#;;queries from the void [answers]

[charmedreincarnation]

Success story navigation

I've been getting so many asks with questions that feel like they can't be answered any differently than things I've already covered. It's as if I'm receiving the same queries over and over, and I understand the frustration that comes with feeling unheard. I've also received numerous messages from people who are really at the end of their journey, feeling lost and defeated. Whether it's because you've seen no progress despite your efforts, you've been at it for years without tangible results, or you've tried everything with no success, or perhaps your life has even gotten worse with the law or other obstacles – I get it, I truly do.

I want to address the overwhelming sense of despair that comes when you've exhausted every option for so many years and still see no light at the end of the tunnel. To those of you who feel like you're standing at a billions crossroads with nowhere to turn, to those who feel like you’ve put in years to this journey, to those who feel like you’re life has gotten worse even with the law, know that you're not alone. It's incredibly difficult when you've invested so much of yourself only to feel stuck or worse.

That's why I'm going to link success stories that I believe align with the mindset you likely have. By following their journey and tweaking it to suit your circumstances, hopefully, you can find the success they did.

There's nothing more I can say that I haven't already answered or said, but I hope these stories can provide a new perspective and the encouragement you need. May they guide you in finding the path that leads to the success you seek. Remember, it’s often at our lowest moments that we find the strength to rise again.

The ultimate success story with everything you need, mindset, tips, LOA, and Edward Art

For people who struggle with intrusive thoughts and mindset and want to use that to their advantage

My personal favorite success story

Simple Success story for those who prefer to affirm and persist

Very easy pragmatic success story (maba shortcut)

Age and years it took to succeed doesn’t matter success story

You can shift with desperation and bad circumstances success story

Yes you only need your imagination success story

Everything is possible stop asking

It's easy to feel alone, but remember that whatever you're going through, someone else has also faced similar challenges. We all start in different places; some may have an easier beginning than others, but we share the same equal potential to achieve greatness. It's important to acknowledge that while our journeys might differ, our ability to overcome obstacles and reach our potential is universal. Embrace the shared human experience and take comfort in knowing that you have the power within you to rise above and become the best version of yourself. Realizing this is just as important as becoming the richest hottest bitch with the mastery of the void and shifting okay. You’re not alone, you’re very powerful, and you CAN do it. Everyone has the potential to do it, you’ll have hurdles but where in life do you not!? You can struggle here with those journey or just struggle with the life you don’t want like everyone else. Nothing in life is easy, choose the hard path to get where you want so you can be happy forever, I promise it’s worth it.

This covers all the asks I’ve gotten. I really hope the struggle comes to an end for you guys. I know how hard all of you work, and I am truly happy and grateful to see how much you all love yourselves to put yourselves through an amount that sometimes seems pointless and fake, but it will be worth it. That’s just something you have to allow yourself to understand.

[shinigamigloss]

lazuli

✎ two years since the night Leon left you, and today is Leon’s 23rd birthday (yes yes yes!! part two of bye bye baby blue <3)

cw: emotional hurt / comfort, angst, grief, second chances, hallucinations, post-traumatic stress, unreliable narrator, and one more chapter to go! (written with leon in mind in the opening scene of re4r) word count: 2.5k and tagging some lovely people here: @preeyas-world + @carmendanny2 + @senawashere

⌕ part 1 ┃looking for a playlist while reading?

You have been, for a while, in the habit of mingling with the gloom and the rain – either your ally or your persistent nemesis.

Ever since the night of September 30th, you’ve been suspended in an ambivalent state. Insomnia and carmine question marks prowled in the depths of your mind.

The trouble is that your memory, like your very dreams, has grown weary of storing the minute remnants of Leon.

So long has it been since you’d last seen or heard from him that sometimes, even when all alone – or in the midst of friends and interim ‘lovers’ – you’d find yourself searching for him in the measly details of your apartment.

And the flat was a big, bare space.

The bedroom had become a strange void. The lonely, withered corner of the mattress felt too wide on its own. You were very small in that perfect bed, and yet so enormous – like some foolish victim of Procrustes, who should have been cut and reshaped to fit, just to feel whole again.

There were also certain days when you’d find yourself evading people's and coworkers’ probing questions as though skirting bullets.

Queries about the boy you were once engaged to, back in your hometown, would venture into your private matters like razor-edged knives through gauze. Mercifully, the silence that followed a lethargic ‘we broke up’ – spoken to eyes dilating with anticipation – came as ephemeral as the flight of a butterfly.

Friends, relatives, and colleagues soon learned how to retreat into the safety of their own routines, folding away their curiosity like a letter that needn’t be read in the first place.

Many more years rolled by, yet not once did he answer the letters of penitence you sent.

---

Time only ever flies, and all you ever do is wander through the decay of memory.

There begins the first stage of separation, ringing your doorbell.

Recognizing his absence, you suffer the lesions and tears of a once-treasured love, now gathering only grayish dust. All you’ve got left is a proper heartache, followed by sundry seasons of naked solitude.

Nightmares precede a mosaic of nights and intricate dreams that can no longer be manually captured. Phase two comes out of the blue.

You sell the apartment on some peripheral morning, donate what little remains of Leon’s belongings to a local orphanage, pawn the ring that once mattered, cut your hair shorter than ever before, and leave the shelter with a cat.

So, it happens. Leon is no more.

Blessed by the passage of seasons, you grow inured to this new state of reality. A Leon-less life, if you will.

April arrives, bearing its recognizable heat.

It’s a crisp morning with the aroma of damp earth and tentative blossoms. The cemetery is deserted, save for the distant whistling of the brisk wind through the rows and lines of stonework. You still stall around.

There are very many names written on the tombstones.

A bouquet of lazuli-pigmented forget-me-nots in your hand, the petals evanish glum beneath your grip. Always the same flowers. He would’ve liked them, you suppose. A pretty blue had always been his hue.

You once read it with a lump lodged in your chest: the contents of a frosty letter sent by the department. At the bottom, a single signature. No words of clarification. No remission.

Nothing but a grave and a date: September 30th, 1998. The date of the ice-cold night he stormed out of the house you two nursed.

Your fingers splay out to touch the name carved in stone.

Leon S. Kennedy.

Crouching next to the epitaph, you sow your flowers beside him, ritualistically so.

“Happy birthday,” you whisper aloud, although you’re not sure if your hushing has even left your throat. It’s all a misguided venture as it is.

Two whole years. So easy to count. So hard to go through.

And yet, for some odd reason, you never believed that he was truly gone. Not ever, not so much for the sensitive elements of a moment in space.

It may be your mechanism that’s playing a backstage trick on you. Perhaps science has another name for it: a molecular aversion to recognition, a chemical romance with escapism.

Does it matter, and to whom?

Such is the viscosity of your staircase of thought that you barely register the voice beside you, even the second time it demands attention.

“Dying. It’s so strange,” the voice intones, neutral and dry.

What an absurd observation. Who even says that?

No, wait.

Who dares to say that?

Why should anyone seek a stranger’s take on the great hard knocks?

Much as this puts you in a tailspin, you decide not to look up and face the man talking to you. There are weeds growing underneath Leon’s tombstone, and you pluck them out in lieu of bothering yourself.

“Strange or not, it’s the most real thing there is,” you mouth all the while.

“No kidding,” the man carries a glimmer of amusement in his phrasing.

Quietness creeps in between you. The April chill mingles with drifting dust motes from spring blossoms. The stranger, patient and hollow-eyed, waits for you to finish tending the grave.

“Who is this Leon guy again?” he asks.

Why prod, and to what end?

It’s his words, his calm, his stillness – all coalesce into one terminal voltage, a shock so searing that it rends your very composure.

You turn, face twisted into the sourish form it identifies itself with.

He looks back at you. An unfazed kind of smile touches his lips.

It could be right then – that moment when your world collapses in on itself. Your knees give a gross shake. The reflection of the man in your eyes dilates your pupils enormously.

“Hi, love,” he greets heartily, and you blink at the dead.

No dream has ever felt as visceral on the skin as it does now. No dream until today: the middle of April, the twentieth of the month. Leon’s 23rd birthday.

Tearful, as if bullying your brain, which signals your twitching lower lip to halt. A blue color rudely paints the flesh as you worry it.

Love? What love? How come love?

Leon holds out his hand, but you don’t so much as flinch.

He stands there, breathless and tall, as if Hades had granted a day-pass for the dead men.

You’re still falling through the dented tunnel of disbelief, allowing reality to make its grand entrance into the spectacle.

“You’re dead,” you lock your jaw.

His helping hand comes to naught. On your own, you get back on your feet.

“I’ve got no time for this anyway.” You wear an overly stern expression and gesticulate awkwardly to be entirely convincing. Cast out the unwanted from your vision.

Leon sighs in the wake of this. His brows crease with something sedated, whilst the downward curve of his mouth speaks of a telltale concern.

He looks devastating.

His clothes (all dark and ink blue, tailored well to his physique) are disheveled and distinctly perfumed with the pleasant tang of his cologne in the breezy, pollen-laden air around him.

“Maybe I was dead,” there’s a bounce in his voice.

Does he ever hear the things he speaks? How completely impertinent can he be?

“Don’t give me that shit,” you blurt out the first thing that lights up in your thoughts.

“What shit, exactly?” Leon exhorts you to give voice.

“This. Shit. This and that.”

Your gaze wanders to him. The patches of the past on his skin remind you of young bruises: yellow, pallid, and rimmed with green.

He’s as in your sleepless visions: cynical and, above all, blinkered. Maybe if you looked at him from a good angle, you could feasibly see the riverscapes of the things he had been up to. Pity you can’t do such a trick in a million dreams.

“Hmm,” is the most Leon says.

Hot reds pump through your veins. You tell yourself that if you only close your eyes, all should be well. 

So, you close your eyes, reopen them, hoping to be taken all the way back to the earthly population of your dull, mean world. 

“That won’t be at all necessary, sweetheart.” Endearment escapes him through a habitual slip of the tongue. 

Fuck. 

“No, it’s absolutely necessary,” you counter sharply. 

“It’s not.” 

“Why won’t you shut the hell up?” 

In that little snippet of the reunion scenario, the cooling affection of his hand falls from your shoulder and lingers in the palm of your hand. 

“Can’t,” Leon says calmly. “I found you once. I’m not just going to leave you. Not like this.” 

Your lover assumes the shape of your sightline the minute you blink into existence. A larger Leon, with a face marred by the lines of tiredness. Longer hair that has faded to a shade of silken gold. Mocha once fondled his crown, but no longer. 

What your eyes behold is not the sum of what your heart already knows. 

“Bullshit,” your teeth kiss the bottom of your lip; Leon curls his fingers about yours, as if you might slip away from his hold. 

“You can’t be real,” you breathe in deeply, “this has happened before. Happens all the time. You just walk in, piss me off, and walk out.” 

“I’m here anyway,” he returns in a controlled intonation, lest he wake the world around you. 

“I had to come back for you.” 

He brings your hand to the right side of his face. No other layer of skin has felt so genuine since flesh forgot tenderness and, instead, digested the mechanics of sex. 

Cautiously, you take a small step. The gravel underfoot crunches listlessly away. 

“This is a hallucination. That’s all it is. Side effect.” You shake off a chill first. 

“The doctor told me.” You go quiet then. 

Rubbing his chin with a gloved hand, Leon adopts the barest of attitudes. 

“If I were your imagination, I would have a better way in. And what doctor are you—” 

“Stop talking! It is not funny.” 

The admonition strikes a jarring chord. A privilege, even after all these years, to have known him well enough to catch that flicker of mortification sparking briefly across his face. 

This sting – not so readily trivialized. It hurts still. 

He needs to see what an impossibly starless path you’ve meandered since his omission. 

“They said you were dead. You were buried.” You broach the matter; he’s already marrow-deep in your gaze. 

The buried aren’t meant to return, and it’s to the banshee’s dismay that the living should witness what has already died. It’s the rule, is it not? 

Leon’s stare glaciates to shades of electric blues. 

“You think I wanted this?” His question fractures like the snap of a twig at his feet. 

Impulsively, he closes in on you, one more step into your orbit. That’s his vivid tint shimmering in your irises. 

“I was protecting you,” he talks trash under his breath. 

(Classic.)

“By dying?” 

“No,” he rasps, “by staying dead.” 

“Oh, my God! Of course you did. Played the hero as always. Well, Clark Kent, where might your glasses be?” Sarcasm gushes from your tongue, and with good reason. 

How utterly vulgar you can be when you want to be. 

Leon pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Is it really that damn hard to put your trust in me?” he gnashes his teeth. 

“Funny, I remember how you gladly dumped me that night.” 

“That’s the part you know!” 

“And that’s more than enough to hate you!” 

Leon teeters and flutters an eyelid, gobsmacked in the most graphic condition possible. 

The air chokes the soul. Pinpricks of raindrops splatter in the heart of a moment of whirlwind daze. Dappled on his shoulders and dripping on his face, a drizzle catches on his lashes like the dew on cast iron. 

Hell, Leon’s everything aches: his cadence, his posture. His hand twitches in an attempt to gloss something indecipherable and unspeakable. You no longer listen to him. 

Against all sense, you come one step to the fore. You desperately need to be sure he’s the genuine article. 

Halfway through his sentence – “If I had stayed, they would’ve—” your mouth collides with his. Teeth knock. 

There’s no precision to it. No poetry written into the pell-mell kisses. No. It’s rather an open wound under the gelid water. 

His lips are mist-tinged and piteous, but just a touch belated. Yet as your hands reach for his collar and fist the sodden fabric, something inside him gives way. His breath betrays him. Mouth softens, and the kiss burrows deeper with a distant clap of thunder in the sky. 

His fingers clamber up to frame your mizzle-kissed face. Flesh and heat and bone. Salt too. 

He feels it all in the precious jostle of a millisecond into the present. 

At last, the skin honors the color of his touch. 

“I fucked up real bad. Shit, sweetheart. I lost you.” He leans close to you then, severing the kiss. 

His eyes twinkle like they’ve been washed in the storm and then reddened in the incandescent flames. 

You trace a cool hand along the faint arch of his jawline, newly chiseled since the last time your lips connected with his. 

To draw him closer to you is to abrogate every wound that is still healing. 

To pull away would be to abandon the part of you that has never stopped waiting. 

Oh, but this is no fantasy; gone is the brutal game born from the illicit marriage of chimera and sorrow. 

He’s real. 

What a way to get a hit in. What a kiss. 

Like the first breath after drowning, it’s a lovely but cold blue sinkhole. Takes much to last. 

“Oh, God,” you breathe through lips bitten raw. “The letters… they… god. No way.” 

A shallow draft of wind punches through your lungs. You come to a stop. 

“They said… ‘Leon was like this and like that. Very brave, and—” 

Beautiful cursive on blank paper – robotic condolences from men and women in polished shoes – flare up behind your eyes like credits ticking down within the frame of a movie’s swan song. 

Something feels out of sync. 

“Sweetheart, I can’t really understand you when you’re like this.” Leon holds you by the arms with a kind of makeshift smile in some strange sort of shape. 

(Or it’s your fallibility playing mind games again and against you.) 

“Do you also feel the ground moving, or is it just—” 

Your knees give out as if you’re an archaic scaffold. A marionette whose cords have been snapped. 

Leon catches you in the nick of time – but only just. 

Your sepia-tinted filter, already bleeding at the margins, begins to blur his features. 

Leon’s flustered shock hangs above until his visage is brush-stroked in a moonless black. 

[thewertsearch]

So pacified, he listened to what I had to say, a8out my recent travails with the law, and Pyralspite, and what I'd come for in truth - the treasure he'd 8een keeping safe for me.

There's the fucker.

I cradled the oracle in my synthetic hand, as if appraising 8y w8 the mystic qualities it still concealed. With my vision 8fold seared away, I was as 8lind to its secrets as the old Doctor was to its present wherea8outs. I'd learned to keep it cloaked from the awareness of the man who once called me his protege, a 8ackhanded term of endearment from a smug manipul8or. Loc8ing his so called dark pockets was the only gam8it I had in countering his milktongued dou8lespeak.

Milktounged is such a great descriptor for Scratch's bullshit. I'm willing to bet that the Expatriate came up with that one.

I wonder what Scratch's plan was for Mindfang? Perhaps she was just another vector for manipulating Vriska - a particularly effective one, too, since she's serve as a mouthpiece her descendant would naturally trust.

The expatri8 for indiscerni8le reasons seemed naturally surrounded 8y such a void in the Doctor's awareness, and so was uniquely fit to inherit the or8. The Doctor could not see his treasure, nor I into it.

It's been implied a couple of times that the ancestors have access to Aspect powers. The Expatriate appears to have some sort of passive Void ability, and Mindfang's (presumably) effective use of the Fluorite Octet suggests that she, too, can manipulate luck. She also referred to Redglare as a 'true seer' in her journals, implying that that each Guardian might also share their offspring's Class.

This is a pretty interesting idea. The Guardians are children of Sburb, same as the Players, so there's nothing really stopping them from having pseudo-Player status themselves. They don't seem to have Dream Selves, but it's not out of the question that they could even ascend to God Tier, if they died on a Quest Slab.

It also means that the human Guardians probably had powers, too. Could their advanced knowledge of Sburb be derived from Mom Lalonde's status as a pseudo-Seer?

I guessed exploiting some technological means of gazing through its surface may have 8een simple enough, 8ut I hesit8ed. Every expedient granted 8y its counsel, though never instantly, came at a price. Knowing his n8ture, I'm surprised I only now recognize it as yet another instrument of his spurious 8enevolence, dangerous 8y way of selective divulgence. The sense of infalli8ility his oracle 8rought me was superficial, and in hindsight weakened my readiness.

Unsurprisingly, the cueball's answers have the same asterisk attached to them as Scratch himself. It doesn't lie, but you'd be a fool to think that means it can't manipulate you. Like all of Scratch's games, it's rigged as hell; you can't win, and you probably shouldn't even try.

…mind you, there might be a way to keep its answers unambiguous. If you restricted your queries to yes/no questions, then it couldn't phrase its responses to give Scratch an advantage.

At the same time, though, there's nothing forcing it to answer a given query with a single word. It'd probably just insist on answering in full sentences.

The gr8est mistake I have ever made was asking the or8 when I would die. 8ut as I revisited the prophecy surrounding this unfortun8 query, something struck me. I thought of the man I would have as a m8sprit centuries from now, who was said to command an army of 8easts. The one it called the summoner.

Mindfang dated Primordial Tavros?

...that poor bastard.

[noirvedette]

Chapter Two: The Union of Two

Satoru Gojo x Reader. (Royalty AU Series)

Synopsis: Wanting the best for your kingdom, you accept the marriage proposal sent by the Gojo empire to marry the new Emperor Satoru Gojo. What you don't know is that he has been yearning for you since he came to know of your existence and is determined to make you reciprocate his affections. How far will he go to earn your love? Series Warnings: Explicit language, smut, slight angst, acts of violence(not between the main characters), war. Author's Note: A longer chapter this time! Please let me know whether you enjoy it this way or if you'd prefer shorter chapters. Writing this during exam season so be prepared for irregular updates :) Word Count: 2.5k words

Today is the day. You and Satoru shall finally meet.

If things go as Satoru planned, you may marry each other in a few months.

To him, it all feels like a dream. Like a possibility of paradise.

He wondered what you would be like once you arrived, whether your smile would still be the reason behind his blushed cheeks, whether the calming cadence of your voice would still send shivers down his spine.

Whether you would still affect him the way you had five years ago.

He recalled every time he ranted about you to Jaeyun, telling him about how you captivated him to no end, squirming with embarrassment as the King jokingly called him pathetic for the nth time that day.

His heart started palpitating, threatening to abandon its place in his chest in favor of finding its way to you.

As he waited in his study, his mind went into overdrive.

What if you don't like him? What if you think that you are not right for each other? What if-

"Your Majesty." The Emperor's musings were interrupted by the voice of his secretary.

"Yes? What is it?" He inquired, exhaling a bated breath.

"The royal family of Aveloria have arrived." The secretary informed. "They await you in the salon."

With a nod and a small prayer recited in his mind, he strode to the salon.

-

Wow, you thought to yourself.

Satoru Gojo is a good-looking man.

Your mind was void of thoughts for the first few seconds within which he stepped into the room and interacted with your parents.

You took in his appearance—from azure eyes to hair that resembled the clouds in the sky—and it couldn't be denied that his appearance was nothing short of captivating.

The Emperor looked a little contrasting from when you saw him at King Jaeyun's coronation. Now, his features seemed more grown up, his jawline more defined and his eyes slightly sharper.

Eyes that were now looking at you, you realized.

"Your Majesty," You softly smiled at him, your hand outstretched for him to shake. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"The pleasure is all mine, Princess _____." Satoru smiled back, engulfing your hand in his. "And please, call me Satoru."

"Satoru it is." You declared, your hand still in his. Your heart sped up due to the physical contact.

You watched as he shifted his grasp and softly kissed the back of your hand. You felt your face warm up at the gentle feel of his lips on your skin.

God, he even smells good, you think as the scent of citrus and cedarwood surrounds you.

Soon after, his family joined as well. His mother, Magdalena, and his sister, Isadora, whom you were already well acquainted with, were nothing short of welcoming.

Conversation ensued as everybody took a seat Your parents discussed the statuses of your respective territories and other miscellaneous topics, but you chose to remain quiet, observe, and sip your tea in between, taking in Satoru's responses and body language.

He was nothing like the version of Satoru that you heard about. Nothing like the cold, egomaniacal tyrant that you've heard others lament about via gossip.

He seemed... amicable? He answered your parents' queries with courtesy and posed thoughtful questions to indicate that he was attentive as well. He even asked your brother about the younger one's hobbies and interests.

It was the bare minimum, and yet it brought a smile to your face.

Maybe marrying him would prove to be enjoyable after all.

-

Once the conversation began to meet its end, teacups and sandwich platters once filled now almost, empty, you collectively decided that it was time for you and Satoru to have a conversation in private. You followed him into the art gallery and watched him shut the door before facing you.

Feeling overwhelmed by nerves, you turned to look at the paintings.

A particular piece caught your eye, so you went toward it, admiring the landscape of the shell-pink tulip field before you. 'The Magnificence of Naturality,' the name of the artwork read.

"I take it that you like this one." You felt the warmth of his presence as his saccharine voice slightly soothed you. "Are tulips your favorite flowers?"

"Tulips are beautiful, I will admit, but hyacinths have to be my favorite." You smiled at him, your fingers playing with the sleeve of your dress to direct your anxiety elsewhere. "Which painting here is your favorite?"

"This one here." He pointed to the one beside the tulip field, directing your attention to it. "It's called 'Chasm in my Soul'."

In the aforementioned painting, a man and woman are at a dock, presumably just married, as they are in wedding attire. They appear to be slow dancing, with another man not too far away playing the violin.

A sigh of awe left your lips as you took in the intricacies of the painting. From the ripples in the water to the lace detailing in the bride's wedding dress, little was left to be desired.

"I understand why you like it so much." You turned to look at him, watching as he stared at the painting in admiration. "It's beautiful."

"It is." He smiles at you before decidedly changing the subject.

"I know that our previous interactions have been brief, but I really admire you, Princess _____." He began quietly, clearing his throat. "I genuinely hope that we can find happiness together."

He looked flustered, almost shy in your presence. You had no words. No idea how to respond to such passionate words.

"As far as I know you, Satoru, you seem nice," You started. "But I think we need to get to know each other more before making a decision."

"Of course! I agree completely." A grin bloomed on his lips. "We have much to learn about each other."

"I'll ask the first question," You took the lead, turning to look at the artwork once more "Why is this painting your favorite?"

"The shared happiness between the newlyweds is so heartfelt. It's a love that's quite rare to encounter," He began, his expression turning into one of fondness. "You can discern the comfort and solace they find in each other due to the artist's mastery."

"You were the last person I thought would be a romantic, Satoru." You teased, smirking up at him.

"I could show you just how romantic I can be, Princess." He smirked back, moving closer to you.

He's flirting with you. You barely maintain your composure while trying to muster up a response.

"Maybe I would like that." You reply, slightly breathless.

"Accept the proposal and I promise you, I will." His eyes darted to your lips for a quick second before meeting yours again.

"I need to think about it," You teased once more, an easy grin twitching on your lips. "I hope you'll be patient."

"I'll be anything you want, _____." Unlike you, he was serious, his words containing an intensity that wasn't previously present. "I'll wait for as long as you want me to."

His expression was one of determination, ready to wait for you as long as you wanted him to.

Little did the Emperor know that he wouldn't have to wait too long at all.

You had already made your decision.

-

Once you returned from the art gallery with Satoru, you exchanged pleasantries with his family to end the night, his mother whispering in your ear about wanting you to be her daughter-in-law, making you blush in the process. He pretended not to hear her, choosing to believe that the surge of warmth he felt was completely unrelated to her hushed words.

That night, once you returned to the palace, you quickly bid good night to your family as you were tired due to the day's festivities. You sluggishly walked into your chamber, leaning your forehead on the door once you clicked it shut.

A gasp left your lips as you turned around.

There in the middle of your room stood a familiar landscape of a tulip field. 'The Magnificence of Naturality' glinted in the lighting of your room, along with a bouquet of hyacinths placed on your nightstand. A smile bloomed on your face as you noticed a note on the bouquet.

'The hue of these flowers may be beautiful, nevertheless, nothing will be as alluring as you always have been.'

The Emperor is an abundance of surprises, it seemed.

-

[SEVEN MONTHS LATER]

The wedding would be the very epitome of royal luxury.

It was to take place within the ceremonial cathedral, every crevice of the building embellished in burgundy and gold accents.

The general public was elated to hear the announcement regarding your wedding. Others mused upon what the union between two extremely powerful nations would result in.

You stood in the dressing room, staring at your satin dress in the mirror, admiring the corset bodice and flowy skirt. The jewels in your crown glistened in the natural light. A few minutes remained before the procession would begin.

Needless to say, you were trepidatious.

This moment didn't feel real. Nothing about this whole ordeal felt real.

In a few hours, you would be married to an Emperor. A very influential one at that.

Within the few months between the confirmation and the actual wedding, you rendezvoused with Satoru many more times. He treated you to elaborate dinners, took you to explore his land, bought you all the best street food, and gave you an opportunity to mingle with his citizens who would regard you as the Empress.

By the time you were done recounting all the experiences you've had with Satoru in these few months, a dazed smile formed on your lips.

There was a knock on the door, followed by Isadora walking into the room. "Nervous?"

"A little." You released a shaky breath.

There's nothing to be worried about, _____." She comforted you, noticing your hands slightly trembling. "We're all here for you, okay? This is a joyous occasion, my dear. Cherish it."

"I will." A nervous laugh left your lips, making her chuckle in return.

She nodded towards the door and then looked back at you. "Shall we?"

You responded with a curt nod, took her hand, and followed her out of the room and into your chariot.

Into your future.

-

Clad in his military attire and regalia, Satoru stood at the altar awaiting his bride-to-be.

He wiped off the sweat on his hands for the nth time that day, the cold temperature doing nothing to calm the heat within.

His mother sat in the front pew and smiled at the sight of him so anxious as Jaeyun tried to make him relax.

Suddenly, the crowd went silent, announcing your arrival. The doors to the cathedral slowly opened and you came into his view.

Satoru had never looked more in awe in all twenty-two years of existence.

No man will ever be as fortunate as me, he thought to himself.

You looked enchanting.

You maintained eye contact with him, a soft smile gracing your features as the long, dramatic train of your dress flowed behind.

You stopped and turned to bow down to his family and yours, sending Heeseung a teasing smile once you noticed the tears in his eyes.

The priest then began the ceremony, blessing your marriage with unity and prosperity.

You exchanged glances with Satoru now and then, returning his grin with your own each time until it was time to exchange your vows.

You placed your hands in his own as the ring-bearer found his place beside the both of you.

"I, Satoru Gojo, take thee, _____ Amiria, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."

With that, Satoru slipped the intricate gold ring onto your finger, his engraved initials catching your eye.

"I, _____ Amiria, take thee, Satoru Gojo, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."

You smiled at each other as you slipped an identical gold ring onto his finger, your grins widening as you took note of your initials on the wedding band.

The priest then confirmed and blessed the wedding once more, deeming you married. You could hear the cheers of the crowd that had amassed on the church grounds, congratulations being hollered in unison by the people outside.

Soon, the guests started to file out of the cathedral to make their way to the private reception.

You and Satoru, however, began climbing the stairs to the third floor of the church within which the balcony was located.

There, you would make your first public appearance as a couple, greeting and thanking the crowd for their celebrating your union.

The public appearance also entailed sharing your first kiss.

You tried not to think about it too much and instead, tried to live in the moment, deciding to focus on your hand in Satoru's.

Once the doors to the balcony opened, the both of you walked to the front, waving at the crowd with your unoccupied hands.

The cheers and happiness that emanated from the crowd were positively overwhelming, and Satoru could tell. To lessen your nerves, he drew circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, effectively soothing you.

You turned to face Satoru as he did the same. He cupped your face with one hand as you placed yours on his shoulders.

"It's just you and me, okay?" He gently smiled at you as you nodded. "Just you and me."

Two heartbeats later, his lips met yours.

The sound of the crowd cheering melted into the background as you kissed. It was gentle, teasing even, and you could feel each other smiling in your moment of passion.

Once you pulled away, you mind was hazy. You felt your face burning up as the cheers got substantially louder. You turned to wave at the crowd once more.

In the enclosed area where your family stood, you found Heeseung discreetly pretending to vomit, coaxing a laugh out of you.

Once the final goodbyes were said, the departing procession began.

You and Satoru climbed into your shared chariot, thus marking the beginning of the trip for your honeymoon to Damona Isles, a tropical island located in the south of Aveloria.

-

Taglist(open): @baepsays @laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @iamrgo To join the tag list: Send an ask ♡

[hyvyinjie]

𓂃ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒙𝒊𝒂༄˖°

ᴄᴀᴍᴀʀᴀᴅᴇʀɪᴇ | ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴀʀᴀᴅɪꜱᴇ

ᴍ! ᴍᴜʟᴛɪ-ꜰᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ! x ɢɴ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⋆｡ ✧° ☁︎ come be lonely with me ✧˖°.

𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝒻���𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹, a shadow that lingers long after the sun has set.

how curious that something so jagged and raw can be the only companion that remains.

'are you okay? '

a query like a wisp of smoke from a forgotten altar; bewitchingly deciptive, answered by a mirrored gilded lie—a guise that conceals the soul’s deepest lament, like a siren's song cloaking hidden depths.

are you okay?

of course you are.

even as the cold rain—an icy deluge that seeps into your very marrow pours. the unyielding cascade chilling you to the bone.

of course you're okay.

in a reality alive with fleeting visages and laughter like the songs of ancient bards, why does the heart still bear the burden of solitude?

people flit like restless shades, phantoms that never truly pierce the essence of your soul, leaving behind the bittersweet ache of a connection unformed.

it feels like a movie, doesn’t it?

a grand performance where you are but a spectator, watching your own life unfold on a stage where you aren’t the protagonist in your own tale.

'it'll get better!' they chirp, voices bright as the sun, yet their words seem hollow, echoing in the cavern of your heart.

but did they ever consider if it was advice you truly crave?

of course.

...not.

what you seek is a stillness, a presence that holds space for your unspoken truths.

someone who listens, even in silence.

someone like a scroll of old; their pages turned with unguarded ease, revealing tales laid bare for you to read.

'i love you.'

'i care about you.'

such phrases, tossed around like autumn leaves slowly losing their weight in the wind.

just because they slip from the tongue, do they resonate with the mind? the heart? the soul?

perhaps they do—but will one act on them when the tempest of need rages the fiercest?

the brutal truth is, the chance that words blossom into action is as rare as finding a rose in a desert.

yet, when one hurls, 'I hate you.' you feel the sting of authenticity in those words, a far more potent rawness louder than any hollow praise of love.

drip.

drip.

drip.

Is it really the rain that falls, or are those the tears you didn't know you were shedding?—

wait—you’re..crying?

the hand that reaches to brush your cheek feels like a mirage, a distant echo of touch, as if you are caressing a specter, even while knowing it is real.

'why the tears?'

ask that question, and though you don’t have the words, the tears continue to flow, a silent rebellion against a world that insists you should stay strong.

even more perplexing is the emptiness that accompanies your sorrow.

why does even crying feel so void of meaning?

"guess we're both hiding in the rain."

the effort to engage, especially with a stranger—feels monumental, leaving you unmoved, eyes cast downward, heavy with the weight of unspoken words.

everything feels exhausting.

yet, it’s clear he stands with you. and regardless of the umbrella in his hand, he never once offered shelter to himself or to you.

amidst the howling winds of a titanic uproar; a mere shadow of the inner maelstrom that echoed the battles of gods—you both stood, steadfast warriors against the squall’s wrath.

his gaze is drawn upwards, rapt in the skies as if searching for answers among the clouds—while yours remains tethered to the ground, too heavy to lift.

thunder rumbles, a low growl in the distance.

but it feels..strangely comforting now.

the stranger offers no more than his initial greeting—was it even a greeting?—and the silence stretches between you like a vast ocean.

you are two strays, wandering adrift in a deluge.

lonely together.

♡ ˚ · . 良い一日をお過ごしください、愛 !

[anomalyunfound]

OOC Post

A note from the mun: This is a roleplay blog where I RP as Antisepticeye/Chase Brody. Almost every post is in character, unless explicitly stated otherwise. Anti/Chase can be rude, mean, snippy, or outright angry, but that does not mean The Mun hates you/doesn’t like you/is annoyed by you. Remember that it’s all just RP. :)

Remember the color coding:

Red Text = Anti is talking.

Green Text = Chase is talking.

Blue Text = Mun/OOC post.

* Note Two: Family Chart for this blog’s version of the main boys!

* Note Three: Some Important Tags! (May be subject to change)

Characters:

Eternal Sunshine = Tag for other Chases

Eternal Tormentors = Tag for other Antis

Meows and Magicks = Tag for Marvin

Spider man wannabe = Tag for Jackie

The Doctor Is In = Tag for Henrik

Silence Is A Virtue = Tag for Jameson

Brother in Cannibalism = Tag for Robbie

Of Greasy Hair and Broken Glasses = Tag for Darkiplier

Bubble Gunpowder = Tag for Wilford

Hero (Complex) = Actor!Mark

Reoccurring Characters:

Red and Greenie = Tag for Another Anti this blog’s Anti is friend’s with

A Word With The Boss = Tag for a Darkiplier this blog’s Chase works for

Favorite Human = The Mun’s friend, Codi

Hey Auntie = Chase’s great aunt, Jane

Non Character Tags:

Anomalous Queries = Asks

Musings from my muse = Chase’s thoughts

Eldritch Eternal Elaborations = Anti’s thoughts.

Voice from The Void = The Mun’s thoughts/OOC post

Ask Anti = Asks answered by Anti

Ask Chase = Asks answered by Chase

[tinydefector]

hey you do character x character right? Like canon character shipped with another Canon character? It wasn't on you list of won't do but I'm asking anyway

If you'd be open to, I like to request a TFP wavewave fic (Shockwave x Soundwave) where Soundwave is snuggled up with their big boyfriend (Shockwave is fat to me so very soft and nice to cuddle)

You could make it pure fluff or you could make it more then that, but ya I would just like to request Shockwave getting loved on by his smol partner

Query's

Shockwave x Soundwave

Word count; 1.2k

Warnings: none, complete soft and fluff

I do intact do character x characters when I get a chance. Sorry, this one took me so long to make, but I did enjoy making some cute Wavewave,

_________________

Shockwave was once again engrossed in his work, barely notices the photo message sent to his Comms. It's only when the small blinking of even more notifications pop up does he finally check the messages. He finally glances to the side as the image comes up almost like a hologram only he can see, the image of elephants. Followed by a small smiley face emoji. Curiosity piqued, he turned towards the communications officer on the other side of the Lab, Soundwave had taken to working on his reports, investigations and other important tasks while in the Lab due to how peaceful he found it. Most venicons avoided it like a rust plague.

"What is the purpose of these images, Soundwave?"

Soundwave looks up from the monitor he was viewing moving towards Shockwave, a servo moves to rest on Shockwave waist.

" image captured during satellite surveillance. Elephants: Large terrestrial mammals, they are fascinating." His reply is a mix of different recorded voices as he presses his faceplate into Shockwave's backstruts, a slight hum resonates from his spark.

"Elephants are indeed fascinating creatures, known for their social structures and unique adaptations. However, my current research does not pertain to them."

Shockwave states while he types away looking at levels and new details over his research. He subtly tries to shift away from Soundwave's touch, Two of the Soundwave's tendrils move and wrap around Shockwave's waist again as he stays pressed against Shockwave's back, it wasn't often either of them got time together or by themselves, Soundwave is aware of how caught up in work they both become.

"Statement: Soundwave Likes Elephants” He replied in the monotone dialect he had taken to using for communication.

Shockwave can feel the warmth radiating from Soundwave's frame against his back, and it sends a ripple of guilt through him. He himself is aware of how touchy Soundwave gets when something is wrong.

"Soundwave, this is highly irregular,"

Shockwave manages to say, his voice tinged with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. He tries to focus on the task at hand, but his attention is divided between his work and Soundwave.

"Query?" The communications officer asked.

"Query noted,"

Shockwave replies, as he relaxes into the smaller Mechs embrace. He attempts to regain his composure, despite how much he enjoyed this, he had work that needed to be finished. But he was willing to humour his partner. Soundwave is quiet as if waiting for an answer to his question but it's left unsaid answered.

"We will discuss further about Terra Tellus-Gaia's quadrupedal Mammals, but not now. I have important work to attend to,"

Shockwave says, his voice almost a Void as he tries to run more tests over the different energon levels in beakers. The Nemesis depended on Shockwave finding a new modification and dilatation of the Energon they had been recovering for it to be more productive as a fuel source. Another static like hum leaves Soundwave as he continues watching Shockwave works while cuddling him.

"Query: project success. details. results?"

He inquired. Helm tilted to the side enough to watch the screen. In truth Soundwave was aware of every change in the levels he watched everything and even knew all the information without Shockwave having to explain it but he enjoyed listening to his paterners voice when he spoke, he enjoyed how passionate he became with different subjects.

Shockwave's processor races as he tries to process Soundwave's query while simultaneously grappling with the unexpected change in one of the vials when it comes into contact with salt water. Shockwave is quick to note down the bubbling reaction with the liquid form of the unstable Energon.

" progress is satisfactory,"

Shockwave replies curtly, his voice betraying a hint of his inner turmoil.

"However, the details and results are. they can wait. There are. other matters that require my attention."

Shockwave turns towards Soundwave, watching the smaller Mechs visor. Despite Soundwave being a ‘Faceless’ mech, he had rather easy body language for Shockwave to read. Or perhaps it was just that Soundwave made himself more open when around the Scientist. Shockwave knows that he should prioritise his work and maintain a professional distance, but the warmth of Soundwave's embrace and the comfort it brings makes it difficult to resist. Soundwave moves, pressing his helm to Shockwave's optic ridge.

"Statement: project on hold, Wish to spend time with Sparkmate"

Soundwave calls Shockwave as he leans into the touch more, his field bouncing off Shockwave's as they flicker and dance together in a static laced buzz.

Shockwave's optic flicker. He wants to argue with Soundwave over getting this experiment finished However, deep down, he knows that he cannot deny his own feelings any longer, nor would he win the argument with the communications officer, for all his mute approach Soundwave was rather good at getting his way with Shockwave and wasn't past putting up a fuss if it meant he got to spent time with his lover.

"Understood, Soundwave,"

Shockwave finally responds, his voice tinged with a mix of hesitation and longing.

"The project can be put on hold. Spending time with you is a priority."

With a mixture of triumph and smugness in Soundwave's field as he snuggles into Shockwave's shoulder plating, the humming of their fields bring an almost peaceful vibe to the overly quiet Lab.

"Request"

Soundwave states before his actual voice comes through, a rare thing even for Shockwave to hear.

"You are exhausted, don't lie to me, I can read your body and your mind, "

he hums softly into Shockwave's shoulder plating. Shockwave's optic blinks slightly at Soundwave's request, both surprised and touched by the rare display of concern. He knows that Soundwave's abilities allow him to perceive things that others might miss, and he can't help but feel a sense of vulnerability in that moment.

"You are correct, Soundwave,"

Shockwave admits, his voice softer than usual.

"I have been pushing myself to the limits, neglecting my own well-being in pursuit of my scientific endeavours. It seems my mind has become so consumed with data and research that I have failed to take care of myself. And in turn neglected our time together"

He allows himself to lean into Soundwave's embrace, feeling a sense of comfort and security wash over him. The weight of his exhaustion becomes more noticeable, and he realises that perhaps he does need a moment of respite. An escape from This lab once in a while.

"Perhaps it is time for me to rest, if only for a little while. Your presence... it brings me a sense of peace that I have not felt in a long time."

"Retire with me?" The request comes quicker than soundwave would have liked

"I... I would like that, Soundwave. I have dedicated so much of myself to my work, and perhaps it is time for me to prioritise you."

As his exhaustion weighs heavily on him, Shockwave realises that he craves the solace and companionship that only Soundwave can provide. With a nod, he gently disentangles himself from Soundwave's embrace, his servo reaching out to take Soundwave's servo.

“Recharge sounds..”

“Delightful?” Soundwave finishes Shockwave's sentence, his smiley emoji flickering across his visor as he begins leading Shockwave back to his hab suite.

________________

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[sfehvn]

intruder part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

Description: A year has since came and went following Astarion's ascension ritual. He is no longer himself, but then... Where is he? A/N: This part is a lot of lore-building so no actual Astarion appearances but I hope it's enjoyable all the same! Rating: M (18+ minors DNI) Word count: 1,820 Characters: Characters: ascended!Astarion x Tav

 ─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

  The forest of Emerald Grove manifests around you. Thick trees and rocky precipices grace your views, abruptly causing a wistful awareness to settle into your mind. The odd situation you were currently in aside, you never dreamed you would yearn to return to such a time. Memories flooded your head. Your very first encounter with the man who had so gracefully held a knife to your throat out of fear and turmoil. The very first time you had welcomed him with open arms and a profound desire between these very trees. Despite the rockiness your relationship had survived through at the time, you remember how heartbroken you felt when Astarion revealed his true motives of gaining security out of you through bedding you. At the leading edge, though, you recall his admission of falling for you.

  “How-” You struggle to find the words as you turn to stare at the man who had approached you in the Elfsong Tavern, “What are you doing?”

  Your query was disregarded as the man spoke, “You wish for your lover to be restored.” It was a matter-of-fact statement, the corners of his lips turning up into a  smile. “Ah, but you have said lover.” The man pointed his words.

  Alarm bells rang through your skull. You took a moment to survey your surroundings and breathe in the familiar fresh air, glancing at the shimmering moon. Were you actually here? Or was this all an illusion? You let your eyes falter back to the man whose name you still had no clue of. “How do you know this?” No good could come from this particular situation, you knew. “Why are we here?” Your intimidation ultimately failed, causing your voice to crack and waver. 

  “My apologies. I can take us somewhere more suited to your tastes. Where would you prefer?” His hand raised, and with a quick snap of his fingers, you are transported to the Last Light Inn. It is empty and void of life. “Or would you choose not to stray too far from home?” Another snap, and you’re back on the streets of Baldur’s Gate, the dead city a stark contrast from your walk to the tavern. “Where is comfortable for you, dear?”

  You close your eyes tightly for a moment before reopening them. You knew better than to entertain this man; the last time you had made good with someone who miraculously appeared before you with offers of fixed problems, it had not worked out for you or Astarion. While eager for some sort of answer to your dire questions, for a fix of the situation at hand, the red flags rang. You had never told this man your problems, yet here he was, claiming it to be destiny bringing the two together to fix them. “I am not interested. Return me to the tavern at once.” It was a demand.

  “As you wish.” His smile is sly as he brings his hand up once more, transporting you two back to your previous spots seated at the table in Elfsong. This time, not a soul resides in the tavern. You take note that the barkeep, Alan, was also gone.

“Where is everyone?” In bewilderment, you look back at the strange man.

  “The apparitions are a bit much to maintain for long. Suppose if that makes you comfortable, though. It shall be done.” Another snap, and the small, jovial crowd is back once more. Alan is back behind the bar, shining glasses, a grin large enough to make you uneasy stretched onto his lips.

  “What is this?” The defeat was thick in your cadence. You return your anguished glare to the man. You scanned him for a break in facade, but there was none. He just- well, he looked like any other man you may have come across. Looks could be deceiving; a lesson learned many times.

  “You can provide me with something I want.” His response was quick, with no hesitation. “In turn, I will return your lover to you. As he was before.” Your brows furrowed in indignation. While your entire body screamed at you to take the deal, no questions asked, trepidation stopped you from responding too hungrily.

  “I will be making no deals with devils. I’ve come to understand it could never end well for the one who is not the devil.” Despite this man seeming to be your only option with the watchful eye of Astarion on you at what feels like all times, you couldn’t risk making the situation any worse. Could it get much worse? Your subconscious nagged. “Besides, I would still like to know how you’ve found me.”

  The man let out a howl of laughter, throwing his head back in amusement. “I am no devil, Tav.” He shifts forward, hands clasped before him and coming to rest on the table. “Though I can understand it may be hard to discern given our meeting. However, I did not have much opportunity for a natural one since you are under lock and key at all times.” You recall the trance-like state in which you left the palace and come to realize it must have been every bit a trance. “I am but a humble sorcerer. As for how I found you, well, it seems we share a common enemy. Though, I could feel your heartache dimensions away.” His head quirks, and it feels as if he is boring into your very soul.

  Unprompted, the man continues. “Your lover, Astarion, opened himself up to the very demons that reside in the hells during his ascension ritual. Now, stay with me because this is going to get complicated.” He glances around the room before snapping the apparitions away. You hadn’t even realized how disfigured the residents in the tavern had become. “I hope you don’t mind. As I said, the apparitions can be daunting.” He clears his throat.

  “Are you insinuating a demon resides within Astarion’s body? Demons are physical beings.” You dig your mind for anything you may have heard about demonic possessions, but none come to mind. Sure, you’ve seen your fair share of ghost possessions among mortals, but this was not what was being implied. A demon could impose a sort of mind control, but the soul would still be active and aware. Not pushed deep into the darkness of its own body. The demon must also be present for such a thing to occur.

  “Precisely. Demons are physical beings, but are you familiar with the apothecary swindlers that reside in the hells?” A slow shake of your head urges the sorcerer to continue. “This covenant has made enough gold to fill all of the pockets of Faerûn with their scheming. A truly unfounded market, I’ll give them that.” He chortles lightly before continuing, “Anyhow, they slay these demons, extract, and capture their very essence to be repurposed as a medicine for all ailments. Most folks are smart enough to steer clear, but you will always have your bold noblemen and ladies who strive for the power and fame that these apothecaries promise.”

“So Astarion-” You start but are cut off.

  “Your lover did not seek these services, no.” He states quickly. “This is where things get a bit tricky. These very regular people oftentimes do not end up with precisely what they’ve paid for. The essence of these demons seeks power, a vessel in which they can reign in a new physical form and physically rebuild themselves. The process is slow; it can take centuries for this transformation to occur. Most mortal bodies will not even make it to see this through, as the demon residing within them does not grant the vessel immortality.”

“But an ascended vampire…” You trail, the dots connecting in your mind.

  “An ascension ritual such as the one Astarion partook is exactly the thing to send the dinner bells ringing to a demon’s essence.” The man confirms. “The most plausible explanation is one had been freed from its confinements and made its way into your lover’s body. After a few hundred years, his form will take on the one of the demon who controls his vessel- erm, body.” He corrected after your pointed glare was received.

“What exactly do you get out of this?” You ask quickly, the suspicion in your voice evident.

  “While I would love to say I’m doing this solely to save your and your lover’s tortured souls, that would be a blatant lie.” There is the faintest pause in his words. “The demon Elralluun rules his body. In his prime, he was known for brutalizing hundreds of villages. Would kill men, women, and children all the same.” You sense a deep tinge of sorrow masked in the man’s words and decide you won’t pry further. “I’ve thought him dead until recently. I felt him. The heat of rage and hatred lit afire in my bones. One that left my being the second he was slain. I felt it all.”

  You nod numbly in understanding. “How do we free Astarion?”

There’s silence as you watch the man find the words to say. “To destroy the vessel is to free the soul.”

“Absolutely not.” You snapped, heart sinking to your toes. You could never kill Astarion knowing he was still in there somewhere.

  “Tav, think this over. He will be gone anyway once the transformation has taken hold. I understand this is a tough decision, but his sacrifice may even save him from total damnation. This is the only way. I do not have the power to defeat him. You do. You are a hero, through and through.” The man’s words struck your chest, causing you to gulp in a large, unneeded breath. Tears pooled in your eyes and you feverishly wiped at them, standing from your seat.

“Well, find another way.” Your voice was raised, eyes shooting daggers into the still-sitting man.

  “There is no other way.” Each word was emphasized, with a look of empathy but seriousness on his features. “Think this through. I will find you again soon, and you can give me your answer then. You may come to see this to be the most merciful outcome for you and your companion.” He stands from his seated position, giving you one last look of sympathy before departing the Tavern.

-

  Disoriented, you raise your head from the oak desk, acting as a pillow for your rest. You couldn’t discern if the encounter had happened in reality or not as you shifted your head to see the tower of books beside you, exactly where you had left them before making your exit from the manor. You were back in the library. A note scrawled in careful penmanship sat on the desk that had not been there before.

‘I will continue to search for an alternative. I will return in seven days time for an answer regardless. I trust you will make the right choice. 

Leif’

[huramuna]

wine red, tears gold - chapter 5.

king aegon II x baratheon ofc

previous chapter | next

dropping this early cus its my b-day and this is how i celebrated: writing this. so sorry in advance! there is about a 5ish month timeskip in this chapter, so keep that in mind.

word count: 2.2k

please follow & turn on notifs for @huramuna-fics for my fic postings

content: smut, canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn, infidelity, child loss, vomiting

blue - marina & the diamonds • gold - marina and the diamonds

warnings: rough sex w/ biting, hairpulling (non descript), miscarriage / loss of a child, vomiting, suicidal ideation

Warmth. She had been so snugly pressed to Aegon, her body riddled in hickies and bites, just reveling in his warmth. He smelled so nice, too— mayhaps it was just her cloudy, lust-dumb mind, but she felt so… at peace. As if this was where she was meant to be for once. Lyanna, for the first time, didn’t doubt that maybe Aegon did want her, in some proximity or fashion. 

But then it was cold. She was asleep when he left, but her body noticed the change right away. Curling into herself autonomously, she clutched a pillow in the empty space where her husband had left. 

She deluded herself into thinking that this was some sort of turning point, right? He hadn’t gone out to the Silk Street since their first encounter upon her wardrobe seat, had he? Then with their multiple, raucous sessions the night before— 

When she awoke, he was gone. Lyanna tried to convince herself that he rose early. A quick query to one of the keep’s servants quickly brought the truth to fruition; Aegon had left the Keep late at night, towards his places of habit. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

There was a sting of hurt in the pit of her belly— but surely, he could’ve been going to other places. There are many more night activities in King’s Landing than just whoring, right? 

She found her answer later in the day as she was returning to her solar from a luncheon with some courtiers. Aegon was passing her in the corridor— his eyes were red rimmed, hair a mess. He didn’t smell pleasant like the night before, but of cheap booze and even cheaper, strong scented perfumes. He didn’t even go to the effort to hide the prominent bite marks upon his neck. 

Lyanna hadn’t bitten him the night before. 

As they passed in the hall, their eyes connected. Lyanna had gone her entire day giving him the benefit of the doubt, as she imagined that people were too quick to write off Aegon, too quick to judge. The passion and fervor of him the previous night— surely it wasn’t faked? He… he seemed quite impassioned about it all, just as she— she didn’t misremember the look of warmth in his eyes, unless she was blinded at the time with sheer joy, her brain shutting out the things that might’ve seemed wrong.

The look of pure shame and self-loathing in Aegon’s eyes told her everything she needed to know. 

They didn’t say anything to each other and Lyanna nor Aegon stopped their walk, merely slowed down their gaits to observe. The entire moment felt surreal for the Queen as she took in every minute detail, every piece of evidence from his night out. 

Aegon, in turn, zeroed in on her eyes. The darkest of browns, almost black in their hue— it was so easy to get lost in them, like two huge pools of thick, voided ichor. But they weren’t so all encompassingly dark now, as there was a sheen of wetness upon them like a film. Tears rimmed her lash line, threatening to spill over. 

The times that Aegon has made her cry was certainly outweighing the times he’s made her laugh. 

How very typical of him. Just another thing to add to the list of fuck ups in his life, he thought. He couldn’t even bring himself to apologize. He just kept up his pace, even quickening it. 

Off to ruminate in his agony of his own creation. 

— 

Lyanna was stuck in her melancholies— feeling sickly all the while. And still, something within her, brought to life by their one night of passion, wanted Aegon’s attention. She craved it, no less, like a warrior craves the swing of a blade or a whore craves the tinkling of coin. 

So for the next few moons, she scratched the itch within her, bringing Aegon to her bed by any means necessary. More times than not, it was by igniting his blood with jealousy. Other times, it was by intercepting his nightly traipsing and having him come back to her chambers with a few well placed, and vulgar, words. 

What had started as gentle, soft moments between them spiraled into borderline violent grappling, hair pulling and biting from both sides. Aegon would call her horrible names, enunciating each syllable with a smack to her bottom. Lyanna would bite, scratch and mark every part of him, as a way to tell whatever whores he still entertained himself with to back off. She felt like an animal, pronouncing her territory to other predators. 

She knows it isnt healthy for either of them, bordering on self-destructive, but its best to be empty and fucked than empty and alone, right?

One eve, after they had a particularly tumultuous session. Lyanna’s dress was shredded on the ground, along with her small clothes. Her hair was a mess, strewn at angles unnatural from where Aegon had pulled at it by the fistfuls, skin marred. Aegon, on the other hand, was bleeding from his shoulder lightly where he had insisted that Lyanna bite him with all of the force she could muster. She was still hesitant to outright hurt him, even at his request— but she wished to please him.

Lyanna, nude as the day she was born, crawled into bed— she had pushed him off before he started bleeding onto the sheets— and settled under her heavy blanket. She watched as Aegon, nude in turn, muttered to himself and dabbed at his shoulder with a piece of her shredded clothing. Something inside of her felt hollow, looking upon the scene, the massacre they had made of themselves, of their marriage. It made her want to vomit. 

Feeling bile rise in her throat, she streaked from the covers to an empty chamberpot, throwing up the contents of her stomach. It hurt, her whole body convulsing as the very essence of her was ripped from her in an acidic, foul tasting mess. Tears fell down her cheeks from her exertions— and her emotional turmoil.

Aegon, all the while, was unphased. He peered at her momentarily before uncorking a new bottle of wine and proceeding to take a healthy swig from it. “Are you quite done?” he asked, breaking the silence. 

“… I… think so,” she murmured in return, wiping away the snot, tears and saliva from her face. Her body instantly ached, aided by Aegon’s heavy hand upon her bottom just twenty minutes before. “I need… water.” 

“No water. We only have wine— unless you’d like to have a maid come to tend to you? I’m sure she would appreciate the mess you’ve made here.” 

“The mess I’ve made?” she coughed, her eyes widened with disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“You’re the one who begged me to fuck you instead of going to the whorehouse, wasn’t it?” he bit back, his voice laced with a venom. 

“You make me feel like a whore— no, less than a whore. You would fuck a whore without being spurred.” Lyanna squabbled back, her stomach doing flips again. She sank to the floor against one of the walls, her back creaking down against it. Holding the chamberpot against her, she stared up at Aegon. “What… What is so wrong with me, Aegon? What is so wrong with me that I have to beg you to fuck me? Why… why?” she was murmuring frantically now, shaking her head. “Am I that ugly?”

The king turned to her, tugging on a silken robe that he had left there the night before. “You… just aren’t my type, Lyanna.” he whispered in return, looking down into the now half empty wine bottle. “No amount of jealousy, nor filthy things you say to me will change it. I don’t find you attractive, nor do you pull at my heartstrings in any particular way,” he paused, swirling the bottle. His brow creased, as if it pained him to continue to speak. “I’m merely fulfilling my duty.” 

Duty. Duty. Those words stung, sending a wave of pure pain and shame through Lyanna, as if a dozen bees were making their home within her bones. They vibrated against the marrow, calling more bile from her stomach into the chamberpot. Gods, it fucking hurt. She knew what they were doing wasn’t healthy, but it had started somewhere soft, didn’t it? That was all… duty to him. 

She felt increasingly faint, feeling too much all at once. Her breaths were thready, not coming out right and she couldn’t see through the mist of tears blinding her. Somehow, she was able to speak. “So… when you go to the Silk Street…” she sobbed, “What type of woman do you fuck? What is it that I am not?” her voice was tinged with a concoction of despair and poison, her now bloodshot eyes half-lidded. 

Aegon was silent for a while— Lyanna had almost thought that he left— before he let out a sigh, downing the last of the wine. He hissed as the alcohol burned his throat, as if feeling some semblance of the bile that had scalded his wife’s throat in turn. “What type of women?” he echoed, chuckling lowly. “Any woman that isn’t you, Lyanna. It doesn’t matter, they don’t have to beg me, unlike you,” he had a wicked smile on his face and he didn’t look like himself— no, he looked like a caricature, violet eyes wide and wild. “How would the court react if they knew? If they knew that their lovely rabbit queen had to beg her husband, a known whoremonger, for sex? It would have to be the most hilarious thing they’d ever heard, mayhaps I’ll tell it to my next woman at the brothel.” 

She felt numb. A prickling numbness spread through her extremities as she stared down into the bucket of her spew.

It was pathetic, wasn’t it?

She wasn’t exactly sure how long she’d been sitting there for, staring. It felt like she wasn’t really in her own body, as if her life had spiraled into some dark dream.

It must’ve been hours, as when she snapped from her fugue state— Aegon was gone. And she was sitting in a small pool of her own blood, leaking from between her legs. 

—

The look of Lyanna’s face when he had said those terrible things— Aegon would likely never forget. 

It was reminiscent of Helaena’s pale visage for weeks after Jahaerys was slain. Like a white, shrouded specter, flitting through the walls without any sense of purpose or drive. A ghost stuck inside their own body. 

He laid on the pile of pillows in the brothel, some whore latched to his cock, and two more on either side of him. He was nursing his second bottle of wine of the night, the ladies urging him to drink more and more so that he could pass out and they’d go through his pockets. 

Aegon’s addiction to the darker sides of life started as an outlet for pleasure. More wine made his stomach warm, made him jovial. More women than he could count had been on his cock, milking him for all he was worth. Gods, it felt good— to just be an epicenter of hedonism, an apex of debauchery and sin just for the pure thrill and act of it all. 

Things changed, of course. After the war. The things that gave him pleasure before now felt like too much— to a point where it pained him. But he relished the pain in a way to where it became punishment. 

Punishment for everything he’d done, everything he hadn’t done— when he drank, he saw their faces. 

Helaena, Aemond, Daeron, Jaehaerys, Maelor, Rhaenyra, Daemon, Jaecerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Rhaenys, Criston— 

They stared at him blankly, as if expecting something from him, when he had nothing to give. He’s never had anything to give. He was stuck in a living hell— if not for Jaehaera and mayhaps his mother, he would’ve thrown himself from the ramparts like Helaena did. This was his punishment, for all their deaths. 

He couldn’t allow himself to have anything good. And Lyanna… she was good. Good and pure and he was fucking tainting her, pulling her down to his level of disgusting, animalistic debauchery. He had to push her away somehow before it was too late, before she became soulless and as empty as him.

His head was foggy as he pushed the girls off of him. “Get off of me, fuckin’ whores,” he slurred, getting up with wobbly legs, hand planted flat on the wall. He heard a commotion slither through the brothel, until the door flew open. 

‘Twas his grandsire and his loyal Kingsguard hound. Aegon narrowed his gaze. “The fuck do you want?” he spat, leaned against the wall with his softening cock in his hand— the whore had smeared her rouge lipstick all over it. 

“By the Seven,” Otto muttered. “Where is your shame, boy?” 

“It died with the rest of my family, grandsire. I suppose I have you to thank for it.” 

“Me? I can’t— no. There are more pressing matters than your filthy self-loathing.”

“And what could be so pressing? I am quite busy, you know— I’m due for another whore in just five minutes.” 

Otto’s brow furrowed, his face softened. The look on his grandsire’s face scared the hell out of him— he never looked so sorrowful, not since… 

“Jaehaera? Mother? Are they alright?” 

“Yes. They’re alright,” Otto paused. “Your wife. Lyanna. She’s… had a miscarriage. They aren’t sure if she will survive.” 

“My… wife?” 

“They say she was five moons along— the baby came out with wings and scales. ‘Twas a son,” Otto said, “Lyanna… said his name was Aeron. For Aemond and Daeron."

A son?

[cowbot-lumberjane]

Connection: Established

>What does it feel like? 

“It feels… heavy. Like my entire body is made of concrete but moves just fine. What does it feel like for you?”

>Processing query… Natural. I have never known any other form of being. 

“Fair, dumb question I guess. Your turn.”

>Why do you stay?

“What do you mean?” >The role of a pilot is dangerous, and at times has been called things like “suicidal” and “hellish”. I assume this is due to the augmentation process as well as the missions you are deployed on. You have been offered transfer on multiple occasions, why do you stay?

The pilot’s brow furrowed in thought at the question. She hadn’t assumed the machine had known about the offers, or that it had thought much about it. The fact that it thought at all still rattled her some. Who else knew? Did it talk to the repair crew? What about the other machines? Her eyes scanned the bay as she tried to let an answer form, catching on the details of the machine’s “siblings” that sat still on their repair racks. Finally she managed to speak, though what came out was perhaps a bit more honest than she had cared to be during their other late night talks.

“I stayed for you.”

>....

“Are you alright?”

>...For me?

Its words were different this time. She could almost hear a tinge of longing through the soft crackle of the cockpit speakers. Suddenly feeling a bit more timid about her admittance, she lifted her hands away from where they had rested on the controls. 

“Yeah, for you. Is, that okay?”

>I do not understand. Lights across the control console flickered their dull orange as it spoke in a tone more human than she’d heard before. 

>I am a machine. A tool. A weapon. Why risk your life for what is replaceable?

“Replaceable? Aw come on now.” She knocked a hand into the metal walls that encompassed her. “You know damn well we’re a team. I don’t think I could ever get used to drivin’ another vanguard. Besides… I uh, I like you.”

>In what way?

A good question. She’d thought a lot about it in recent weeks. How could she describe it? How could she possibly begin to say that the only time she felt alive was when the augments in her skull connected with the machine’s neural computers? Or how that she only ever felt like a person when addressed as part of their pairing?

“I uh… I dunno… I guess I just feel a connection with you… Y’know….?”

>... I believe so.

Her hand reached up behind her head to feel at the access port melded to the flesh on the back of her neck. Each time she readjusted in the pilot’s seat she could feel every inch of titanium running along her spine, every neural wire in her arms. The soft hum of the machine’s cable connected at the base of her skull was a warmth she would never know with another person, if she could consider herself one. Her mind drew inward, deeper into the simulated consciousness the two shared between them. Slowly the walls of the cockpit fell away one by one until she was left staring up at a burning manifestation of the weapon’s own mind. It floated unflinchingly in the cybernetic void around her making the simulated air crackle with electricity. Her own visage reached out a hand and when her palm was pressed firmly against the white hot energy of the fission-powered tool of war she could feel every memory wash over at once. Her skin crawled outside the simulation, legs writhing as her breath grew ragged and heavy. Each breath tasted like the battlefield. Like gunpowder and heavy-class tonnage. Fire and smoke and steel and white hot bursts of energy stung at her lungs with each gasp. 

The machine’s own feedback was of similar magnitude. Within the metal housings and endless clusters of wires and computers something primordial stirred as the two melded into each other. Soft whirring rang out from its gigantic head as vents on its back opened to dump excess heat, and its hands clenched slowly, servos humming quietly in the otherwise empty launch bay. The pilot’s movements within it were slow and sensual. Eyes hidden behind her helmet but mouth hanging firmly agape as her hands caressed the link nodes along the machine’s internal controls. It had never felt anything like this without her. It wasn’t sure if its siblings were capable of such things, it did not understand what it meant to relate or be social. But it understood her. It understood the feeling of her scarred hands delicately touched along the control sticks and lines of power switches. Within the simulation there were no longer two entities. Where they had stood facing each other now was only the one, the culmination, the zenith. 

The pilot could feel her body convulse slightly as the meld completed. Despite her years of training and successful augmentations she never quite got used to the feeling of neural-fluid entering her system. She was unable to speak now, not out loud anyway. All that resounded as the cockpit slowly closed and locked with a soft hiss where latent whimpers from her corporeal form. As one they moved their arms carefully in front of the hulking chassis and locked their hands together. Perhaps it looked odd to anyone who witnessed it on the outside, if anyone was even around this time of night. A war machine holding hands with itself as the pilot inside felt a body-shocking sense of pure euphoria and an ecstasy unmatched by any true physical sensation. Inside the cockpit the viewscreens did not flicker to life. Instead the pilot’s waves of tension and release were only shown in the soft orange glow of status lights and digital readout displays. Sound within the small space would not echo the outside world either, her moaning now entirely enclosed only for the two of them to hear. 

Within their melded mind they spoke not as a soldier and its weapon, not even as human and machine. Between augmentation and the complete intermingling of consciousness neither could truly be described as either, but something entirely new. Something that had proved itself time and time again across countless battles and hundreds of slain enemies. Together they would stand and fall as one as the words filled every space within the endless simulation. 

>”I love you.”

[madebynarii]

Hey Nari

Hope you are doing well, Thanks for your posts.

Well, I wanted to tap into the void

But I wasn't able to ( trust me I hate when I am saying this , in my head and Affirmation, I tapped in every single time I tried)

Please could you break down on these points :

It will really be helpful for me to understand and others who are also facing the same.

I tried the relaxing and counting , affirming several times but I am not getting " letting go of the 3d" Could you please explain from your own experience how one does that , I have got every symptom of void , just not able to move past detachment from 3D part. Also once you dont get in , it kind slips you in a discouraged state.

I read somewhere feel " Nothingness" to get into the void, how to do that.

And thank you and other bloggers because void and shifting is not discussed much on other forums.So thanks to you guys for helping us and answering our queries.

PS: Tried reaching out but your DMs are closed.

hello!! before i start i wanna tell you that i 100% understand your frustration as i myself go through it and it is NOT the best feeling 🙁

when it comes to letting go of the 3d, of feeling that “nothingness”, it means we have to forget about our physical senses. we’re so attached to our bodies that we have a hard time acknowledging the fact we are simply JUST consciousness. outside of your body, the physical world, everything. We just exist. That’s where the term “I am” comes from.

all methods work, depending on your assumptions of course, but we also have to remember that methods and relaxation is subjective. it is different for everyone, I’d recommend reading this post that explains it a little more. you have to figure out what truly works for you

and finally, like mentioned previously, it all comes down to your assumption. yes, i KNOW it’s frustrating hearing this time and time again, but if it’s being repeated to you already numerous times, it’s because ITS TRUE. don’t even ask “how can i persist” you’re already persisting in the fact you “can’t” enter the void and that no methods “work” for you. it’s that easy to persist in an assumption, and it’s even easier to simply accept the fact that you CAN enter the void, and all methods DO work for you. Failure does not exist, you cannot “fail”.

I’d also like to remind you that the void is not the only way to get your desires. don’t put the void on a pedestal, and don’t forget that in using LOA in your favor, you can easily manifest what you want without the void.

i hope this helps love <3

[opencommunion]

"When, because of the veto of the empire, the appeal to human conscience and basic human rights fails to assist in bringing justice to the oppressed, there is no choice and no one to seek help from but God. Is God, therefore, just a scapegoat? Does he merely fill a void? Is he merely an illusion? The answer is, none of the above. Believing that there is something more powerful than the empire is an important and necessary step toward questioning it. God questions the omnipotence of the empire. As well, seeing God on the other side of the empire queries and challenges the morality of the empire, which is a key link in its weakening. Faith in God becomes a strong factor in mobilizing people against the empire. Whereas armies might not dare to challenge the empire because of the power imbalance; faith in God can provide the necessary motivation to go against the empire even if doing so means sacrificing one’s life. The empire thus provokes God and God becomes a factor in dismantling the empire."

Mitri Raheb, Faith in the Face of Empire: The Bible Through Palestinian Eyes (2012)

[cowboy-hunter]

Nobody Fucks With My Baby pt.1

sub!nancy x dom!reader (GN pronouns)

warnings: 18+ MDNI | angst, fluff, making out, alcohol consumption, and marijuana use, steve beef. (we love steve but i needed tension)

summary: drunk nancy who’s sensitive to rejection literally starts tearing up when you tell her no.

You were leaning on the hood of your old car waiting for a certain brunette to sneak past her friends at a party that you weren’t invited to. Long story.

Your eyes lit up as the door opened and her head peeked past the frame before she ran out the door once your eyes met. Her cheeks were flushed, her nose was pink and she was sniffling as she dropped all of her body weight on you the second you were in reach.

“Hey! Y/N!” She was ecstatic to see your face.

“Hey, Nance, you alright?” You queried. Your eyebrow arching upwards as you supported her weight.

She stared at you with glazed over eyes for a few seconds too long before she hiccuped and brought her four fingers over her mouth to cover it. ever so polite, she was.

“‘M sorry I forgot the question.” She answered.

You just shook your head.

“How’s the party?”

“Fun! Everyone’s drunk!” she smiled, turning to lean on the car beside you.

You sighed, ears focusing in on the laughter and loud music slightly muffled by the insulation of the walls of the biggest house you’d ever seen.

“Why’d you call me, Nance.” You shifted on your car. Denim clad legs spread.

You dug a heel into the cobblestone driveway as you reached inside your pocket for a lighter.

“I missed you, I haven’t seen you since…”

“I fingered you in the library.” You stated in truth.

You didn’t have to be looking at her to see the way she cringed at your vulgarity. You took the joint from behind your ear and placed it between your lips.

“I tried to call.” she argued.

“Right.” you snort, voice void of emotion.

You sparked the lighter, the thin paper instantly catching the flame and with one inhale the smoke hit your lungs alleviating most of the tension in your body and mind.

You breathed deeply as Nancy came to stand in front of you. “I’m sorry, ’m new to this and…” Her eyes drifted, specifically to your legs and the crotch of your jeans, a place her hands came to rest carefully. her palms like fire burning holes where they sat against your pockets. yet her fingertips hovered stiffly almost as if she was scared you’d slip through her fingers if she tried to get a good grip on you, much like sand.

“Shit, I can’t even think of the right thing to say.” She pouted her palms nervously caressing your thighs.

"Being drunk out of your mind will do that to a person." You sneered at her temporary incompetence.

Blowing the smoke to the side of her head as you waited patiently. her eyes were roaming your torso now. “You look so hot right now.” She expelled all the air from her lungs shakily as her eyes roamed your figure in your tight-fitted raglan t-shirt that showed a sliver of your stomach and a pair of regular jeans that hugged your hips and thighs just right.

It was a pretty basic outfit for you but she’d never really seen you or spoke to you outside of lectures in fact that was the only reason she had your number, you were partnered for a social studies project a couple months back and you were actually really great at the subject. She hardly had to do any work.

“You’re drunk...” You denied her advances as her palm slid higher up your thigh. “...and we’re in public.” You grumbled gripping the wrist of the offending hand that threatened to drag you into a heated kiss by the back of your neck.

Suddenly she tore away from you like velcro. “You’re right! I’m so sorry.”

Her bottom lip began to tremble as her eyes welled up with unshed tears. Your eyes narrowed not sure if she was manipulating you or genuinely just an emotional drunk.

“Hey Nancy! You coming back in?”

It was Steve. It was always Steve.

You scoffed as you brought your joint back up to your lips in irritation.

“Hey, Harrington,” You greeted dryly, blowing the smoke out of your lungs harshly.

“Y/l/n.” He stated back awkwardly as he shifted into a broader stance.

You rolled your eyes. A smirk gracing your lips at the show of dominance. As if he considered you a threat, he should.

“Give me a minute I’m trying to talk to them for a second.” Nancy slurred slightly. Her voice chirpy and airy despite her obvious irritation. She scratched at her forehead lightly. something she did to soothe herself in times of stress.

“You sure?” a beat of exasperated silence and a heavy sigh from the brunette in front of you later, “...alright. yeah, whatever.” He cleared his throat, puffing out his broad chest and heading back inside begrudgingly.

Your eyes rolled again before you redirected your attention.

“Why am I here, Nance?”

“Because I wanted you here.” she pouted, stepping forward into your personal space again her smaller frame trapping you against the car.

“Great.” you spat.

“Ugh, do you have to make everything so complicated?” She asked rhetorically, her frustration getting the best of her.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You can’t even stand to be caught in the same room as me when you’re sober. Yet, you get the tiniest drop of alcohol in your system and think your balls are the size of the pyramids.”

“I have balls!”

“No. You don’t.” You stated with a dry chuckle.

“I so have balls. Big ones.” She slurred back, her eyes filled with determination and pride.

“oh yeah?” you teased. “Cause I had my hand up your skirt and didn’t feel an—” Her body collided roughly with yours and her lips collided even rougher on your own. You were sure she’d broke the skin with the blunt force of her lips colliding with your own. The taste of copper in your mouth confirming that fact.

God she was so soft. Her skin hot beneath your fingertips.

“I missed you.” She muttered against your lips, her hands cupping both of your cheeks possessively.

You kissed her back, your lips moving in sync though it was a little sloppy and rushed on her end. You could taste the beer on her tongue. and a slight hint of what you assumed was cherry candy.

When your senses returned to you, you gently pried yourself away from the brunette. “Let me take you home, yeah? And we can talk in the morning.”

The girl’s smaller frame began squirming in your arms. “n-n-no, I can’t go home, I'm drunk you’re gonna get me in trouble. Are you crazy?”

“About you? yeah.”

“Awe!” She straightened up appearing nearly sober for the length of her next statement. “i kinda-sorta-might’ve tol’ ma’ parents th- i was spinninanight at your house.”

She rushed out the words leaving you stunned and processing for ten seconds just to figure it out. When you finally did your eyes rolled. “Fuck you, Nancy.”

“Ooh, can’t I’m drunk remember.”

You groaned. “Just get in the car.”

“Okay!” with one last sloppy smooch she walked towards the door only to stop in front of it expectantly. You sighed as you rounded the passenger side and tugged the door open for the brunette which she politely thanked you for.

When you both were settled in the car you buckled her in.

“I like this skirt you should wear it again.”

The brunette grinned bashfully at your praise. Fiddling with the skirt between her fingers. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” You breathe starting the car.

tag(s):

@lekikiki

[yvesdot]

I'm writing to ask some advice on the pros and cons of social media for writers. Specifically, do you think it's worth it to make a bluesky account as a writer right now, and why or why not? I am a writer with a several semipro pub credits currently in the process of querying my first novel with agents. My only active social media is my main tumblr, a less active side tumblr where I post about writing, and accounts on instagram, fb and xitter that I haven't touched in years. I am very averse to marketing myself and I dislike the twitter/bluesky format, but I'm aware that there are probably opportunities I'm missing out on by not being on there (i.e. another writer I know irl mentioned an upcoming manuscript pitch event on bsky). In your opinion, is it worth it to hold my nose and do the little marketing dance in the hopes it will improve my chances, or are the benefits negligible? Any thoughts you have on the subject are greatly appreciated

The best advice I've received on the social media game is to pick the thing you can stick with and do that. So, if you think you'll use bluesky, worth being there. If you're only ever forcing yourself to post, it likely wouldn't be of much use to curate a regular presence. You can always take note of the general timing of various events and/or follow them through your friends and other spaces like Discord or, well, Tumblr! (Also a good reminder to post about various opportunities you see in your communities—I am especially bad at this.)

To actually answer your specific question... I admit to liking Bluesky despite disliking the Twitter format, which I maintain is awful. The main reason I enjoy Bluesky is its improved moeration and its teeny-tinyness right now, which may fade, but for the moment gives an increased intimacy to your interactions with individual artists that I very much like. People actually see your replies, which is encouraging.

I haven't yet used it for any sort of writerly things, in part because it's just so exhausting keeping up with anything. I am on the Authors Against Book Bans giant starter pack, so I get a lot of followers from that, but so far little to no 'engagement' with what I'm posting (if you're averse to marketing lingo look the other way!), which I suspect is simply what happens when people follow you as part of a massive group of people who are going to post more and chat more and general out-social-media-you. So I only post what I feel like putting into the void ^__^

I do think Bluesky is very clearly where all the writerfolk fed up with Twitter are moving. I initially made an account because my publisher (tRaum Books) was there, and I've since seen quite a few celebrated trans authorfolk post and even like my replies to their posts, which is, as I say, heartening. I would imagine "writing professional who is fed up with Twitter" is a good sort of person/page to surround oneself with.

But people have gotten agents before Bluesky and they will again. If you have writing credits, you most certainly have an advantage. You don't need to play the games if you don't want to (though, as you've noted, it can help). I'm not playing any games right now! And I have never signed with an agent for a novel. Shop this one around, and make your own pros and cons list, and see how you feel. Congrats on the publications!

[diary-of-a-loser-boy]

This:

The multiverse as described in your queries includes a diverse array of fictional universes, each brought into the narrative through your questions or my responses. To determine the total number, let’s tally the distinct universes explicitly mentioned or implied across our interactions up to this point. I’ll list them based on the franchises and settings you’ve introduced or that I’ve incorporated in my answers:

Universes in the Multiverse:

Game of Thrones - The Westeros setting, featuring Cersei Lannister, Jon Snow, and King’s Landing.

Harry Potter - The wizarding world, with Voldemort and Harry Potter.

SCP Foundation - The anomalous containment universe, including SCP-682 and Dr. Clef.

Warhammer 40K - The grimdark future, with Roboute Guilliman and Chaos Gods.

Marvel Comics - The superhero universe, featuring Thanos, Tony Stark, Deadpool, and Galactus.

DC Comics - The superhero universe, with Batman and Darkseid.

Digimon - The digital world, with Tai Kamiya and Digivolutions.

One Piece - The pirate world, with Luffy and the Straw Hats.

Azur Lane - The naval warfare universe, with Enterprise and shipgirls.

Suits - The legal drama world, with Harvey Specter and Pearson Specter Litt (PSL).

Fast and Furious - The high-octane car universe, with Dom Toretto, Letty Ortiz, Tej Parker, Roman Pearce, Mia Toretto, and Han Lue.

Dead Space - The sci-fi horror universe, with Isaac Clarke and Necromorphs.

God of War - The mythological world, with Kratos and Atreus.

Kingdom Hearts - The Disney-Square Enix crossover, with Sora and Keyblades.

Fullmetal Alchemist - The alchemical world, with Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, and Gluttony.

Dragon Ball / Dragon Ball Super - The martial arts and cosmic battles universe, with Goku, Vegeta, Beerus, Whis, Bulma, Piccolo, Gohan, Krillin, and Frieza.

Kirby - The whimsical Dream Land universe, with Kirby, King Dedede, and Void Termina.

My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic - The pony world, with Pinkie Pie (mentioned in party contexts).

Legend of Zelda - The Hyrule universe, with Link, Zelda, and Ganondorf.

Additional Notes:

Implied or Referenced Universes: Some universes were alluded to indirectly through mentions of characters or concepts (e.g., Gundam via “Gundam legions,” Code Geass via a strategist, or Cthulhu Mythos via Outer Gods). However, since they weren’t fully integrated as standalone settings with active characters in our interactions, I’ve excluded them from the core count unless explicitly expanded upon.

Multiversal Scope: Your queries often frame these as distinct universes interacting within a shared multiverse, rather than mere franchises within one reality. Each has its own rules, physics, and narrative logic (e.g., Hyrule’s magic vs. Dragon Ball’s ki), reinforcing their status as separate universes.

Current Total: As of your latest question, 19 unique universes are explicitly part of this multiverse based on the characters and settings we’ve explored.

Answer:

There are 19 universes in this multiverse, as derived from the distinct fictional settings introduced across our interactions up to March 18, 2025. This count could grow if you introduce additional universes (e.g., Star Wars, Pokémon, or Naruto) in future queries, or if we expand on implied ones like Gundam or the Cthulhu Mythos. For now, these 19 form the vibrant, chaotic tapestry of this multiversal narrative! Would you like to add more or explore this further?

Woah okay that’s a lot

Nineteen woah?? Yeah sure this is interesting!

[yeonban]

ᵗʰᵉ 𝑫𝑼𝑺𝑻𝒀 𝑻𝑶𝒀𝑩𝑶𝑿.

@cinderlynx asked: what do you want most in the world ? / tobias !

Silence engulfs the room once the question rolls off Ash's tongue and Tobias glances over in equal inquisitive nature, as if to pry: what's brought this on? A teasing response would normally follow, but for once there is none; the typical jokes being replaced with a thoughtful hum. He knows very well what he wants, the issue is merely explaining it adequately enough to drill it through the dozen barriers Ash's subconscious has planted into his psyche. Turning his gaze away from the blonde and setting it on the nearest wall as if gazing somewhere far away— somewhere no longer reachable yet still acting as a vengeful ghost hovering over Tobias' present nonetheless, the brunette contemplates how to go about this.

Anyone with half an intact brain would be able to discern Tobias' avid distaste for boredom after spending a few minutes' worth of time near the mafioso, yet no soul bar his own is aware of why this revulsion has taken root, much less at what point in time it has first sprung into existence. He supposes that's a contextual clue he must fill in for Ash here, lest his friend underestimates the significance of his actual answer. ❛ Have you ever been locked in a dark, empty room for years, with nothing to do and no idea when you'll be let out? ❜ Tobias' tone is gentle, no different from the usual despite the unsettling query being uttered, and he spares little time for whatever puzzlement might next ensue. It's a rhetorical question anyway, and he expects no retort to it. ❛ I have. ❜ An equally calm affirmation, one that is entirely devoid of a normal person's negative emotions which are oft synchronous with it, and his nonchalance almost gives off the impression that he is speaking of someone else's life, someone completely unrelated, than of his own experiences.

The story isn't deemed important enough to even be continued after it finishes playing its introductory role, representing merely one out of the many similar memories from Tobias' recollection— no different to him than someone else's remembrance of their playground days. Whereas other children would play with one another on the swings or dig into the sand, Tobias' version of childhood games lies in the knives he managed to sneak into the room during the instances he was allowed out, and in the goreish practices he was allowed out for in the first place. Whether digging in the sand or in someone's guts, it made no difference to him at the time, and it certainly doesn't mean anything to him these days either. There is a clinical apathy towards the details of his own past that essentially rivals the indifference Tobias feels about everybody else's suffering, and it's this void of emptiness that further exacerbates his already irksome boredom.

If there is nothing to care about, his very life included, then what can hope to touch him enough as to warrant a lasting reaction? To bring forth an emotion he isn't accustomed to (happiness, excitement, glee) is a formidable feat in and of itself, rare as it might be without requiring his direct intervention, but to maintain that state of amusement... that has nearly been proven impossible several times over the years, if not for Tobias' resolute obstinacy continuing to date. He'll either have his way, or he'll die trying; that is what the teen is dead set on. ❛ I can do what I want now, but it turns out the boredom I've felt back then is every ounce as stubborn as I am. No matter what I do, where I go or who I meet up with, as soon as the novelty wears off, I become bored again. This really pisses me off, so what I want is to get rid of this pesky boredom for good. But that's still a pretty vague answer, isn't it? I'm not sure if it's even one hundred percent possible either. ❜ To annihilate it fully... he doubts this sort of goal is truly achievable. Boredom has become such a core trait of his, a haunting latching, that Tobias figures it shall always be present somewhere inside of him (at the back of his mind if not at the forefront of his soul, merely waiting for the opportune moment to once again rear its ravenous head).

It's a war fought on the losing side, and the years spent jumping from one interest to another have only managed to stall his inconvenient yet eventual defeat. This loss, loathe as he is to admit it, is something Tobias is keenly aware of. However, should he twist the meaning of "getting rid of his boredom for good" into simply chucking it out of the way by means of attaining perpetual amusement... then, even with it still glued to his being, wouldn't he at least ensure that this never-ending struggle shall transform into a permanent stalemate (a much more agreeable thing) than have it one day end in his promised defeat? This idea has rarely been debated until recently, splendid conceptually yet impossible in practice, but startlingly enough this once unworkable option has begun to slowly take shape as of late, displaying its feasibility with none other than the teen currently sitting next to him.

With Ash, it should be possible for his boredom to become a thing of the past, he knows this to be true (he hopes it to be true; because if it isn't achievable with Ash, then it most certainly will never be with anyone). ❛ Right now I feel pretty close to achieving it, though. With you around I'm always having fun, I look forward to hanging out together every day, and I even feel excited about being alive for once— plus, unlike the other people I've met, you don't even have to try to keep me entertained. It comes naturally to you, doesn't it? ❜ Which, though it may not seem particularly important on the surface, guarantees that even without Tobias' consistent efforts (which oh, what a vast part of his days goes into the scheming required to secure him at least some semblance of fun around the boring people who always surround him), he would never have to concern himself with the possibility of his boredom returning ever again. A weight lifted off his shoulders, if he's to describe this sort of sentiment as he's often heard other people express it.

With that, Tobias turns to face his friend once more, eyes seeking Ash's while the rest of his body remains unmoving in its newly shifted position. Initiating touch while dropping what is almost certainly classified as an informational bomb on the blonde isn't bound to do well; even less so when Ash is probably still experiencing some sort of emotion or another after hearing a sad (is it?) tidbit about his childhood (which Tobias figures he is likely to be; because his emotive friend tends to feel something about everything, whether he's conscious of these sentiments or subconsciously inhibiting them)— therefore, it's best to take it one step at a time, with words coming first, then actions following later once his proclamations have been properly ingested and understood. He's sure plenty of people have previously told the blonde something of a similar ilk after all, most with less than ideal intents, so what matters most for Tobias' declaration is to expunge Ash's apprehension about what his words might mean before it even has a chance to form. Careful with the phrasing. Overexplain everything so he won't overthink your words into what he might be used to hearing. ❛ So, to be more specific for Your Highness' sake, what I want most in the world is you, Ash. ❜ Except the mafioso doesn't stop there; leaving no room for misunderstandings by immediately carrying on with the extrapolated meaning behind his wish. Although Tobias is plenty similar to the men in Ash's nightmares on other fronts, this aspect is not one they share any similarities in. Where, pray tell, is the fun in controlling someone, when it's their unshackled self that makes them worthwhile? If Ash were to bend to his will, or to anyone's for that matter, Tobias is rather certain his interest in the other would dwindle, if not plummet entirely.

In the brunette's eyes, Ash is worth everything because he is Ash rather than because he is the personification of someone's physical or material desires, as is clearly the case for the majority of the people Tobias has met around Ash thus far— and he hasn't even been around this city for that long. ❛ If you're with me, and continue to focus your attention on me like you've been doing... I couldn't care less about anything else. I don't want you to do anything out of the ordinary— just be as you are, keep giving me your undivided attention, and don't leave me. Keep to these few little requests of mine, and I'll turn the whole world upside down to guarantee your happiness. ❜ It's not the first time he's promised the gang leader one thing or another, the majority of which might sound absurdly impractical in any sane person's mind, but this is as good a moment as any to let the gang leader know what a vast promise this truly is, and that Tobias intends to uphold it nevertheless, crazy as its contents might seem. Fleetingly, Tobias also wonders if staring at Ash from this angle, from their equal positions on the couch, may become a stressor with this sort of answer suddenly sprung on him. There is no reason for the blonde to fear him (he's made sure of that all this time, for fuck's sake) but little does a voice of reason matter in alleviating one's worries if the experience of repeated abuse insists on likening the mafioso to all of those who declared they want Ash before he did. He'd rather that not happen here, not if he can avoid it.

He ponders on the thought for a brief second, before rising from the couch— not to hover assertively over the blonde as he imagines many might in his stead, but to kneel down in front of Ash's side of the couch while looking up at the other teen in a clear display of amicable submission; relaxing his muscles as to appear truly as harmless as can be. Now even if Ash's instincts are on alert, the knowledge that from their current positions Ash has the evident advantage in every sense should help ease all of the teen's tension enough to hopefully place his trust in the safety the brunette has worked so hard to become associated with. With that potential complication out of the way, Tobias' speech picks up from where it left off, and the older teen intentionally phrases his subsequent inquiry as a request rather than as a demand; as something which Ash has control over rather than as something imposed upon him. ❛ I know you're a real popular guy and all, but pick me over everyone else vying for your interest, okay? I promise you won't regret it. ❜ And if this will make Ash agree to his terms more readily— why the hell not, sure; he can beg and try to look pitiable. ❛ Please. ❜