing and eat her human foods and cling to the last semblance of her old life for as long as she could. And she would bask in the sun of a foreign court, because she was nothing if not adaptable. She’d managed dinners and parties with the night looming over her, she could certainly do it in a court where things were laid bare and truthful by daylight.

Even this task, this trip to the Day Court, while it may have seemed outside the realm of comfort for Elain Archeron, was merely the same scene she’d been through a dozen times before, though set on a larger scale. If she could seamlessly make her way through a dinner with a lord on one side and his wife’s lover on the other, she could certainly manage her way through the political dilemmas the Night and Day courts had found themselves in.

The Day Court had something that the Night Court needed, and Elain was on her way there to ensure that it was done.

The carriage came to a slow stop and Elain clasped her hands in her lap to keep from pushing back the gauze curtains and looking eagerly from the window. It wouldn’t do to seem too eager, not as the representative of the Night Court and sister to a High Lady. She set her gaze forward on the lushly brocaded interior wall of the carriage and waited.

As the door opened, letting in fresh air and light with it, Elain gathered her skirts with one hand and extended the other, ready to be received by whichever footman had jockeyed for the position. She prepared her most convincing smile, the one that told everyone that she was glad to be there, that she would be perfectly polite, and that she would never, ever do anything unseemly.

Anyone present who knew Elain Archeron beyond the variety of smiles she wore would see how it slipped, just the smallest bit, when she saw the hand that clasped her own. She had spent her life fooling Nesta and Feyre with her smiles. They were armor, a mask, a shield that kept anyone from asking Elain how she truly fared. If she were truly happy.

But her mate? As she looked from Lucien’s hand to his face, frozen in a smile not unlike her own, Elain supposed that if anyone could see beyond the facade she had donned for this trip, it would be him. Which of course would complicate her task here greatly.

She’s known that he would be there, of course. Lucien had recently established himself in this, his home court, with his mother and new-found father at his side. He was the prodigal son, showing up just in time to keep the hounds from Helion’s back about his glaring lack of an heir. His arrival had been lauded and applauded and, when it became clear that Lucien’s powers indeed reflected the court of his true birth, and that they would, in time, rival that of even the most powerful High Lord.

Without a word from either of them, Elain stepped from the carriage, her hand in Lucien’s. As soon as she was steady on her feet, he resumed his position in the line with his family, welcoming Elain to the court.

Helion stepped forward, dark skin radiant in the sunlight, raised his hands, opened his arms, and brought Elain into an embrace. It seemed in keeping with what she’d heard of his generous nature, even if it wasn’t entirely appropriate for a political visit. Elain wondered if Helion would have greeted Rhysand or another High Lord in this way. But she was, she supposed, irrevocably connected to his family.

“Elain Archeron,” he said. “Please, allow me to welcome you to my court.” He gestured broadly to the facade of the palace they stood before, face radiating with pride. He pressed a hand to his chest and bowed ever so slightly. “And allow me to introduce you to my family.”

Elain’s heart warmed a bit at the way Helion phrased the introduction, at the realization that he’d not been able to introduce a guest to his wife and son before. Not publicly, not in such an unguarded, unrestricted manner like this. She felt her smile change to one of genuine appreciation of his joy.

“My wife and mate,” Helion said, “Solana. I don’t believe you have met.” He stepped aside, looking at Solana in pure admiration.

The Lady of… well, the former Lady of Autumn, Solana, stepped forward and clasped both of Elain’s hands in her own. A small smile broke over her face and she hesitated, patting the back of Elain’s hand, before releasing her.

“You know Lucien, of course” Helion said shortly.

And that son, the one Helion was so proud of, was her mate. Lucien Vanserra - with a slight panic, Elain realized that she didn’t know if he had kept Beron’s family name or not - stood straight as a poplar, hands clasped behind his back in a posture that seemed to keep him perpetually ready to bow. He waited to for a sign that he might speak, much more concerned with propriety than his father had been.

Helion said. “Before we begin with the formalities, I thought that you might settle yourself in. Find your rooms, and Solana can show you everything you need to know. And Lucien, should you need him, well. I suspect you know how to find one another.” Helion made a pointed glance from Lucien to Elain and back.

No one ever brought up her mate or mating bond to Elain. No one spoke of it even in those veiled terms, not where she could hear it, and Elain found herself tripping over her usual niceties. She curtsied quickly, probably not going low enough to be respectful, but enough to get the job done.

“Thank you for having me in your court. Lord Helion. Lady Solana.” She glanced at Lucien. “Lucien.” She looked quickly back to Helion. “Your home is… it’s stunning. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She blushed looking from Lucien to Helion. “I appreciate your offer, and I would like to refresh myself before we begin discussions.“

“Down to business, I see,” Helion chuckled. “Of course.” He gestured to Solana, letting Elain walk before him to enter the palace.

For it was palatial, the seat of the Day Court. If the city of Velaris was a collection of well-loved buildings scattered along the banks of the Sidra, then the place from which Helion ruled was what Elain had imagined when she’d dreamed of fairy tales and dashing princes as a child. She could hardly take it all in in one glance, and so she didn’t try. She walked through the large entrance, which could probably allow her carriage passage, and concentrated her attention on the hall before her. Anything else would be overwhelming.

Solana slipped her arm through Elain’s, guiding her. “I hope you don’t mind this.” She glanced down to their linked arms. “I don’t go for all that pomp and ceremony. Though growing up in the Autumn Court seems to have rubbed off on my son in more ways than one.” Solana looked down the hallway she had led them to so that Elain couldn’t fully read her expression.

“I don’t mind,” Elain answered. For all the kindness she showed others, it was rarely bestowed upon her. “If you let go I may get lost in the maze of these hallways.”

Solana’s laugh bounced off the walls like rays of light. “You’ll get used to it. Well,” she said, looking at Elain from the corner of her eye, “I don’t wish you difficulties in your negotiations, but the longer you stay, you’ll grow used to the palace and the more like home it will become.” She smiled, a small, secretive thing, and patted Elain on the hand.

Elain clamped her mouth shut and Solana led her through a series of hallways and sitting rooms, each one somehow featuring a wall of windows that let in the dwindling afternoon light. After a series of turns, peppered with comments on the history of the palace, Solana opened a door at what felt as far away from the main living areas as they could reach. She gestured to Elain, letting her walk into the room first.

Elain forgot the woman behind her and gapped at the room. A large, four-poster bed took up a large space on one wall, which faced a wall of windows that Elain was coming to realize had been planned into every possible room of the space. In the middle of that row of windows was a glass door, and beyond that, a private sitting area. Elain walked to the glass doors and pushed them open. Willow and wisteria blew gently in the breeze around the ivory-colored chairs and table. She closed her eyes to take the space in with her other senses. Leaves rustled, birds called, and if she concentrated enough, she could hear the distant sound of waves and smell the salty scent of the sea. The sun was warm on her hair as she rested her fingers on the back of a wrought iron chair.

Elain allowed herself to adopt one of her true smiles and turned towards Solana. “Thank you.”

***

It seemed that Helion wasn’t going to let Elain get straight to business.

A servant had come to her rooms to tell her the plans for the evening; the family generally took their dinner together and then went into one of the many sitting rooms to play card games, and Elain was invited to join them.

“Invited” didn’t seem like the right word, but Elain kept the protest to herself. She felt out of place, intruding on their family life when she was there for business. But if it helped her understand Helion better, then perhaps she could put up with an evening of casual relaxation en famille.

Even if she wasn’t, not really, part of the family.

Elain had prodded at the mating bond, that string tied to her rib, a few times during her preparations for dinner. It was quieter than usual, and she was grateful. Lucien’s presence - his mere existence - drove her to distraction most days, even when he was courts and continents away. She couldn’t afford to let him distract her while she was in the Day Court, one of the few tasks that Feyre and Rhys had trusted her with.

As Elain surveyed the dining room, she again wondered at the clash of sumptuous surroundings and the way that Helion had his arm thrown over the back of Solana’s chair, tipping her chin up to him so he could kiss her - at the dinner table, with guests - before returning to his meal. Lucien, at least, seemed aware of the impropriety, or perhaps, and Elain bit the inside of her cheek with amusement at this, he was a bit embarrassed by the freedom with which his parents loved one another. They reminded Elain enough of Feyre and Rhys that she was able to adjust to the freedom with which they loved one another, but Lucien, apparently, was less used to semi-public displays of affection between family members.

Elain had been startled out the stiffness of her manners by Helion and Solana’s welcome but was gradually warming up to them. It was hard not to admire the way that Helion and Solana expressed themselves freely and openly, when Elain had grown up in a household where doing so meant being ridiculed by her mother.

The meal spread before them all on the table: platters of spiced meats, flatbreads piled high, bowls dripped luscious sauces onto the silk tablecloth. It was the kind of meal that Elain had dreamed of during their years in the cabin, but, much like the reality of the Day Court palace, the reality far surpassed anything she could have imagined.

Lucien, seated next to Elain, had made polite small talk throughout the meal. Meanwhile, Elain had been able to feel the pulsing insistence of the bond more strongly than she had since she’d arrived, and she didn’t know enough about it to understand why. Feyre had told her tales of things she and Rhysand had gotten up to, activities made more pleasurable thanks to their mating bond. But sitting at this dinner table, with Lucien and trying her best to be professional and diplomatic and a lady, damnit, Elain could not imagine that she’d done anything to set that golden thread thrumming the way it was.

The last time Elain and Lucien had seen each other had been Solstice. Elain counted the years between them by the gifts he gave. The first year it had been the gloves, then the earrings, and last Solstice he came to the Night Court just long enough to leave her a cutting from a tree he’d found on the Continent, a tree that was now providing the first shade of its young life in Elain’s little garden in Velaris. He hadn’t even been there long enough for Elain to see him, but she knew instantly who the gift was from.

Elain had heard that distance made the heart grow fonder, but she didn’t understand how that was possible when Lucien was so busy respecting her space that she was barely able to see him one year to the next.

“If we are all done eating, let’s go into the solarium,” Helion was saying. “Elain, you and Lucien can discuss the itinerary for the next couple of days. I’m sure you will have much to say to one another.” He smiled at her, one of the sly smiles she and Nesta used to exchange when they planned to play a trick on their governess.

Elain smiled politely. “Of course. I look forward to chatting with your son.” She turned to Lucien. “Although if you’d like, I’d take a written itinerary as well.”

Lucien wiped his mouth with his napkin and set it on the table. “Unfortunately, I am learning that this family likes to talk about everything. So if you don’t mind, Lady Archeron, I will go over the plans with you and we can settle them to everyone’s best interests.”

Lucien rose from his seat and offered his hand to Elain. With a tight smile, she let him lead her from the table, down a candlelit hall, and to what Elain assumed was one of many solarium on the property. Helion and Solana followed closely behind them, her head resting on his shoulder and a content smile on her lips that made Elain’s chest ache. She had felt that way, and recently. But she could never tell Lucien that, not when it had been in her dreams, with him miles and centuries away.

Lucien gestured to a plush, cream-colored chair near a fire. The dwindling sunlight cast brilliant colors across the sky, which they could take full advantage of in the glass-ceilinged room. Elain sat in the proffered chair, her back straight, ready to being negotiations.

“You can relax, Elain,” Lucien said. “I’m not going to bite.” He settled into his own seat on the other side of the fire, ankles crossed and fingers laced. The ivory-colored silk of his jacket was embroidered with golden thread and Elain noted that, despite the whirlwind appearance of the dinner table, she couldn’t find a single spot of food or drink on him.

“I’m not sure about that,” Elain replied. “There is more than one way to take a bite out of someone.”

The corner of Lucien’s mouth lifted. “We’ve barely sat down for our after-dinner chat, Lady Archeron. I surely thought that sort of conversation would be better suited for when the sun had fully set.”

“If you only derive pleasure in such pursuits in the dark of night, I wonder at your being the heir of the Day Court.”

“Oh,” Lucien said, leaning forward. He uncrossed his ankles and draped his hands over the arm of his chair. His eyes shone, the magical one seeming to examine her even more closely, and a wisp of hair fell over his forehead. “They aren’t limited to the dark. Though I assumed that you would feel more comfortable there. Where no one might question that tight little smile you have on your face.”

Elain inhaled sharply and sat up straighter. Damn him. “I’ve heard tales of your witty repartee,” Elain said. She glanced around the room and caught Helion and Solana relaxed into one another, comfortable as if they were the only people in the room. “I thought you’d be more careful than to use it with me. Given the power I’ve been given on this trip.” She cleared her throat. “Given the position our courts seem to find themselves in.”

“It is good to know that my reputation proceeds me,” Lucien replied. “I never know what bits of information people will let slip to my… to my acquaintances.”

“Oh yes, Feyre told me that your sharp tongue sometimes makes up for a lack of conviction.”

Lucien flinched.

Elain grimaced internally and tried to keep all signs of it from her face. She watched as Lucien straightened his vest, which was already hugging the planes of his chest and in no need of adjustment. The bond that had been taut and vibrating between them suddenly went dark, quiet. Elain mourned it like a limb.

A butler walked by with a tray of champagne flutes and Elain took one, gratefully deploying the polite manners she knew she was capable of in the right conditions. Those conditions being that her mate wasn’t there looking so tall and well-dressed and with that hair he’d braided back with a silk ribbon, saying things that seemed perfectly acceptable on the surface but which she knew contained meanings intended to set her off balance.

“What I mean to say is that, if we can just get to the matter at hand, then I might make it back home in time for my nephew’s birthday.”

“Ah, yes,” Lucien said, seeming grateful for the change of subject, for the excuse to back away from the precipice of insults and accusations. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his ankles again as he reached for a glass of champagne without looking up to the tray. “Nyx. When is his birthday?”

“Two days.”

“And you were meant to leave in three.” He said it as a statement, but the words were laced with question. Are you leaving early? Can you really not stand to be here?

“Yes.” Elain finished the last of her champagne. “So if your itinerary has any room for me, or for us, to finish early, I would appreciate it. But without sacrificing true discussions, of course.”

A expression of indifference had settled over Lucien’s face again. “Well then, tomorrow we have breakfast, followed by a horse ride.”

“Horses?”

“Yes,” Lucien said. “I assume you ride. We’re going to take a trip to the coast. To see the territory in question. So that you, and the Night Court, has a better sense of what you are asking of the Day Court. Of us.”

“What other plans do you have on that list?”

“Well, after we visit the coast, we need to discuss what you see there. The next evening, we have invited some of our citizens to a ball.”

“A ball?” Elain perked up and cocked her head. “In a ballroom?” Her mind raced through the trunks of clothes that she had brought with her. Silk and embroidery suited for court life, and the opportunity to truly shine amongst people. It was precisely the opportunity she needed. Elain might not have known how to handle the easy intimacy that Helion shared with his wife and son, but she knew how to handle a room full of artistocrats and merchants.

“Yes,” Lucien answered, the whisper of a smile returning to his face. “The invitations are open to the court, and we wanted you to understand fully what you are asking of us, to meet the people who would be affected.”

Elain paused, making a noise to acknowledge his words. “You cannot change the date of the ball, I suppose. If I had to leave the day after tomorrow, early.”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“What did you have planned for the next day?”

“Oh, the next day, that one is the worst,” Lucien said. “We were planning on staying here and delving into the true discussion of just how our courts can work together. We feel that negotiations can begin only once you’ve seen the territory and the people. Without a true understanding of the repercussions of what you ask, negotiations will be meaningless.”

Elain tapped her foot. “Let’s start with the ride to the coast tomorrow, then. And we can see how things go.”

“Tomorrow, then?” Lucien stood with hands clasped behind his back, a gentlemanly posture but one that showed such contrasting restraint compared to the warm welcome his parents had given her.

“Tomorrow.”

#elucien #elucien fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #acotar #elucienweek2023 #my writing

[whatudowhennooneseesyou]

I've been to Korea a few times and lived there for a few months at one time. That country does have a special place in my heart and I love many aspects of it. Outside of the big cities, the nature is beautiful, people are a bit blunt but they're kind and they help you if you need it. They don't expect you as a foreigner to get there and know all their norms and their language (I had the opposite experience in Japan ����) and they're usually excited as long as you're respectful. However. A lot of guys are extremely aggressive in their advances, they think every non Asian woman who ends up there wants to fuck and they have a hard time understanding NO. If you do go out to the bar/club, you absolutely need to be careful with men (as you would anywhere else bc the world is a nightmare but I find men in SK more aggressive than some other places). The body shaming is very real too nejdiwiw. I'm not fat nor skinny but over there I felt like a whale the whole time 💀 you do need to have thick skin over there and not expect the perfect paradise many k pop fans seem to think they're about to find. Depending on how you approach it, it can be a wonderful time or hell on earth. I wouldn't go live there permanently but I go back every couple of years and I always love my time there.

Hello @escapetheshark and thank you for providing your insights, it is expensive to travel anywhere outside of Australia so I wouldn't be going to South Korea for awhile but my high school had a 'sister school' with South Korea and 5 of our students would go over there.

This was in 2016 and it cost 10K for them to go for 9 days so Idk how much the price would be now.

You seem very worldly lived and are you European? How did you afford to go these places? I suppose airfare might be different if you live closer haha.

I have heard that A LOT online about issues of consent and I don't know if this true, I hope but but I remember reading an article about how if a guy offers to buy you a drink in Japan and you accept, then you're technically giving consent???

I see so many Tiktoks about the experiences women have in Hongdae and Gangnam and the DVD rooms and love hotels.

I've heard SO much about the body shaming and it's kinda scared me not gonna lie, I'm 5'7 and 108 kgs so I just know that none of the clothes would fit me and I'd stand out.

Sorry, I lost focused because I'm rewatching one of Channie's Room lives on Youtube and he was talking about how Aussies barely pronounce anything properly and I was like- He has a point.

I've always wondered how Chris was able to balance the EXTREME differences of South Korean and Australian cultural norms in his life.

The age thing still confuses me because in Australia, if you're a year younger than someone, you are treated the same age and people will say '1 year? That's nothing'.

Whereas in South Korea, you can't be 'friends' with anyone that's not born in the same year as you and that's such a confusing concept for me because even though I was born in '98 and Chris was born in '97, I view both of us as being the same age.

So, it's interesting. I've learnt a lot and It's nice to be expanding my knowledge on different ways of living.

Thank you for sending in your insight!

#answered ask #moot #slumber party with ruby

[noodleblade]

Miscellaneous Tag Game (stolen title <3)

thank you bestie:3 @searchingfortheuniverse I'll be working on this while im on and off phone calls~

A band you don’t like that many others do: UM idk...my music taste is all over the place and I really only know the bands i think?? oh- maybe Mother Mother, only because I have not bothered to listen to their music past Junkrat hype videos and that's probably tainted my view a little. For better or for worse.

A childhood memory that you remember vividly: during a summer in greece, idk how, but I got roped into selling watermelons off the side of the road. I couldn't have been more than 6 or 7, but I remember I would put the watermelon in a plastic bag and the farmers thought it was really funny because that's such a...united states thing...to bag 1 whole watermelon in plastic. Anyways, they paid me in cucumber slices with salt.

Least favorite animal and why: HUH LEAST. I'm not a huge fan of like reptiles? Specifically those smaller than a bread box. Too fast, too squirm. Im worried I'll crush them in my hands. (im thinking of specifically florida geckos...idk they are cute but i freak out trying to hold them).

Hot fandom take: just because something is popular and fandom-wide accepted doesn't mean it is good. and not agreeing with it/wanting to engage in it doesn't mean you or your own opinions are bad. the monopoly on accepted 1 true canon is boring.

Do you wear any jewelry, if so, what’s your favorite piece: I try an rotate my jewelry around but I'm usually wearing a few rings, a necklace and a pair of earrings. My favorites are the rings. They are my mom's old ones and I typically wear the same two every day. One is a gold key of greece and the other is a thin black bar but the sides have really small thin heart cut outs.

A movie others liked but you didn’t: HMMMMM probably the new star wars trilogy. felt unnecessary and i just didn't like it? big shruggies

Three things you love about yourself: my writing- its something that I enjoy the most in the world and something that I can claim as mine. I also think I'm pretty funny in a sillay way which is poggers. I like my openness to trying things. Think that's helped make me more well-rounded. I hope so at least.

A place you hope to visit in the future and why: HMMMMM. I want to visit Japan again. For a new place, I want to go to South America. Peru maybe??? Mexico would also be nice. So that's what I'm gearing up towards next.

An actor that gets on your nerves and why: Uh Matt Smith? No reason behind this. but I see his block head and kind of just look away.

Things you’re excited for in the nearby future? I have a lot of little house projects I finally feel like tackling which is exciting. Ive lived in my house for almost 2.5 years and still havent felt like parts of it are complete yet.

Least favorite ship in a fandom you’re in: oof I lowkey kind of hate saying things I don't like on here. bad experiences in the past when people were upset I didn't like a thing they did and got mad at me. But uhhh not the biggest fan of most rodimus ships? but I think mega/rod is my least favorite of them. sorry!

What’s the most toxic fandom you’ve been in? hahaahahahhahahah can you believe Game of Thrones wasn't the most toxic???? it was jjba. I got put on a ban list which was kind of funny. I also got kind of show-ponyed in a toxic discord server for a while which has completely ruined me in the ability to act normal on discord outside of my irl friends. that account is deleted but the ao3 is still circling around.

List three things you find beautiful about life: Friends and family- sometimes I want to kill but I really do love them so so much. I like creating things and creating things with people. I also really like my area as far as nature goes. the beach to swamp ratio sings to me.

Any dreams for the future? I want to go on a really long hike. Maybe like a 2 day one? (< says the person that has gone on a max 2 hour hike before). Also just working on my original fiction again. I miss those fellas.

How are you really feeling today? Motivated!!!! Im a little groggy still, but I've been really excited about life and betterment lately so its overcoming my sleepy brain.

Tags: feel free to do or not: @honkytonka, @elmonstro, @huanted-dennys, @feral-birb-husband, @solarstormstuff @anyone else who wants to!! I'd be happy to read them:3

#tag game #me stuff

[gvftea]

“One thing that does make me incredibly sad about Greta Van Fleet and the way they handle things, is the fact that they're finally playing at all these big, super well-known, and almost legendary venues only the biggest of bands get to play at and they don't think of getting it professionally recorded for those of us who haven't seen them, and will probably never seen them, playing live. They played at the Troubador and didn't record it, played at MSG and didn't record it, now they'll be playing at the Royal Albert Hall and they probably won't record it either. Have they ever considered that they have fans outside of the US and the UK? Fans who live in countries they'll probably never visit? And literally the only thing those of us who can't afford tickets, or can't see them live because they're not touring our countries have, are shaky clips people record on their phones, or Red Rocks or Audiotree, and both things came out like 7 years ago? It's just hella frustrating, because it's almost as if they only care about the fans who follow them around and attend several shows per year, which is a very small chunk of the fandom, btw. And I get it, they reasonably can't tour every single random ass country in the more secluded corners of South America or Europe, but like ??? Would it be too hard for them to hire a crew to film one show?”

Ok first of all, I would bet money they are gonna record RAH because the acoustics are next fucking level so idk why you are on here claiming they don’t plan to as fact. They recorded SH and sure the vinyls are limited and they should release it but they are all on YouTube and they could have those taken down in a HEARTBEAT if they wanted to. There is literally nothing special about the troubadour or MSG apart from their names. Troubadour quality would have been shit and MSG would be a fucking nightmare to record and it was the day after DC and there was no way it would have been logistically possible. Also, the MSG show was literally stale AF.

Secondly, I can see your side on how your are viewing it but I personally view it completely backwards from how you do. They do not owe us recordings of their live performances. They are not excluding us. I’m super sorry if you haven’t been able to see them but saying a band that has given us 4 albums in the span of 5/6years, and toured excessively through those years also owes us recordings of their performances is insane to me.

Thirdly, y’all need to stop acting like Greta holds endless power and autonomy. They are on a label, labels make all of a bands decision while they are under contract and music contracts are super fucked. Greta can’t just decide to record their shows, the label would have to, and they’d have to front massive amounts of money to even get a viable product that they don’t know would even sell. Labels are incentivized by money, making something freely accessible decreases the value of it. I know it’s fucked but it’s how the world works. And tour stops are determined by an algothrim built on a massive amount of data that analyzes cost of production against profit/revenue and demand. The label isn’t gonna front money to send them to places where the cost to profit ratio is small. And maybe they are looking to become independent artists after this, on their own label for this exact reason but you are only hurting your own feelings thinking the boys are fully in control of these types of decisions.

#greta van fleet #gvf #josh gvf #sam gvf #jake gvf #josh kiszka #danny wagner #danny gvf #jake kiszka #sam kiskza

[miniscrew-anon]

Merry Whumpmas - Day 4 "Chills"

Okay now I'm really getting into the meat of Shadows backstory. Because of who he is as a person I fully believe he was a little shithead for his whole life. Not necessarily because he wanted to be but because that's what life handed him.

Trigger warnings for mentions of human trafficking

It was another special order. Delivered word of mouth, as usual. 

Tween, pale, male. Under four feet and 100 lbs. Dark hair, purple eyes. Park Twili. Unused, perfect condition.

Shadow mentally filters through his memories for someone to fit that description and comes up empty handed. He’ll have to go outside his usual search radius to find someone that specific. Twili aren’t common in Hyrule, and certainly not this far South. 

He clicks his tongue and strolls away from the meeting house, annoyed. It’s unlikely he’ll find someone that matches. So he can kiss that commission goodbye. Still, there are other jobs. Routing cops and spotting Sheika aren’t necessarily easy but it’ll tide him over, for a little while. 

Until another special order comes through. Those, he’s learned, are the real money makers. 

Young, teen, Brunette, blonde. Green eyes, blue eyes. Goron, Zora, Gerudo - Vaati liked to pride himself on customer satisfaction and filling orders to a T. No customer of Vaati’s ever had to settle for second rate wares. High quality, he liked to say, nothing worn or used. No diseases, no defects, no behavioral issues. A perfectly healthy stock. 

In other words - free range.

Vaati often uses his network of young eyes to find potential… merchandise. Their homes, patterns, and ideal pick up locations were all reported to higher ups and left to bagmen, who’d secure and ship out the goods. 

It was a much more risky business than the run of the mill trafficking that relied on easy prey. It meant fewer lost souls from the gutter that no one would miss and more from nice homes and happy families. But the value far outweighed the cost; Shadow isn't sure how much a single person is worth to Vaati’s clientele, but they must be willing to pay exorbitant fees to have their every demand met. 

Sometimes, when Shadow finds himself in a strange mood, he finds himself thinking about what might have happened to the poor bastards he reported on. What kind of life they were living, if they still were. It always made his spine tingle.

But he never lingers on it long. And why should he? It’s not like he’s really responsible for anything that happens. All he does is search out someone who fits the description and tell someone else about it. Not like he does any smashing or grabbing. He never laid a hand on anyone.

And besides, if it wasn’t Shadow doing it, it would be some other kid selling out someone for a handful of cash. This cog turns with or without him. No point in holding onto dumb ideas of morality when the alternative is starving in the streets, or falling in with some gang where he’d end up killing someone anyway. 

No, there wasn’t any point in trying to take the high road. Shadow knows from experience that that kind of shit is for TV - the real world isn’t going to change because someone decides to be a good person. It won’t make a difference anyway. There’s always going to be another asshole ready to step in and take his place, so why give up his spot? 

Better to be scum with a full belly and a roof than to be scum wasting away on the side of the road.

------

I don't think Shadow is an innocent at the end of the day. I think that just like Dark, he was kind of forced to take what was available to him and do what he needed to to survive. He's going to justify it any way he can, but deep down he knows what he's doing is fucked up. But fuck if he's going to acknowledge it.

Idk what the full timeline of events are but I'm going off the assumption that the Dragmire Empire has just been toppled about a year or two ago, Dark is currently in prison and the hold that Ganon had over Hyrules underbelly is basically dissolved. Vaati is just one of many smaller time guys who rose through the ranks and gained a shit ton of power. And his particular domain is the human trafficking going on in Hyrule.

#townhouse au #hsh au #merry whumpmas 2023 #tw: human trafficking

[spursdontplaybasketball]

Talk Hockey to Me

tagged by @giirlinterrupted 🤍💙

Tell me about:

1. The thing that got you hooked on hockey

I grew up in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, about an hour south of Hershey, PA. My dad grew up going to watch the Hershey Bears play minor league hockey in the American Hockey League, and he continued the tradition with me (and my sister sometimes.) At first, I only really liked to go to the games for an opportunity to spend time with my dad, which was rare sometimes, but in middle school I somehow ended up being really good at floor hockey when we played it in gym class. One day I managed to score a hat trick, even though I was terrible at every other sport. (I also had a crush on one of the players on my school's hockey team at that point.) So I just kinda thought hockey was fun at that point and started enjoying the actual games more. Then I picked a favorite player from the Bears independently for the first time, and it was Mike Green. I didn't know much about him, just thought he was cool. He turned out to be really good, and when he got called up to the NHL to play for the Capitals, I started watching the Caps games on TV. (I was also lucky that we got the sports channel from Washington DC, despite not being all that close to there.)

2. Your first ever fandom friend

I'm not too established in the hockey fandom on here. I have a personal blog that I rarely use anymore that I used to post occasional Caps stuff on and follow a few Capitals people, but that's on a different account that I rarely use. I know hockey has become a lot more popular on footieblr over the years. I remember a few years back when it was more unusual for these fandoms to overlap that I sent a message or two to people who were in both fandoms that I thought it was cool that they liked both sports like I do. Basically my only hockey friend on here is @giirlinterrupted (and I'm so grateful that she doesn't put Sidney Crosby on my dash like so many other footieblr hockey fans seem to do.) IRL I have been surrounded by hockey fans most of my life though, because it's pretty big in my state in general, so the main time I felt a little more alone on that was the 2 1/2 years I was living in San Francisco. Unfortunately I am currently surrounded by Penguins fans :( as I am living in Pittsburgh. My IRL best friend is also into hockey, but she is a Sabres fan since she is from Buffalo and now lives in Rochester, NY.

3. The jersey you would most like to own

I wish I had an old Mike Green or Jay Beagle Caps jersey. Mike Green is now retired, and Jay Beagle, I don't even know.

4. YOUR player (you only get ONE so choose wisely)

I still have an unhealthy attachment to Jay Beagle even though he's been off the Caps for years. None of the current players can live up to that.

5. A pairing that deserves more fic

Don't really read fic much, but Ovi/Backstrom (I'm so out of the loop that I don't even know if they have a ship name) are adorable together, and idk how popular they are, at least outside of Caps fans.

6. Your favourite on-ice moment

6/7/18. What else? I still cry when I think about it sometimes, and I can barely listen to "I Will Wait" by Mumford and Sons without crying due to that "Worth the Wait" video the Caps put out on social media after the Cup win.

link someone else's art/fic/etc that you love & think everyone should check out

He's here on Tumblr (@mxgicdave) but I could only find my favorite pic of his on Twitter:

link something you made & are proud of & want people to see

Got nothing. I tried to write a few things about hockey in the past, but not since I was like 13. I was writing a story about a minor league hockey player whose playing got impacted by past trauma. Didn't get very far, then I was also trying to write a murder mystery featuring the Capitals, and I got even less far with that.

no pressure tagging:

I have no one to tag! :(

#hockey #washington capitals #i need more hockey friends #not soccer

[ry-ichi1]

The Old Picture

Summary: Two or Three years ago before the event, Scrooge finds Derya's old photo when they were in the Navy with their mysterious old friend while he wants to head home.

Wordcounts: ±2700 words

Tags: tbh idk what tags I have to put on this

Warning: mentioning death?

A/N: LAKSJDKJAKASMKA THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I MADE FANFIC. If anything is wrong or missing, please tell me because English isn’t my first language (thanks to Grammarly) and I’m bad at writing. Also, I hope you enjoy this story.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Derya’s POV

Marley and Scrooge’s private banker and lender is gloomy like usual. I and Bob, who works there, tidy up all papers and prepare to go home because it’s already 6 P.M. now. Bob has already done to prepare him to go home and ask for his wages from Sir Scrooge. Again, he is always grumpy, especially when it’s almost Christmas Eve.

“Hey Derya, do you mind to come my home to celebrate Christmas Eve with my family?” offer him.

“Thanks for your offer, but I can’t join you this year” it’s because my brother, Henry, will come to my place. “I’m so sorry Bob” I feel bad for him, especially for his kids. They must be waiting for my story about when I was a pirate.

“Oh, it’s okay! No pressure on you. I have to go now, Merry Christmas Derya and Sir Scrooge!” he already step out from the door and meets his children outside. There are Kathy and Tiny Tim outside. They notice me and wave their hand.

I wave my hand to them as I peek out from the door. “Merry Christmas to you Bo­-”

“Yeah yeah merrily doo Christmas!” He slams the door.

I jump back as he slams the door. Yep, another of his normal behavior.

“And you!” He sees me annoyingly. “It’s already 6 P.M.! Why are you still here???”

“Well, I just want to head to my home, but…” I lend my hand to him as I smile slyly.

“Ughhh, okay this your wages and go home now!” He pushes me into the front of the door.

“Okay, okay! See you later and Mer-” he slams the door. “-ry Christmas” as I expected.

Ebenezer’s POV

“I swear to god why that person is still in my li-” I notice there is a small piece of paper on the floor. I pick it up and realize that the paper is a photo. I take a look at that photo “it’s that Derya?” I had never seen them in Navy uniform before and they were happy like they had no problems in their life. “And who is this man?” that question was already answered as I read their handwriting (I believe) that said, “Mar, 1823. Drinking with my friend Thompson!”. So, he is Derya’s friend named Thompson. What happened to their friendship? Wait… why do I care about it???

Prudence’s appearance makes me distract from that mind. She seems curious about what I am holding in my hand. “It’s just their photo with their dear friend and we have to go home now Prudence” I keep that photo in my coat and prepare to go home. When I reach the door, Prudence blocks my way. “Woof!” she looks at me with a serious face. “What?! You want me to return that photo now???” she nods. “Oh Prudence dear, we can do that later! We still have another day to return it!” she seems to disagree with my statement. Silence fills this room and she still doesn’t move from her place. “BAH FINE! WE RETURN IT TO DERYA NOW”.

She looks happy that we will go to their place. “I can’t believe I have to do this” I lock the door and go to their place. One question, where do they live? I never ask them where they live. What?! I’m just minding my own business! …, Okay only one way to know where they live and I kinda hate it.

“Excuse me sir, do you know where Derya Darenport lives?” this man looks familiar from behind.

“Oh! Derya? They liv- SIR SCROOGE?!?” It’s Mr. Jenkins. He looks scared to me, just like he sees a ghost. “Well, you know my debt-”

“I don’t ask about that, Jenkins. I ask about where Derya lives”

“Oh, right, well Derya lives around South London. From here, ….” He explains in detail.

“So, you said they live in a tenement?” I ask again to make sure.

“Yes, sir”

“…, thank you for the direction Mr. Jenkins”

“You’re welcome si-”

“Don’t forget to pay your debt, Mr. Jenkins. You know what happened if you don’t pay your debt, right?” I point to him with my cane.

“Ye-yes, sir”

“Good” I walk away with Prudence beside me.

Jenkins’ POV

He already walks away to head to Derya’s home. “Ain’t they already working together in the same place in 4 or 5 years? …, that man is so unpredictable”. I shake my head and go to my home.

Ebenezer’s POV

“So this place is where Derya lives huh…” the tenement looks dull. “Sigh...” I knock on the door and wait.

“I’m coming~” Finally the door is open. There is an old lady, whom I assume, is the owner of this tenement. “Oh, Mr. Scrooge! Come in” I step inside the tenement. “Is there any need or trouble that made you bring here sir?” she smiles in friendly.

“Oh, I have an important thing with Derya. So please, lead me to them”

“Ooh~, Derya lives on the third floor and-” she sees Prudence. “Also your dog can join us too” Prudence looks happy after hearing about it. “Well, follow my lead, sir”.

I follow her lead as she talks about herself (which I found out that her name is Eleanor Taylor) and the dwellers of this tenement. Speaking about the tenement, how bloody hell they can live in this stuffy place??? No, I’m not caring about them! Just- BAH HUMBUG!

“You know what, Derya always talking about you sir” she looks at me as we walk to the third floor.

“Huh, I bet they do hate speech about me, right?” How dare they talk about my bad thing to other people.

“Well… kinda, but most of it is interesting about you”

Interesting??? What does it mean??? Suddenly, My mind interrupts by the beautiful violin that plays the “Greensleeves” song. That soft melody soothes my mind and gets closer as I walk.

“Alright sir, this is Derya’s room” I never know they can play the violin. “Do you want me to call them sir?”

“Ah, no thank you, Mrs. Taylor, I will call them”

“Okay, If you need some help you can call me” she walks downstairs. “Also please again, call me Madam El” she disappears while she goes down.

I take a breath and knock on the door.

Derya’s POV

My “performance” was interrupted by someone knocking on my door. I hope it’s my brother. I open the door and I’m shocked. “Sir Scrooge! What are you doing here???” I see Prudence with him too. Ain’t this tenement didn’t allow to bring any animals here... Wait, how she can pass from Madam El??? And that’s how scary Sir Scrooge is??? Even Madam El let Prudence pass? Damn, Scrooge…

“Well…” he takes something from his coat. “I believe this photo belongs to you” he gives me a photo.

I take that photo and take a look. My eyes widen as I realize this photo is of myself with my dear old friend. “W-where you find it?”

“It fell on the floor” straight to the point.

“I- thank you, sir! This photo is very important to me” I hold my photo tightly.

“Huh! If you know that thing is important, you have to keep it safe next time you little magpie!” He still uses that “insult”.

“Okay, okay, yes sir land boy!” I know he hates that name. “And aren’t you have to go home now?” His home is far from here if I’m not wrong.

“To be honest, do you mind explain that what happened to your friend in that photo?”

Okay, that’s new for him that never care about around him. “Uhhh…”

“If you’re not ready to tell about it, it’s okay! Take your time”

“No, no, no, I’m okay with that” I look around first. “Let’s talk about it in my room, shall we?”

Ebenezer’s POV

“…, okay” did I just agree with it?

“Well, come in sir! Make sure you feel like your own home if you can” I rolled my eyes as I take a step to their room.

As I enter the room, the warm and cozy atmosphere meet me. Maybe their room is so small, but simple and not stuffy. Also, their usual scent, the ocean scent, is really strong in this room.

“May take a seat, sir” they pull the chair from the dining table that you can meet right after you enter the room beside their wardrobe. “Can I take your coat, sir?”

“No thank you, I keep it” I take a sit as they prepare the tea in their “little kitchen” on the right side of the dining table. Their room isn’t festive for celebrating Christmas Eve as I expect, but there is a small Christmas tree on the dining table. It is put in the pot and decorated with folding papers in a star shape with a big paper star on the top (which is very creative). “I like how you’re played the violin before” I break the silence between us.

“Oh! Uh…, thanks” They try to hide their bashful face while they serve the tea to me and them. “So, what made you interested in that photo?” They seem curious as they bring a chair to sit close to me.

“First of all, you never talk about him because he is your friend. Second, why did you quit from Navy? You look happy in that photo” as I finish asking, they laugh. “Wha- what’s funny about it???”

“Well, maybe I was happy like in that photo, but every happiness has tragedy after it” They’re right. “For the first question, He is already dead” their smile seem blue. Prudence walks to them to comfort them. They pat her “I’m okay”

“I’m sorry to hear that” I want to comfort them by patting their shoulder, but I might regret it if I do that.

“It’s okay, really” but their face says not okay.

“So let me guess, you quit from Navy because your friend died?” that reason is kinda ridiculous, but I believe they have more reason than that.

“Well, almost” they take a sip of tea. “I quit from Navy because I found out how sinner they are, especially what the higher position in the Navy did to my friend” they talk in rage but quietly. At the same time, their face is close to mine and our eyes meet each other. I never knew they have pretty eyes. Their eyes remind me of a ruby, not really red but- WHAT ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT??? FOCUS SCROOGE!

“What did they do to your friend?” I know this seems rude, but I have to do it to distract myself.

“Sigh…, they killed him like an accident” I’m shocked. “He died in un-justice way” they hold their anger. “He died in knowing their sins” they hold their anger tears. I‘m concerned about them now. “Because of them, he left his dear wife and a son I-” their tears can hold it anymore. My hand reflex moves to their shoulder to comfort them.  “I’m so sorry…, I shouldn’t cry over the past…” they wipe their tears.

“Take your time” I smile at them. What is wrong with me?

“Again, I’m okay” they put their hand on my hand on their shoulder. “Also, you should smile more! You look good with it” I try to hide my blushing face. I hope they won’t notice it.

“So, do you still mad about it?”

“Of course I do! I even want to have revenge on them again, but…” they look at me. “… I can’t do that because they are too powerful and I have to move forward” they smile sweetly. “Maybe the past makes me hurt, but I cannot brood over it forever and have to move on” I’m processing what they just said.

Someone just knocked on the window. Aren’t we on the third floor? There is no way people can climb on the wall. Derya walks toward to window and opens it a little. A crow enters the room with a paper scroll on its back. Oh, it’s a crow.

“Oh Sir Erebus, you must be tired, right?” they pat that crow and give some peanuts to it. Sir Erebus? Heh, What a funny name. They take that paper and read it as that crow flies to their head and sits on them. They look sad after they read it. “I guess I’m celebrating Christmas alone again…”

“What do you mean?”

“Henry, my dear brother, cannot visit me because he has some business” the grandfather clock chimes behind me. It’s already 9 P.M.

“Well, I think I have to go home now” I finish their tea and get up. “Thanks for your hospitality, come on Prudence” she gets up and follows me.

“Wait, sir!” they wear their coat. “Let me accompany you to the main door”

Derya’s POV

“Okay, it’s up to you” I think he agrees with it.

I close the door and follow him downstairs. Damn, his walk is fast as sailfish for his age. I tried to catch him up as we walk downstairs. Only silence between the two of us while we walk down. I dare look at him and think about what just happened in my room. Did he just care and smile at me? Also, I remember he just blushed when I look at him… HAH, NONSENSE! There is no way he do that such thing… or maybe…

“There is something wrong with my face?” he notices.

“Yes, there is! And you might hate it if I mention it” the wrong thing on his face is why he is so handsome.

“Huh, okay” He rolled his eyes.

We finally arrived at the main door of the tenement. We step out of the door and we meet breezing wind that bites our skin with the sky full of black ink and dancing tiny lights. “Sir, you can wait here while I find a carriage for you” I don’t care how he reacts to it, but that man needs it because his home is really far from here and it’s already night.

Not far from my tenement, I already find a carriage. “Ay, sir!” I run toward it. “Are you going to the center of London?” I ask the coachman.

“Lucky for you! My way to my home just passed there”

“Oh thank Neptune, would you mind taking that man to his home? He lives in there” I point to Sir Scrooge not far behind me. “And this is your payment, I hope this is enough” I took out my wages that gave by Scrooge before.

“Since this is Christmas Eve, I will take any payment you have” He winks at me.

“Oh, thanks for your kindness sir! Please wait, I tell him now” I walk toward Sir Scrooge.

Ebenezer’s POV

Did they just pay him with all their wages without thinking about themselves??? How do they survive if they do that every time?!

“I find a carriage for you sir! Now you can go home safely” they smile brightly as they are in that photo before. They lend their hand “Let me take you to the carriage”. I take their hand because it will be rude if I refuse it. We walk toward the carriage and they open the carriage door for me. “Before you go, …” I look at them. “… I know you will hate it but …” They take a deep breath. “Merry Christmas sir”

Derya’s POV

What did I just thinking about??? Wishing him that hate Christmas entire his heart?!? He stares at me. Okay, I’m totally fucked up now…

“Merry Christmas too, Derya” as he went in a carriage. I’m surprised by that words. Did he just Merry Christmas to me? I still stand in the same place because I’m shocked about what happened before.

Ebenezer’s POV

This carriage was already far from their tenement. I’m still thinking about what happened to myself before and their words.

“Well, maybe I was happy like in that photo, but every happiness has tragedy after it”

“… I can’t do that because they are too powerful and I have to move forward”

“Maybe the past makes me hurt, but I cannot brood over it forever and have to move on”

I take out my pocket watch and open it. “TO OUR HAPPINESS” written on it. I stare at it long and close it harshly.

“Humbug…”

#no beta the author already dead first before you #idek how to old english #oc x canon #scrooge x oc #scrooge netflix #ebenezer scrooge #scrooge 2022 #scrooge: a christmas carol #a christmas carol 2022 #a christmas carol #hehe oc lore gonna brrrrr #derya darenport #fanfic #writing

[papirouge]

I'm the anon that sent you the message about hating the term PoC. Yeah, I pretty much agreee with everything you say. I don't believe much in POC solidarity because our struggles are very different between each other, and trying to paint everything as us vs whites does not really work. Perhaps for americans it does, since they have a very diverse population, but it's more difficult when talking about other countries.

Like latin americans do not have the best relationships between each other, they might share language but have very different cultures. Like the other day I was reading about this cartoon named "Oye primos" that was going to premiere and it was made by a second gen latina, where she looked to represent her growing up in a latin community in the USA, but she was clowned by pretty much every latino leaving outside of America. First, because the name of the cartoon is gramatically wrong (it should be "OIGAN primos, not OYE primos), second, because she used the word "LATINX", which latinos hate, and third, because she named the town the characters live in "Terremoto (Earthquake) Heights" or something like that (people though it was offensive because Mexico and Chile have suffered through a lot of earthquakes). And there's other stuff, like people saying the animation is ugly (very calart) and so on. Some people even started praising Los Casagrande, a spin off of The Loud House with a main mexican family thats not even made by latinos, but its considered far superior.

Sorry, I got a little carried away with that, what I wanted to say it's that its pretty common for latinos to kinda tear each other up, but they unite if they want to clown a "gringo" or something (and yes, they pointed out that the author basically being a 2nd gen makes her a gringa... I guess). Plus a lot of latinos dont like anything that looks "woke", and they considered that show does, so it was doomed from the start. The creator of the show felt pretty overwhelmed by the negative reception, received a lot of backlash and it apparently affected her a lot. I feel pretty bad for her actually.

And yeah, argentinians are actually pretty white, not only because a lot of italians and germans migrated there (if you ever read the names of their national soccer team, you'll notice many names are of italian origin), but because they're at the very south. Chile is also pretty white. But yeah, argentinians have always been pinned as being pretty arrogant and full of themselves, so it doesnt surprise me that they feel they're superior because their team is white. I remember that argentinians and fans of Messi in general were clowning Mbappe for allegedly being in a relationship with a transwoman, so they invented some pretty homophobic chants... soccer fans be like that

Ugh, this got so long,... I was gonna mention asians and their own issues too, but i think it's enough. I did wanted to ask you something though: is France a racist country?? How has your experience being impacted by being black?

Don't be sorry anon, I love these loooong asks where I get to know more my followers 🧡

It's pretty ironic you're talking about Asians because in one of my post where I'm talking about White conservative weaponizing minorities against each other somehow triggered A LOT of people. I even got a comment saying "put the reblogs back I have to give my perspective as someone with Asian/japanese ancestry" and I got like..... "Hm no?" LMAO This girl REALLY thought her opinion was remotely relevant when this was my perspective as Black person and I am not interested about some random Asian take on that issue. Sis really thought my post was a diss against Asians success (I mean every single person who interacted with that post had a negative IQ and entirely missed the post that's why I muted the reblogs) and got like "the cOnsErVatiVes aRe jUst acKnoLedgiNg oUr sUcCesS uwu"...... There's no wonder East Asians are looked down as White people's cucks 💀 IDK, if my community was being weaponized by racist scrotes to dogpile on other I wouldn't go uwuwhy do you mean?uwu about it. How can people have so little self awareness? ...That's why I don't believe in POC and that some communities will actually be more than willing this silence us. Sis really tried to all lives matter my take and I have no patience for that.

And soccer is brain disease tbh. Case in point : the racist Argentinians players dragging Mbappé... Which is a shame bc Messi and him seem to be very cool. Fans are the worst. I think I realized how racist these people were when they said ANTOINE GRIEZMANN (France NT player) wasn't White enough just because his mom was...... Portuguese (when his dad is German)💀

Imagine thinking this man is not White enough when them Argentians be looking like tragic mulattos themselves 💀💀 HE'S LITERALLY THE ARYAN PROTOTYPE 💀💀his name is ANTOINE. THAT'S THE WHITEST FRENCHIEST NAME EVER!! NEVER IN MY LIFE DID I MEET SOMEONE CALLED ANTOINE THAT WASN'T WHIIIIITE 💀💀💀💀

Argentinians living up their nazi heritage ; Portugal ain't white enough lmao...

What's funny with Latins is that they have this thinly veiled superiority complex with Black people.....but highkey are envious of the cultural impact of Black culture worldwide. Latin culture has a load of influence on music, but its impact is not as multifaceted as Black culture (beside music, fashion, hairstyles, make up, slang, etc.). I saw some Latins seethe about Black Panther and the hype the Black community was having from this movie, and Black twitter, in its usual shadiness got like "hmmm don't you have Rio? 🤔" LMAOOOO (it was before Encanto though)

And is France racist? hm... I mean, it's a European country 🥴🥴 but it's definitely one of the least racist one for sure. Non french netizens will do the most about how islamophobic France is, but Islam isn't a race so the problem our country has with Islam isn't much related to race. Because of colonization, France has many territories oversea where its natives are Black, so France is inherently already multiracial, and that's something that many French people acknowledge. I feel like french are more worried about culture than race (ln many aspects, I, as a Christian Black woman, have to bear much less prejudice than a Muslim male, for example). That's why our country is very defensive against Islam (which comes with a whole cultural set) rather than race.

We consider assimilation as a staple and reject self IDing communities (whether they might be sexual, racial, religious). Any stats trying to quantity race, religion or sexuality are ILLEGAL, here. That's why when I see foreign rightoids be like "France is already 25% Muslim!! #greatreplacement" I just know they are full of shit, because such stats are technically illegal...

To give you an example, France leader of the far-FAR right is a Jew...(Eric Zemmour) and a significant amount of people from North Africa/muslim are in the (far) right too.. (many of them change their names to make them sound more french/less Arab such as Jean Messiha lmao)

France itself is a mixed nation between Romans invader and Galicians (basically France indigenous) also some viking mingling in the north(?) That's why french people can be very phenotypically diverse. If you look Griezman (France North type) and Kenji Girac (Southern France type - he's also a gypsy) who are both White french while looking quite different.

Unfortunately nationalism is on the rise, there's an actual revival of neo Nazi (which is hilarious bc France has been invaded/defeated by Nazi and that actual self respecting French rightoids hate Nazism because of that 💀) so I feel like France is getting less sale for foreigners/non Whites. I think France is the best place to live in Europe if you're afraid of racism but yeah, it's getting quite heated here....

#answered

[lavander-yarn]

tbh can it just be 1-20 because i wanna know more about you ^^ 🤍💚🦋

Hello! Hahaha ok, here is the complete ask game only for you 🤭

1. i am... sleepy rn

2. i will be... Different than many people, even different than my parents, but i hope it will be for good

3. I used to be... A little girl, different than most children, but as lost and dumb as them

4. I see... The sky and clouds everyday, hoping there's something great out there, a better future, a safer future

5. i want to see... The sea again, but not the tropical side that exists here, i want to see the north sea (or the south sea, the one you see at patagonia on Argentina) where is so cold and wild and therefore you can't swim on it, you can only see the sea. And then i want to go to those Scotland islands and see the legendary knits that were created there

6. I hear... The crickets outside, but i can hear they are really far, just like the cars that pass down the empty streets

7. i want to hear... Their voices again, i know somehow each one of them want to hear mine too

8. i feel... Happier than a year ago, sometimes i still feel worried for some things, but i have a paceful life and i'm greatful for that

9. i want to feel... Certainty . Braver, because idk how many things i'm going to live next and i'm pretty tired of things being difficult on this country since the last two years

10. i wish... Some dreams, even the most fantastical and corny ones, could come true sometimes

11. i want.. many things, some days i want frivolous things and objects and other days i want something inmaterial, something for the spirit, something for the soul, something good for somebody else

12. i need.. some money lol, just enough to live without worries

13. i don't.. have to feel this lonely, i'm not. Sometimes i walk the streets and i still feel this hole in my chest, i look around to try to find something i don't even know

14. I can.. improve and make myself a little proud

15. i love.. in small and discret ways, one day i forgot how to do it and when i tried to love the world around me again, i couldn't do it the same

16. i hate.. More than i love, that's not good

17. the best thing.. is to have a nice and cozy sleep, oh and to have covered all the basic human needs with proper decency and respect

18. the worst thing.. is to feel scared and worried

19. I would like to know.. when i die if it was really worthy, you know, to come to this existence and simply live

20. I would like to meet.. you! And the most kind souls on this earth tbh

🦋✨🌼

This was huge, but many of these thoughts i keep them to myself, It felt good to write them down

Thank you friend!

[pebblysand]

15 Questions - 15 People

tagged by @heartstopping-waves ❤️.

1. are you named after anyone? yep. my great-grandmother. although her name was the italian version of my name (she was italian). i have the frenchised one.

2. when was the last time you cried? ten days ago. out of exhaustion and stress. before that, idk, months ago. i don't cry a lot.

3. do you have kids? no. and i'm 90% sure i don't want any. the 10% left is wiggle room cause i'm - personally - never sure of anything. but it's highly unlikely.

4. do you use sarcasm a lot? maybe? idk.

5. what’s the first thing you notice about people? idk, maybe their walk? clothes? i'm quite good at telling people's nationality just by looking at them though. especially french people, i can spot them from miles away lol.

6. what’s your eye colour? very very very dark brown. you can hardly see my pupils.

7. scary movies or happy ending? happy endings i think

8. any special talents? i mean. i've published 400,000+ words of my "special talent" on ao3.

9. where were you born? my mum lived in paris but she had a high risk pregnancy so i was actually born just outside of paris in the specialised maternity hospital where carla bruni later had her baby lmao. it's a super posh suburb and i'm so ashamed to admit it hahaha. we only lived in paris until i was 6 though, then moved to the south on the french riviera. i think i'm very southern in a lot of ways, and parisian in some. i wouldn't be caught dead saying my "ai"s the parisian way though 🤢.

10. what are your hobbies? writing. i have time for literally nothing else.

11. do you have any pets? no, but i want to adopt a dog in the next year-ish. my mum still has the family dog though and she is the love of my life.

12. what sports do you play/have you played? i never played sport outside school really. i tried lots (tennis, rugby, golf (lol), jazz dancing, etc). the only one i kind of like is skiing.

13. how tall are you? 168cm. is that 5'6"? that's what the internet says lol.

14. favourite subject at school? i wanna say history? i loved english but it was taught as a foreign language so i was always super bored. and french i didn't like much because i hated studying old men's classics. jean-jacques rousseau should be shot dead in his grave for the damage he inflicted on the french school curriculum.

15. dream job? i don't dream of labour lol. no - jokes aside, i guess writing full time properly.

okay i'm not tagging anyone because i'm 55 years late in this meme and i reckon everyone i know has already been tagged, but if you haven't feel free to tag yourself.

#tags

[oflegcnds]

(  REGÉ  JEAN  PAGE,  CIS  MAN,  HE/HIM.  )  could  that  really  be  ALARIC  STARK,  the  RULING  LORD  of  WINTERFELL  entering  the  keep  ?  king’s  landing  is  sure  to  benefit  from  the  THIRTY  TWO  year  old’s  ability  to  be  both  CHARISMATIC  and  INTUITIVE,  but  beware,  whispers  also  say  they  have  been  known  to  be  CALCULATING  and  PARANOID.  their  loyalty  belongs  to  HOUSE  STARK  and  they  ARE  INDIFFERENT  TO  the  notion  of  peace  throughout  westeros.

i.   personal.

name:  alaric  stark.

official  titles:  ruling  lord  of  winterfell,  warden  of  the  north.

age:  thirty  two.

gender:  cis  man.

pronouns:  he/him.

orientation:  bisexual.

allegiance:  north  af

spoken  languages:  common  tongue.

religion:  old  gods,  more  religious  after  his  father’s  passing.  

alignment:  i’m  gonna  say  chaotic  good  but  besties  idk  his  vibes  yet

ii.   appearance.

faceclaim:  regé  jean  page.

eye  color:  dark  brown.

hair  color:  black.

dominant  hand:  left.

height:  5′11″

build:  athletic.

iii.   relationships.

father:  harlon  stark,  deceased  (  passed  four  months  ago  ).

mother:  lady  mother  utp  stark  nee  utp.

siblings,  in  eldest  order:  gwyneth  stark,  lyanna  stark,  tbd.

relationship  status:  unwed.

children:  none.

previous  relations:  tba  (  plots  wanted  ).

iv.   background.

the  first  child  to  harlon  and  lady  stark,  alaric  stark’s  birth  was  celebrated  in  the  north  for  weeks.  it  was  one  of  the  first  optimistic  signs  the  north  had  seen  in  years  -  and  with  the  promise  of  more  from  the  ruling  lord,  northerners  knew  their  fortune  would  grow.  and  it  did,  resulting  in  alaric’s  siblings  and  those  he  considers  himself  closest  to  in  the  realm.  he  grew  up  surrounded  by  love  and  opportunity,  rarely  ever  hearing  the  word  no  and  knowing  his  looks  could  get  him  where  his  name  couldn’t.  the  lord  stark  has  always  had  an  incredibly  big  heart  but  after  the  cruelty  of  children  in  his  childhood,  he  learned  to  keep  it  sheltered  -  an  uneasiness  of  strangers  forming  and  growing  into  paranoia  by  the  time  he  was  a  teen.  while  he  could  talk  the  head  off  of  anyone  who  approached  him,  he  grew  to  learn  how  to  bite  his  tongue  and  when  it  was  best  to  stay  silent.  always  the  quiet  watcher,  never  a  fan  of  the  spotlight.

as  a  boy,  alaric  adored  his  lessons.  he  loved  both  the  history  books  and  the  afternoons  spent  with  a  sword  in  his  hand.  he  was  always  curious  to  know  everything  and  anything,  being  a  bit  of  an  annoyance  to  his  septa.  though  his  septa  never  minded,  knowing  the  boy  meant  well.  as  he  got  older  his  thirst  for  knowledge  only  grew,  making  it  a  habit  to  travel  into  the  wolfswood  and  learn  what  else  the  north  had  to  offer.  though  he  eventually  convinced  his  father  to  let  him  ride  outside  of  winterfell  and  venture  out  into  westeros,  it  took  years.  alaric  wished  he  had  rode  further  south  but  never  rode  past  the  riverlands.

he  never  wanted  to  be  ruling  lord.  his  father  was  supposed  to  live  so  much  longer.  alaric  loves  the  north  but  he’s  never  wanted  the  responsibility  of  being  their  ruler.  if  things  had  gone  differently,  perhaps  he  would  have  gifted  it  to  one  of  his  siblings  instead  -  but  alaric  now  feels  a  sense  of  responsibility  to  his  family,  at  the  very  least,  to  lead  them  as  the  eldest  child  now  that  harlon  is  gone.  he  doesn’t  want  his  mother  to  have  to  worry  about  anything  and  refuses  to  let  her  lift  a  hand.  he’s  changed  quite  a  bit  in  the  past  couple  months  since  his  father  has  been  gone.  alaric  has  always  been  very  carefree  and  humorous,  but  his  smile  is  hidden  most  days  and  he’s  grown  into  a  habit  of  raising  his  voice.  he’s  afraid  of  losing  any  more  of  his  family  so  he  keeps  them  close,  trusting  no  one  but  them.  as  much  as  he  wants  to  publicly  end  the  betrothal  between  his  sister  and  the  eldest  baratheon  son,  he  fears  angering  the  king.  alaric  knows  he  is  not  the  man  his  father  was...  but  he’s  going  to  do  whatever  he  needs  to  in  order  to  keep  his  family  safe.

#comet.intro #i'll add plots + headcanons at a later time <3

[frzngrapes]

29/07

Dear Keycie,

I feel way better than last time I wrote to you, though not much has changed. I found the energy necessary to get out of my house, and I see my friends often which keeps my mood lifted!

I don't remember who it was, but someone suggested that maybe I can't handle loneliness well, and that must be the case. I guess the more I stay alone the less energy I have, the less I go out the more it makes me feel depressed. Being forced out of my room to go to a festival my friends class participated in pushed me outside this spiral, and now I'm better.

The last three weeks were really good, going back and forth between seeing M A and P (and their friends, boyfriends and acquaintances) (BTW p's boyfriend became a friend of mine I'm pretty sure? we get along very well), and going to Hendaye to see L and the people who go to the south during the vacation only and meet up at the bar she works at. They're very fun and kind people, I still introduce myself with a feminine name instead of the more masculine one I chose for myself when I'm with them. Also going there so often is very convenient, since it's near Spain and cigarettes are cheaper there. I also just love spending time with L. I know she has some red flags and most of my friends cut ties with her, but I feel loved and respected in our friendship. Also made a friend there, hilarious adorable guy, and we kissed. I really don't see myself being in a romantic relationship with him, but we get along so so well as friends I'm very glad I met him and I hope we get to see each other again a lot (he lives pretty far away </3). With them I went to a nightclub for the first time, in Spain, and it was very cool ! I also go out a lot during the day with my mom and sister, and visiting family. Our relationship really healed, I'll tell you more about it another time. And yeah this is all very fun. I'm having a great summer.

When I last wrote to you my screen time was between 10 and 15 hours a day which is... insane. It's a common experience for people to try escaping the crushing emptiness they feel, or their worries or the fact they hate themselves, by wasting their days away, I know I'm not the only one that used to do that. When I don't feel right, I like to sleep as much as possible. This way I also eat as little as possible and my brain is too weak to make me feel pain. Then when I'm awake, I spend every second possible online, that way time flies extremely fast and I don't have to actually fully experience the day. I don't actually have to be alive. This is obviously bullshit and does no good, doesn't bring me any sense of relief whatsoever, idk why I keep having this behaviour.

More than being lonely, I think restricting my food intake started my last "bad phase" (idk how to word it). I mean it's biological, brain can't produce happy hormones without proper eating. I don't remember what triggered me so bad for me to seriously try to restrict again, all I know is I didn't lose a significant amount of weight so once again I harm myself for nothing.

Speaking of harm, the scars on my arms are starting to bother me... Or more like they've been bothering me since the beginning of summer. Idk I wish they weren't there or weren't as visible. I used to be secretly proud I cut deep enough for it to scar badly, but now I'm just uncomfortable when wearing a t-shirt. I guess I assume people are judging me, and I don't want to wear the history of my struggles on my body anymore. I know people that matter, people I actually want to interact with don't give a shit. Actually people almost never mention it and I rarely get weird looks, but like I know they saw it and it makes me uncomfortable.

I drink way more than usual but it's okay, I'm in control. I guess I have so many friends that have or had a problem with their alcohol consumption that now I'm very weary of mine. Maybe having had to deal with people I love having blackouts, telling me about wanting to end it, not being able to walk on their own very regularly when I was 15/16 made me very aware of my habits and keeping them healthy now.

That was my little life update !! I don't do them as often as I used to, and I think it's too bad because I love going back to them. Actually, I don't like big chunks of my life not being documented here, I don't like realising I haven't written a letter in three months. I missed chatting with you a lot!

PS: I haven't seen E in so long, she's been away ever since the end of June, and I miss her so so much

XOXO (kisses hugs, picture frame designer drugs) (it's a song... anyways), Cherry

#cherrysletters✿