#an excerpt from a future chapter

[oros-ash3s]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⋆ Febuwhump 2025 ⋆˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Day 13 || “Body Horror”

Wren took a deep breath as they pushed the hard drive into the computer, anticipation drumming in the air as they took a seat in the rigid chair placed before the set-up. The computer slowly booted up, faint blue light washing over the cramped space, casting a faint illumination over everything. It made the shadows seem creepier, almost. More haunting. Wren was sure they could hear their heart beating hard in their chest, the pattering so hard that they were almost afraid it would give them away.

They clicked on the files, and in an instant folders upon folders of information flooded the screen, long enough to go for days. The very first to come up was a folder under the name “Research Log – 2029”. They clicked into it and their jaw dropped, stomach churning in horror. There had to be at least a hundred videos in this folder, if not more, all marked by dates. With trembling fingers, almost afraid of what they would find displayed in the videos, they clicked on a random file.

A boy, likely just older than Wren, laid on a sleek silver operating table. To his left, the unfocused image of several doctors stood, just barely in view of the camera. There were shackles on the boy’s wrists and ankles, spreading him out against the table, chaining him. But most horrific of it all, were the tubes. They surrounded the boy, tubes upon tubes running into his face, his throat, his stomach. His face was slack, eyes glassy and half-closed. Heavy, laboured breaths cut through the microphone, turning Wren’s blood cold. He was so small, so fragile. With only a thin blanket draped over his hips, Wren could see the exposed ribs, the starvation that had taken its toll, the bruises marring his pale, plastic-y skin.

The camera panned over to a woman in a lab coat. “Day 122 of injection experimentation.” She began, causing Wren to bite down on their jaw.

Their face twisted into a grimace as the video continued. The scientist poked and prodded at the subject — no, the little boy, Wren corrected themself —pumping in different types of drugs through his system, not caring how it would affect him, how it would break his body and warp his mind. Not stopping even at the weak groans that were escaping from his lips, desperate pleas for a reprieve.

It was only when the scientist chuckled on her breath, the words, “He’s not thinking a single thing right now,” crackling through the microphone, did they allow themself to click out of the video.

This boy was sick.

And they were the ones to do it to him.

Wren is co-owned with @ohagiwrites. Credits go to her because she also helped write this one ੈ✩‧₊˚

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

TAGLIST || @ohagi505 @vesanal @aalinaaaaaa @fangedcinnamonroll @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @seastarblue @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @iamheretohurt @corinneglass @melodxi @thebookishkiwi @lancedoncrimsonwings @sugaredparchment @cepheusgalaxy @fizzydreamz @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @nosebleedgirlpunch @sunflowerrosy @charlachan @cacophonyofwords

[boleynqueenes]

nowe thus in chronological order (so far)...IF anyone cares <3

December 1518

October 1521 + October 1521

December 1521

February 1522

July 1525

December 1525

1526 (short excerpt), 2

January 1526 (short excerpt)

February 1526 (short excerpt) + short excerpt

February 1526 (Shrovetide)

March 1526 (1)

March 1526 (2)

March 1526 (3)

March 1526 (4)

August 1526

December 1526

1527 (short excerpt)

May 1527

March 1528 + March 1528

June + July 1528 + June 1528

October 1528

December 1528

December 1528 (2)

Late 1530 (short excerpt)

Late 1530 (short excerpt, 2)

October 1530

February 1531

November 1532

February 1533

April 1533

September 1533 (short excerpt)

October 1533 (short excerpt)

December 1533

February 1534 (short excerpt, before 'read more')

Summer 1534 + short excerpt (reblog, 2nd one)

September 1534 + September 1534 + September 1534 + September 1534

December 1534

January 1535

January 1535 (2)

July 1535 (short excerpt)

November 1535

And then the 1535 scenes (thus far) are the only ones which are traditionally linear, so I'll leave those be for now...

January 1536 (recollection: May/June 1535)

[hanzajesthanza]

funniest shit ever when you consider that the last time he saw her was three months ago (the first night of july, and this is in late september). damn those eighty-seven days really turned her into a grown woman huh /s

[ladespeinada]

Tagged by @postmodernau to share an excerpt for WIP Wednesday 🌟

Technically, my only WIP at the moment is my Tina / The Bear fic, Before The Next Teardrop Falls, so the excerpt beneath the cut is from that. I have various bits & bobs for other The Bear fics that I’ve taken a step back from for the time being, happy to share snippets if people are interested (and because I kind of want to share what exists but also don’t want to finish anything just yet, lol). 

Marcus & Luca, Long-Haul Truckers AU (thank you, Orville Peck)

Only You, Darling sequel 

Sydcarmy “divorce” fic

Sydcarmy canon divergence where they meet in NY during Syd’s food tour 

Won’t tag anyone explicitly but if you’re working on something and you want to share a snippet, please feel free to use this post as an excuse! 👀

“Hey, Chef, is there like, a family shelf or something?”

“Shelf?” 

“Si, como, la comida extra para usar para comida familiar,” Sydney asked kindly.  

“Ah, si, la comida familiar. Fuck off,” Tina spat before stalking off. 

Sydney looked all of 15. Tall and slender, with her braids pulled back with a bandana. She moved through the kitchen with only the barest hint of hesitation. She loomed over Tina, both in stature and in stance. Her voice in Spanish was soft and girlish and that was the final straw. Tina hated her already.

Tina knew she was being unfair, but her self-awareness wasn’t going to get in the way of her annoyance. Carmy and Sydney were glaring reminders that Mikey was well and truly gone, and never coming back, and she couldn’t forgive them for it. 

She had fooled herself for months, as the weather turned warmer and spring erupted in flowers and rain, that he was just on vacation. Maybe moved, temporarily. Just taking a break from The Beef, and he’d be back, eventually. 

She imagined him near water, having traded the shores of Lake Michigan for an actual beach. Maybe Hawai’i, maybe California, taking up surfing and eating fresh fish every day instead of the mountains of beef they went through. Maybe the coast of Italy, swimming in the Mediterranean, the prodigal son returning to his ancient home to fucking finally learn Italian. 

But there was no longer space for Tina to fool herself, not with two new bodies flowing through the ragged system of the kitchen, not with every seat taken during family with no space left for Michael Berzatto. He was gone, and he would stay gone, and nothing, no one, could ever, ever change that. 

[umbracirrus]

Chapter 13 of The Perfect Storm is posted! A somewhat shorter chapter, but an important one!

Fic rating: E (for future sexual content)

Chapter description: When Elyse is informed of the contents of Ulfric's previous letter to Balgruuf, she has the arduous task of going through letters sent to herself to uncover any hidden motives.

Chapter excerpt:

“That… That’s weird, there is one letter here which isn’t from the Jarl of Windhelm. Perhaps it got mixed up in here by mistake,” she stated as she picked up one of the envelopes. Elyse dropped the paper in her hands, open to looking at anything which wasn’t an attempt to manipulate her into thinking that she needed to join Ulfric and share in his politics. Lydia had opened the envelope by the time that her attention was fully on her, and the first thing which she noticed was the housecarl’s face draining of colour.

“Who is it from? What does it-“

“Ulfric isn’t the only one trying to get you on their side,” she whispered, eyes flicking from side to side as she skimmed through its contents. “It’s from the Empire.” She turned the paper around, as the message spilled over the first side of the page. “But not from their General. It is signed by a ‘Legate Rikke’.”

[bamsara]

Hey I have to ask, why did lamb make that expression in that comic u did about ch 23 of trod, when narirender put his hand under lamb collar? I'm not good with figuring out emotions or behaviors so I just like to get some clarification cause the only thing I could think of is that it was related to the lamb decapitation and it traumatized them or it was sexual in some way.

No, neither of those. But it is related to decapitation.

The facial expression at first was just shock, because they hardly expect Narinder to try to touch them at all (a running theme that's been steadily getting more and m ore frequent) Excerpt from the chapter:

(Slight Spoilers) the 'lying' part of the context here is that Lamb is telling the truth about being surprised he would do that, what they're not telling him is how it was a sudden comfort. Narinder can detect that they're not telling him something but not entirely sure what.

Which is important, because Lambert doesn't like anyone or anything touching or even seeing their neck. I've written small tidbits to hint at this before:

There's also this comic for a future scene that helps define their feelings on the matter, or really their comfortableness:

Something something the feeling of safety when Narinder's hand is wrapped around their neck is just as comfortable as the collar. Makes them feel like their head isnt gonna fall off, and who's better to help with that than the cat that put it back on in the first place?

[sabraeal]

For those interested in putting this into their eyeballs, you may find it here on AO3!

“A single set.” Her touch travels to his wrist, rubbing over the delicate nub at its waist. “That is all I am asking."

“Your father.” The words are little more than a breath. His body stills beneath her, save for the frantic pulse beneath her fingertips. “He will not approve of it.”

A weak parry. It would take a sterner father than her own to deny a single dance. “Then let us dance out of sight. We will not be missed.”

“My lady–”

What he means to say is lost; her fingers smooth along the vein, and what words he has elide into something softer than a moan.

“Lowen.” She teases the edge of his cuff, a nail slipping just beneath. “Do you not trust yourself alone with a lady?”

“A lady? Yes.” His breath rattles out of his chest. “With you…?”

—x—

Finally finished! My very first work for kiss art february, bodyguard au hakizana co op with @sabraeal :D based on ‘Il bacio’ by Francesco Hayes

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Now See Them Burn in Fire | Part 1

Genre: dark fic, future smut, angst

Word Count: 7.1k

 Chapter Excerpt: “Do you let him kiss you?” He asks you, face blank apart from a muted curiosity. He was so close you can see every individual eyelash framing his gorgeous dark eyes, every tiny blemish on his otherwise flawless skin, the elegant slope of his nose, the firm but soft pillowing of his lips. 

You stay quiet, too scared to speak, too scared to unintentionally set him off. What if this is what the star meant? What if it was warning you of your untimely demise and that is why you were the only one to see it? 

“So you have.” He takes your silence as affirmation, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip. “Then it’s only fair if I get a taste too.” 

Warnings: fem!reader, DARK FIC, FUTURE NONCON/CON, mentions of people being burned alive, iron age au, supernatural au, yandere beomgyu

_____________________________

Your fingers strum along the chords of the sacred lyre, producing celestial tunes that rise up to the heavens to reach the ears of the gods you’re worshipping through your songs, words of revelation passing through your lips like a prayer as the people of your tribe gather to witness and take part in the ceremony, offering up their own silent prayers for the ones above, wishing for food, safety, a good harvest, an opportune marriage for their children… It all moulds together to encase your song as it moves up to the heavens. 

Usually, you would be lost in it, surrendering yourself as a vessel for the will of the people to reach their gods. That is your role after all. As a priestess, you’re the link between the mortal world and the heavens above and you take your role very seriously. These people have entrusted you to carry their messages to the gods and the gods have entrusted you to deliver those messages, any distraction on your part could result in a failure of this process and the squandering of the people’s goodwill and the gods’ trust in your abilities. 

That’s why you feel guilty right now. You can’t focus your full energy on your job, not when you can feel his heavy, suffocating gaze on you. You look up to the heavens, seeking to gather strength from the stars above to guide you back to that enlightened state of being you usually access when performing the ceremonial prayers, but as your eyes land on the stars, you’re startled to see one suddenly fall down from the heavens in a bright flaming blaze. Your heart stops as you follow the distressing demise, no one else noticing it, all too focused on the song and dance and liveliness that you and your fellow priests and priestesses are putting on for the tribe. 

No one even notices your hands faltering over the strings, blasphemously ruining the perfection of the heavenly song. No one but one. And as the star heads to the earth, flickering its last flames of light as it approaches its demise, it disappears behind the trees, leading your eyes directly to the original source of your apprehension as if it had fallen merely to guide your attention towards him.

But you didn’t require such sacrifice to realise the burden of his scrutiny, you moved through every waking moment of your life entirely absorbed by the feeling of being watched and knowing whose eyes are upon you. 

It’s those eyes that belong to the boy with the long dark hair and even darker gaze. He stands out from the crowd, not for his clothes or jewels or status, but for his attitude of somberness and stillness among the joyful festivities of others which is enough to raise the hairs at the back of the neck of anyone who has the misfortune of noticing him. He stands there unmoving, his heavy eyes locked on you and no one else, and you–under that singular watchful gaze–hit the wrong note, plucking your own heartstring in the process, before you stop playing completely. 

No, this can’t be. You may not know precisely what all of this means but even the unenlightened can recognise such a glaringly bad omen–the star falling out of the heavens to point straight at the ill-fated boy. 

You're jolted out of your spiral when your friend nudges you, shooting you a concerned but sharp look, silently urging you to keep playing, and with widened eyes you quickly pick up your lyre again, looking around to see the concerned and strange looks from the tribes people, and the angry looks of your family. You can’t take your role lightly, not even for a second. You have a duty to your people and every second you’re not joining in the collective song, you’re weakening the prayers and risking their failure. 

You diligently join back into song, but you know your heart's not in it, not when you can still feel his cursed eyes upon you. 

He’s been watching you for some time now, and it wasn’t making only you uncomfortable. Others have noticed it too, and rumours have already started to spread–rumours about his inclination towards you. Some are making fun of you for being the object of desire of the tribe’s outcast–as if it makes you deficient in some way to be wanted by him–while others have started to distance themselves from you because of it, not wanting to be adjacent to the troubling boy even if it’s through the most tenuous connection to you. 

It makes you angry to be so unfairly burdened by the unwanted association with him but you can’t blame them too much. You know where their fear is coming from, and you wish he would stay away from you too. 

It’s not that he’s uncomely. If any of you were to be fair, you would readily admit that he is one of the most beautiful humans you have ever laid eyes upon, his handsome features seeming to have been carved out by the hands of a god… but which one, you’re not sure. A trickster god, perhaps, for the boy’s unrivalled looks that are meant to entice and enthral clash harshly with the unsettling darkness that surrounds him and keeps others away despite that immense beauty that under normal circumstances would have made him one of the most popular eligible young men in the tribe. 

The quiet orphan boy never quite fit in despite his parents having been formidable warriors and therefore much loved and respected members of the tribe. His father’s power and influence at one point even rivalled the current tribe’s leader, a fact that has undoubtedly been the source of the hushed and vile speculation by some of the tribe’s people asserting that that is precisely the reason behind the boy’s parents sudden and mysterious deaths when he was just twelve.

Of course none of it was true. These were just the ramblings of the bored and nefarious, gathered under dwindling bonfires and spouting their ignorant and hateful conspiracies. The leader is a kind and loving man. He would never deprive a boy of his family unjustly.

Just as unfounded are the rumours that the boy himself was at fault for his parents’ death. After all, they failed to bear a live child after him–his mother’s womb becoming a graveyard for multiple of his lost brothers and sisters until it eventually killed her. 

After his poor mother died while birthing yet another departed soul, his father was never the same afterwards. He became cruel and vengeful. He took his grief and turned it to anger–an emotion a warrior was much more familiar with handling. Unfortunately when defending the land and killing the tribe’s enemies wasn’t enough, he turned that anger towards his only son.  

You had felt sorry for the boy to be the subject of his father's anger and resentment. You even went out of your way to be kind to him every time you saw the marks of hate on his body or saw him crying to himself in the woods. For a very brief period, you may have even considered yourselves friends. 

He didn’t appear evil from up close. He wasn’t so quiet and menacing. He was a child like all of you were. He wanted to play and laugh and enjoy himself, and you really enjoyed watching him do that. He was a silly child when you were alone together and for a short while it warmed your heart to see him let go around you. He had a beautiful smile and a tinkling honey laugh. You developed a minor addiction to it and you craved to see it more and more. 

That is how you justify to yourself your traitorous indiscretion of secretly revealing to him some of the magic only those raised under the guidance of the gods should have access to. You couldn’t help it. He had shown such interest in it and you couldn’t refuse to indulge him in one of his very few desires. It wouldn’t do anyone any harm. It’s not like he could ever do anything with that knowledge. Only those chosen and trained by the temple could put that powerful knowledge into meaningful action. 

And so you felt comfortable telling him secrets about the practice that even seasoned mages didn’t have access to–secrets you’d only known by eavesdropping on your own high-ranking parents, and he lapped it all up, pushing you for more and more which you happily provided.

Truth is, you enjoyed divulging such secrets about priesthood to him because despite it being a very respected and esteemed position to hold, it was also incredibly isolating by nature. The arts you’ve learned allowed you to tap into great power meant to help and protect your people, but also necessitated that you guard the secrets to it closely so they don’t fall into the hands of those who have not been taught how to correctly use them, or worse yet, those with ill-intentions. 

Even amongst your fellow apprentices, each of you had your own area of study and weren’t privy to much else. That way each of you would only be skilled at a particular art and that art only lest you become too powerful and think yourself rival to the gods much the same way the great Gija did–an ancient priest so powerful he rejected the rule of the heavens and in his arrogance thought he could bring down the gods and take their place instead. His greed was like a sickness that spread through the tribe and corrupted your ancestors, convincing them that if they directed their duplicitous charges at the heavens, they could fell the gods and rule in their place, revelling in endless riches and heavenly desires, only for the gods to strike him down, leaving him to a fate worse than death and laying waste to your people–turning them from a once prosperous and opulent civilisation to one that is barely surviving amongst the wilderness. 

Many of the secrets of that ancient power were lost then, only a few ruins from that time remain guarded in the heart of the sacred temple and even fewer taught to you and your fellow apprentices in bits and pieces that are intentionally scattered amongst you to prevent another Gija from rising. 

That is why there are now so few priests and priestesses who have been allowed to learn more than one art of magic and why you’re forbidden from sharing secrets about your practice even amongst yourselves. 

But no one in the tribe knew you were meeting him in the woods under the cover of darkness and therefore no one could stop you from divulging all your secrets to him. It was harmless. What would he even do with that knowledge? He’s a warrior just like his parents–not a very good one much to his father’s chagrin, but it meant that he wouldn't be able to do anything with the secrets you were exposing to him even if he wanted to. He did not have the gift. 

Still, he understood your frustrated and disjointed ramblings well–a part of you secretly worried that he may have understood them too well for he would then make off hand alterations to incantations that would help you crack a spell you'd been struggling with for some time or bring you rare ingredients from the forest that were very hard to come by, maybe even dangerous, and would be the missing touch to a potion you’ve been slaving over to no avail. 

You didn’t understand how he knew what was missing each time but you selfishly didn't ask because you didn't want to ruin it. Not when his help was setting you apart from your peers and enabling you to make a mark for yourself as the most promising young priestess of your generation. 

For his part, Beomgyu's eyes would light up every time his help would cause you to advance further in your training. He never cared that he couldn’t claim credit for it in front of others. He would just smile and make you his special wildflower and mushroom soup to celebrate which tasted like nothing out of this earth and made you crave it almost as much as you craved his smile. 

That smile–that cursed smile he would wear as he looked at you while you gushed or complained about your training. He didn’t care, seemingly happy to listen to you talk either way, and your foolish young heart liked to think you could see a special fondness in his gaze. It was a stupid passing fancy of course. You couldn’t possibly consider him seriously, not with the dark rumours surrounding him even then and especially not after his father too passed in a uniquely gruesome way. 

As the story goes, he had been out drinking his sorrows as usual. At some point during the pitch black night, drunk and disoriented, he left the group of men he was drinking with to head towards his abode but he never made it back. He was found in the morning impaled on a spear that had gone through his eye and out the back of his head, his lifeless corpse suspended by it. 

It was deemed an accident, an intoxicated man tripping and falling on top of an improperly stored weapon. There was no evidence of a struggle, and even his own men could testify he was not walking straight when he left them. There was no reason to think anymore of it, they said, but between themselves the people talked… yet another death around the dark child. It scared even you. You knew he hated this father. You knew he had an inexplicable knowledge about magic. You knew many have died around him. And so as the whispers grew stranger and more fearful, and stories of curses and dark magic swirled around, you silently stepped away from the boy, your friendship living and dying under the darkness of the night. 

He tried to seek you out, tried to find out why you were suddenly gone, tried to win you back–but it was difficult for him to get to you when usually you were the one who would go out to meet him in the forest at night, away from prying eyes. He couldn't approach you when you put others in his path and so he tried to express himself through gifts and flowers that he would hide in your home, hoping they would help him gain back your favour.

His gifts were beautiful and precious–a stunning bouquet of wildflowers, an iridescent stone adoring a delicate ring, valuable ingredients for your potions… all carefully thought out and picked just for you which made you feel all the worse for rejecting them but you had to. This had gone on too far and for too long. You had both grown too attached to each other and you needed to end it. He must not think he has a chance with you. It was not fair to either of you so it was best to end it quickly, even ruthlessly. 

And so you threw his gifts away–you cut up the bouquets, scratched the jewelry and burned the ingredients, leaving them out in the woods where you knew he would find them and get the message that you wanted nothing to do with them. 

And he did get the message, for shortly after you stopped receiving any more gifts. The boy fading back into the unknowable abyss where he belongs. For years he stayed there. For years you knew peace–a guilty, lonely peace but a safe, secure one. He wasn't there to light up your nights anymore and you weren’t there to make him smile, but you were also spared the rumours and gossip that had long surrounded him and were threatening to infect you. 

It hurt you more than you liked to admit to lose him but it was necessary. There was just no future for you together and he seemed to finally understand that. 

Until now. Now it seems like those once familiar black eyes were watching everything you do once more, but you no longer had silly fancies about any imagined lost innocence in them. Instead they scare you the same way they scare everyone else, maybe even more. He has grown somber and serious without you. You haven’t seen his smile in years. He has abandoned his family’s legacy of fighting and heroism for the feared but respected path of foragers. It fit him. After all, he was always in that forest doing the gods only know what and now he has made a tenuous but necessary place for himself in the tribe by it, wading into that same forest to harvest or hunt for things and creatures unknown from treacherous regions that no one else dared to wade into. 

As part of the mysterious foragers profession, he has made himself indispensable to your people as they depended on him and his few peers to bring them the rare and crucial supplies that numerous factions of the tribe–the priests included–depended on in order to do their job. And he was the best of them. He could get you anything you had need or want for, no matter how remote or dangerous, for the right price and as long as you didn’t ask any questions. 

This, of course, caused more rumors to spread around him than ever before, the tribes’ people coming up with all sorts of tales about how he managed to find these things and what he had to do to procure them–whispers of dark pacts, evil ceremonies and dancing with demons dominated the imagination of your people, but no one dared to say anything directly to him. Not anymore. Not now that they needed him.  

You on the other hand were scared, not just of him but for him. Every time he would disappear for days on end in that wretched forest, you would wonder if he would come back, wonder if this is the last time you would ever see him as he inevitably makes his last trip into its dreary darkness like many other foragers have done before him. It’s a perilous, lonely life and so many do not make it for long. Yet he does. He always comes back, and you’re always relieved and scared to be met with his handsome face, the shadows under his eyes taking on a new layer of darkness every time.

What does he see when he goes in there? What creatures does he encounter? What horrors does he face? How close does he come to death and how does he manage to outwit it? 

You do not know for you could not ask him. He hasn’t even met your eyes in years following your pointed rejection of him. Even when he would drop off supplies at your temple, he would keep his eyes downcast as if meeting your gaze would reveal all his secrets to you.

Yes, he has avoided your eyes for years, which makes his recent unwavering stare all the more unnerving. Something has seemingly flipped in him overnight and now you’re the one hiding from his gaze that never falls off of you whenever you’re around him. 

You think you know what he wants. It is the summer fertility festival. It’s a time when those like you and him who have just come of age are encouraged to reach out and start looking to find a companion. You have already received multiple gifts from other boys in the tribe, most of them loudly claiming them and boasting about what they have managed to buy or trade or hunt for you. 

But one gift was unclaimed, the most precious of all, nestled in a nondescript wooden box with a delicately carved wildflower on top of it, and inside… inside was a night bloomer, a sacred plant that flowers only one night a year that the ancients would consume to aid in their divination. It is an integral part of your religion, a powerful tool that once upon a time allowed your people to peer into the future and speak to the gods, but after the great Gija rebelled against the gods and was smote down, the knowledge of where to find it and how to harvest it has been lost and so did the flower. 

No one saw it for centuries until it became the stuff of legends to the point that some of your fellow priests doubted its very existence, preferring to view the mentions of it in religious myths as a symbolic tool to signify how close the ancients were to the gods through their strong belief and how they lost that connection when they betrayed them.

Yet there it was, a bloomed flower sitting in your hands. And there can only be one person who could’ve found it for you. 

You should’ve rejected it. You should have given it back to him so he could give it to someone who will take him, but you were too selfish for that. How could you pass up this once in a lifetime opportunity? You would never get the chance to use a night bloomer again and you could not find it in you to do the right thing and return it to him. You needed to find out for yourself if it really was as powerful as all the legends described it. So you eagerly made it into a tea and drank it, ready to use its power to gaze into your future–another sin of yours. You were told over and over again not to use the powers gifted to you for your own gains. They’re meant to be used to guide and protect the tribe and not for your own selfish desires, but once again you couldn’t resist, and maybe that’s why you were punished so brutally.

The visions the flower brought you were horrific. They were twisted and bloody and demented–filled with death and gore and terror. In them, you saw everyone you knew and loved die in the most gruesome of ways. You saw them cry out to you for help as their skin melted off their bones and their eyes leaked out of their skulls. Their charred hands reached out to you, begging you to make it stop but you couldn’t. You could do nothing but stand there and watch–the smoke stinging your eyes and blackening your lungs. You couldn’t even look away or get yourself to wake up. You were trapped in the ugly visions for what seemed like eternity–none of them making much sense to you as visions usually don’t, but the smell of burnt flesh and the anguished cries needed no explanation, and throughout it all you felt watched, like someone or something was doing this just to see you suffer. 

The visions went on and on in a loop until you felt you would be trapped in them forever–perhaps a punishment for your misuse of this onerous gift–but slowly your vision cleared up and you could see the world around you again.

You found yourself burning up, covered in layers of animal fur as your mother tended to your feverish body. You wanted to throw them off but couldn't spare any energy to move your arms. You couldn’t even speak, the only thing that came out of your mouth was dry deathly whispers that immediately got carried away by the wind before they could reach your confused mother's ears. You lay like that, sick and immobile, for days, your muscles stiff as if the fire had burned off all the water in them as your mother nursed you back to health. For weeks after you'd be caught out by a sudden whiff of smoke and your heart would pick up and panic would flood your body. You quickly had to make every effort to cover up your visceral reaction to anything fire or burning as it attracted too much attention and threatened your place in the temple. Nobody wanted a hysteric apprentice to train or a frightened priestess to protect them. You’re supposed to be the personification of calm and strength. You would lose everything if people found out that the mere smell of ashes secretly sent you into a ball of terror. 

So you covered it up. You pretended that you didn't want to run and cower under your covers every time fires would be lit to warm up or make a simple meal. It was ridiculous. It was weak and laughable but you couldn’t help how your body reacted to it, and you could no longer stomach the taste of meat anymore–a bite of the cooked flesh would send you into a heaving and retching mess. You had sworn off it since then, much to the confusion of others and the irritation of your family. They never liked it when you did anything to draw the curious attention of others. You were not supposed to step out of line except to excel in your training. As their only child, your performance reflected directly on them, and they did not appreciate the strange way you've been acting since you had consumed that cursed night bloomer.  

Did he mess with it somehow? That can’t have been what the ancients used. This can't be your future. You refuse to believe it. He must have tricked you somehow. 

Your mother had attempted to enquire about what has happened to you–she pushed and prodded but you remained steadfast in your insistence about it merely being an illness brought about by eating spoiled meat which conveniently explained your newfound aversion to it. She didn't believe you, of course, but you also knew she preferred to be ignorant of anything that would indicate any brewing trouble, a crack in her perfect daughter, only telling you to get yourself together and not do something stupid to ruin your future. It was a clear order. Whatever it is that you had done, you better fix it–it meant.

That’s why you must stop whatever advances Beomgyu is trying to make on you. He can only bring you pain and trouble. Just like right now.

As soon as the prayer is done, you’re strong-armed back to your home by your chagrined family who were less than happy about your embarrassing performance tonight. 

“What was that?” Your father hisses at you as soon as you are tucked away in your shared abode, away from prying eyes. “How could you disgrace us in such a way in front of the whole tribe?”

“I am sorry, father. I–I–” You hang your head down, hesitating for a moment as your tongue falls almost paralysed under the weight of what you were about to reveal. “I saw something fall from the heavens. I saw a star die.” 

You choose to omit the part about the boy. Your family doesn't know about your brief secret friendship with him. They don’t know about everything you’ve told him. They don’t know about the blasted gift you have accepted from him. They can’t know. They might cast you out if they did. 

“What?” Your mother whispers fearfully, a tinge of denial in her voice as if she does not wish to believe you–again hiding away from the ugly truth. 

“It was big and bright and beautiful but–” You gulp, wrapping your arms around yourself to stop your body from shaking at the memory. “But I saw it flickering in the throes of death as it bled across the heavens and crashed to the earth.” You finish fearfully, and that fear latches onto your parents immediately. 

Your father strides towards you and grabs you by the shoulders roughly, face pale. “Are you certain, child?” 

“As certain as death. I saw it with my own eyes.” I saw it pointing straight towards him.

Your father casts you away as if you were stricken with pestilence and paces around the room, passing back and forth in front of the pale and ghastly figure of your mother. 

“Father. Mother. Tell me the truth. Tell me what this means.” You ask hesitantly, not certain you even want to hear the answer. You knew it was bad, of course, but their reactions were heightening your anxiety to intolerable levels. 

“The stars are supposed to be eternal watchers, the guardians of the heavens. If one of them falls then the ranks have weakened.” Your mother explains fearfully, “Something has managed to get in or out of the heavens.”

You shudder. What could that be? And what does it have to be with the boy who will forever be your one regret?   

“Only you saw it?” Your father asks and you gulp. “I think so.” 

“Good. We do not want to cause a panic unnecessarily, especially this close to the climax of the fertility season.” He proclaims, trying to compose himself but the pallor of his face gives him away. “The leader’s boy seems close to making a proposal for your hand.” 

You frown. Is this really what you should be focusing on right now? Certainly, you have been more than delighted to garner Kai’s favour and, prior to tonight, you have not been thinking about much else, but surely this star issue trumps trivial earthly matters of marriage and ranks. 

You know your family is pushing for this marriage to go through and you understand how monumental this would be for your position in the tribe–to marry into the ruling family would raise you to the top of the ranks and bathe you in the riches only available to them, but that does not mean you can neglect your duties as priests and priestesses. This fallen star could be fortelling a catastrophic future to befall the entire tribe and you need to set aside all your selfish desires to protect your people from this mysterious fate.

“But the star–” 

“Make no mention of it to any soul.” Your father cuts you off sharply. “Not until we find out more about it. Your mother and I will consult the temple’s ancient inscriptions. You just focus on winning that boy over. And make no repeats of that disgraceful display today.” 

You look down to your feet. You hadn’t meant to embarrass them. They would understand if they knew about your new shadow, but they must not know. No one must know. He is like a pestilence–anything he touches withers and dies and you will not let yourself be one of the ghosts hanging around him. 

You may not know what this dark omen means but you feel in your heart that it is related to him and you have to stop him. Maybe then you can avert this calamity from occurring.

So you meekly accept their admonishment and warnings, keeping your head down and waiting until your parents are well on their way to the temple before you slip out yourself, following in the direction you know he would be, along a trek you should have never have allowed yourself to get familiar with and are now determined to sever from your life. 

The path takes you out of the settlement and into the dark woods. The chill in the air didn’t suit a midsummer night, and it only grows more frigid once you spot the boy’s hunched over figure on the ground, digging for something with his bare hands. Your heart beats rapidly as you watch him pull weeds out of the ground as if he’s gutting the earth and for a second you consider turning around and running back to the safety of settlement. You don’t know what he’s doing out here at night–the once familiar, sometimes even welcoming forest now a strange and bizarre landscape of terror to you. He could be up to all manner of unsavoury things out here and there was no one around to protect you from him. Maybe you could find a way to speak to him in the morning…

But before your feet can move, he cranes his head back to look at you, his dark gaze rooting you to your spot, and just like that you cannot move a muscle. 

“What are you doing out here, flower?” He asks softly, voice deep and saccharine, bathing you like a fly in honey so you won’t escape. You resent yourself for being so improperly affected by it–still feeling a silent pull towards him despite your better judgement, but how can you convince your eyes to deny his beauty? How can you get your ears to shut away his honey voice? 

What you can do is contort your face into an ugly scowl. He doesn’t get to call you that anymore. You should have never allowed him to get close enough to have affectionate names for you. 

“What are you doing here?” You throw the question back at him, needing answers to quiet your worrying mind and time to gather your courage for what’s to come.  

“Gathering supplies for my soup.” He tells you readily, and your scowl loosens a bit at that. Of course, how can you forget his soup? You’ve tasted it many a times to the point that just the mention of it has a remnant of its memory tickling your tongue and making you salivate at the reminder. “Would you like to come home for a bowl? You haven't had any in ages.” 

You curse yourself for how much you suddenly crave it which is then followed by a sinking feeling in your gut as you question why exactly you’re craving it so much. Yes, it was one of the most delicious things you have had the chance to taste in your short life but why was it so? Did he do something to it the same way he did to the last “gift” he gave you? 

You shudder as you think about the countless bowls of soup he had made for you over the course of your brief friendship and what he might’ve slipped in them. No, you would not like to try strange soups from the strange boy, no matter how much your body craves it. “No, thank you.”

He frowns, looking upset–almost hurt–at the rejection. You would laugh if you weren’t so scared of him. “You don’t visit me anymore.” 

You can’t, however, hold back your scoff at his whiny proclamation, as if you owed him that acquaintance. “It is not proper for an unwed woman to meet strange men in the night.” 

“You meet Kai.” He retorts simply and anger and dread wrap around your cold form. What does he care about Kai? Does he really think he and Kai are on the same standing when it comes to you or anyone else for that matter? Has he forgotten himself? 

“That is not your concern.” You hiss at him, scared that he might do something to ruin your tentative relationship with the leader’s son. He has expressed his interest in making you his wife by providing you with the most luxurious gift during this fertility festival. You would be crazy to turn him down and even crazier to let whatever delusional fancy Beomgyu holds for you ruin your chances with him. 

“Why did that make you angry? Are you letting him do things to you that you know you shouldn’t?” Beomgyu confronts you, expression unnervingly blank. “Are you letting him under your skirts?” 

You stalk towards him, raising your hand up and slapping him, then watching a red handprint bloom across his handsome face. You immediately regret it. You’re now within arms reach of the dark boy and he looks angry. 

Before you can step back and run, he reaches out to grab the arm that you struck him with and pulls you to the ground with him. You try to fight him off, using all your strength to attempt to push him away but that just makes him climb on top of you so he can still your thrashing arms and pin them above your head, his body holding yours down as he presses you against the cold mud. 

He was surprisingly strong despite his lean frame, though you suppose you shouldn’t be so surprised given his warrior background even if he quit that path years ago. 

You stare up at him, his dark eyes almost swallowing up the stars above. You don’t dare speak or move. You just lay still as he uses one hand to keep your wrists above your head so he can free up the other to cradle your face, his muddy hand staining your skin. 

“Do you let him kiss you?” He asks you, face blank apart from a muted curiosity. He was so close you can see every individual eyelash framing his gorgeous dark eyes, every tiny blemish on his otherwise flawless skin, the elegant slope of his nose, the firm but soft pillowing of his lips. 

You stay quiet, too scared to speak, too scared to unintentionally set him off. What if this is what the star meant? What if it was warning you of your untimely demise and that is why you were the only one to see it? 

“So you have.” He takes your silence as affirmation, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip. “Then it’s only fair if I get a taste too.” 

Your breath catches in your throat as he leans down and meets your lips with his. They feel unfairly good against your own, fit you too well and you hate it. What is this inexplicable hold he has on you? What has he done to you?

In defiance, you command your body to stay still. You may not be able to fight him off but you won't give him the satisfaction of responding to his unwanted advances. So you just lay there and let him mould your mouth to his. He is incessant but surprisingly soft, pushing and coaxing until you unwillingly find yourself whining lowly, and when you open your mouth to let out a small gasp, he uses the opportunity to press his tongue in. 

He tastes so sweet fruits, honey and milk–all things you remember he loves so much and that you always used to provide for him just to see that smile that you now have not seen in years. 

How is it that he tastes this good? What unnatural magic is he using to entice you? He must be because you could not possibly be this inclined towards him.

Your doubts are further confirmed when you detect a hint of something bitter hidden underneath all the sweetness–a sharpness that prevents you from falling completely into him and keeps you on alert. 

Beomgyu lets out his own small moan as his tongue caresses yours and you should be disgusted to be so engulfed by the dark boy, to let him force himself over the boundaries you have put up to keep him away, but the heat radiating off him feels so good against your goosebumps afflicted skin, his small stuttered breaths and whimpers make your body tingle and sizzle and you have absolutely no control over it. You begin to fear you will be trapped here forever under his spell. 

But when his mouth leaves yours to make its way down your neck, you are allowed reprieve to gaze at the sky above and focus on something that isn't him. That's when your eyes stray to the spot where the fallen star was, naturally drawn to it like a tongue is drawn to a missing tooth, and with the phantom taste of iron in your mouth, you snap out of the spell he put you under. 

What the hell are you doing? How can you lie there and let him slither his way back to you? You're a disgrace. 

Disgusted at your weak self, you use that repulsion to fuel you as you gather all your strength and try once again to push him away, but all you could muster is enough power to unlatch him from your neck, exposing the wet freshly kiss-laden skin to the frigid air and making you shiver. 

He gazes at you with a farce concern as he gently cups your cheek, his warm hand like the soothing touch of honeyed milk to your skin that once again compels you to let your guards down, but his blown-wide pupils and his laboured breathing keep them up. 

“Hey, it's okay. I got you, my flower.” He tries to soothe you, bending back down to catch your lips again, but he only manages to freak you out more. 

My flower? No! You must stop this. 

You bite down on his lip harshly, tasting blood, and he reels back, cursing in pain. “What the fuck?” 

In his shock, you’re finally able to push him off and scramble to your feet. “Stay away from me. I do not want you. I have chosen him so stop whatever the hell you’re doing. I will never be yours.”

He levels you with a dark look, the little bit of blood dripping down his chin making him look even more chilling. “Why not?” He asks bitterly. “I can do good by you. You don't have to pay mind to the rumours about me. You know me.”

You shake your head vehemently. “No, I do not know and never wish to know you. You are unwell. Stay away from me.” You proclaim with all the conviction and strength you could muster, before you turn around and dart back to your home. 

You didn’t want to give him the chance to challenge you. You do not know what he's capable of and you have disgraced yourself enough already. 

Your heart hammers in your chest as you run, and you whip your head around constantly to make sure he isn't following you. You feel as though he is, gooseskin prickling at the back of your neck at the feeling of being watched, but every time you whip your head back, certain you'll meet his dark eyes, you find nothing there. 

Your family is not back when you reach your home which is both a relief and a grievance. You’re glad they are not there to question your whereabouts or your dirty frazzled condition but you do not wish to be left alone in case he comes to find you. 

In order to soothe yourself, you cast a protective spell on a powerful talisman and hold it to your chest, burying yourself under heaps of fur and praying that is enough to protect you from whatever evils linger around the dark boy.  

_____________________________

A/N: so excited for this series, let me know what you think please!

[f1cflcfic]

The Prophecy (SMAU ft. Lando Norris): Epilogue

pairing: lando norris x singer!reader (fem!y/n)

summary: what happens after the break-up that noone saw coming? as Y/N L/N gears up to release her next album, each song reveals a little bit of the past, present and future of her relationship with Lando Norris. Inspired by a curated playlist built around "The Prophecy".

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons. also, this chapter contains some (implicit) references to sex.

genre: social media au (with written parts), angst, exes to lovers, happy ending

[A/N: hehe it's never really over, this is for my bff who just got engaged over the weekend <3]

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

♥･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♡･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♥

June, 2027

[Excerpt from Y/N L/N's Buzzfeed Playing with Puppies Interview]

Y/N is sitting down on the floor, enthusiastically chatting to someone off camera. “Listen Roz I’m so serious, you’re going to have to physically incapacitate me when I want to take them all home. It will happen, and you will need to stop me.”

Someone from the crew giggles, as they instruct Y/N to readjust her lavalier microphone.

“Alright, so it’s super easy – you just sit there, and we bring the pups to you!”

“Oh my god. This is my dream. I always say to my friends that I’d just really love to be in a puppy pile, and it’s finally happening. The pinnacle of my career. This is why I became a singer,” she chatters, then gasps as the first puppies are brought out.

“Oh hiiii,” she almost whimpers at the sight of them, some a little more active, others a little sleepy. One immediately snuggles into her lap, and Y/N looks off-camera to someone meaningfully. “I am taking him home.” Someone can be heard laughing and saying “no, you can’t” in response, to which Y/N sighs in defeat.

“So, can you tell us who you are, and what you do”

“My name’s Y/N L/N, and I’m a singer-songwriter. But today I’m a professional puppy cuddle buddy.”

“Here’s your first question – you mentioned recording a song in Taylor Swift’s studio for the Prophecy. What does it look like?”

“Oh my – oh they smell so good I swear, I’m so sorry I didn’t hear a word you said.” The interviewer repeats the question, as Y/N tries really hard to maintain eye contact with them instead of the puppies roaming around her.

“It’s a really beautiful space, a sanctuary, really. And it’s just amazing to think that so many iconic songs and albums have been partially written and recorded there as well. Taylor is a wonderful friend to have in this industry, and – oh just look at this little guy. He’s so cute!!!”

“Second question: You’re in the middle of a world tour right now. What was your own first tour that you remember going to?”

“Oh look at this one, he’s just playing around, such a little goofball. Sorry, sorry – the question. My first concert? You know it was probably some type of children’s act? My parents aren’t super into music, so the first time I went to see someone and paid for the ticket myself, it was probably Taylor actually.”

“Third question: You said you’re into reading. What’s your latest recommendation?”

“I try to read, yeah! It’s so easy to get sucked into my phone, but I always bring books and an e-reader. Oof, careful little guy, those tiny teeth are sharp,” she disentangles her finger from a puppy’s mouth, then hugs him close to her chest and kisses his head. “I love you, don’t worry. So, yeah, what was I saying? I think with reading I’m always in two minds about it. I enjoy literary fiction, but I also love fantasy. So I recently started There Are Rivers in the Sky from Elif Shafak, and then I’ve been re-reading the Fourth Wing series by Rebecca Yarros. Love that dragon. Maybe we should name you Tairn, or Xaden,” Y/N points at a puppy with dark fur and brown eyes.

“Do they all have names already? All of them are up for adoption, right? But surely these personalities – ah okay. His name’s Lewis?” She smiles cheekily, but doesn't comment further.

One of the dogs lets out a pitiful little whine, and Y/N immediately looks down. “What’s up little pup? Are you unhappy? Can we get them some water, some snacks?”

Someone steps in with a bowl of water, then asks the next question. “What’s something you do to relax on your days off?”

“Hmm aside from reading? Honestly, I love to just hang out with my family. Go do minigolf, something fun together.”

“Not actual golf?”

Y/N snorts, her fingers absentmindedly petting the puppies that have since fallen asleep in her lap. “My partner has tried to get me into it, and I love how much he enjoys it, but it’s not for me. So I’ll happily drive the golf cart and cheer him on instead.”

“Are you not competitive?”

You scrunch your nose at the word. “I think I am, but I’m more scared of others thinking I’m not good enough – so then I abandon serious pursuit of victory. If it’s just a laugh, then it’s fine if you’re not great at something. It’s something I’m working on!”

She kisses one of the pups that’s woken up from its nap on his tiny nose. “I love you, you, you’re such a tiny little angel aren’t you?”

“Alright, next question: If you were in an emergency situation, who would you call to bail you out?”

“Probably Lando. He’d be fast, you know?” Y/N smiles at the camera. “By the way, he’s going to be SO jealous of me for getting to hang out with pups all day.”

“If you weren’t a singer-songwriter, what do you think you’d be doing?”

“Hmm, I’d probably have gone to university – maybe literature, or maybe political science. Then I’d go work for an NGO? I’d love to know I was making a difference in people’s lives I think.”

“Last question – what are you most looking forward to?”

“Aside from the new, upgraded tour? I can’t believe I’ll be playing stadiums. That feels very surreal. Apart from that, we’re getting some renovations done on the house right now and I’m super excited to see my library fantasy come to life. I want to have a ladder on wheels.”

You quietly stroke the fur of a red and white puppy that’s been curled up in your lap since the beginning. “I’m going to cry having to give these back. But I’m going to, I will. It’d be irresponsible to adopt a dog right now, maybe next year we’ll get on that. Please, if you are able and willing, adopt these sweet little puppies – and I will personally come by and hangout with your pup and you.”

The screen fades to black, and then there’s a shaky camera that follows Y/N as she laughs while talking on the phone. “I know! I said you would,” she’s overheard saying. “There’s one in particular, I just – ” she trails off, listening to whatever’s being said on the other end of the line. “Do you really think so?” Her smile widens. “I love you so much, you have no idea,” she nods excitedly at her assistant and starts walking towards the animal shelter representative. “Yeah I’ll keep you posted, say hi from me to your brother and Sav please. Ok, see you. Bye.”  

August 14th, 2027

December 8th, 2027

June 18th, 2028

♥･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♡･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♥

You can read the previous parts & access various bonus content by going here

♥ likes, comments, reblogs are always very much appreciated ♥

taglist (open) : @charlesgirl16, @linnygirl09, @hoeforsirius, @motorsportloverf1, @sarx164, @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff, @formulaal, @tvdtw4ever @sadiemack9 @seonghwaexile @screamingwines

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 25

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n thankyou so much to everyone that left comments on the last chapter, i forgot how much i love hearing from you! and thankyou to everyone that came back, even the lurkers, this chapter is only here because of you

previous | masterlist | next

---

[EXCERPT FROM TRANSCRIPT: STRAY KIDS X JYP 'ALL IN' SPECIAL INTERVIEW]

- Q4: How did you come to the decision to add another member to Stray Kids two years after their debut?

JYP - Ah...as a company, we had a trainee that was the right age to debut, had been with us a long time and proved that she was an extremely hard worker and very dedicated, and had developed all the skills to debut - but we didn't have a group that we could envision her in. And so we discussed, the possibility of debut as a solo artist...or the opportunity to  replace the vocalist that Stray Kids had lost a year ago - a year before - and she's an absolutely stunning vocalist, a really capable singer - and through those discussions, and recommendations from her trainers, and looking at our, our vision for the future, we decided that she just matched the energy and the personality of Stray Kids too perfectly to let it go.

Bang Chan - At first...at first we didn't think we would need a ninth member anymore, but as a team we heard about Y/N and the idea to bring her in as a member, and we heard her sing and - well first, I thought that voice was amazing, and of course it was very different to any of ours and a whole new colour that we could bring to our music. And we heard about her hard work, and when we met we liked her, and so we decided that maybe she was a Stray Kid too, and she joined our group, and she is a very trusted member of our family now and our loved noona and still the hardest working member, and we're very happy the way that we are.

Changbin - Yes, our noona~

Felix - Yes, yes.

-Q5: Y/N, how do you feel about what JYP just said, and what was it like to join Stray Kids?

Y/N - It feels...very good. Very good. I've worked hard for a long time, and missed many chances, so to be able to join this group and finally find a place to belong and go forward with my dreams is...is a dream. To hear JYP PD-nim say that the company saw all my hard work and wanted to keep me on with them even when the debut with Midnight wasn't an option; it's very humbling, I didn't know that, and when the kids say that they liked me and wanted to welcome me to their group-

Han - It's awkward, right?

Y/N - It is! But I'm so grateful. And I'm working very hard to bring my own colour to Stray Kids and to represent the group as best as I can.

---

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids

@hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts

@puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night

@d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk

@minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification

@starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace

@amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002

@hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff

@splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit

@jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @hynjinswrld @duhgurl @cheshireshiya

@keepswingin

[hughesmybaby]

His Chosen Bride (Senator! Coriolanus Snow x Capitol!Reader)

Series Masterlist

the youngest child from one of the wealthiest and most influential families in panem, you’ve accepted you get the last pick for marriage prospects. until you’re chosen as the prime candidate to be senator coriolanus snow’s future bride, and it’s not what you expected.

cw: dark!coriolanus (a warning in its itself), power dynamics, dubious consent (if you squint), manipulation, masturbation, handjobs (f and m receiving), penetration, oral (f and m receiving)

a/n: please let me know if you’d like to be added to the masterlist. please like, reblog and comment what you’d think and if you want to be notified when it’s posted.

excerpt

chapters:

TBA

[fatehbaz]

I'm very interested in tidalectics, I hadn't seen the word before finding your blog but from what I can find it seems very much up my alley. Is there anything you'd recommend reading for an introduction?

I use 'tidalectics' as a sort of shorthand for a constellation or archipelago (pun intended, lol) of related concepts maybe better described as 'archipelagic thinking' and 'poetics of Relation' by Edouard Glissant, 'repeating islands' by Benitez-Rojo/Brathwaite, and 'sea of islands' by Epeli Hau'ofa. I also use it for related things like Black Atlantic, 'Caribbeanist' thinking, 'oceanic thinking,' transnationalism, 'intimacies of four continents,' etc. Much of this deeply, deeply connected to Afro-Caribbean thinking and literature. Unsurprisingly. Comes up often in discussion of eco-poetics and the postcolonial. This discussion is kinda becoming vogue in environmental humanities ('blue humanities' and critical geography) and postcolonial studies, but this has of course been discussed for years and years and years by Caribbean and Pacific scholars, especially Glissant (Martinican/Caribbean), Brathwaite (Barbadian/Caribbean), Cesaire (Caribbean), and Hau'ofa (Tonga/Fiji/Pacific).

The Caribbean(ist) journal Small Axe has also been a big arena for discussing the concept. Two of my fave authors on colonial histories and multispecies ethnographies, Sujit Sivasundaram and Elizabeth DeLoughrey, also focus on oceanic/archipelagic thinking. Highly recommend those two. Another, Lizabeth Paravisini-Gebert, also covers Caribbean eco-poetics and frequently describes archipelagic thinking in accessible ways. You can search their names/publications for articles to read online. (Macarena Gomez-Barris--author of The Extractive Zone: Social Ecologies and Decolonial Perspectives--is currently working on a text about "fluidity of colonial transits and the generative space between land and sea.)

Heavily involves what you could describe as 'emotional ecologies' or 'environmental perception.' About the fluidity of tidal zones, the sea, mangroves, estuaries, deltas, seasonally flooded rivers. Very much about materiality of land/water/bodies, but also very much about imaginative place-making and belonging-in-space. Invokes centrality of ecology to place-making and identity. How these landscapes (tidal, seasonal, fluctuating, flowing) transcend, subvert, defy, exist beyond nation-state borders and bounded properties. Also implies transnational shared concerns of people inhabiting sacrifice zones and imperial peripheries (from Caribbean to Fiji to Philippines).

As intro, maybe:

Routes and Roots: Navigating Caribbean and Pacific Island Literatures (Elizabetth DeLoughrey), especially introduction chapter: "Tidalectics: Navigating Repeating Islands"

"Toward a Critical Ocean Studies for the Anthropocene" (Elizabeth DeLoughrey, English Language Notes 57:1, 2019)

"The Political Ecology of Storms in Caribbean Literature" (Sharae Deckard, The Caribbean: Aesthetics, World-Ecology, Politics, 2016)

At this blog, I've previously tried to summarize it by condensing excerpts here: DeLoughrey's "Submarine Futures"; Paravisini-Gebert's Caribbean eco-poetics of extinction; archipelagic thinking in South Pacific; Harney, Moten, and Sandra Ruiz discussing archipelagic and continental thinking; oceanic fugitivity and "thinking at the land-water boundary" in Hawaii; the "horror of the sea" and "environmental histories of colonialism" compared in Caribbean vs. English/US lit; the "hurricane does not roar in pentameter," poetics of storms, and "special geography of the Caribbean" which provides an overview of Caribbean writers on relation; the "Black Mediterranean" and contemporary archieplagic thinking relating to refugees/migration (a lot more too, but can't go through archives where I'm stuck right now).

-

Also has come to be provocative framework for thinking about non-literal islands. You'll see 'archipelago' also applied to other spatial and ideological formation things like 'carceral archipelagoes' and 'plantation archipelagos' and 'poverty archipelagos.' Basically, that US-European empire treated the Caribbean as a laboratory for how to isolate, contain, extract, commodify, and experiment on people, labor, land, industry, ecologies, etc. during instantiation of 'modernity.' (While Spain and Portgual played around with this in the Caribbean they also did something similar in the early modern spice gardens and ports of Southeast Asia, while Britain/France/US continued similar in both regions too. So archipelagos of both 'East' and 'West' brutalized.) Added weight because British and then later US naval force understood and capitalized on importance of oceanic networks to maintaining global empire (think British Navy; Lisa Lowe's writing on Britain importing Chinese and South Asian laborers to Caribbean during technical abolition of chattel slavery; US building Panama Canal; US naval force in twentieth century linking Philippines, Hawaii, Panama, Puerto Rico). You might've seen me talk about Kuntala Lahiri-Dutt and others writing on the history of British takeover of Bengal 1780s-1850s, and how the seasonality and deltas and rivers frustrated imperial attempts to fix and tax property; Elizabeth Povinelli describes this process of colonial fixation of 'solid' land in Northern Territory in Australia, too.

And these forms persist in extractivist settings and spatiality of labor, incarceration, industrial sites. Think Cancer Alley in Louisiana; archipelagos of Southeast Asian, West African, or Brazilian plantations along corridors of highways and railroads; low-income residential neighborhoods or 'workforce' housing compartmentalized along transportation corridors near logistics nodes; prisons in upstate New York; Commencement Bay's industrial sites and immigrant detention in Seattle-Tacoma, etc. Like hotspots or blinking lights along corridor. Australia, the US, and the EU all still use islands for migrant detention. At the same time, if global empire yokes together East and West, then empire's malcontents can perform the same trick. You can look at correspondences and writing from colonial subjects and radicals in like 1890s who explicitly described how anticolonial actors could and should also invoke transnational networks. (Linking networks in Buenos Aires, Havana, Los Angeles, Barcelona, Paris, Cairo, Istanbul, Tokyo, etc. And today still, too. Archipelagos of cooperation, not just on islands. What happens in a housing commune in Athens is related to movements in Puerto Rico, connected by defiance of same empire, market, capital, etc.

So since at least 1500-ish, 'globalized' world(s) involve circuits, networks, routes, often mediated by the sea. But people living on islands often have relationship with that sea long predating modernity. Glissant and others talk about a submarine/subterranean connecting tissue between islands, so that, even if they are apparently physically isolated or separated by Hispanophone/Francophone linguistic tradition, there is something akin, shared, in common.

But more than that: Relationality and relation to landscape asserts agency, autonomy, belonging. Especially with Glissant, this involves language, poetics, translation, reclamation of 'submarine' histories. Hau'ofa says "we are the ocean."

Maybe reminiscent of Indigenous resurgence, constellations of resistance, fugitivity, opacity/refusal, pedagogies of deep listening, maroons/marronage, resonances, and writers like Harney and Moten, Leanne Betasamosake Simpson, Achille Mbembe, Katherine McKittrick, Sylvia Wynter, Dixa Ramirez D'Oleo, and others.

-

Anyway, four classics:

The Arrivants: A New World Trilogy (Rights of Passage; Islands; Masks) (Kamau Brathwaite, 1973)

The Repeating Island: The Caribbean and the Postmodern Perspective (Antonio Beniteze-Rojo, 1989)

The Archipelago Conversations (Eduoard Glissant and Hans Ulrich Obrist, 2021)

We Are the Ocean: Selected Works (Epeli Hau'ofa, 2008)

-

And some others:

"Submarine Futures of the Anthropocene" (Elizabeth DeLoughrey, Comparative Literature 69:1, 2017)

Waves Across the South: A New History of Revolution and Empire (Sujit Sivasundaram, 2021)

"Archipelagic Interiority: Notes and Reflections on Poetic Voice and Trans Writing in the Philippines" (shane carreon, Kohl 9:1 Special Issue: Anticolonial Feminist Imaginaries, 2023)

"On the Unfolding of Edouard Glissant's Archipelagic Thought" (Michael Wiedorn, Karib-Nordic Journal for Caribbean Studies 6:1, 2021)

"Wet Ontologies, Fluid Spaces: Giving Depth to Volume through Oceanic Thinking" (Philip Steinberg and Kimberley Peters, Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 33:2, 2015)

"New Materialisms, Old Humanisms, or, Following the Submersible" (Stacy Alaimo, NORA-Nordic Journal of Feminist and Gender Research)

"Sensing Grounds: Mangroves, Unauthentic Belonging, Extra-Territoriality" (Natasha Ginwala and Vivian Ziheri, e-flux Journal Issue #45, May 2013)

"Storied Seas and Living Metaphors in the Blue Humanities" (Serpil Oppermann, Configurations 27:4, 2019) and Blue Humanities: Storied Waterscapes in the Anthropocene (Edited by Serpil Oppermann, 2023)

Hydrofeminist Thinking with Oceans: Political and Scholarly Possibilities (Edited by Tamara Shefer, Vivenne Bozalek, and Nike Romano, 2024)

"From the black Atlantic to the bleak Pacific: Re-reading "Benito Cereno"" (Alexandra Ganser, Atlantic Studies 15:2, 2018)

"Literary Ecologies of the Indian Ocean" (Hofmeyer, English Studies in Africa 62:1, 2019)

"Archipelagic Readings: towards a Poetics of Creolization" (Hugues Azerad, Trans-Revue de litterature generale et comparee, Special Issue: Insularities/Archipelagos, 2020)

"Water Enclosure and World-Literature: New Perspectives on Hydro-Power and World-Ecology" (Campbell and Paye, Humanities 9:106, 2020)

"A Poetics of Planetary Water: The Blue Humanities after John Gillis" (Sidney Mentz, Coastal Studies and Society, 2022)

"Tending the Forests Beneath Anthropocene Seas" (Williams and Zalasiewicz, in Oceans Rising: A Companion to Territorial Agency: Oceans in Transformation, 2022)

"Caribbean Archipelagos and Mainlands: Building Resistance against Climate Change" (Lizabeth Paravisini-Gebert, The Black Scholar 51:2, 2021)

Colonial Phantoms: Belonging and Refusal in the Dominican Americas, from the 19th Century to the Present (Dixa Ramirez D'Oleo, 2018)

"Oceanic Routes: (Post-it) Notes on Hydro-Colonialism" (Bystrom and Hofmeyer, Comparative Literature 69:1, 2017)

"Foreword: Ocean Space and the Marine Social Sciences" (McKinley, in The Routledge Handbook of Ocean Space, 2023)

"Atomic histories and elemental futures across Indigenous waters" (Hi'ilei Julia Hobart, Media + Environment 3:1, 2021)

"On Oceanic Fugitivity" (Hi'ilei Julia Hobart, Ways of Water series by Social Science Research Council, 2020)

Undrowned: Black Feminist Lessons from Marine Mammals (Alexis Pauline Gumbs, 2020)

"Materialities in the Making of World Histories: South Asia and the South Pacific" (Sujit Sivasundaram, Oxford Handbook of History and Material Culture: World Perspectives, 2020)

-

Thanks, take care.

[krisantium]

I've been saying how ShikaTema marriage has a lot of intriguing things to explore, at least politically, if the writer cares.

Their child is one of them.

Spoiler alert if you haven't read Boruto: Two Blue Vortex.

Let's take a look back to this excerpt from Gaara Hiden.

The novel ended with Gaara still not marrying anyone. In that case, he will not be having a legitimate heir in the foreseeable future.

And then we were surprised by the appearance of Shinki in the early chapters/episodes of Boruto. He was presented as the adopted child of Gaara. He called Gaara father.

By that point, even though it was never stated that his presence will legitimately secure the Kazekage lineage, we all can safely presumed that the problem with ShikaTema's child is already resolved.

And in the latest chapter of Boruto, Gaara himself confirmed that. "Sunagakure's future is in your hands." Shinki was actually intended to be his successor.

But then things took unexpected turn, that said heir decided to protect his father by sealing him, resulting of him getting turned into tree, and his Shinju appeared. They named him Ryu. And a Shinju must have one target. And we all know who his target is.

Since he said that he is able to break the seal his alternate self created, Gaara's life is going to be in absolute danger.

It's not been stated yet, but given the circumstance, Kankuro automatically becomes the one who takes charge from now on. He's by default, the interim Kazekage.

The next arc will be centered at the crisis involving Suna. Based on the pattern, the restoring of the Shinjus will not be possible in near future. And, back to that quote from Gaara hiden, if something also happens to Kankuro, there is only one person left to preserve the lineage.

It's the son of current Hokage.

Yes it should be almost, if not, illegal in ideal world. And it will give us an interesting show if explored.

And that mf Jura, the leader of Shinju has said something interesting about Shikadai few chapters before.

"Let's meet again someday."

There is no doubt that we will see more of Shikadai next chapters. And the conflict in Suna is perfect to put him into show. His fate will be decided in next few chapters.

I still pretty much don't think Kazekage Shikadai is possible. But it's not impossible either given the current circumstance.

What do you think will happen? I will be very much pleased to hear your thoughts.

[yumeka-sxf]

My thoughts on Spy x Family: EYES ONLY Guidebook (English ver) - part 1

I finished reading through my copy of the English version of the SxF manga guidebook "EYES ONLY." There's tons of fantastic information about the series, but I wanted to share my thoughts/commentary on parts that were the most interesting to me. Since there's so much content to cover, I'll be dividing it into a few different posts. Also, rather than go in the order of the book's sections, I decided to group the content based on topic. This first post will cover Endo's comments about the characters individually, as well as information about Garden.

Endo's Q&As and comments about the characters

Loid:

I like that Endo provides a reason for why Loid wears a WISE logo pin as it's something more than one fan of the series has questioned! And I totally agree with Lin about his "lack of distinctive features." Compared to so many other anime characters, especially shonen main characters, Loid's design is so plain, particularly in his hair and clothes. At least in his spy outfit he has a gun to make him a little flashier, but when he's in his casual clothes, he literally just looks like "some guy," haha. But that also makes sense for his character.

I love how Endo gave specific numbers for comparing Loid and Yor's strength (Yor: 10, Loid: 6-7)

Anya:

I did notice what Endo is talking about how Anya's design changed over time. But that can be said for all the characters really, and it's definitely not uncommon for manga-ka's styles to evolve as they get a better feel for their characters and world.

He mentions the classical language thing that was also brought up in chapter 42. Definitely makes me think that will somehow tie into her backstory.

Speaking of Anya's backstory, there was this little excerpt about the researchers at the lab. So one thing we can say for sure about her past is that she was not treated well there at all (which has been hinted at in the series).

Endo also discussed the origin of Anya's pink hair (namely, there really isn't any origin, lol).

Yor:

Interesting that he spent the most time designing Yor, and also about the origin of her stilettoes. And his apology to the cosplayers for that bonus feature about Yor's hair, haha.

I had to chuckle when he said they can't measure her strength because she keeps breaking the instruments! Also the fact that she hasn't learned how to make a single successful meal since the stew…Endo is such a savage sometimes, lol. But keep in mind that this book was originally published over a year ago, and obviously we know from recent chapters that her cooking is improving. I also like that he mentions that she has left witnesses to her work, like in Extra Mission 2. I wonder if that will be a bigger plot point somewhere down the line.

Like Anya having pink hair, Endo expresses some regret about making Yor an assassin (but his laugh makes it clear he's not terribly hung up about it!)

Bond:

I know some people are bothered by the fact that Yor is Bond's least favorite. But I think Bond's (initial) dislike for her originated from the chapter where he assumes he would have died from her cooking. Also the fact that Anya put the idea in his head that she would "murder" him if he did something she didn't like, like shun her food (which is obviously heavily exaggerated). But again, this book was published over a year ago, and the most recent chapter revealed that he definitely doesn't dislike her even if she's not his favorite. It's perfectly normal for pets to have family members they prefer over others for whatever reason.

Franky:

I love that Franky does charity work. I hope we'll see that in a future chapter.

Fiona:

It's interesting that he ranks Fiona's combat ability so low, especially when you consider what she did to Wheeler in the recent arc. But to me, that wasn't so much a display of combat prowess as it was totally raw, uninhibited willpower.

Yuri:

I love his blunt answer about whether Yuri has other interests besides Yor. Also intriguing that he mentions Nightfall when discussing Yuri's combat ability…maybe those two will meet eventually?

Information about Garden

Since Garden is still such a mysterious entity in the SxF universe, I tried to gather everything about them that the book mentions.

It's interesting that Yor sees Shopkeeper as her mentor since he taught her survival skills in her youth. The book also raises the question about how Yor found Garden in the first place…maybe something Endo will expand on in the future?

So the information Franky gives us about Garden is exaggerated? Gah, that just makes them even more mysterious!

The above was a cool bit of trivia...so it seems like the secret police might know more about Garden than WISE. Perhaps Yuri will find out about Yor's real identity before Twilight?

Continue to Part 2 ->

[kraken17]

“Mia lupa,” said Wednesday, “This is very uncomfortable...”

“Naaaah, look...” said Enid, pointing to Teen Wednesday.

Who was staring at Teen Enid with dilated pupils in her wide-open eyes and an intense blush on her cheeks that was unnatural for her.

“It was already happening at this point, although neither of them was consciously aware of it,” said Enid Addams, letting out a sharp-toothed chuckle.

“Enid,” whispered Teen Wednesday, “That's French...”

“Er... yeah?” replied the young werewolf, her sense of smell suddenly assaulted by what could only be a massive release of pheromones coming from her roommate. She couldn't deny that it was affecting her.

“It's... it's...” the teenage Wednesday suddenly stopped, her blush fading, her face suddenly distraught. “Oh, hells. I’m Father.”

-Excerpt from Creepy Mysterious (or, Beyond the Wednesday-Verse), Chapter 12: The Once and Future (I).

[greghatecrimes]

Since fleshing out my headcanons for Thirteen's full backstory a few months ago, I have been haunted by the image of twelve-year-old Remy, alone and grieving after her mom's funeral.

Check out the alt text/description for some bonus easter eggs.

"I hated her. I never said goodbye. And she died with me hating her." - 5x10, Let Them Eat Cake

Thirteen stares down at her hands. "...When I was a kid," she says after a pause, and then trails off. House watches her, quiet and patient, giving her the space to go on. "We were at my mom's wake. I'd held it together the whole time since she died, but when we got there... when I saw her in the casket, I..." she takes a breath, and then shakes her head slightly. "I just... broke. I couldn't handle it. I saw her lying there, and I wasn't angry anymore. It was like I had never been angry at all. And I just remember... crying, and telling my dad, over and over..." her voice starts to go a bit monotone as the emotions she's spent so long running from threaten to overcome her. And her words may be flat, but the shaky, erratic rhythm of her breathing shows the enormity of the grief and guilt weighing on her as she continues, "That I was sorry. That I wasn't angry anymore– that I never should have been angry. And he looked at me, and he said... 'I'm not the one you should be apologizing to.'" – Excerpt from a future chapter of In the Dirt, postcanon