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darknights04 · 3 months

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are you still working on the Elijah mikaelson Bridgeton fic?

I'm sorry it took so long 😭😭 Lots of life changes have been occurring. But here it is, a small blurb of what could be the start of a series if you guys like it.

The Social Season

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x reader Summary: The Mikaelsons have returned to London for this year's social season. No girl had ever caught Elijah's eye before, until now. Word Count: 2772 Masterlist

London 1814

The London social season had been in full swing by the time the Mikaelsons had returned to the city during one of Lady Danbury’s events. Elijah and his siblings had barely walked through the doors before ruthless mamas began to smooth our their daughter’s dresses while eyeing them from across the room. Elijah was the prize, certainly, but if any woman was to catch a Mikaelson son at all they would consider it a win. Rebekah had also never had a difficulty keeping her dance card full.

It was well past the first soiree of the season, but it was the first that the Mikaelson siblings had made an appearance at. The marriage-minded missus of the city (and their mamas) always kept a keen eye out for them. While they may not have had the status of the Duke, the Mikaelson family was both well known, respected, and equally as feared. Not even Lady Whistledown dared to write more than their names.

“Must we return to this god-awful city every year?” Niklaus groaned as the wave of young bachelorettes swarmed towards them.

“Speak for yourself,” Kol smiled, watching the ladies with a much different expression. “I rather like being adored.”

“Mikaelsons!” they all heard coming from the opposite direction. Upon inspection they saw none other than Anthony Bridgerton advancing towards them. Rebekah and Elijah turned toward him with bright smiles with Niklaus and Kol tended to the hoard of ladies with empty dance cards.

“Bridgerton,” Elijah greeted with a smile, meeting his arm in the middle to shake his hand in greeting.

“You’ve missed a great amount in the short few weeks you’ve been absent this season.”

“Yes, well, we had some family business to tie up back in the states across the water.”

“No matter, you are all here now. You must join our family for a promenade sometime soon so I might regale you with all the happenings from the season thus far.”

“I’m sure we’ll catch up plenty with a reading of the last couple Lady Whistledown issues,” Rebekah remarked with a small chuckle.

“Yes but surely, sister, as you know as well as I Whistledown doesn’t know everything,” Elijah corrected before turning back to Anthony with a smile. “We’ll be glad to join you, Bridgerton. You shall name the day.”

“Fantastic! Oh and we must not forget the ball my mother is hosting at our estate in the country. You’d all be welcome there as my guests if you so desire.”

“I would be honored, my lord,” Rebekah said with a smile, bowing her head slightly. It was no secret that she fancied the man. Her whole family could see it. While Rebekah had no intention of being courted or heavens forbid marrying anyone, she could still dream about the life she might live were she able to. The beautiful family that might surround her. The number of children she and the viscount might have been able to have together. But that was nothing more than a fantasy. Precisely the reason that Elijah was hardly ever seen taking any young ladies to the floor. He felt it foolish to fill them with futile hopes of him proposing. Every respectable lady of the ton desired marriage, children, a real family. Something none of the Mikaelsons would be able to provide.

Nonetheless, the Mikaelsons always appeared before the ton each year during the height of the social season just long enough to maintain appearances. Not to mention, Kol had not found an easier afternoon snack than that of a young lady hoping for a betrothal. They never killed any of the members of the ton, of course. Such a high standing society member would surely be missed. Nothing a bit of the vampires’ own blood and a little compulsion couldn’t resolve.

“You must meet my dear cousin,” Anthony stated after a brief moment. “She’s come to live with us after the passing of her mother, my aunt.”

Anthony turned as he beckoned you over to them. Elijah sighed as he looked down at his feet, readjudsting his posture to be more proper as he awaited your arrival. When his eyes met yours, however, his reluctance towards the introduction vanished.

“Mikaelsons,” Anthony continued. “This is my cousin, miss Y/n Ledger.”

“A pleasure,” you said with a polite smile and a perfect curtsy.

“The pleasure is mine,” Elijah replied quickly, offering his hand for you to take. Once you softly placed your hand into his, Elijah brought it ever so slowly up to his lips as he touched the softest kiss to your gloved hand; an action that did not go unnoticed by Rebekah, nor the ravenous mamas behind them. Elijah was not one to give more than a curt nod to young ladies introducing themselves. “Lady Ledger-”

“Just miss Ledger,” you corrected. “Lady Ledger was my grandmother.”

While the response was simple, it answered many of Elijah’s questions. For one, you were not married. If you had been married you would either hold a title as a lady or hold a different last name than your grandmother. Second, your mother was not married. Had your father been a Ledger himself, your mother would hold the title of Lady Ledger, not your grandmother. As that title is still her grandmother’s to hold, your mother hadn’t married a lord to gain the title herself. Thirdly, she must be related to the Bridgertons through the sister of the current vicountesses Bridgerton.

“Pardon me, Miss Ledger. Would you care to do me the honor of a d-”

“Y/n, surely you must join me for a cool glass of lemonade,” Rebekah interrupted, linking her arm through yours as she dragged you away to the drinks table.

Elijah stood dumbfounded as you both walked away. Rebakah knew it was improper to interrupt, but after living for 800 years she couldn’t come to care. Elijah watched your expression closely. He expected a protest, or for you to at least look back towards him. There wasn’t a chance you didn’t catch what he wanted to ask you. Any other lady would have jumped at the opportunity to be led to the floor by a Mikaelson. Especially by Elijah, being the eldest for all intents and purposes.

As soon as the two of you were gone, Elijah was swarmed by the ton much like his brothers were just moments before. Nikalus and Kol could not agree to another single dance, having agreed to partner with a different lady for each one, so naturally the crowd has turned next

‘’ towards both Elijah and Anthony, knowing this was the season the viscount longed to secure a wife.

Anthony looked towards Elijah with raised eyebrows as he let out a deep sigh before having to face the wolves.

---

As the week went on, Elijah and Rebekah agreed to join the Bridgerton family in a turn about the park in Mayfair. Rebekah loved their family. She envied Violet’s ability to have so many children. A life she longed for herself. Elijah, on the other hand, wanted to know more about you.

“Bridgertons,” Elijah greeted the family with a nod as they approached. “Miss Ledger,” he said toward you.

“My lord,” you greeted back with a smile and a small bow.

“Would you care for a turnabout the lake?” he offered, holding his arm out for you.

“Oh,” you said with a slight tone of surprise, looking back at the Bridgerton family. Before you could find the words to accept or deny, Violet spoke up for you.

“She would love one,” Violet beamed with a nod, pulling you forward to take his arm.

You chuckled in defeat as you wrapped you arm around his, hand resting on the crook of his elbow.

The two of you had barely gotten ten feet from the rest of the family before he bagan to bombard you with questions. You didn’t mind, of course. Most most began conversations this way, especially when “interviewing” their potential matches.

“So I really must ask,” he began. “How is it that you’re not married yet?”

You chuckled at his question, one of the ones you expected to hear first. “Well, my mother had me out of wedlock. If it wasn’t for or connection to the Bridgertons then I would be labeled a bastard child and thrown out of society entirely. Instead, my mother trained me from a young age so I could have the perfect match. She was determined. Too determined. Her determination ended up turning away a lot of possible suitors.”

As you spoke, you noticed Elijah was genuinely interested in what you had to say. He wasn’t spaced out as you rambled on, he didn’t seem annoyed or simply waiting for you to be finished. He wanted to know about you. About your life.

“As the seasons past, and I got older, everyone began to lose interest. I’ve been officially put ‘on the shelf’ as they would call it, at the ripe age of three and twenty.”

“Yet you still attend events with the rest of the ton?” he questioned.

“Living with the Bridgertons comes with a surplus of invitations,” you explained with a smile. “And Eloise needs encouragement through her first season.”

Elijah let out a laugh at that. “I pity any man who tries to tame her.”

“Not possible,” you rebutted with a laugh of your own. “Eloise is one horse that cannot be tamed.”

As you continued to walk, you noticed many eyes turned to stare at the two of you.

“And what of you?” you asked him. It was his turn to answer your questions.

“What of me?”

“Surely you have your number of available matches. Why have you gone so long without securing one?”

Elijah chucked while glancing to the floor, watching your feet walk in sync. “In truth I’ve never had the desire to settle down with anyone,” he explained. “It didn’t seem like the type of life I was meant to live.”

“And now?” you asked. Both of your steps had halted as you turned to face one another, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the words to answer you.

“Now…” he began, not truly knowing what his answer was. “Now, I’m not sure what the future holds for me.”

The two of you stayed in silence you a couple moments longer, stuck searching the others eyes for answers to questions you didn’t know. It wasn’t until you remembered where you were that you tore your eyes from his, clearing your throat.

“We should make our way back,” you said simply. “They’ll be serving tea under the gazebo soon. Would you and your sister care to join us?”

It was Elijah’s turn tp clear his own throat, facing back towards the path in front of you as he continued to walk.

“Indeed,” he nodded. “That would be quite agreeable.”

After a few moments of silence, you spoke up again. “You must join us in Aubrey Hall next week.”

“Yes, Lord Bridgerton mentioned retiring to the country for a ball his mother is hosting.”

“He’s invited the Sharma family to join us before the rest of the invited guests arrive, I insist your family do the same.”

“Are you certain?” he asked with raised eyebrows. “We would not wish to be a burden.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” you assured him. “There is plenty of space and I could use the company while Anthony is busy in his dance of courtship. I shall discuss it with the family upon our return.”

As the two of you walked back towards the Bridgertons, you felt eyes on you left and right. Both lords and ladys staring at the pair of you with two feelings on their mind. Confusing and envy.

---

As the Mikaelsons dismounted from their carriage at Aubrey Hall, the entirety of the Bridgerton family was waiting to greet them.

“Lord Mikaelson,” Violet smiled, greeting him with open arms.

“Elijah, please,” he corrected, bowing his head slightly towards her. “You’ve invited us to be guests in your home, its only fair that you might call us by our given names. You know my sister, Rebekah,” he continued, motioning towards his siblings. “And might I introduce my brother, Niklaus and Kol.”

“A pleasure, Lady Bridgerton,” Kol greeted with a bow of his own, followed by Niklaus.

“You have a lovely home,” he spoke up with a warm smile.

“While you’re here you may think of it as your own,” Violet began before motioning towards the front doors. “Please, we were just about to sit down for tea. The Sharmas should be arriving any moment.”

As the group walked into the house, Elijah’s face lit up with a smile seeing you sitting in the parlor, waiting for everyone else.

“My lord,” you smiled, standing up to offer a quick curtsy. “I’m pleased you could make it.”

Elijah grabbed your hand before your eyes raised to meet his, bringing it once more up to lightly caress it with his lips. Your breath hitches in your throat as this time, you weren’t wearing your gloves.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” his said, looking back at you with a smile, you hand staying in his while he looks up at you.

His eyes held yours for another moment before you heard a throat clear behind you. Elijah turned to see Kol with a sly smirk on his face.

“Ah, yes, miss Ledger allow me to introduce my brothers, Kol and Niklaus.”

Both men in question smiled warmly as they each gave the the girl a quick bow.

“Brother,” Elijah continued. “I’d like you both to meet miss Y/n Ledger. Cousin to the Bridgertons.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” you said with a smile of your own, giving a small curtsy.

“Miss Ledger,” Niklaus starting, stepping forward to be next to Elijah. “I hear you’re quite the artist. I myself dabble in painting every now and again, I’d love to see your work.”

Elijah looked towards his brother uneasily. Anyone who overheard him may have taken his comment as a kind remark, but Elijah didn’t miss the calculating grin on his face. He had an agenda.

“An artist?” Elijah repeated with a slight tone of surprise. He wasn’t sure how his brother came to know this.

“Yes, brother. I’ve done my research,” Klaus answered back simply.

“Oh,” you began, a bit take off guard by his knowledge of you. “Well I’ve tried my hand at painting every now and again, but Benedict is the true artist of the family. It’s him you’d be wanting to speak with about it.”

“Miss Ledger I don’t recall ever seeing you on the dance floor,” Kol spoke up next. “You must allow me to lead you sometime. I am, after all, the best dancer in the family.”

“Perhaps the best male dancer,” Rebekah spoke up, seemingly appearing beside him. “Both of you, stop overwhelming the poor girl.”

“Oh, I really don’t mind, Lady Mikaelson.”

“Rebekah, please,” she almost scoffed. “Titles make me feel much too old.”

“I couldn’t possibly-”

“I insist,” she interrupted. “In any case, we are all most comfortable being called by our given names. When one hears the name ‘Mikaelson’ being thrown from across the ballroom we never know for who it is intended for.”

“Very well, Rebekah. Then you all must call me Y/n. Especially here in the country, away from the rules of London society.”

“Lord Mikaelson,” Violet could be heard from behind, approaching the small group in the parlor.

“Again, Elijah really is fine,” he corrected again with a chuckle.

“Elijah,” she repeated, a warm smile on her face. “You really must allow Y/n to take you on a tour of the grounds. I hear you’re quite the reader and my late husband, Edmund, had quite the collection in his library.”

“But aunt Violet,” you started before Elijah could give an answer. “I told the kitchen staff that I would assist in serving the tea.”

Violet waved you off. “I shall send down Eloise to help them. You go on and show Elijah your uncle’s library upstairs.”

“I would love to see it,” Elijah added, urging you with his smile.

“Very well,” you nodded. Elijah help out his arm, motioning for you to go first, following close behind as you led him up to the Bridgerton’s library.

“Might they be needing a chaperone, Lady Bridgerton?” Rebekah asked her with a sly grin, catching onto Violet’s schemes.

“I’m not sure as to who you are referring,” she replied with an innocent shrug, turning back to return to the rest of her family.

#Elijah Mikaelson #Bridgerton #elijah #mikaelson #to #the originals #tvd #Netflix #x reader #elijah mikaelson x reader #london #regency era #period piece #request #whisledown

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themultifandomgal · 7 months

Text

Isaiah Jesus- We’re Getting Married

When I told my brothers that Isaiah and I were getting married, they were not happy. I am the youngest Shelby, as Arthur puts it 'our baby sister'. Thankfully though my brothers came around and now here I stand smoothing down my dress as Esme places my vail in my hair

"You look beautiful YN" Lizzie gushes

"Thank you, but so do you both" I look at Esme and Lizzie through the mirror in front of me

"Ready?"

"Yeah" I smile turning around to Lizzie

"I'll go let Arthur know" she says leaving the room. A few minutes later Arthur knocks the door with his hand over his eyes

"We're all decent you can come in" I tell him. He takes his hand away and I can already see the tears in his eyes "don't cry because you'll make me cry"

"I'm sorry. It's just... my baby sister is getting married"

"Ok no smudging the makeup" Esme says stopping both me and Arthur from crying

"I think Isaiah is waiting" Lizzie places her hands on her hips

"Your right. Come on" Arthur holds his arm out for me to take.

As I wait for the doors to open to reveal Isaiah I start fidgeting

"Don't be nervous"

"I'm not. I'm excited. I love him Arthur"

"I know you do" finally the doors open and in walk Lizzie and Tom, then Esme and John. Then in walk my bridesmaids and finally Arthur walks me to Isaiah who's stood at the end of the aisle looks so freaking good. I notice he's got a tear running down his smiling face which cause me to cry a little. Arthur gives Isaiah my hand then kisses my cheek before taking his seat next to the rest of my family

"Welcome" the priest starts "today we are here to witness the marriage and bond between YN and Isaiah. Are you prepared, as you follow the path of marriage, to love and honor each other for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do"

"I do" we both respond

"Before we start. Is there anyone here who has reason that these two should not marry?" Thankfully neither Isaiah or I have to be nervous about anyone standing up "since it is your intention to enter the covenant of Holy Matrimony, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and his Church" Isaiah and I hold hands

"I, take you , to be my wife. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love you and to honor you all the days of my life" Isaiah says looking into my eyes. I repeat what he says

"May the Lord in his kindness strengthen the consent you have declared before the Church and graciously bring to fulfillment his blessings within you. What God has joined, let no one put asunder. May the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob, the God who joined together our first parents in paradise, strength and bless in Christ the consent you have declared before the Church, so that what God joins together, no one may put asunder. receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the father, and the son, and the Holy Spirit. Who has the rings?" The priest asks. Charlie steps forward with both of our rings. Isaiah then takes my left hand

"Receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the father, and the son, and the Holy Spirit" he then places the ring on my finger. I repeat

"Now let us humbly invoke God's blessing upon this bride and groom, that in his kindness he may favor with his help those on whom he has bestowed the Sacrament of Matrimony. In the sight of God and these witnesses, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may now kiss" the room is filled with applause while Isaiah and I share a kiss.

It's now the after party at the Garrison and I've changed into something a little more comfortable so I can dance in. Isaiah and I had our first dance then Arthur clears his throat

"Can I have everyone's attention" I take Isaias hand in mine "I'd like to raise a toast to my sister and now brother in-law. Now when you first starting courting I wasn't happy" this makes us all laugh "in all seriousness though, I saw the way YN looked at you and the way you looked at her. It's a love that can't be ignored. I can't wait to see where life takes you both, but no babies yet I'm still not recovered from this wedding" again this makes everyone laugh "to YN and Isaiah"

"To YN and Isaiah" everyone shouts before we all take a sip of the champagne. I turn to my now husband and look up at him

"I love you"

"I love you too" he leans down and kisses my lips.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders reader #tommy shelby #arthur shelby #john shelby #isaiah jesus x y/n #isaiah jesus x oc #isaiah jesus x reader #isiah jesus x reader #isaiah jesus imagine #isaiah jesus #sister shelby #shelby sister

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bellebridgerton · 1 year

Text

His Diamond: Chapter 3 (Anthony Bridgerton x plus size!fem!reader)

✨Masterlist✨

✨Previous Chapter✨

Y/n's morning was filled with many callers, her plan had worked.

Among the many callers, Anthony Bridgerton was there. Y/n was only slightly surprised, he must just be keeping up appearances. She graciously accepted the flowers from each caller, while her mama stood off to the side. Y/n knew her dear mama must have been giddy on the inside.

Finally, it was time for Anthony to have time with Y/n, he gave her a wicked smile, then bowed to her. Y/n curtsied, noting his expression, she sat down on the sofa with him. Anthony sat so close to her that their knees touched. In polite society, especially if they were in public, that would be the start of a scandal. Anthony was the first to speak, "How are you this beautiful morning?"

Y/n shifted her legs a bit, if they were in the Bridgerton home, she wouldn't have minded the physical contact, but this was an event, she had to remain composed. Y/n smiled, "I am very well, how are you, Lord Bridgerton?"

Anthony smiled a genuine smile, "I too am well, busy, but well."

Y/n giggled, "No more falling asleep in your study?"

Anthony chuckled, "I cannot promise it won't happen again."

Y/n nodded, understanding Anthony worked hard and he did important work. She smiled softly at Anthony, "Not that I don't enjoy your company, you know I do, but are you intending to court me? We did dance together twice last night, and you're here this morning. It's just, you made it very clear what you want in a marriage, that's not what I want. It wouldn't be right if we courted, knowing that we want different things."

Anthony gently placed his hand over hers, he looked at her with furrowed eyebrows, "I can provide for you, you would want for nothing. My family already loves you, and I know our children will be beautiful, kind, and smart. Y/n, I am not the most romantic man, but we are friends, is that not the best thing for a man and wife to be?" Anthony sighed softly, "I know what I want, dear Y/n, and I know I could give you a good life."

Y/n didn't know what more she could say to him, "I see, you have certainly thought this through."

Anthony nodded, "I have." He stood up, only to get down on one knee, "Y/n Y/L/n, will you marry me?" He removed a small, black velvet box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a beautiful pearl ring, the ring his father gave his mother.

Y/n looked between Anthony and the ring, she tried to rationalize. They are friends, she does love him, he would give her a comfortable life. A thought entered her head, maybe he would eventually learn to love her. Maybe she could change him. She smiled widely, nodding, "Yes."

As he slipped the ring onto her finger, he noticed it was a perfect fit. Anthony stood up, Y/n followed suit and looked at the ring. Anthony smiled softly, "It was my mother's ring."

Y/n gazed up at Anthony, "It is beautiful."

He figured since they were now engaged, he could keep her close to him, he hand rested on her lower back, "We should tell my family at dinner tonight, they will be happy for us."

Lady Y/L/n witnessed the whole proposal, she was so excited and proud, her daughter was going to be a viscountess! She approached the new couple, "This is indeed a cause for celebration, we shall host a ball tomorrow, in honor of your impending nuptuals!"

Y/n looked at her mama, "Mama, there is no need for that, dinner with the Bridgertons is enough for me."

Her mama waved her hand dismissively, "Nonsense, darling, we are having a ball tomorrow night!"

Anthony chuckled softly, slightly hiding his amusement behind Y/n, "It would be a fun way to publically announce our engagement."

Placing a hand on Anthony's chest, having been obviously overruled, Y/n sighed, "Fine, fine, we're having a ball."

Anthony placed a kiss on her cheek, "Thank you, wife."

Laughing, Y/n looked at Anthony, "We're not married yet, my lord."

Anthony smiled his playful smile, "Practicing, my dear."

That night at the Bridgerton home, the air was electric, everyone was waiting in anticipation for Anthony to explain. Anthony had informed his mother they'd be having guests, but nothing of who they would be and what the occasion was.

The head butler entered the drawing room, "Lord Bridgerton, your guests have arrived."

Anthony arose from his chair, "Thank you, I will be there momentarily."

Gregory and Hyacinth blocked the doors, Hyacinth spoke first, "Brother, will you please tell us who they are?"

Gregory followed her up, "Please?"

Anthony's face softened, "You would already know by now if you were not standing in the way of the doors." The two youngest Bridgertons quickly opened the doors, running down the stairs. Anthony smiled, "Slow down, do not crowd our guests."

Hyacinth quickly saw Y/n come into view, "Y/n, you're here!" She hugged Y/n, exctied to see her. Y/n returned the hug, holding Hyacinth close, but Hyacinth pulled back, taking Y/n's hands in hers. She sees Y/n's ring, "It's beautiful, who are you marrying?" Hyacinth hadn't remembered her mother's ring.

Anthony finally caught up with his youngest siblings, "Y/n is marrying me. That is the reason for celebration tonight. In two month's time, my dear Y/n will be a Bridgerton, my viscountess."

Violet's hand covered her mouth, then rested on her adbomen, "Oh, dearest, I'm so happy!" She hugged Y/n, gently pulling back to cup Y/n's face in her hands, "Welcome to the family, my dearest. Although, you've always been another daughter to me, it does seem only fiting that you should join our family, especially at Anthony's side." Violet loved Y/n and she knew Anthony did truly care for her.

Y/n blushed, "Thank you, Violet, that means the world to me."

Hyacinth interjected, "We are to be sisters!" The rest of the Bridgerton siblings smiled at that. Hyacinth cheered and danced around, earning laughs from everyone in attendance.

Eloise snickered, "My best friend and my brother, how perfect."

Violet turned to Eloise, "Perhaps seeing two people you love find happines will inspire you, dearest."

Eloise linked arms with Y/n, "I highly doubt that, Mama."

Everyone entered the dining room together, Eloise at Y/n's side, Anthony on Y/n's other side. Violet stood at one head of the table, "Y/n, dearest, you will be lady of the house soon enough, sit here, my love."

Y/ walked over to Violet, "You're still the lady of the house, it is your seat."

Anthony couldn't help but feel a warmth in his chest at witnessing the kindness of his future bride. He spoke up, "Yn, my dear, sit beside me this evening, I would like my wife to be close to me."

Y/n walked to the other head of the table, sitting down on the right side of the head of the table, as Anthony pushed her chair in for her. After everyone was seated, Y/n spoke, "Thank you everyone, for being so supportive of our engagement, it means a lot to us."

Anthony took her left hand in his, so her engagement ring was visible, "It certainly does." As he looked around the dinner table he saw only people he cared deeply about. That worried him, he had so much to lose.

✨Next Chapter✨

Taglist: @unholyhuntress

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader smut #bridgerton

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fiction-is-life · 5 months

Note

Congratulations on 800 followers!! 🍾🍾 You have more than earned it and deserve even more! Lucky us that you are so generous with your talent! ☺️

I bet my prompt is going to come as a huge shocker - because it’s Benedict Bridgerton….and it’s angsty. I know, I know, alert the media 😅 But I’d love to see what you do with:

“You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

Thank you and cheers to you!! 🥂

Our Grief, Which is Our Atonement

Author's Note: First off, I am so so sorry this took me so long to get out to you. And secondly, thank you so much for always being so supportive and sweet. I hope this little piece stays true to our wonderful Benedict and makes up for the months of waiting.

Summary: A sequel to Touchstone of Our Character. Read it here

Warnings: Angst, emotional cheating, talk of pregnancy, major character injury, unedited

The next morning, you could not look anyone - especially Benedict - in the eyes. You thought you were over your little school girl crush on Anthony. You thought you had moved on from your parent’s deception.

You had married with your eyes open to the ways of the world. You had been in your fourth season, and your parents were desperate for you to make a match. Your inability to do so was starting to affect your younger sisters’ prospects. Therefore, your parents had made an arrangement with the Viscount of which they told you nothing. Until you were walking down the aisle at your family church, you had believed you were to marry the Viscount himself.

Despite your parents’ high-handedness, you could not be mad at this arrangement. You had attended finishing school with Daphne, and his lordship would occasionally visit to the delighted swoons of all of the other young ladies. You were no exception.

The Viscount was always courteous and ever so handsome. When you entered your first Season, you could not help but try to attract his attention, but it quickly became evident that he had no interest in finding a bride at that time. So you had given up the hunt, but that did not mean your heart had received the message. The thought of obtaining the object of your youthful desires left you giddy. You arrived at your wedding not dreading, but eager to see Lord Anthony Bridgerton waiting for you.

Of course, he was there. But when you stepped through the doors of the church there was a man in between him and your place at the altar. His brother.

Ever since that moment you had simply been going through the motions of being Benedict’s wife. You tried to love him. Truly. He was a good man that was gentle and patient with you, but you had spent so many hours imagining your life with the Viscount that you couldn’t help how your heart skipped a beat when he entered the room or how your eyes followed him as he walked in the park.

During the day, you would mentally chastise yourself for these thoughts, but your dreams were another story. It seemed your subconscious was determined to make you miserable for night after night it brought you into a grande place where you were allowed to love the Viscount - even as your husband slept beside you.

Your dream last night had started as it always had - with Anthony whisking you away from your school and into a crowded London ballroom. You were the envy of all, but you only had eyes for him and he for you. Right as the music ended after your first dance, Anthony leant in, but as always, he was never able to kiss you. You always woke up before he could.

However, last night you did not wake up. Insead as Anthony leant into you, he was ripped harshly out of your grasp. Benedict stood there, his face distorted with fury until it was unrecognizable.

“You dare defile my wife in such a manner? We shall settle this on a field of honor!” he yelled.

The next thing you knew, you were standing helpless at the edge of a field, watching as your husband and his brother took ten paces, polished pistols in hand. You tried to run and stop them, but you were held back by a strong grip. You turned to see the face of your mother-in-law.

“It is a little too late for that, Mrs. Bridgerton, don’t you think? You made your bed, now lie in it!” she spat with venom in her tone. You gaped at her with wide, terrified eyes and a gaping mouth. The next thing you knew, a lone shot fired into the morning stillness.

You turned and saw as Anthony fell to the ground in a heap. You were at his side in an instant. “He’s dead,” you whimpered. You turned toward Benedict where he stood with resolve - no sign of remorse on his face at killing his own brother. “You have killed him!” You buried your face in Anthony’s lifeless chest, crying, “My love, come back, please!”

Now you stood at the closed door of Benedict’s studio in Aubrey Hall. The two of you had not bothered to find a place of your own quite yet since you had married so late in the season and Anthony needed to have his brother help him with the fall and spring harvests.

Your hand had lifted to knock at least half a dozen times, but you could not find it in yourself to interrupt his solitude; your stomach ached with how anxious you were. You turned to leave when the door squeaked open.

“(Y/N),” he spoke gently, surprise evident in his voice. You turned back to see a small paint smudge on his otherwise flawless face. It struck you anew at how foolish you were to not love this man as he so clearly did you.

You swallowed harshly. “Benedict, may I come in? We must talk,” you said before you could talk yourself out of it.

He opened the door wider, his face becoming serious. “Of course, my love, you are always welcome here.” You entered, not taking note of the many landscapes in various stages of completeness. He offered you a seat, but you could not sit due to your agitation.

He watched you pace the length of the room twice before you came to a halt, your back facing him. “Benedict, I have been untruthful,” you blurted.

He chuckled. “(Y/N), if this is about how you told Hyacinth and Gregory you were feeling under the weather to avoid playing outside with them in the cold, it is completely understandable.”

He sobered at the pained look you gave him. “No, this is not about something I have said, rather something I have failed to say,” you tried to explain.

He caught your hands as they twisted together. “My love, whatever it is, I’m sure we can figure it out together.”

At his endearment, you broke. “That is just it! I do not love you, Benedict!”

Any remaining traces of his crooked grin vanished at your outburst. “What? What do you mean, (Y/N)?” he demanded - and he had every right to know.

You swallowed the lump in your throat harshly. “I have desperately tried to love you, Benedict, but my heart insists on being cruel. You see…” you composed yourself just enough to recount what had weighed heavily on your mind these past few months. He listened without interrupting, ever the gentleman.

Only when you had concluded did he speak. “So you love Anthony.” It was not a question.

“No!” you cried, too quickly. “Yes, oh, I don’t know!” You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You sighed heavily. “I believe my heart is attached to a version of the Viscount that does not really exist. It has grown from a school girl fancy that I had closed off long ago, but it was reopened when I mistakenly believed that it was he whom I would be marrying.”

You studied your slippers. “If I am completely honest, I believe those fancies were what got me through those first few months of our marriage. Everything was so new and sometimes frightening, and I couldn’t help but want to slip into a dream world where everything was uncomplicated.”

Your watery eyes met his stony ones and held them. Your voice was thick with emotion as you said, “You cannot know how sorry I am, Benedict. You deserve so much more than what I have given you. I pray you can forgive me, but I understand if you cannot.”

You made your way to the door, the only sound as you left the clicking of your heels on the wood.

“Mr. Bridgerton left this for you, ma’am,” the footman bowed and handed you a folded note.

“Thank you,” you spoke out of reflex. The second you regained total privacy, you tore open the note, desperate for any words from him, no matter what they were. You had been lonely last night when he did not join you for the first time in your short marriage. Your eyes scanned the page quickly.

Mrs. Bridgerton,

I am away to London for a short period. I am to meet some prospective buyers. I do not know when exactly I will return.

Your husband,

B. Bridgerton

Never had so few words made you so miserable.

Benedict had been gone for two weeks and every moment had been pure misery to you. Your stomach had been in knots and your head had been aching every minute since you had come clean to your husband. It was obvious that everyone else in the house knew something was wrong; even young Hyacinth could tell that you were ill at ease with Benedict’s absence.

It was the Dowager Viscountess’s knowing glances that concerned you, however. She would catch your eye each morning when you would eagerly look to see if there were any letters for you. No one else noticed the slight raise of her eyebrows when you would look around lost when dinner was served and Benedict was not there to escort you into the family dining room.

Therefore it was no surprise that when the Viscountess invited you to her private parlor for tea on the sixteenth day of your husband’s absence that Violet delicately (or not so delicately) brought up the subject. “This is the first time you have been separated from Benedict since the marriage. How are you doing, my dear?”

You took a sip of your tea, panicking over how you should answer. Looking into her soulful eyes - so like Benedict’s - you blurted, “I find I cannot do anything without thinking of him. Just the other day, I was in the hothouse looking at all of the beautiful flowers, and I found one so striking that I started toward the door so I may find him and have him document its beauty on paper. Then I remembered he was not here and could not share in the moment with me; I nearly wept.”

You felt the sting of tears even now as you told the story and you realized what this meant - you did love Benedict.

Violet gave you that all-knowing look once more as you collected yourself. She patted your hand gently where it rested on the chaise lounge. “It is alright, dear. Regulating your emotions during this time is almost impossible,” she soothed, but her words made your head snap up, your eyes wide.

“What do you mean?” you asked breathlessly, surprising Violet.

“Oh, well, I know with each of my babies I would be in tears at the drop of a hat. I suppose everyone is different, but I know my first symptom was that I would become overly emotional about the silliest things,” Violet went on but you were no longer listening, trying to digest what she had unknowingly revealed.

You were with child.

You had to tell Benedict immediately.

Just as you were about to excuse yourself to pen a letter to him in London, there was a large commotion that sounded as if it was coming from the entrance hall. Both of your heads snapped to look at the door then to each other, concern filling both of your bodies.

You were out the door before you knew it and running down the grand staircase, each step filling you with dread. Your heart almost stopped at the sight before you.

The butler, two footmen, and the coachman were carrying Benedict through the door. You let out a sob at the sight of his lifeless body, his arms hanging listlessly as the men carried him up the stairs and into your shared chambers.

You rushed in behind them as they placed your husband on the giant four poster bed. “What happened?” you asked of the servants, making your way toward Benedict, needing to be closer.

The coachman doffed his hat and the rest of the men cast their eyes down and shifted uncomfortably on their feet. “Mr. Bridgerton had been riding his horse in front of the carriage when his stallion spooked. He was thrown hard, and we rushed him home as fast as we could, ma’am.”

You brushed a stray curl off of his ashen forehead. “John,” you called to one of the footmen while your gaze still assessed every inch of Benedict’s face, “please ride as fast as you can to fetch the doctor. And Humboldt, please stoke this fire and instruct the children’s governess not to let them come to this wing; we cannot let them see their brother this way. I am sure Mrs. Wilson is already on her way up with the Viscountess.”

As if on cue, Violet and the family’s housekeeper, Mrs. Wilson, bustled in, shooing the men off to their respective tasks. Together, the women made sure Benedict’s condition did not worsen while they waited for John to return with the doctor.

After the doctor had come and gone, giving no more advice than “let him rest, he should wake eventually,” you sat alone in the room with him. You gently grasped his hand, running your thumb in soothing patterns over his skin. You weren’t sure if you were trying to soothe him or yourself.

You shook your head as you let out a deep sigh, but the tension did not leave your body. You fought the tears that had been threatening to fall since Benedict was carried in earlier that afternoon. You squeezed his hand, hopelessly willing your energy to infuse into him and let him wake up.

“I am so sorry, Benedict,” you croaked. “If I had been a better wife to you, this would never have happened.” You were sobbing openly now. “And now your mother suspects that I am pregnant with our baby, and I -”

Your voice caught in your throat at the thought of everything Benedict might miss out on because of this accident. If you truly were with child and Benedict never woke up, he wouldn’t be able to hold your child in his arms or be there when they take their first steps. He wouldn’t be able to share with them his love of art or even an inside joke. You just knew that he would be the best father.

He was already the best husband. Yet, you had never even been able to tell him that you loved him.

You buried your face into the counterpane, sobbing uncontrollably now. “Benedict, you need to wake up because I can’t do this without you,” you pleaded.

Your only answer was the small sound of his shallow breathing.

Thank you for reading!

My Masterlist

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton angst #bridgerton fanfiction #answered asks #lovely moots 💕

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phillipfancypants · 2 months

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I wish I knew people irl who like Stormlight so i shall submit you all to my ramblings instead.

This song is so Kaladin coded and I feel like people more creative than me need to be aware of its existence.

My personal interpretation of the lyrics below the cut:

“There’s a voice that pulls me stumbling through a symphony // and the less of it I need the more I get” (the calling of honor and his need to do the right thing, even when it always ends up with him worse off than he started)

“Till I’m swept up by the shape of all the centuries // like an echo in the chambers of my chest” (his connection to the history of Roshar as a Knight Radiant)

“I think she fears I’ll be a servant to my history” (the “she” in this song reads very much as Syl to me. This is referring to every time Kal goes into a dark place when he thinks of all the people he’s lost)

“Or worse a slave to someone else’s misplaced doubts” (he’s often feeling he has to prove himself as worthy)

“And so I try to hard to kill what’s out to kill me// until I’m blind and hiding in the lion’s mouth” (he’s often blinded by his duty to protect himself and his companions that he ends up in over his head. This reads very much like book 1 to me with the bridge maneuvers)

“And the words she aches to hear pour through my canyon//and they’re singing in the caverns of my limbs” (the words are the ideals, also caverns makes me think of the chasms )

“And though I do my best to try to understand them // they only follow me like vultures in the end” (most of book 3&4 have Kaladin struggling to find and speak the fourth ideal. Also the symbolism of vultures being animals that prey on the dead. Kaldin’s 4th ideal is that there will be those he cannot protect, and the words follow him like vultures, surrounding those he’s lost)

“I once read that I should write something worth reading // or I should do something worth writing about” (these feel like the influence of Lirin and Dalinar on his life, Lirin wanting him to help people through the study of medicine and Dalinar encouraging him to join him in battles)

“As my ears they buzz like bees upon the ceiling//I start to pour a little more than I’m allowed” (all the feelings of what people want him to be and what he himself wants to be are overwhelming)

“I said our hearts know deeper seasons than our memories//she said this harvest might sustain us for a year” (this one is weird but I think it’s saying that the gut feelings of why you make the choices you do are more important that the logical reasons. Kaladin nearly breaks his oaths a couple of times doing what’s right, and Syl is telling him that this way of living isn’t sustainable for either of them)

“And of all the thousand ways the world could tempt me//I’ve never met a better fighter than her fear” (the world seems to be designed to make Kaladin give up, which is Syl’s biggest fear)

“So as I try to breathe the air that she is breathing//and we dance a lightless dance upon my floor” (idk I haven’t found a way to connect this yet other than that air and dance are often associated with Syl)

“I am yearning to tell her she’s all I’m needing//but I’m drowned out by all the noise outside the door” (the noise outside the door being all the directions Kal is being pulled in between his family, his squires, all of urithuru, his own depression, and everything else that I’m forgetting)

“Carried by the current of the morning//miles below the surface of the dawn” (Kaladin’s depression is like night, and the dawn is the light of being able to move on. Being miles below the surface, he knows a better world is up there, but it seems impossibly far)

“This is not the place that I was born in//that doesn’t mean it’s not the place where I belong” (he was raised a dark-eyed surgeon’s son and now is a soldier and a symbol of hope to his country. I love that the song ends with him coming to terms with his place in the grand scheme of things, and knowing that he is enough and he can protect those he loves)

#stormlight archive #kaladin stormblessed #way of kings #sylphrena #Syl Stormlight #brandon sanderson #Kaladin #words of radiance #oathbringer #rhythm of war #dalinar kholin #Lirin stormblessed #mine #Spotify

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wordsvomit101 · 2 months

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Obsidian Reverie

(??? years, ??? months, ??? days after His Majesty Leviathan received his name )

Amidst the enchanting ambiance of the Midnight Masquerade, an exquisite event held under the gentle light of the pure white twin moons, reminiscent of the legendary quiet goddess, Astrea, attendees are whisked away into a realm of unparalleled opulence and mystique.

Captivated by the allure of the evening, Glasyalabolas finds himself entranced by the ethereal atmosphere. The grand ballroom, adorned with towering marble pillars intricately carved with astrological motifs, emanates an aura of timeless elegance.

Bathed in the soft, moonlit glow that spills through stained glass windows and cascades from the sky above, the palace roof has been removed for this extraordinary occasion, allowing the eerie radiance to suffuse every corner of the room.

Scenes of ancient myths and legends are depicted in the intricate carvings adorning the pillars, their stories coming to life in the flickering torchlight. It is as if the very walls of the ballroom resonate with the echoes of a bygone era, transporting guests to a realm where fantasy and reality intertwine.

Guests, draped in luxurious fabrics of silk and velvet, don ornate masks that conceal their identities, transforming them into ethereal beings of mystery and allure. Each mask is a work of art, crafted with meticulous detail and embellished with feathers, jewels, and intricate filigree, adding to the air of intrigue that permeates the evening.

The flickering glow of glowing mantas and jellyfish swimming languidly as they cast dancing waves of shadows upon the polished marble floor, creating an enchanting backdrop for the swirling movements of the dancers. Soft strains of music fill the air, a haunting melody that seems to echo from another realm, beckoning guests to lose themselves in the intoxicating rhythm of the dance.

As the night unfolds, the Midnight Masquerade becomes a tapestry of secrets and desires, where the boundaries between reality and fantasy blur, and the true nature of its inhabitants is revealed. In this realm of darkness and enchantment, anything is possible, and the masks they wear are but a reflection of the mysteries that lie within.

Dressed in opulent attire and adorned with a mask that concealed his true visage, Glasyalabolas moved with grace and poise, his dark gazes and commanding presence drawing the attention of all who beheld him. Yet, amidst the swirling crowd of guests, his eyes were fixed upon one figure alone—The devil of Envy and sovereign of Hades.

As Glasyalabolas, the towering figure of ambition and madness, approached Leviathan with a graceful stride, his demeanor regal yet infused with a hint of a wild charm. Bowing respectfully, he addressed the beautiful being standing alone as onlookers couldn't help to let their gazes wander to him and the wave of shock could be felt as they saw the figure of the tall devil, having the courage to dare to ask for what they wish for from their king. With the utmost deference, he extended his hand with a regal flourish, and a hush fell over the assembled throng.

"Your Majesty," Glasyalabolas began, his voice carrying a tone of veneration, "might I have the honor of sharing a dance with you this evening?"

His gaze, sharp as the edge of a blade, swept across the room, a silent challenge to all who dared to meet his eye. Yet, beneath his mask of confidence, there lurked a primal fear, a knowing sense of walking straight into the gaping mouth of a monster.

Leviathan regarded him with a cold and measured gaze, his expression unreadable beneath the veil of shadows. There was a silent pause, tension hanging in the air like a taut thread.

Glasyalabolas continued, his tone soft yet insistent, "It would be a pleasure to glide across the floor with you, Your Majesty, to the haunting melody of the tango. Shall we indulge in this moment of respite amidst the chaos of our realms?"

With a distant gaze, the beautiful devil's expression was still a perfect embodiment of indifference, "Very well," he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand as if granting a trivial request to a begging peasant.

Clad in robes of darkest obsidian with hints of royal violet, Leviathan moved with predatory grace, his every step a silent promise of retribution. Around him, the air seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly aura, a palpable reminder of his status.

Undeterred by Leviathan's aloof demeanor, Glasyalabolas pressed on, seeking to provoke a reaction from his king, "I must say, Your Majesty," he continued, his voice laced with a subtle challenge, "I have always been curious about the secrets that lie hidden within the depths of your kingdom. Tell me, what is it that drives you, that fuels your ambition?", before placing a small but worshiped kiss upon the strong gloved hand of the divine devil opposite of him.

As they came together upon the polished marble floor, the haunting melody of the waltz filled the air, a mournful lament that echoed the pain of ages past. The music, a symphony of longing and despair, wrapped around them like a shroud, enveloping them in its melancholy embrace.

Leviathan's response was brief and detached, his attention only half-hearted as he allowed Glasyalabolas to take the lead in the waltz.

"Ambition is a fool's errand," he remarked coldly as if directing at the devil he allowed to lead him, his silky smooth voice tinted with arrogance before gracefully answering the question beckoned by the noble, "Stability", he continued after finishing an elegant twirl, "is the foundation upon which Hades stands. The foundation that needs to be maintained, regardless of the challenges that may arise"

Their dance began with a delicate grace, each movement a testament to their otherworldly power and elegance. Glasyalabolas's lips curled into a knowing smile, his eyes glinting with hidden intent. "And what of those who would dare to challenge your authority?" he pressed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you not fear the repercussions of their defiance?"

Their movements are like a symphony of grace and aggression, Glasyalabolas' hand on Leviathan's waist and his other guiding his king to his tempo. Leviathan's long coat floats behind him and with the light from the twin moon shining upon them, makes him shimmer like a thousand stars, glides across the ethereal void with the agility of a practiced ease. His dance is a mesmerizing spectacle, each step a ripple in the fabric of reality. His long limbs extend and retract in fluid undulations, creating hypnotic patterns that draw the eye inward into a vortex of wonder.

Leviathan continued to look upon him impassively, not bothering to waste his breath, looking down at Glasyalabolas despite their height differences.

Glasyalabolas, with his silver tongue and piercing gaze, sought to ensnare Leviathan in a web of intrigue and ambition, weaving a tapestry of manipulation and desire with each graceful step. Yet, beneath his facade of confidence, there is still lingered a primal excitement, a recognition of fear before the formidable force that stood before him.

But as the tempo quickened and the music soared to dizzying heights, a shift occurred, a subtle yet undeniable change in the fabric of their dance when Glasyalabolas dared to come closer.

Glasyalabolas's inquiry sliced through the air with calculated precision, his words carrying a subtle edge of curiosity. "Your Majesty," he began, his tone deceptively mild, "forgive my impertinence, but I cannot help but wonder of what happened that day, a spectacle upon the rift of the North of Hades"

Leviathan's gaze darkened at the mention of his past, a flicker of something indefinable crossing his features before he regained his composure, ready to continue to dismiss Glasyalabolas before another audacious question was asked, a glare marred on his gorgeous visage.

"What drove you to such depths? What horrors did you endure before claiming your throne?"

Leviathan's eyes flashed with a dangerous glint, a warning simmering beneath his icy face, before an exquisitely cruel smile graced his lips, an elegant arch to his brow, with a soft inquire for a lowly devil before him, "So you seek to understand this King?"

Glasyalabolas felt a chill run down his spine as Leviathan's gaze bore into him with a steely intensity. It was as if he had crossed a line, delving into forbidden territory that should never have been breached. However, his curiosity only mounted higher, the allure of being able to know a side of Leviathan, it is both a threat and an offer that would kill him if he treks further.

But, in the pursuit of knowledge, only fools who are brave dare to venture into the darkness, for they know that it is in the depths of uncertainty that true understanding is found.

With an excited gulp, Glasyalabolas summoned his courage and approached the enchanting Leviathan, his facade of calmness strained but resolute.

"Your Majesty," he began, his voice quivering with anticipation, "forgive my audacity, but I must know... What is the answer to my question?"

Leviathan regarded him with a cool detachment, his gaze piercing through Glasyalabolas's facade with unnerving precision.

"The answer?" he echoed, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes, "Hmm, how about I let you have a taste then?"

Leviathan tightened his grip and seized the waist of the taller devil. With a steely gaze and a subtle shift in his movements, he seized control of the dance, his silent command rippling through the air like a ripple on a still pond. At that moment, Glasyalabolas realized the true extent of his folly, as the balance of power shifted inexorably in Leviathan's favor.

As Leviathan took control of the dance, Glasyalabolas couldn't shake the unsettling sensation of being ensnared in the coils of a giant serpent, his movements calculated and precise, each step a predatory strike. In his mind's eye, he was no longer the noble demon, but a mere raccoon, small and insignificant in the presence of such overwhelming power.

Leviathan's steps upon the marble floor became a haunting echo of a predator stalking its prey, a symphony of sinewy grace and raw power that left Glasyalabolas trembling in his wake. With each graceful twist and turn, he felt the weight of Leviathan's gaze bearing down upon him like the unblinking stare of a serpent tearing him down to his bone and squeezing every air he had in his organ.

And yet, amidst the chaos and the tumult, there lingered a strange kind of beauty, a twisted ballet of desire and despair that spoke to the depths of a shared agony. The echoes of their voices mingled with the haunting melody of the waltz, a cacophony of whispers and sighs that reverberated through the halls of eternity even fearing away the swimming mantas and jellyfish.

Glasyalabolas found himself swept up in the maelstrom of their dance, his senses overwhelmed by the heady rush of adrenaline and fear. It was as if he stood on the precipice of oblivion, teetering on the edge of some vast abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

However, the final notes of the waltz echoed through the ballroom, bringing his consciousness back to reality.

As they stood locked in a silent tableau, the music singing of the two figures bound together by fate and forged in the fires of eternity. However, instead of reveling in the romance of the moment, Leviathan carelessly dipped an exhausted and scared Glasyalabolas, a stark contrast to the beginning where Glasyalabolas had led the dance.

With a benevolent grace, yet a coldness that cut through the air like a blade, Leviathan smiled down at him, his eyes betraying none of the warmth that Glasyalabolas had hoped to find.

"Know your place," he intoned softly, his voice carrying the weight of authority and power.

And yet, amidst the chaos and the terror stirring in his mind, there was a perverse thrill, a perverse ecstasy that coursed through his veins like wildfire. For in the embrace of Leviathan's dark and commanding allure, Glasyalabolas found himself trembling not just with fear, but with a hunger and admiration that burned hotter than the flames of Hell itself for the devil above him.

#what in hell is bad #whb #whb leviathan #whb glasyalabolas #toxic yaoi 101/jk #ngl i been wanting to write this after the orias event #at first #i was thinking about making it foras and levi but glasyalabolas took the cake #the amount of envy glasyalabolas created that day is enough to fuel hades for the next several years tbh #he did sleep with one eye open so that's that

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matau-the-228th · 10 months

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A quick-and-dirty coloring job of a quick-and-dirty sketch I did several years ago and it's corresponding snippet from a take on the Hordika & Inika storylines that I was working on from... even further back.

(...Which is under the cut)

Happy 810nicle day!

Welcome to my prison-nest, brotherling

A large, draconian head emerged into the firelight. Four massive glowing eyes focused loosely on him, shimmering green with compound facets under which shone a clear intelligence. The iridescent metal-flesh of the being seemed to flicker in color every so often with the dancing flame, a bright blue or red sometimes taking hold over the dull silver for a brief moment.

“What… are you?” Vakama murmured quietly, though the thing seemed to hear him without issue. The large head rose backwards as it stepped forward, revealing a serpentine neck that folded over itself and two small forelimbs. Along its tail- or perhaps thorax- were several spheres, each gently glowing a different color, pulsing as if they themselves were alive, separate from the beast.

Our name has no meaning. The Sister-queen is dead. We were called Bahrag. That shall suffice.

He remembered the stories now. Massive beasts that had been brought by Barraki Raiders to the city as siege-weapons. So dangerous, they had to be restrained by six of the Raiders, even in the midst of battle. Lhikan and a few other toa had dispatched the whole crew, beasts and all. Or perhaps not.

Indeed, brotherling. The voice interrupted his thoughts, This One was not killed that day. This One was half-dead, stolen away by the same Toa Tuyet who holds you captive now.

The Bahrag began circling Vakama, each eye seeming to focus on a different part of him for a brief moment before scanning another portion of his body. After a moment, it stopped, leaning in close enough for Vakama to feel hot air escaping from the beast’s frontal vents. Rejoice, brotherling, for this Queen accepts you into her Horde. Be honored that the toa-energy of you and your fellow Hordika has been used to feed the newest Kal.

“Kal? Is that your kind’s name for the spiders?”

A repeating, sickly grunt emanated from the Bahrag, but the translation of laughter was clear.

The Kal are much more than what you call “spiders,” or even their following stages. They still sleep, waiting to wake only when I cease to be. No, the “spiders” are just our beginning.

As if to demonstrate, one of the spiders descended from the ceiling, resting on an outstretched Bahrag-claw. Now holding still, Vakama could clearly see that these ones were different from the dangerous Rahi pests he was accustomed to. The armor on it was thin and loosely-spaced, revealing a rubberlike layer of skin and muscle underneath.

We have learned that your kind do not speak the true names of the Horde out of fear, but this One shall teach you, brotherling. These children are ‘Krana.’

An orblike cocoon fell from the ceiling, the thick webbing below doing little to quiet the loud crack of flesh-metal striking stone. The same translucent shell tore through the layers of silk surrounding it, revealing claws that sparked and smoked.

The sphere began to unwind, and arms and legs that looked far too much like a Matoran’s began extending from the main body, only to shudder and begin flailing. A group of Matoran scurried from behind the webs, at least two holding onto each thrashing limb. A dull, lifeless glow emanated from the eye-holes of the Krana attached to their face, each of its spider-like legs now seeming to meld with the Matoran’s head.

These ones, who have fused to a host, are ‘Va.’

An insect-like clicking sound emanated from the spherical being.

Chikt-chikt-chikt-chikt-chikt…

Those that have encased their host and have grown into walking chrysalis are ‘Bohrok,’ such as the one entering the final stage of it's metamorphosis before you.

The carapace of the being began to crack, the clicking becoming louder until the solid crystalline shell flung forward, revealing the form inside.

And those that have fully subsumed the host and shed their chrysalis are the true Horde. The last host who gazed upon their birth and managed to live called the Horde ‘Stealers of Life,’ and so we have named ourselves.

It pulled free from its old skin, two compound eyes gleaming despite the darkness. Spider-like legs and long, wicked pincers tore the remaining chrysalis apart, what little resemblance to the poor person the thing had consumed now lost forever.

Vakama took a step back. He had heard of them, monsters from circle-fire stories on the darkest and coldest of nights.

“Visorak.”

#bionicle #810nicle day #lego #Vakama Hordika #Bahrag #Bohrok kal #Bionicle day #cw: body horror #vakama #my art #bionicle au #mahiano

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fountainpenguin · 6 months

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Cover image for a super self-indulgent Double Life songfic of mine... The final chapter went up this morning, so here's its Tumblr post!

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"Here's to the Health of Married Men"

... and their lovers! (x)

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Complete! - 7/7 chapters - 42k words

💚 More Pixels Imperfect 'fics

Inspired by the song "The Duel" from the musical Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812

Ballroom fluff, introspection, and angst <3

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Synopsis: Scar guides us through an end-of-series party held in the server hub, where everyone's a little tipsy. While the desert duo may not always get along, they do their utmost to enjoy themselves...

... until Ren challenges Grian to a duel over his secret soulmate affair with BigB. Scar watches from the sidelines... and lets it all play out.

Check it out! (First 1,000 words under the cut)

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Here’s to the Health of Married Men

“… and their lovers~”

- “The Duel” - Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812

💙 🧡 💚

Ren and BigB arrive at the ballroom in colors that complement, but don't quite match. Maybe that should've been the first clue that trouble still lurked in paradise, tucked underneath the visible lingers in their touch… BigB's hand less steady where it lies pressed against Ren's chest than Ren's firm arm behind his lower back.

(It's not a real ballroom. More of a convention center? Two floors: one of them full of dancing party guests and the mezzanine balcony a floor above. It's shady in here and lit with several dozen tiny lanterns strung on leads. Honestly, Scar isn't sure. It's a Jimmy event, or at least a Jimmy invitation. No one pulls the strings and gets a party or game night together quite like Jimmy; don't worry about it.)

Eyes turn to track the Box Boys as they make their way up the curled stairs together. BigB's vest is dark purple and accented in faint silver leaf patterns with a bow at his neck to match - rip him open like a present; expose bare stomach and rip that open too - and his wild curls are actually tamed back today. He trimmed his beard. Fancy-schmancy moth hybrid of a man. Not hard to tell what Grian sees in him. Scar leans his arm a little farther over the balcony. One of Ren's ears twitches in his direction, as do both BigB's fluffy antennae… though Scar's pretty sure he didn't make a noise. At least, no noise louder than the sweep of feet and skirts down below.

Aw, Ren's all sunshine and phoenix fire. He's dressed just as nice. Look at him, so snug and comfy in that outfit! The pale yellow vest hits like buttercream and cake frosting. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He matches the light walls, though his dark brown hair sets him apart like a statue full of shadowed creases. Took his shades off and everything, but replaced them with neat spectacles.

Scar half-turns, addressing everyone either standing or sitting around the tables behind him. "Hey! Our guests of honor have arrived. Let's make them feel welcome, shall we?"

No one's really listening. Maybe a couple of his friends, who nod absently or turn to catch sight of the stragglers in question. The conversations carry anyway. Their volume doesn't falter. Neither does the music, but that's only fair. The piano's downstairs. And a trumpet? There might be a trumpet; he isn't sure. So Scar doesn't grab his cane or push away from the banister. This position gives him a nice angle to oversee the room anyway.

I'd like to see Grian make a move on his 'secret soulmate' tonight of all nights…

Scar almost dressed in yellow too. For a while, he toyed with the idea of a light shade to match his zookeeper shirt… but this is a Double Life afterparty. Tonight, he and Grian are freshly on their red lives (after a doozy of a session with back to back deaths). While Jimmy had confessed he suspected at least one person to get knocked out of the series today, he probably hadn't anticipated four perma-deaths and the last greens of the server getting knocked down to red.

So in the sparse moments between logging out and arriving here, he switched to wearing black. It's thumb- thneed- thematically appropriate! The shirt cuts a V straight down his chest, exposing at least a little of his pecs. It's actually lacy, showing a lot more of his torso and his arms beneath his sleeves than anything most of his friends are wearing. And he didn't skimp on the fake silver gemstones either. Blue and purple flowers coat one side of his hair, mostly attached with barrettes.

Is this the right fit for a ballroom party? Probably not. But it's accented with black and white, like his on-server red life skin, and that's good enough for him. Scar lifts the wooden cup in his hand to his lips again. Raw binary code prickles on his tongue. He went half and half on this fill, working his way out of 0s and up to 1s. Some of his friends are drinking their 1s straight already. No surprise. They've been here 40 minutes, chatting and laughing even without BigB and Ren around. Maybe the Box Boys feared they'd be overshadowed by Jimmy and Tango. Those two have certainly stolen the evening tonight. But then, Jimmy deserves to. Out of everyone here tonight, he does.

BigB and Ren aren't even halfway up the staircase yet. They take every step together, moving in their ghostly whispered way. Ren keeps a light grip on BigB's wrist. BigB's antennae roll inward. They glint silver in the lantern light. Scar watches his eyes slip sideways. How strange to see him with his chocolate-brown eyes here in the Between dimension, no longer under the influence of a life either yellow or red. It's been a while.

Maybe tonight, he and I can finally talk face to face… without him trying to kill me.

Scar takes another sip of binary, this time more slowly. The 1s prickle and pop against his lips. Why not? BigB's out of the game now. No further need to dance around it, delaying his own gratification with pretty lies of I'll catch him next time; I'll do it on-camera; I want Grian to be around for this.

… He'd maybe like Grian to be around. Just, y'know… if it comes up. Grian's two tables away, one leg stretched out pretty far. His twin's with him… They've been talking for ten minutes by now. Scar can't help but wonder if it's all a front to prevent anyone else starting a conversation.

Or at least one person from starting a conversation.

You know… He and Grian never really did sort out the whole red life thing. If, like, he's mad.

BigB's fingers close around the collar of Ren's vest. He pulls him down, speaking words Scar can't make out from here. They look as though they're spoken through gritted teeth. Ren listens, pointed ears twitching, and finally rasps his tongue up BigB's cheek. BigB sighs, but doesn't say anything else. He leans that cheek on Ren's shoulder. Ren pats his arm, leading him up the stairs again with all the grace of a king.

I wonder if he's told BigB anything about his status as a king back on Hermitcraft. BigB's into history or something, right? Maybe he'd find that neat.

Scar isn't the only one watching the Box Boys from the balcony. As Scar tilts his wooden cup back and forth, debating whether it'd be a bad idea to get another refill, a finger reaches out to tap his shoulder. Oh? Scar turns his head. He's greeted by a face similar to his own, smiling grimly… Similar buff body, well taken care of, though this man's dressed in silver instead of red. He's partly translucent, flickering when you look at him head-on… but then, he sort of always is.

"What?"

BadTimeWithScar tips his head towards one shoulder. He lifts his wrist, indicating his communicator. Scar's eyes fall to his own.

"Oh. Sorry, hang on…"

He presses a couple buttons, pulling open the messages on his comm. The swelling music's incredibly loud right now. But there's a note from BadTime waiting for him, plain and simple. Scar studies it for several seconds, rearranging the blurry letters in his mind.

BadTimeWithScar: tag team the grians? BadTimeWithScar: i mean if youre not going to make a move for us… BadTimeWithScar: I will ;)

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officialyourdailyinspiration · 2 months

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Devotional Hours Within the Bible by J.R. Miller

Elijah on Mount Carmel (1 Kings 18)

Elijah challenged Ahab to a test of Baal’s power. He demanded that the question should be settled, whether the Lord or Baal was the true God. Baal’s prophets were summoned, therefore, to meet with Elijah on Mount Carmel. On one side stood Elijah, alone, as the prophet of Jehovah; and on the other side the four hundred and fifty priests of Baal. All day, from morning until evening, Baal’s priests had been about their altar, crying, dancing, and gashing their flesh, after the custom of their heathen worship. But Baal had not answered, and, with mortification in their hearts and curses on their lips they turned away in defeat. It is now Elijah’s turn. Will Jehovah answer by fire and thus prove Himself the true God?

Elijah called the people to come near to him, that they might see all that he did, for there were no secrets in the worship of the true God. Then he repaired the altar of Jehovah, which had been broken down. Once the fires had burned on this altar but it had been neglected, the people having turned away to worship calves of gold, instead of the true and living God.

While this picture of the ruined altar is before us we may think of other altars that are broken down. There are homes where once the voice of prayer was daily heard, where the family bowed in worship. But now no longer does the morning and evening prayer ascend. There are those who at their mother’s knees were taught to kneel, and who through infancy and youth continued to pray but who no longer bow before God. All about us, everywhere, are these broken - down altars. The first thing the prophet did at Carmel that day was to rebuild God’s altar which was in ruins. The first step toward blessing in prayerless homes and lives is to build again the old altar of God.

Elijah then made preparation for the great test. He prepared the altar, put the wood in order, cut the bull in pieces, and laid it on the wood. That was all he could do; the fire must come down from God. Common fire would not do it must be fire from heaven. It is the same in our sacrifices. “Present your bodies a living sacrifice” to God, is our part. God will never lift us up on His altar we must lay ourselves there willingly. We present our bodies a living sacrifice when we yield our will and surrender ourselves to God with love and praise, ready for obedience and service.

We cannot change our own heart Elijah did not bring fire from some furnace or smoking hearth to kindle the wood on his altar; he prepared the sacrifice and then waited for God to give the fire. When all the preparations were made, Elijah prayed for God to send the fire. We get nothing spiritual from heaven, without prayer. Prayerlessness receives no blessings. A day without prayer is a day unblessed, unsheltered, and open to all disaster. If we are seeking blessing and are ready to yield our wills and affections to Christ we have but to cry to God, and He will send down the divine fire to consume the sacrifice which we have laid upon His altar. But we must always pray. “Ask and you shall receive.” Mere waiting is not enough there must be supplication as well as consecration .

The form of Elijah’s prayer must be noticed. “Let it be known this day that You are God in Israel.” The prophet was not seeking his own glory but God’s. He was not trying to work a miracle to show his power but to show the people that Jehovah was the true and the only God. We should never think of honoring ourselves in doing God’s work our aim always should be to honor God. After anything we have done for God, we should not exult in our own exaltation but should thank God and honor Him.

A king, when his army had won a great victory, bared his head in the presence of his soldiers and reverently repeated, “Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us but to Your name be the glory!” We should never concern ourselves about our share of the honor, about the reputation or the glory we are to get from any work we have done, any duty, any sacrifice we have made; we should seek that God’s name alone shall be honored, that it may be known that He is indeed God.

All day, the prophets of Baal had prayed in vain beside the altar but the moment Elijah began to pray “the fire of Jehovah fell, and consumed the burnt-offering.” A god that cannot answer prayer is not the God for needy, tempted, perishing, dying men. Baal had been proved no god. He was unable in that great crisis to give any answer. But the moment Elijah prayed, the fire fell.

The test of Mount Carmel is being repeated every day in thousands of places on the earth. Our God is the Hearer of prayer. Burdened hearts are crying to Him and He is answering their requests. Blessings are falling upon needy, suffering lives in response to earnest, faith-filled supplications. The fire of the Lord is always falling. It fell on the day of Pentecost on the praying disciples. It has fallen since on millions of heart - altars, consuming earthliness and sin, and leaving the glowing flames of love, devotion, and holy service.

The effect on the people was tremendous. When they saw it they “fell on their faces, and they said, Jehovah, He is God !” Jehovah had been forsaken and His worship abandoned. Jeroboam’s sin had thus ripened into its full, terrible fruitage. Baal was now accepted as the god of the nation. Jehovah’s prophets had been hunted to death. So utterly had idolatry driven out the true worship, destroying or sending to hiding places, the followers of the true God that Elijah thought he was the only one left in the whole land who was loyal to Jehovah. Then came this test. It was a magnificent occasion one man against king, prophets, priests, people; but one man with God is more than a match for all the world against God.

This test is going on still. Baal’s worshipers are yet prominent in the world, though known now by other names. What are the evidences of Christianity? What demonstration of power have we ever had which shows that Christianity is divine? We may point to the whole history of the Church, in answer to this question. Wherever the gospel has gone through the centuries, divine power has been with it. A little study of history and a little examination of the map of the world will show thousand of Carmels. Idolatry and false religions have done their best but nothing has come of their experiments no moral improvements, no lifting up of the people, no sweetening and purifying of homes, no building of hospitals and asylums, no restoring of lives, no saving of souls.

Then Christianity entered with its simple story of divine love, its fire from heaven, the power of the Holy Spirit; and wherever it has gone all has been changed. Men have turned from their sins unto God. Evil hearts have been made holy. Cruelty has given place to gentleness. Happy homes have been built up. Society has been transformed. As we see these wonderful results of Christian life the Carmel days over again we can say with joy and triumph, “ Jehovah, He is God !”

The victory was complete. The fire consumed the burnt offering, even the stones and the dust, and licked up the water that filled the trench. Baal’s prophets had been defeated and must die. They had been proved guilty of high treason, as representing idolatry. Events moved rapidly. Elijah announced to Ahab the coming of rain. The prophet then went to the top of Mount Carmel, and we see him next in the attitude of prayer praying for rain. Although God had promised the rain yet it was necessary that Elijah should pray for it. “Ask and you shall receive.”

Elijah’s prayer suggests to us also the importance of expectation. When we ask for things which God has promised, we should look for an answer. The prophet sent his servant to watch for the clouds. The picture is very beautiful. The answer did not come immediately but the prophet continued pleading with God. Again and again and again the servant went up and looked but there was nothing to be seen, no cloud in the sky. At last, a little cloud as small as a man’s hand appeared. The answer was coming. The prophet ceased to pray and set out on his journey to Jezreel.

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mcflymemes · 1 year

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PRIDE & PREJUDICE PROMPTS * assorted dialogue from the 2005 film

you must know... surely, you must know it was all for you.

are you out of your senses?

we've been nonsensical!

i have struggled in vain and i can bear it no longer.

are you rejecting me?

did i just agree to dance?

makes it all so much more enjoyable, don't you think?

you really do love him, don't you?

i appreciate the struggle you have been through, and i am very sorry to have caused you pain.

you're wasting your time with me.

count your blessings.

don't look at me like that!

only the deepest love will persuade me into matrimony.

i'm very fond of walking.

no, i prefer to be unsociable and taciturn.

may i have the next dance?

these past few months have been a torment.

i wonder who first discovered the power of poetry in driving away love?

my brother gave it to me.

i have never been thus treated in my entire life.

do you talk, as a rule, while dancing?

so this is your opinion of me.

i had to see you.

it's been many years since i had such an exemplary vegetable.

oh, believe me, no one would suspect your manners to be rehearsed.

i've been so blind.

i've come to tell you the news.

oh, very well then.

i must ask you to leave immediately.

you have insulted me in every possible way.

not all of us can afford to be romantic.

i could not have parted with you to anyone less worthy.

i will never see you again if you do.

he looks miserable, poor soul.

yes. a thousand times yes.

i will not and certainly never shall.

i thought that poetry was the food of love.

you are too generous to trifle with me.

all of these things i am willing to put aside and ask you to end my agony.

there's a lot to be thankful for.

don't you dare judge me.

i don't understand.

thank you for explaining so fully.

now tell me once and for all: are you engaged to him?

if your feelings are still what they were last april, tell me so at once.

have you no objection other than your belief in my indifference?

believe me, it was unconsciously done.

what a shame, for i dearly love to laugh.

and those are the words of a gentleman.

my affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever.

you have bewitched me, body and soul, and i love... i love... i love you.

i love you.

i cannot tease you about that.

forgive me for taking up so much of your time.

how are you this evening, dear?

is this your reply?

they are far too easy to judge.

i do not have the talent of conversing easily with people i have never met before.

i thought you hated the man.

will that make you happy?

we're doing our best to find a fault in you.

i never wish to be parted from you from this day on.

i wish you would not call me "my dear."

perhaps you should take your aunt's advice and practice?

what endearments am i allowed?

please, do be seated.

one of these days, someone will catch your eye and then you'll have to watch your tongue.

people do not die of colds.

i was wrong. i was entirely wrong.

are you too proud? and would you consider pride a fault or a virtue?

this is a charming house.

i am well acquainted with you.

please do me the honor of accepting my hand.

what do you recommend to encourage affection?

what should i call you when i am cross?

are you... are you laughing at me?

i can admire you much better from here.

shall i call for some tea?

i cannot believe that anyone can deserve you.

i love you. most ardently.

good day. it's been a pleasure.

i have no idea.

did you walk here?

let us take a turn about the room.

it is a small kind of accomplishment, i suppose.

will you not join us?

i've never seen so many pretty girls in my life.

she is the most beautiful creature i have ever beheld.

why do you ask such a question?

what have you discovered?

we are all fools in love.

i have other reasons. you know i have.

i do not deny it.

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wheels-of-despair · 10 months

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Always Worth It | Ralph Penbury x You | Series Masterlist

Christmas in July Summary: Mr. and Mrs. Penbury get another chance at a perfect kiss under the mistletoe at an unexpected time of the year. Words: 1.7k

"Mail's here," Ralph announces, sinking into the sofa next to you. He hands you half the stack, and you begin sorting through it together.

You find twin envelopes in your pile, large and red, and hold them side by side to compare. Once you realize what they are, you scoff.

"What is it, love?" Ralph leans his head on your shoulder to see what you're seeing.

"Something from London's most respectable gossip group."

"They sent two?"

"I love how they used my new address, but my old name."

"Why would they… oh. Your mother."

"Of course."

"Well, what's inside?"

You hand Ralph your envelope with a smirk, and begin tearing into the one addressed to him. What's yours is mine, right?

You soon hold in your hands two matching invitations to the Christmas in July Ball.

"Why would they host a Christmas Ball in July?" Ralph asks.

"It was called off last year, on account of everyone being ill. They probably wanted to use the decorations before they go out of fashion," you hazard a guess.

"The decorations were out of fashion when they bought them," Ralph snarks, causing you both to snicker.

"Shall we go?" you ask, dropping the invitations in your lap and reaching for his hand.

"Do you want to?" Ralph counters, giving your hand a squeeze.

"I asked you first," you lean your head against his, where it still rests on your shoulder.

"Hm," he hums, staring at the invitations in your lap. "Why not?"

"Alright," you smile.

"You know, I was going to ask you to last year's Christmas Ball."

"You were?"

"I was. I was so nervous. I planned it for a month… and then it got called off when the flu struck. I was devastated."

"But you worked up the nerve to ask me to the Valentine's Day dance," you remember fondly, playing with his fingers.

"And was turned down."

"I seem to recall all that working out for us in the end," you tease.

Ralph lifts his head from your shoulder, and you turn for a kiss.

"My darling, would you do me the honor of attending the Christmas in July Ball with me?"

"Oh, I'm… I'm sorry, Ralph. I wish I could. But what would my husband think?"

Ralph lets out a low growl, then lurches forward and tackles you sideways. He crawls on top of you on the sofa, in your half-lying position, and begins peppering kisses on your exposed neck.

"Alright! Alright! I'll go with you!" you laugh. "But if we get caught, you'll have to be the one to explain our love to my husband!"

He grins down at you and plants one final kiss on your cheek before clamoring off the sofa. He holds out a hand. "Shall we visit your dear Anna and discuss dresses?"

As always, Anna came through. You'd looked through a catalog together, and found the perfect dress for a Christmas in July event - festive colors, but styled for summer. You had no intention of suffering through a heat stroke at this event.

The last Christmas Ball you'd attended had been a disaster - Ralph's night hadn't gone exactly the way he'd wanted either - and you both saw this as a second chance to get things right.

You were putting the finishing touches on your make-up when Ralph entered the room in his tuxedo. You watched him in the mirror with hunger, forgetting all about what it was you were meant to be doing. His tie and the detailing on his dark jacket matched your dress perfectly. He was breathtaking.

He caught your eye in the mirror and came to you.

"You look beautiful, love," he whispered, bending over to ghost his lips over the side of your neck. You were temped to call off the outing right there. If only you hadn't already gone through all this trouble.

You somehow finished the task in front of you and made it out the front door on the arm of your handsome husband.

"This looks an awful lot like the last Christmas Ball," you whisper as you enter the venue. You honestly couldn't spot much of a difference: the place was still lined with red and gold.

"So much for not going out of fashion," Ralph giggles in your ear.

"Hello, dears!" You both wipe the wicked grins off your faces when Ralph's mother greets you. "Doesn't it look fabulous? Feels just like Christmas!"

"Yes, Mother, it's lovely," Ralph says with a fake smile.

She pats him on the cheek and goes to greet someone else, and you share a look.

"Punch, my darling?" he asks.

"Who, dear?" you joke.

Ralph laughs and escorts you toward the refreshment table. With two cups in hand, you find an empty table and settle in to watch people for a bit. You sit close and sip your drinks, muttering comments to each other under your breath. Ten minutes later, you were prepared to declare this the best mother-sponsored event you'd ever been to.

Well, perhaps the second-best; that first Valentine's Day together would be tough to top. But any event with Ralph is automatically ten times better than one without him.

You and Ralph decide to be sociable and mingle a bit, and when that grows tiresome, he asks you to dance. When you step onto the dance floor and lose yourself in the most mesmerizing pair of eyes you've ever seen, the rest of the room melts away. You move as one, in perfect harmony, for what feels like hours. When you finally return to your seats, you notice that the room has become considerably more crowded.

Ralph drapes his arm over the back of your chair, and you sit close and watch the other couples dancing.

"Look," Ralph says, nudging your thigh with his. You follow his eyeline to see the back of a big blonde head belonging to Donald Andrews.

"Oh, no," you groan.

Donald turns, and you see that he's dancing with a short redhead.

"Isn't that…"

"The girl who humiliated me in front of everyone on Valentine's Day?" Ralph grumbles. "Yes."

You lean into him and sigh. "I almost think we should thank them. If those two hadn't made us so miserable, we might never have found each other."

Ralph gives you a squeeze with the arm around your chair, and you watch the dancing couple peacefully. Maybe there really is someone out there for everyone. You're glad you've found yours.

"There you are! Mother told me you were here somewhere!" You both straighten as Victoria and her crew of gal pals start noisily pulling chairs toward your once-quiet little table. "We've only just arrived. We met this fabulous band who invited us to another shindig later on tonight, you must come with us! Or are you too boring to enjoy parties now? Has marriage sucked all the fun out of you? I haven't seen you in forever, dear brother!" Victoria pouts, then catches sight of someone in the crowd. "He's coming home with me tonight."

Victoria gets up to pursue the man who caught her eye, and her minions follow.

You and Ralph look at each other with amusement.

"Well, that was a thrilling conversation," you chuckle.

"Almost like our presence wasn't required at all," he grins, glancing at the clock. "Would you like to go home and be boring together, or wait for Victoria to capture her prey and drag him back here?"

"I can think of a few things to do at home that wouldn't be boring," you wink.

A wicked glint appears in Ralph's eye, and he drains the last of his drink. "Shall we, my love?"

"There's one more thing that needs to be done before we leave. Let me visit the powder room, and I'll meet you under the mistletoe?"

Ralph's eyes brighten, and he nods in understanding.

"Be with you in a moment, pup," you whisper, planting a kiss on his cheek that leaves a faint lipstick stain.

You dodge dancing couples on your way to the restroom, freshen up, and remember the last time you were here. You'd been on the worst date of your life, not in your right mind, and were desperate to get home. But still… fate had put Ralph Penbury in your path. Literally.

Your only regret was that it took you so long to realize it.

Checking your appearance once more in the mirror, you pushed through the door, determined to right that wrong.

Ralph was standing beneath the mistletoe, just like you'd asked. His eyes were on the dancing crowd, which allowed you to surprise him.

"Excuse me, sir, but I couldn't help but notice that you're standing under the mistletoe."

Ralph fights back a grin and glances upward. "So I am, miss."

"I believe the laws of Christmas in July state that you must kiss me."

"Oh, I'd love to. But I'm married, you see," he flashes his wedding ring at you and returns his gaze to the crowd, "and my wife would never allow it." He's putting so much effort into keeping a straight face through your little charade, you expect him to burst at any second.

"What if we don't tell her?" you ask deviously.

"I'm sorry, miss, but I must decline. I'm quite in love with my wife, and would rather die than betray her." Ralph sticks his nose in the air and looks in the other direction. "I bid you good evening, and ask that you please leave me be."

"Ralph," you laugh with a good-natured roll of your eyes, wondering how long he's going to keep this up. He turns his head toward you, does a dramatic double-take, and lets his jaw drop in surprise.

"Oh, it's you!" he giggles, finally coming down for a kiss. You wrap your arms around each other and don't break your mistletoe kiss until you hear the familiar sound of your mother clearing her throat.

"Merry Christmas in July," he breathes when you part, your mouths still only centimeters apart.

"Are you two finished?" your mother snaps through clenched teeth.

"Not quite," you answer, coming in for another peck, then two, then three... since she asked. Ralph doesn't seem to mind.

"You are making a spectacle of yourselves!" she hisses, before whirling around and putting distance between herself and your scandalous display of affection.

"Ready to go home and be boring, love?" you whisper.

"My plans for you tonight are anything but boring," he grins.

#writings of despair #ralph is worth it #ralph penbury #ralph penbury x you #ralph penbury x reader #ralph timewasters #ralph timewasters x reader #merry christmas in july in august #totally didn't start writing this months ago and just remember it this week #that's not what happened at all

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themultifandomgal · 1 year

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Jay- Wedding Day

Jay and I planed the wedding together for 6 months time. Of course the only thing he hasn't had input in is my wedding dress. I smooth down my dress as Natalie places my vail in my hair

"You look beautiful YN" Erin gushes

"Thank you, but so do you girls" I look at Erin through the mirror in front of me

"Ready?" Kim asks

"Yeah" I smile turning around to see her

"I'll go let your dad know" she says leaving the room. A few minutes later my dad knocks the door with his hand over his eyes

"We're all decent dad you can come in" I tell him. He takes his hand away and I can already see the tears in his eyes "don't cry because you'll make me cry"

"I'm sorry. It's just... my only child is getting married"

"Ok no smudging the makeup" Gabby my maid of honour says stopping both me and my dad from crying

"I think Jay is waiting" Kim places her hands on her hips

"Your right. Come on" dad holds his arm out for me to take.

As I wait for the doors to open to reveal Jay I start fidgeting

"Don't be nervous"

"I'm not. I'm excited" I smile at my dad. Finally the doors open and in walk Gabby and Will, my maid of honour and Jays best man. Then in walk my bridesmaids and finally me and dad. Dad walks me to Jay who's stood at the end of the aisle looks so freaking good. I notice he's got a tear running down his smiling face which cause me to cry a little. Dad gives Jay my hand then kisses my cheek before taking his seat next to my mom

"Wellcome" the priest starts "today we are here to whiteness the marriage and bond between YN and Jay. Are you prepared, as you follow the path of marriage, to love and honor each other for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do"

"I do" we both respond

"Before we start. Is there anyone here who has reason that these two should not marry?" Thankfully neither Jay or I have to be nervous about anyone standing up "since it is your intention to enter the covenant of Holy Matrimony, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and his Church" Jay and I hold hands

"I, take you , to be my wife. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love you and to honor you all the days of my life" Jay says looking into my eyes. I repeat what he says

"May the Lord in his kindness strengthen the consent you have declared before the Church and graciously bring to fulfillment his blessings within you. What God has joined, let no one put asunder. May the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob, the God who joined together our first parents in paradise, strength and bless in Christ the consent you have declared before the Church, so that what God joins together, no one may put asunder. receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the father, and the son, and the Holy Spirit. Who has the rings?" The priest asks. Will steps forward with both of our rings. Jay then takes my left hand

"Receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the father, and the son, and the Holy Spirit" Jay then places the ring on my finger. I repeat

It's now the after party and I've changed into something a little more comfortable so I can dance in. Jay and I had our first dance then I had the father daughter dance while Jay danced with my mom. Now I'm stood chatting with the girls

"So are you doing to tell us where your honeymoon is?" Gabby asks me as she hands me a drink

"We're going to the Bahamas for two weeks"

"I'm so jealous" Kim whines

"I'll let Kevin know to take you" I laugh

"Can I have everyone's attention" Will says in front of a microphone. I make my way over to Jay who's holding two glasses of champagne "I'd like to raise a toast to my brother and now sister in-law Jay and YN. I knew YN was the one for you Jay the moment she came to the hospital after you had the car crash. I told you that day not to let her go and for the first time you listened to my advice" we all chuckle at Will's joke "in all seriousness though, I saw the way YN looked at you and the way you looked at her. It's a love I've never seen you have before. I can't wait to see where life takes you both, and I'm really looking forward to being an uncle, hint hint" again this makes everyone laugh "thank you YN for making my brother one happy man" he raises his glass in the air "to YN and Jay"

"To YN and Jay" everyone shouts before we all take a sip of the champagne. I turn to Jay and look up at him

"I love you"

"I love you too" he leans down and kisses my lips.

#jay halstead x yn #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x you #jay halstead x oc #jay halstead #jay halstead x reader #one chicago #chicago pd

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onereallygoodlambonastick · 3 months

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rolecall / XG - TIPPY TOES / left right posting up slow switching lanes just like this / only direction i know swerving left right keep me upright / my adrenaline hit the pedal to the ground / 2 lil asians / don't we all deserve it ill tell you how we want it / no you cant deny it / you either like it or bite it / don't ask me if you dont know why / the only direction i know / what goes around comes back around / so when he comes down are you gonna let him pay or are you gonna let him stay

do you know why phonk gets popular on the social medias? because people dream of murder. they just find the most socially acceptable way to do it, because these are people interested in staying people. to those who dream of murder: this is will not kill you. for it did not kill me.

this is why everything i write is a poem.

and i think more of us should dream of murder, or what it takes to end a life. just one is fine. just 1. uno. uno. yi. yichi. one. One. the One. you believe in god? believe in the power of 1.

all for one / one for all. think on it. evoke all might, and evoke his enemy. why?

the universe is interested in this, too.

will you answer it - or shall i?

Dealer's choice.

You want to be cool? Be cool like a dying & a dead body.

I've lived through the age of humanitarian aid - ive seen nice people do nice things. Now I ask: Toni Morrison, what would you do different?

Fushigoro Toji knows exactly what I am referencing, and not only that: he knows exactly what I am aiming for. This is because he was interested in bringing the jiu-jitsu sorcerery world to its knees.

Gojo Satoru was interested in this too.

Now the question is: how?

Gege Akutami failed in his task to honor Gojo Satoru. I name you, Satoru: for all your fans call you Gojo, and I alone will know you. Now who will join you? By this, I mean: who will join me?

Who will speak conviction to action - because by the audre lorde, i Know Archive of Our Own, I know the dynasties of our time, and I know how to tell them from myths, and I know how to tell that from myth-making.

East Asian dragons are built like fishes for a reason.

Weavers in Palestine have still not fled. I need not know why. Why? I know why. Why? You gonna keep asking me shit or are you gonna use that brain two people gave you and the fact it's a muscle and do grindr? Grind on it. Grind. You done? Do it again.

You pissed yet?

You mad, broski?

You either wake, or you don't, unstirred - thus undeterred.

I say this now to honor James Baldwin: no more sleeper agents shall be in my path. Let's fucking dance, or there shall be war.

Sugimoto Saichi knows this so fucking well it made me get up and take a run, because he made me take a blow to the face and I survived it: he says this to a white US-American collector of Ainu artifacts: and do you know what he said? He said this: give up the artifact or I will take you down. Verbatim, by word of the translator on the pirated site on which I read: do you know what happens when negotiations break down?

It's called War. more simply: you, or me. it is an art. that's why "sun tsu" is famous in the white(?) man's world.

Now there is the mythicized World War 3. Chinese-Americans will for sure suffer like they were meant to be born stillborn in its wake. Do you want me to tell you why or will you look up? Current news is distracting for one reason: the news is merely an inch of actual reality that then proceeds to holler down several damaging hoops.

What is more accurate: current news evokes the current state of the world.

Here's a note to clue you in , not that any immigrant nor migrant nor vagrant really needs it, but here's something to piss you off anyway - Japanese-Americans were sent to internment camps. Wanna guess what number world war this was for?

Wanna guess? Or Wanna Know? See what I'm putting down yet? No? Okay.

No more sleeper agents shall be in my path. I say this now to respect the fact James Baldwin aided in my survival. He died already: why do I still feel him here, with me, laughing? It's simple, really. Because he loved Angela Davis: and Angela Davis is still alive today.

And I am right there beside her.

In the first and only book I've read from him, he said this through the mouthpiece of his characters, his loved ones, his chosen ones, the ones that would make him survive, AKA enable, and he said this: I will build a long, long table for folks to be eating off of for a long, long time. And the woman who loved him said this back: I'll go where you lead me.

This book changed the US-American consciousness. He wrote in France. I don't need to read his autobiography to confirm this. Here's why, because I could give less of a shit if you wanted to play devil's advocate: it is because James Baldwin judged he would not survive in The United States of America.

So he wrote in France.

I believe he died there.

Now I ask: will you respect 2024 or will you make someone come after you?

Dealer's choice.

You have been dealt your hand. Your ass is either shown or it will be shown. You either wake, or you don't, undeterred. It is this clear cut because empire has intensified, singing of its war drums: it has been, always, never new, always old, but never interesting, always predictable. It is why all the gongs of dehumanization are on. It is why those who have listened to it all their life are now cold like metal. We know how to be metal. Metal: the one thing that needs heat to shapeshift. Why is winter difficult to survive? This is why historians and social science researchers say the same shit and nobody listens, but they are slightly more likely to be listened to, and that is why people of color, and those of the margins, flood into academia anyway, knowing they will be perfectly tortured.

Do you want me to tell you how I have been tortured?

Do you want to guess, or do you want to know, or do you want me to torture you to make you find out?

There have been people who were shot for less. Of them: Hind Rajab. After or before her, because the order doesn't really matter, not really, only that they were dead where they stood: those two Red Crescent paramedics.

Toni Morrison must be shocked where she is in her lively post-death. She said this to me once, because I read it, and I felt her touch me, because she is real, and when she died in 2015, that is how I knew Donald Trump was fake: I will always be shocked. I will always choose to be shocked. I think anything less is a kind of death.

I have died. But I am still alive. Why? To honor the two people who raised me. One - a dragon herself. The other - a rabbit.

My dad has taught me to think like a prey animal.

Do you want to know why people daydream about shapeshifting into predators?

Do you want to know, or do you want to guess? Follow the path your parents have set you on since the day you were born.

Otherwise this is what will happen: you will never catch up to Martin Luther King Jr. You will not meet Audre Lorde. And you will not be looked at by James Baldwin, though he will see you, anyway.

Do you want to know what happened to the people who made Disco Elysium, or do you want me to fucking repeat myself?

You either wake, or Nanami Kento will never speak to you on his way to get a viet sandwich. And through your mouth will be flies: for you have failed to speak the truth, and honor the one and Only task you were given at birth: take care of thyself.

Number 1 rule of Art of War by a Chinese man:

It is the same rule that KDJ from Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint dances to. This is why every character revolves around him, carnally. Their hunger is real. Their seeing and knowing already there. This is because KDJ is a reader. He knows exactly what potency it takes to kill a character, and what it takes to keep one alive. This is why Shing Shong was successful in their refusal to write a story that comes from domination. Because first: she was disinterested in it.

Because first: she wrote a story. And it was a long one. 500 chapters. And for what?

This is why I want Shing Shong carnally. Why carnally? Well: what do you think? You wanna spend a guess? Come here. Come and find out. Come.

2024 is the year of the wood dragon. Wood dragons are named for their transformations. I've decided. Do you want to know what I've decided, or do you want to guess? If you are impatient, now you will know how it feels like to be in a burning pit, hellish by Japanese standards, tortured, forever and ever, and then perhaps you will have your first rare and individual and selectively acquired taste of what it has meant for everybody else to be colonized, while you stand, alone, mute, wearing the most bodily privilege you have ever seen, never acutely felt, and you will stupid for it - do you know why? Because white supremacy has an adjective placed in front of it, and it is doing something there. White supremacy knows it must first trick the light skinned people. So first it creates an abstract idea: it creates -

What would I have said here? Pull it together for me. I seem to have forgotten. This is the tune of real survival. This is why all people from all walks, all individual tortures, are still interested in community. You find the punk, or it finds you with a crackle of knuckle. It's why cult survivors exist, past being kept like abused animals. Because you will not die at the end. You won't. How do I know this?

Did you fucking read, or were you fucking tone-deaf?

Here it is, though, because I'm being nice: global racial capitalism is a cult with death at the end of it. And you must know by now I am not unique. Because even the worst person alive, objectively, by anybody's standard, got here somehow. And I have killed myself to care. I have tortured myself. I have. I have killed myself over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over because ultimately when the rubber really hits the fucking road I believe Ajin: Demi-Human is an relatively optimistic story, because those who have learned to resurrect themselves at will will always be interested in the good fun. Samuel "Satou" Owen is my favorite white-ish man in Japanese manga. This is because, like me, the Ajin writers and drawers were wise: they did not name the unknown substance that brought everybody back to life. They merely places an man obsessed with ways of living, at all costs, in front of it.

Satou-san is a white-Chinese man. He is mixed. What does this tell you? It tells me this: he is of movement. This means he has two feet. If he has two feet, and he is bipedal, and he can wield a gun with the mastery of a guy with chef's tools but in a forest instead of a well-stocked and furnished kitchen, this means he is a person. He likes to fuck around and find out. His white-american father failed to stop him. Why: did he fail in his task because he did not love him? The Ajin makers are clever: they had his white man of a father beat him, first, and then, later, quite quickly, demonstrate that he was a father first, because Samuel's father apologized for hitting him, because he wants to know his son is a wonderful person, and Samuel, so young, a child, stood there, alone, with a smile on his face, dead animals around him and blood on his hands, probably caked under his fingernails.

So now I wonder what it would take for Samuel "Satou" Owen to go back home.

I will write on this - cuz I do be writing - but I'll give you an interesting thought here, because this is what I offer, relief that feels like a slice that cauterizes the wound on the way: Satou's father did not fail in loving him. He failed because he was too kind.

I will teach Satou-san what it looks like to be brutal, but with compassion. And I won't kill him - now why would I do that? Ain't he the most lethal demi-human immortal freak Japan and da rest of the world has ever seen? He came from the United States originally. He only ended up in Japan because he is a video game freak. It's not because he's crazy: it's because, actually, he likes to have fun.

This is why he refuses to take his life so unseriously: he felt the universe slot another coin into his piggy bank. The universe must be interested in him for a reason. Life in the universe needs no reason. It's how we got here anyway. Now you must see the conspiracy? This is why the researcher who named "IBM (Invisible Black Matter)" was called insane and asked for the cigs in his car when three fingers, one by one, were cut off his left hand. He was being serious. So now I ask: will you fucking play?

Those who read of medias that show off their gore, turned like stones, with fresh worms underneath, in that rich, rich dirt: c'mere. You know exactly what I be talking about. Ajin: Demi-Human dances on the grave of Shounen by placing a non-traditional protagonist in the path of a traditional shounen protagonist and Does not make them fight. Instead: they are made to collaborate. Now how were they made to do this? Because at the core of each, was a compassionate core, and so every character was interested in each other as a person.

Read Ajin. It dances. To a music that few hear. Because it takes skill. It is not like Jiu-jitsu Kai-sen. It was not made to be a franchise, because it sought to honor its people that lived in the narrative. The cost: it will never be popular. It is why its second season is the way it is. This is the cost that Ajin's makers incurred. And they incurred it anyway. I have heard them without ever speaking to them personally. This is my skill. So now it is my offering.

Gege Akutami failed in his task to honor Gojou. Do you wanna hear why now? Or am I being registered, like a smaller gong amidst all the gongs of dehumanization right now?

Hey, fans of the Golden Kamuy - y'all get it most, for Sergeant Tsukishima is a secondary character and he has earned many delicious, life-affirming fics on that One and Only site. Each one I've really read got at it hard. Tsukishima writers and lovers and comrades in arms: Do you hear me, or will I go unheard like I have seven years ago?

Will I die, or will you die first? I won't. So Now the question is: will you?

I think, but first, I choose to believe in this one thing: all people know exactly what I am talking about. Because you were born. And now you will die, because empires have never been interesting. They generate dead bodies for a reason. They never have to say anything to dead people. Because, again, they are dead, and there's no way to bring them back to life. That is why eradication is strategic, and that is why slow deaths are more interesting, because it's quite hard to kill somebody without a gun, and so serial killers invent fresh ways to do it - wanna know why? Cuz they be bored, just like I am, watching them do it and choose it like a abused dog might with its ragdoll of a chew toy.

We see the dead people. One of my parents decided to become a doctor, practicing zhongyao, purely because he saw the way his grandfather died. Do you understand the acceleration of skill to mobilize thought to action? He spent 10 years putting himself through his chosen torture - medical school. Or will you sit there, mute in your dead body shame, so totally unmoved you are disturbed by almost anything? Why don't you find a corner in the world where you won't suffer for it. You can try. The last person who went to outer space came back and said never mind, it's actually all here and this is really it.

You can try the ocean. Elon Musk didn't. Wanna know why? It's because the hard, the really, really, truly, back-breaking work, is never done by the toddlers in power.

So now I wonder if Noor Hindi is well. The answer is no. Why?

Will you ask me to repeat what I've just said, or will you Read:

Dr. Alreer said: if I must die, then let me be a story. Of what?

Of what?

We all come from matter. We all know when things die, the matter doesn't disappear. This is some kinda physics law. Astrophysics too. Supernovas and lesser deaths of stars generate elements that compose matter. So do stars when they come into being. Sure. The Ainu peoples knew it first, as did every other peoples native to a land who did not seek to immediately obliterate it. Because they were first interested in their survival, and in that: how to keep surviving. Anyways, this is interesting. Because this means while we are alive at the same time, we are negotiating it all the time. This is why Stands and Jojo's Bizarre's Adventure is Bizarre and so fucking fun. It dances, and it dances visibly. It is called drag. It is called performance for the purpose, on purpose, for interesting reasons. It's why Kujo Jotaro did not die until his daughter would, because he protected her, and she protected him, and they died, but their friend, truest witness, went and finished the task given to him. And so they still lived. So it is bizarre. Everything probably is. It's why people are so interested in convenience, in that quick fix, in that hit of ketamine, in those shortcuts, in taking their lives less seriously, because they already know how serious it is to live in a world like ours, and they already know just how hard it is to meet each other where they are at, because they have struggled in meeting themselves where they are at, which is the deepest fucking pit unique to them, for they are being tortured, even as we speak, because it is individual: but it is not unique. Because I have been tortured. And I am still here, speaking with you.

So are you gonna fucking participate in derogatory theatre, or are you gonna wait till someone like me comes over and whips you where it really hurts? For those who are hung: you know. For those who aren't: too bad, you've got a throat.

For those who don't: we know what happened to them, don't we. They don't get livestreamed. DRC is silent because they cannot make it a football game. People are dead, dying, and are being disabled from living.

So now you either speak, or you remain silent, or as Baldwin said it: uninitiated, or unactivated, or as Morrison said: un-artful. If you do, remain silent or quiet or whatever that really chafes you right now, then you will never know what Audre Lorde was saying when she said We Were Never Meant to Survive. Do you know the three ways to survive in a ruined world, or did Ocean Vuong say it already and you simply refused to clock it and let it travel inside you like a missile that hit Vietnam all those decades ago?

This is the risk I incur. So now I evoke all those who have aided in my survival. I know I am not alone. Do you know why there was not 1 dragon leftover, in ATLA? Because if there was one left, it would not have come out of its cave. It would have stayed there, forever, until it perished. So Zuko's uncle made sure there were 2. Am I understood, or do you see that when I open my mouth and see red, every color of life is evoked? The sun god folks in that iconic scene know exactly what I am talking about. It is why they keep the original fire burning for thousands of years, and this is why one of them looked at Zuko and joked about the masters (real) chewing him up, and their leader said shut up but did not say he was wrong. Because he wasn't.

Their leader does something nice here, which he is by no means obligated to do, but does, because he knows he is not free to abandon it like the sleeper agents have: hey, you might die if you do this. Will you still do it?

That is the risk you incur by coming after me. I make enemies. But first, because I am an dragon originating of the East Asians: I know exactly who my friends are, first. All I ask is for you to not act stupid.

If you insist: well. When the LONG opens its maw, you will be right to be terrified. Why do TIGERS have teeth if not to use them? Praise the knife that goes through the PEAR for you, or you will not eat well tonight, and if you do: know that it will not last.

Karma simply does not come quick enough. That's A-OK. The universe prefers slowness. So now I dance. I gave to it my sixieth spiritual death and it has finally snickered instead of dragging my face through the fucking dirt, asking me to open my mouth and taste the worms which dance in the rain with their entire bodies. It's why they writhe. Now when I laugh it laughs through me and seems genuinely pleased. But what I care about most is this: that I have gotten so good at what I need to do, and what i Want to do, that Nanami Kento now merely inclines his head and walks beside me. And this: that Toji merely glances an eye at me and lifts his chin, smiling, crazed at the edge of pleased, and asks me anyway, despite full knowing in all his rage and all his cool dead & dying & disabled body discernment: hey, how are we gonna fuck em up today?

Treacherous cunt.

I am not a spiritual person. I've merely died spiritually enough times for me to have to use the academic word for it. In me I have, first: the people who saw and shielded me - second: the people who taught me, dancing to their own survivals. I am the friend of Bob. The one who told me to keep writing. Bob, I am proud, and I know you are proud of me. Hey, hi, hello.

This is my dream. My friends are a dream. All of them are. One by one they have stood, and they have stood alone, and now I am there beside them.

I honor all those who aid in my survival. Face me when you shoot me in the fucking face. This is why union leaders are assassinated in their beds, with pregnant people right beside them. This is why small children in the first formally livestreamed eradication campaign call the men in tanks cowards, and mice, because that little girl was just that fun, that interesting. This is why Sugimoto Saichi, at the very beginning of his story/dance, he hesitated when that wounded animal came out and charged him, desperate and mobilized with all its might to clear a path to its survival. Because he saw and he understood in less, but it was still too late. So that is why Asirpa said let me take the shot next time, if you can't do it - in fact, don't even try. For we need heat to survive the winter. Dragons of the East are interested in one thing, and that is people, not god. We come when called. We come when uncalled. It is why we show ourselves when people of a land need rain. 's also why we show ourselves when people of a land don't think they need shit. Do you understand the level of discernment required to do this? My judgement is not divine. I don't give a rat's shit about God. Wanna guess what I give a shit about?

A rat's ass.

But just so you don't the wrong idea, because that is what personally pisses me off the most: I don't believe in God, but I believe in you.

How is this possible? Because I had a parent, and in her, she was a dragon, and she has evoked it enough times, at all the critical moments, for me to follow her example. I will incur the risk now. I have always taken risks, because I've seen what it takes to safeguard and then nurture and then, perhaps, cultivate a life. I was born into the year where dragons have danced and they saw me and I have seen them, and you really should be thinking about Zuko not being stricken down by the last 2 dragons of his time by now. My father is a rabbit - he knows how to respect the world, so that he is to be respected if he cannot be loved. And he still chose to care for me, a weakling. He still chooses it: for we played a poker game, just once, after majiang, and he saw how I dealt my last card and thus understood my entire play and he looked me in the eye when he said:

Don't do that again.

So now I incur the risk. Because I know the cost of what it means to survive in a place like this. The world. The world. People get hurt here.

Duh. Richard Siken is needed no longer. He has said what has needed to be said. He writes, and I write too. I pick it back up, the dead thing at the end of the road. Because in order for it to be dead, it must have been killed.

So I will incur the risk. You are welcome to join me. The time to wait has been over since the first people(s) said, fucking shit fuck help! help! and nobody came, or if they did, they still ended up dying anyway.

i have never been interested in living forever. people who do are interested in having fun. the rest are idiots. the people who have fun usually die first - it is why aang's entire people was eradicated from this earth, from that fiction lifeworld. so now i find it more interesting when the people who have the most fun don't die - and that is why Toji of JJK is ketamine to people. from everywhere. from all walks of life. do you want to know why JJK is popular now, everywhere? I will tell you why now. Because I am being nice, and I am interested in your surviving, your continuous survival, your real tunes. Because I would prefer to be your friend rather than your enemy, but you make your choices, and I will make mine.

Here it is the truth: it is because JJK is interested, at least initially, in what it would look like to wield overwhelming power responsibly, which is to say: meaningfully. It is why Gojo is Japan's animation poster boy right now. He always did like to fuck around and find out. And he found out, didn't he - he found out that his own creator gave up respecting his principles to serve franchise interests, the grinding acceleration of that kind of selected - and chosen - giving in. It is a death. I have grieved it.

Now I stand here, alone.

Now I ask : who is interested in seeing Gojo Satoru still alive, even knowing that he has failed in his task to do what he said he did? Is it because of him, as a character, as a person who lived within the narrative, or is it because of the narrative that either enables or disables his real and true living?

One of the oldest people in my life said this to me recently: I personally believe that there are no shitty characters. Only a story that no longer suits them.

Will you be a story that I can live in?

Or will you be a story that makes me want to come after you and demonstrate to you, selectively, intimately, how you have betrayed me?

Will you, or won't you?

Kong Si-Woo is calling me now. Sorry. Bye. Gong Si-U is the best negotiator I know, and he's telling me to take a break. You can't solve everything by your self, he is saying. That's why you pick your men carefully. And he has chosen. Do you know who he choose?

He chose Toji.

Toji survived after he left the torture pits in that family clan of his.

First, he ended the life of every cursed beast in the family's torture pit to relish the fact he could do it, perfectly alone. His solitude earns the survival of Zenin Maki, and thus the survival of her sister, Zenin Mai.

Second: he met someone who was curious about him there, also perfectly alone in one of the most inhospitable places alive, already similar by then, and earned his respect, unyielding for some reason not known to him, personally, but his ass is shown to me because I have tapped it and I liked the sound that came back.

This is because Kong Si-Woo and Toji have a 10-year history. Adults at that age, making new friends? Color me delighted.

Third: in earning the Korean man's respect: he earned the capacity for real trust, the kind that marks actual fucking solidarity. And then Toji, scorned Japanese man he is, lived for 10 more years with Kong Si-Woo near him and by him, because these are men who when they are killed will live on, until Toji fucked around and found out for the last time --- until, of course, the story itself brings him back to meet his grown son.

Now I ask you: will you be respected, or will you be interested in what real enabling, at all costs, looks like?

Will you give a shit the way Toji does, or will you give a shit the way Nanami does? Will you move the way Sugimoto does, or will you simmer quietly like a jar of moss like Qingming, pirated Dream of Eternity: Yin-Yang Master, softspoken and brutal in his withholding? Will you have fun like Satou Samuel Owen, or will you earn the respect and thus relieve the responsibility of Nagai Kei, at age 17, willingly took on because he saw clearly the danger Satou posed to every normal person alive on the planet, and decided for himself that he would end it now.

Will you be tortured like Suzaku Kururugi, so complete, fans of Code Geass feel it even today, or will you take decisive action to bring the very structures of the Jiujutsu Sorcerer's World down by disavowing the only child you've named for blessing, just so he could have a headstart?

Which character will you relieve of their responsibilities? Can you tell who needs it the most? Do you know what I'm saying here? I am saying I do not need Nanami Kento anymore and he has never needed me to speak. This is because he died in Shibuya, and I am glad he did, because Gege Akutami's writing abilities did too. I would not have survived the Nanami's badly written death the way I could survive Gojo's. Gege must have detected this in some way: he must, even with his franchise of an empire, because even a franchise of an empire comes from people: because he waited to kill Gojou, because he knew everybody seemed to like him, and genuinely love him, in many many lands, and what he did was brutal, and it was genuinely cruel: he bisected Gojou in half instead of blowing a hole through him despite putting him in Toji's killer fit.

It means Akutami was done with Gojou's character, and discarded his personhood, and gave his fans and comrades and enemies crumbs. Enemies of Gojo savored it: but they understood its brutality, and rejoiced because finally the biggest dick did win, as they foretold, because they foretold the death cult that is global racial capitalism, because they have survived, and they don't want anybody else to except for themselves, and their friends, of course. Even our enemies have friends. What does this tell you: it means everybody has the capacity to understand tragedy. Indeed, Everybody else simply understood it for tragedy. Now there's nothing wrong with a nice tragedy.

But is it interesting? Toni Morrison looked me in the eye in one of her interviews and I will tell you what she said to me: she said once you have gotten the jobs you have all trained so beautifully for, you must now go and free someone else. This is not a grab-bag candy game.

Now here's the thing about TRUE FICTION: AND TRANSFORMATIVE FICTION: we can bring him back.

I will do it. Anyway, I will do it. Why? Because I know what it takes to complete a story and respect a character's personhood. Because I learned how to draw first, and then I figured out how to write. Each time, it was a person who bestowed it to me. So now I read Dungeon Meshi and trill with delight. Now she gets it. So now I reread DOROHEDORO!!! Now this one too, she knows it. So now I follow Witch Hat Atelier, not only interested but believing in its conclusion: for Shimomura knows exactly how to dance to make her people dance, too. This is a skill.

Will you dance. You. Hey. Hello. I ask you now: Will you fucking dance? If so, come here. I protect all other/Othered animals. But first, you must show me your teeth, and then second, you must make it known to me you are not my enemy. For I am not god. I am merely a person born into dragon year. So now whenever I open my mouth, I do it knowing the whole world will listen. I stand alone, and I will go unheard, or I won't, and then: I will either be killed, or I will change people along the way. I don't mind either results. Because right now, Tosaki, the man with the mints and the cigarette and the crisp white suit, from Ajin: DEMI HUMAN is my favorite fucking character.

He dies at the end, by the way. He dies with no regrets. I seek to follow him.

Hey - Aaron Bushnell. I evoke your name to evoke your death, because your last words were Free Palestine and you chose to do it, standing there, perfectly alone, despite wanting to become a software engineer, transitioned out of active duty.

You have done your duty. I got it from here. I will not fail Hind Rajab again. Trust me, I won't. You plug it in right by me, or I will know. Now isn't that the real fun?

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heyitsdoe · 1 year

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A/N - It's been a hot minute since I've written for our favorite pervy cook. But I can't go forever without tormenting the poor man, hehe. Let's crank up the heat in this one, shall we? Steamy, sexy, sweaty...all the good stuff!

WARNINGS: Shower sex, Sanji being needy and unafraid to tell you about it, praise kink, tiny use of pet names ('love' and 'my love'), body worship vibes, nipple play, male moaning (😳), Sanji is just a very passionate guy hehe, established relationship, some mention of aftercare

One by one, your clothing is removed from your body, folded haphazardly and placed in the hamper of dirty clothes.

Your feet pad against the tile floor of the ship's luxurious bathroom, seeming to echo in the quiet. Distant, muffled, you can still hear the noise of crew mates, partying into the night on the grassy desk of the Thousand Sunny. It had already gone on for hours now, the food eaten, Brook's music lightening the mood, and Franky's show of manliness as he flexed and danced the night away.

It was simple enough to sneak away, with only Jimbei noticing and giving you an understanding nod as you did so. Fatigue was clearly written on your face, and he wouldn't question the desire to get away from all of the unending celebration. Everyone had a limit, and you had reached yours.

The shower sputters to life as you twist the nozzle to the right. At first, the spray sends goosebumps across your bare skin, the cold temperature chilling the air around you before the heated water finally began to come through. You hold your hand beneath it, waiting for the temperature to rise to a comfortable level, stepping inside once steam began to rise from the heat.

An exhale of delight slips past your lips as the water cascades down your skin, blessedly hot, and you close your eyes to savor the sensation. Nothing beat a hot shower after a particularly exhausting day. It's close to scalding, melting away the tension and stress like it was butter.

You turn in place, back arching at the initial shock of heat on your skin. But within moments you've grown accustomed enough to stand there without care, your hair feeling heavier as it soaked up the water. A few passes of your hands through it drench it completely, and you wring it out with a splash to the floor.

You're in no rush, content to take your time now that you had it, basking in the peace this little moment afforded you. Though hearing the sound of the bathroom door open just a crack, you can't help but smile. Well, perhaps a little company wasn't so bad...

"Y/N?" Sanji calls hesitantly, as though it could be anyone else in here. The rest of the crew was present and accounted for on the main deck.

"Yes, Sanji?" You hum, voice reverberating within the confines of the shower. He recognizes your voice enough to enter further, the door closing behind him. You can't see him clearly through the fog of the glass, but his tall, lean stature is blatant enough. So is the head of blonde hair. "Did you need something?"

"No, just...wasn't sure where you'd gone off to. Wanted to be sure you were alright." Is his excuse, though you're certain there's something more underlying his words. He was never all that great at hiding his, ah...less than honorable intentions, after all. A man who wore his heart on his sleeve. "I guess there was no reason to worry."

"I'm fine. Just enjoying a nice, hot shower." You reach for the shampoo bottle, uncapping it and putting enough in the palm of your hand. "I really needed it after today. Those marines were persistent. Usually they don't follow us for so many kilometers. Really takes a lot out of a girl, fending off attacks all afternoon."

"Hmm. I shouldn't be interrupting then." He concludes, though you notice he makes no move to leave, just lingers in his spot by the entrance. You know he can't see your nude body clearly through the fogged glass, though you imagine his eyes are still on you, imagining the sight of your wet body. As you work the shampoo through your head, massaging the stuff through your hair methodically, you can't help but chuckle.

"You must feel exhausted as well, Sanji...all that fighting and then cooking such a big feast for the crew..." Sweet implication drips from your voice, low and steady as you speak, thighs rubbing together where you stand. The build-up always made the end result more enjoyable. "...join me?"

You think he lets out a breath, as if he'd been holding it, but you can't be sure over the sound of the shower's spray. What you do hear is the ruffle of clothing as he takes off his suit jacket, seeing his hazy image walking over to the hamper through the glass.

"How could I refuse such an offer from a woman so lovely?"

His restraint is admirable; rather than tear off his clothes in haste, he takes his time, laying them atop yours in the hamper. The air is charged, electric, with what was soon to come, obvious to the both of you even if it hadn't been outright spoken. Silence lay thick, palpable and enhanced by the swirling steam from the hot water. These little games you played were always so rewarding.

The indistinct black shape he'd been before taking off his suit is soon pale from his skin. And once fully naked, he approaches the glass door with measured steps, his form growing larger the closer he came. You close your eyes and turn around to rinse off the shampoo as he slides it open.

You feel his presence take up behind you, the door closing with a dull thud a moment after. He gasps a little at how hot you've got the water, but otherwise doesn't protest. Part of the water is blocked as you rinse off the shampoo when he steps in behind you.

Instinctively, you lean into his embrace when he slides your arms around your waist, his skin touching yours from shoulder down to your calves. Fingers glide against your stomach, a caress soft as silk. His lips find their way just behind your ear, settling there and placing feather-light kisses to the skin. You feel the way he hums in content, holding you close and breathing in your scent.

The building lust is momentarily forgotten as you stand there, together, the rest of the world falling away into unimportance. Sanji's hands glide further up, slowly. With patience. Then one starts the other direction, holding your hip, pressing you against him just that little bit more. The other continues its path up, through the valley of your breasts, to settle flat-palmed above where your heart beat a hard, steady rhythm.

You breathe deeply. His lips slip further down, along the side of your neck, the hair of his goatee grazing the sensitive area and causing you to shiver in his arms.

"Your heaven sent, Y/N...beautiful." When he whispers against your skin, barely audible even with him so close, you bite your lip. Oh, his words do so much to you. "More than I'll ever deserve..."

"Not true." You manage to mutter, swallowing past the growing flame of want that had settled in your gut. The longer he holds you to him, the more your mind drifts to things not so innocent. Perhaps you were just as perverted as him, when it came down to it. Not that you'd ever admit it.

"So soft..." He continues, the hand that had felt your heart now sliding down to grasp your breast. The gentleness is wonderful and torturous all in one. "Some days I can't tell if you're real...or the product of some perfect dream."

His thumb ghosts a line down straight over your nipple, drawing a pleased sigh from you. The sound seems to only make him more restless, prompting his fingers to roll the nubs between them. The pressure is never too much to hurt, but not nearly enough to rile you up further.

Your head lolls back, eyes closed, letting him touch you as he saw fit. He'd mastered the art of having you simmer in your pleasure, never building up too fast or losing the momentum. What a reminder that he was an expert with using his hands, in any situation...

You can feel something hard pressing against your ass, twitching and growing increasingly more prominent. His hips twitch, voice catching when he speaks. "I can't think straight...not when we're like this."

"Sanji." You breathe out, reaching up with one hand to card your fingers in his hair and another lower behind you to stroke the erection he couldn't help but rub against your backside. His embrace grows tighter as your fingers connect to the sensitive length, finding and swirling around the tip with promise. The sound of his little whine has you panting with want.

"Was this why you came looking for me?" You question unashamedly, feeling him swallow. "You wanted me this much?"

"Y/N..." Fuck, the sudden desperation in his voice is intoxicating. You're not sure how you're still standing, legs practically jelly at this point. The kisses he presses to your neck are fast and sloppy, laced with a need so potent it tingles your skin. "Let me have you...please. I'll do anything."

You moan in reply, heat licking down your spine and making your pussy throb, the absence of his length inside of you borderline painful. Him begging to have you was the biggest turn-on. He takes the way you shimmy your ass insistently against his cock as consent, fingers squeezing against your breast in appreciation.

His hips rut against you to seek friction against his erection, a whine escaping him, relief and frustration growing in tandem. It felt so good, but it could feel so much better, buried inside of you. What you wouldn't give for him to just stick his cock in and take you without prep.

But Sanji has other ideas, his hands on your hips guiding you to face the wall of the shower--thankfully not freezing from all the steaming water. Your hands brace themselves on each side of your head, forced to let go of him for now. The cook closes in behind you, molding his toned body with yours and teasing the length of his cock between your thighs, the slide of it between them deliciously promising.

Your back stretches out as he leans in, mouthing open kisses against the back of your shoulder. "So perfect..." He mumbles into your skin. "My angel, my love...my Y/N."

Thighs squeezing his cock between them, cheek planted against the hot tiles of the shower, you ass presses back against his pelvis, begging without words for what you wanted. And of course, being the giving lover he is, Sanji doesn't think to deny you what you desire.

He pulls back, and you miss the bulge of his cock between your thighs for only a moment, the tip pushing against your entrance with slow satisfaction. He prods once, then twice a little further in, testing your stretch and tightness. But the third push goes deeper still and simultaneously knocks your breath away. Nails claw uselessly against the smooth tile wall, a long, drawn-out moan pulling from your open mouth.

"Oh, love...Y-Y/N..." He breathes in absolute bliss, holding still when he was fully sheathed to feel your walls grow accustomed to his intrusion. You feel him shudder behind you, overcome by the wave of pleasure you send through his body. "Fuuuuck..."

Hearing your gentleman's crude curse makes your cunt throb with such need, it's impossible not to moan in tandem with him. It's nearly impossible to breathe in the combination of steam and your heart beating rapidly in your chest. You feel a heat stir in your belly hotter than even the water cascading down on your bodies. Whatever you might have wanted to say catches in your throat as he slowly pulls out to push just as gently back inside of you, taking his time and savoring your wetness around his throbbing cock.

But even he can't hold himself back forever. He lasts the duration of 4 or 5 intimate, loving thrusts before his hips stutter and he chokes out a groan, forehead lowering to the top of your spine as his pace speeds up little by little. The sound is incredibly erotic.

You jolt with each snap of his hips, pushing you harder against the wall. The stretch of your back and the way his cock fits so tightly in your pussy, you'll be sore once all was said and done. But you don't regret it a moment, listening to the way your combined moans echo around the bathroom freely. The thought of the crew hearing from the deck doesn't even cross your mind. Sanji has consumed your mind with the way he takes your body so desperately.

In between his delightfully eager moans, he never seems to stop mumbling his admiration for you, mindless praise you know is his wholehearted belief of your perfection. Speaking is difficult when he's worshiping you so reverently. You want so desperately to say something in return, to tell him you feel many of the same things about him, but the way his cock hits that one spot inside that has you seeing stars snatches the words right out of your mouth.

You don't realize you're sliding further down the shower wall, legs spreading apart wider so he can thrust a little deeper, until his hands tighten their grip on your hips, keeping you in place as he slams his cock into you with ferocity.

The subtle shift in angle, and the lack of movement on your part with him keeping you still, is enough to have your rising orgasm soar higher and higher, until you raggedly call his name in warning. Rather than slow down, he speeds up with exertion coloring each and every breath he exhales, rushing you to your peak. Your pleasure was his priority, regardless of how he felt about things. Giving you what you wanted...that was his life purpose.

Your gasp is choked and strangled, the tightening of your muscles around his still-moving cock only making your orgasm all the more intense. You shake in his grip, mouth open and eyes squeezed shut. Your hearing goes muffled for a moment, the rush of water and Sanji's surprised and appreciative moans as he feels your walls clamp down on his dick blending together into a mixture of noise you can't quite decipher properly. The world goes fuzzy, slowly coming back into focus as you come down from your lustful high.

By the time you manage to regain awareness, Sanji's already pulled out of you, cock resting against the top of your ass and his seed coating your back. Each panting breath is accompanied by a weak little groan, still riding the wave of pleasure you'd created together out to its last licks of sensation. You feel the way his arms shake where they hold onto your waist.

Standing there under the spray which is quick to erase the evidence of sex, you bask and savor the afterglow. Sanji's forehead is still pressed between your shoulder blades, mouth placing tiny, barely-fit kisses to the skin. You think he mutters something, but it's too quiet to make out over the sound of the water.

Eventually, he backs out of your personal space. You stand up straighter, back aching in protest from the adjustment of angle, before turning and seeing his flushed cheeks, wet hair, and lust-blown pupils taking in the sight of your face. Damn, you'd never get over the way he looked at you, day or night, anytime, anywhere. Like you were his everything.

Limbs still shaky and recovering from your strenuous activities, you pull his close and step under the direct spray of the shower head, deciding that finishing your relaxing shower was the best aftercare the two of you could think of after such an experience. He's of a similar mindset, more than happy to massage your body with your favorite shower gel and lotion to ease any strains or sore spots from his handling of you.

The rest of the shower is done in easy silence, hands caressing, massaging, smoothing, touching, and loving one another without hurry. You think to yourself, watching him brush your cheek with his thumb tenderly, that this man was truly heaven-sent. There was no one quite like him.

#sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #one piece x reader #sanji smut #sinful #one piece #scenario #vinsmoke sanji smut

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