#(i'm aware that there are ripples that will be created from that but in the grand scheme of things it's still a light punishment!)

[doux-amer]

Look, one of the places Twitter has Tumblr beat is if you follow sports news because that’s where it breaks the fastest and it was very funny seeing everyone wake up to the news about Man City yesterday morning. Hatred and schadenfraude unite all of us beyond club rivalries and transcend leagues! 

But on a more cynical and sobering note, I'm jaded enough to think that City's not going to get more than a perfunctory, performative slap on the wrist (and in any event, we won’t see anything happen for a long time because that’s how it is with legal proceedings). I wish we could see actual consequences for once because otherwise, it’ll lead to dire consequences for the league and sport. Football's already a mess with ownership and clubs acting as if they're above it all.

Besides the fact that corruption should never be awarded—and that's the message that we'll see if Man City weasels its way out of the punishment it deserves, just like they did when they got the Champions League ban dropped on a technicality (stupid of UEFA, but when have they not been stupid?)—we've seen how much damage City and other clubs like it have wreaked over the past decade. More than that if we’re going to be honest. It needs to stop somewhere. 

[streamofcolors]

𝔐𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲.

Cregan Stark x Reader.

Summary: Your husband, Cregan, has been preoccupied with his duties, neglecting you in the process. He makes up for it in a delightful way.

Warnings: SMUT (mdni), p in v sex, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), mutual orgasm.

Author's note: I must admit I'm petrified about posting this. It has been ages since I've written, but this gorgeous man has sparked my imagination. I hope you all enjoy! 🖤

You find yourself pacing back and forth in your chamber, unable to find rest. The pale blue sky of the day has transformed into a somber, dark canvas. Stars illuminate the sky like snowflakes in the night.

Cregan has been preoccupied with his duties as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, resulting in a lack of attention to you. And you could never begrudge him for it; his duties came first. That is something you came to terms with a long time ago. But, oh, how you desire his attention.

You succumb to your desires and slip your robe over your nightgown before crossing the hall to Cregan’s chamber.

“Who is it?” grumbles Cregan, who is taking a bath when he hears a knock at the door.

“It is I, your wife,” you say softly, leaning your forehead against the door as you silently pray Cregan will grant you entrance.

Cregan raises an eyebrow as you speak. He had assumed it was one of his servants. "Come in," he replies, readjusting himself in the tub.

With a sigh of relief, you open the door and enter the chamber. The pleasant aroma of the bath envelops your senses, creating a soothing atmosphere. Your breath hitches at the sight of Cregan in his tub, his bare, chiseled chest protruding from the water.

“To what do I owe your presence at this hour?” Cregan asks as you approach his side.

You kneel alongside the tub and gently take the sponge from Cregan’s grasp. “You’ve been awfully preoccupied lately,” you point out cautiously, scrubbing his shoulder for him. You can see the wheels turning in Cregan’s head as he thinks about how to respond. He can sense your frustration.

“Duty is sacrifice,” he sighs, his gaze softening. Though he would never admit it, the last few days have been tiring.

You hum in agreement. “I am aware of that, my love. But that does not change the fact that I miss my husband.”

Cregan’s lips twitch upward into a grin. “You miss me? I am right here.”

You grin and huff, “Not in that way, Cregan.”

Cregan gently grasps your forearm, halting your scrubbing. “C’mere,” he says softly as he gently tugs on you.

He slips the robe off your shoulders, leaving you in your nightgown. He guides you into the bathtub with him, unconcerned about soaking your nightgown.

As you sink into the tub with Cregan, your nightgown becomes clingy, the thin fabric immediately soaked through and rendered translucent by the water. Cregan's eyes roam over your figure, taking in the way the water has made the fabric cling to your curves, accentuating every contour. He reaches out, his hands finding your hips and slowly guiding you to sit on his lap, facing him. The water ripples gently around you, lapping against your skin.

“Tell me, in what way does my dear wife miss me, then?”

You awkwardly place your hands on Cregan’s chest, a scarlet flush creeping up your cheeks as you silently curse yourself for being so bold as to come here.

“You haven’t summoned me to your chambers in days,” you whisper so softly that it is barely audible.

Cregan snickers, attempting to maintain composure for your sake. “Come on now, love, don’t get all shy on me.”

“I have missed you too. You have no idea how much it pains me to spend so much time apart,” he consoles you as his thumb caresses your hip comfortingly.

“How about this? Tonight, I am all yours,” Cregan says in a husky voice as he raises your face by your chin in a gentle manner.

Your gaze flickers from Cregan’s grey eyes to his lips. The subtle gesture is all the confirmation he needs, prompting Cregan to delicately press his lips against yours.

You shriek against his lips as he rises, holding you in his muscular arms. He carries you to his bed with ease, leaving a trail of water droplets on the stone floor.

Cregan chuckles as he drops you on his bed, watching you bounce. You are soaking the furs, but he could not care less. He gets to his knees at the foot of the bed and pulls you down to the edge.

"I've been neglecting you," he murmurs against your calf, kissing his way up your bare leg.

His lips are soft, almost silken, and pillowy against your sensitive skin. Your soaked nightgown is bunched up at your waist. You can feel the soft tickle of his breath on your thigh, your fingers carding through his hair as he hovers near your core.

“Forgive me,” he murmurs before placing what he often referred to as a “northerner’s kiss” on your bundle of nerves.

Cregan’s tongue moves with precision, finding every sensitive spot that makes you whimper and writhe. Your hips begin to move in sync with his mouth, craving more of the delightful sensations he is giving you.

Cregan begins to suckle on your bundle of nerves, his eyes locked on your face as you let out a sharp gasp. Your fingers tug at his hair, eliciting a deep moan from him.

His fingers tease your entrance, delicately circling before gently pushing inside. The sensation of fullness feels overwhelming, causing you to arch your back and cry out.

His fingers move in sync with the movements of his mouth, curled inside of you, pushing you closer to the edge.

“Cregan, please,” you beg needily.

“I know, love, I know” he says as he rises from his knees.

Cregan's lips press against yours, your flavour lingering on his tongue. He guides you up on the bed, positioning himself at your throbbing entrance. You wrap your legs around his waist, gasping as he begins to push inside of you.

The pleasure is palpable as he slowly buries himself to the hilt. Cregan groans, his forehead resting against yours as he comes to a halt, allowing you to adjust to him.

“By the gods, you feel so good,” he whispers, his voice strained with the effort of holding himself back.

Cregan moves slowly, his thrusts deep and deliberate, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your gasps and moans blend to create a symphony of pleasure that resonates off the stone walls.

"Cregan," you gasp, your voice trembling from the intensity. "I'm close."

"Me too," he replies, his breath hot against your ear. "Come with me, love."

He moves his hand between your bodies, his thumb finding your bundle of nerves and rubbing it in circles. With a final, deep thrust, he pushes you over the edge, your peak washing over you in a powerful wave. You cry out his name, your body trembling with pleasure as he follows you into ecstasy, his own release filling you up.

One of Cregan’s hands is tenderly cradling your head as he gazes down at you in awe, admiring your afterglow.

“Do you still miss me, dear wife?”

[river-bottom-nightmare]

the two of the had always treated it as one big joke, was the thing. bruce and dick would put on a show together: a stumbling, overly-friendly yet well-intentioned gatsby and his young ward with a sweet tongue and an artful smile. laugh a little too loud, bat the eyes, play up the youth, and they had gotham eating out of their palms. it was fun, a punchline only the two of them were ever in on.

"that was a good one," bruce said, voice warm, deftly removing his cufflinks. "the bit with mrs. arlington's cosmetic surgery was particularly inspired."

"i thought so!" dick chirped back. his suit jacket was already draped over a chair in the sitting room, shoes flung off. "i mean, what could i possibly know about the divorce rumors."

bruce hummed in amused agreement. "i always forget how tiring brucie wayne is to play, though," he said. "for someone who doesn't exist, he's quite the effort."

right then, though, a quiet ripple of alarm went through dick. "wait, what do you mean brucie doesn't exist? what do you mean he's an effort?"

"i mean he's not...he's not real, dick. you know this." bruce shot him a confused glance. "he's a fiction i have to endure on occasion. having you there does make the theatre much more bearable, though."

"of cource brucie wayne is real. he's you!"

bruce was staring at him now, the tired comfort from a successful night wiped from his face. he was just confused, and more than a little concerned. heart on his cheek , always, helplessly (to dick, anyway). "it's just a performance, dick. it doesn't mean anything. you are well aware—"

but dick cut him off, shaking his head. "nothing is ever just a performance, b. that's not what performance is!"

and it killed him, gutted him that bruce didn't understand this, that he had failed to grasp 'brucie wayne' was poetic, was almost victorian, was a masterclass in crafting a mask around a kernel of truth. was the kind of murder you watched a play just to revel in at the end.

"i don't see how it isn't," bruce said, speaking very carefully. "the version of bruce wayne the public sees is a persona. his very existence is to perform the function of deceit."

"deceit?" dick said incredulously, almost laughing with it. "performing isn't deceit, bruce. and that's not what you're doing either." he jabbed a finger in bruce's general direction. "you way overplay how harmless brucie is, but you're not hardline serious all the time. with me and with other kids you meet on patrol, you're gentle."

"that isn't—"

dick kept steamrolling over him. "and sure, brucie is ridiculous sometimes. but you didn't pull that silliness out of thin air, did you? no, because you're playful with me and alfred."

"how i behave with you and alfred isn't a performance though, dick," bruce explained. "that's simply...well. that's who i am when i'm not pretending to be someone else."

"that's what you're missing, b. a performance isn't you pretending to be someone else. you're exaggerating certain parts of yourself like crazy, but at the heart of it all, you're still you."

"why does this affect you so much?" bruce asked. "you're hurting." you're hurting because of me, went unsaid. it wasn't an apology, but it was the closest dick was going to get.

"because brucie is bruce in all the ways that matter, and bruce is my best friend," dick said simply. "don't you dare tell me my best friend doesn't exist!"

bruce was still tense, though. like his heart was a step behind his head, like was a dandelion seed and the wind was unsure. so dick did what he should have done at the beginning of his whole ordeal: went over to him and looped his arms over his waist in a hug, as high as they would go.

"performing is a little tiring, but like batman is," dick mumbled into bruce's shirt. "it isn't a chore you gotta get through. it's an art, and you should have fun with it! because every show you put on is you basically just exaggerating different parts of yourself. you're not creating anyone new."

bruce reached down to hug dick in return, holding him close and sure, strength and sinew and sharing it all. "dick," he said honestly, "that sounds exhausting."

"yeah. but it's worth it," dick said in return. "you always perform for a reason. brucie exists 'cause you want to help people."

"i suppose that desire's real enough," bruce said, gentle. "in that case, thank you."

"for what?"

"for being my best friend, no matter the performance."

---

hahaha noooo being a performer from a young age hasn't impacted me or dick in any way at all we've got a perfectly normal relationship with performance i promise

anyway look guys!!! i wrote a thing!!! first time in forever idk my writing's rusty but i hope yall like it regardless. lmk if i should pop the taglist back in here i'm pretty sure half the people on that thing forgot i existed

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Prologue

I'm not super happy with this prologue but I've done my best with it :'). Also I gave God He/They pronouns. Enjoy!

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 1227

Warnings: Uhhhh idk unless you count God as one.

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

Prologue // Chapter 1 >

Prologue

Before time began, there was her.

Cælitis (Definition): The divinities who dwell within the celestial planes. (Noun)

The Universe – The Beginning

Perhaps it was a coincidence, or a mistake, or there was something far greater beyond the confines of the ever-expanding walls of the universe. They had accepted solitary, thinking they were the only one, the first, when they awoke to a dark abyss, with the veins of creation pulsating at his fingertips. This was what God thought when they reached out for the first time, light bursting from within, shooting out and collecting into a colossal sphere. A star, he had named it, and he had much fun for who knows how long, floating through the endless vacuum, using these fiery balls of fire and gas to light his way. He would make them every colour he could think of, clumping some together to form the nebulas, or shooting some off into the middle of nowhere, just for the sake of it. Sometimes, he would press atoms so close together they would form rocks of all shapes and sizes, letting them wander and float around until they began clumping together into similar spherical shapes. He even swirled some clusters of stars and rocks around, watching as they turned into disks that would spin forever – galaxies, he decided to label them as. Before long, the universe was scattered with clusters of stars, planets, and whatever else they felt like creating, some so big their size was incomprehensible, others microscopic in comparison, and the rest varying in between.

When God had decided to rest their powers for a short while, he hadn’t expected to awake to the feeling that something was off when he observed his work. A small ripple, something he wouldn’t have picked up on if he knew they were the only being currently in existence. It passed through them, and he quickly shot towards the nebula that sat in the centre of his universal domain, their birthplace, so to speak. And what he came across was something very wrong. And he finally came to the realisation that he wasn’t alone.

It looked like a cloud at first. A dark mass that swirled and flared it tendrils around frantically as it contorted in and out of itself. He wouldn’t have been able to see it if it weren’t for the carnage it had left behind, it’s pitch black silhouette a stark contrast against the flickering specks of light behind it – the broken remains of his precious stars and planets.

Though he did not fear it. They knew that if this being had come into existence, it was here for a reason.

The Goddess was a being not many creatures knew about, and God wanted to keep it that way. He didn’t want anyone to know he had an equal, someone, if aware of everything they could do, could rival him and his authority.

He was Creation, and she was Destruction. Not solely there to destroy everything, no. She was brought into existence to ensure there was change, to make sure God didn’t slow down, always keeping him on his metaphorical feet. He had welcomed change when they had first come across her, but not too much. See, he wanted things to progress, but on his terms, so when the flailing tendrils of the Goddess had parted to reveal a mass of black wings and hundreds of very curious eyes peering up at them, he immediately took them under his own wings, teaching them the timeline of the universe around them. Her naivety hadn’t flown past him, she had just come into existence after all, and at this realisation he was delighted.

Billions of years passed by under the tutelage of God, telling the Goddess that she was his creation, what was divine and what was sacrilege. She absorbed it all, enchanted by the ways of what she believed to be her ‘creator’.

At one point, Destruction was overseeing a supernova just outside the Andromeda galaxy when God had approached her, eager to show her something. Reluctant but curious, she agreed, allowing them take her to another celestial plane, gesturing his arms out wide and welcoming her to Heaven.

He introduced her to his creations, his hierarchy of the divine. From the Seraphims, all the way down to the angels. For a time the Goddess resided with them, telling them about her ways of existence, though it wasn’t always received positively. In fact, there was only one creation that was intrigued by her path of dismantlement, a chirpy seraphim named Lucifer, who would spend most of his free time following her around with wide eager eyes, asking questions a mile a minute. The Goddess would always answer truthfully, and soon enough God began to grow weary of the friendly exchange between the two.

It wasn’t long before he was dragging her back through the planes, until they came across a very colourful planet. Entering through the atmosphere, the two floated down until they arrived on top of wall that encased a very interesting sight.

For as far as the eye could see, there was desert, but within the confines of this wall was a lush paradise, filled to the brim with every possible plant. The Garden of Eden.

God revealed two creatures that he had brought into existence, their names Adam, and Lilith, and they were to create the human race. Though his idea didn’t last very long – Lucifer had trailed after the Goddess into Eden one day, going off on another one of his excitable tangents on whatever was flying through his head at the time, when he had come face to face with the cunning and evaluating eyes of Lilith.

Obviously most know what happened after that, and God had quickly created Eve, but when she and Adam both failed his expectations after Lucifer and Lilith tempted them with the apple from the tree, he soon made changes.

The Seraphim and his new wife were cast down into a new celestial plane called Hell, and God then turned to the Goddess, seething, accusing her – that she had planted those thoughts and questions into his creation’s mind. They wouldn’t hear any excuse, leaving her until near the end of Adam and Eve’s once immortal life on Earth.

When he approached her again, they said he had a new job for her, and she followed, hopeful for their friendship to be restored, though doubts began to creep into her mind when she saw what was before her.

Purgatory, he had revealed it to be, was where she would take mortal souls after their physical body expired and sort them between Heaven and Hell. Next was the Underworld, where, if a soul was displaced in either of the two afterlives, it would go there to remain for eternity, or if she decided to send it back to Earth to be reincarnated. It was her new domain, where she would reside when she wasn’t on Earth collecting new souls.

Distressed, the Goddess asked why she was to do this, but God said nothing, only explaining further on what her new purpose entailed, and she grew more and more distraught at the new path he had laid out in front of her. She was no longer to be regarded as Destruction, but instead would spend the rest of eternity to be called a new, more fitting name, one he thought described her purpose of being perfectly:

Death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[dystopia-incognito]

Male Werewolf x Female Reader

Warning: NSFW (minors DNI) contains sex/dubcon A short spicy story of 1,977 words about a young woman encountering a werewolf.

A little side note: I NEVER write, I'm a nervous wreck for just posting this. That being said.. I wrote this little dabble specifically for a very special person the night before their birthday as a surprise and I might never actually finish it. Do enjoy it for what it is, though! <3

Freedom. In a tranquil corner of the world, nestled by the edge of a serene lake, Y/N found her escape from the bustling village that had kept her busy for far too long. The cool, inviting water lapped gently at her feet as she sat on the grassy shore, her emotions swirling like a symphony. It was the first sensation that washed over her. As her toes touched the water's surface, she felt liberated. Here, away from the ceaseless demands of her family and the never-ending chores of the village, she could finally breathe. By this quiet lake, she could be herself, unburdened by obligations. She smiled and hiked up her modest dress a little higher to not get it wet, the lush grass beneath her bare legs seemed to embrace her like a lover. Overhead, the leaves rustled like ancient scrolls, and the rhythmic ripples of the lake provided a soothing lullaby. In this moment, she merged seamlessly with the natural world, an integral part of a harmonious landscape. The water's gentle caress on her ankles brought forth sheer delight. She wiggled her toes, savouring the exquisite sensation. With each movement, every ripple she created in the water, she found a wellspring of unadulterated joy. Her laughter echoed, blending harmoniously with the songs of the birds in the nearby trees. Her gaze was drawn to the horizon, where the sun's golden glow painted the sky with hues of orange and pink. Her thoughts wandered to the future, where dreams and aspirations converged. Her heart swelled with optimism and a sense of adventure, as if the world itself were an open book, waiting for her to write its next chapter. It was a future where her heart would find its truest desires, where every sunrise held the promise of new adventures, and where her spirit would soar unburdened.

As the sun descended lower, casting elongated shadows across the water's surface, she closed her eyes for a moment. The soft breeze gently played with her hair and gently kissed her cheeks, carrying the fragrant scent of the surrounding pines. It was a tranquil pause, a chance to gather her thoughts amidst the serenity of her secluded haven. But as the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting the forest clearing in a deepening twilight, she suddenly became aware of a presence. It was a sensation she couldn't ignore, a feeling that sent a shiver down her spine. Beyond the familiar forest clearing that had always felt like her refuge, something new and unsettling had emerged.

The tranquil harmony of nature seemed disrupted as if an intruder had entered this sacred space. She stood up slowly, brushing her out of her face, slipping hastily into her boots, her heart pounding with an inexplicable mixture of curiosity and trepidation. She scanned the tree line, her eyes straining to pierce the gathering darkness. And there, between the dense shrubbery and shadowy trees, she saw it— a pair of eyes glowing with an eerie luminescence. The intensity of their gaze sent a chill through her, and she felt a sense of foreboding. She considered the possibilities: perhaps it was a lone wolf, their eyes reflecting the fading light. Or, in the depths of her imagination, a more ominous thought took root— a creature of legend and terror.

As she slowly retreated from the water's edge, she couldn't tear her eyes away from those glowing orbs in the darkness. Her instincts told her to be cautious, to respect the untamed wildness of the forest, and to tread carefully as she made her way home. With each step, she couldn't shake the feeling that the presence she had sensed was something beyond the ordinary, something that had been drawn to the tranquil haven she had sought for solace and reflection. The mystery of those glowing eyes haunted her thoughts as she ventured back toward the village, journeying through the forest's depths. With a heart pounding in her chest, she hurriedly attempted to make her way back through the dark forest.

Fear of the possible threat had her senses on edge, and as she ventured deeper, an unsettling disorientation began to grip her. The once-familiar forest now felt foreign, as if the trees had rearranged themselves while her attention was drawn to the mysterious presence by the lake. Thick greenery pressed in from all sides, making it difficult to discern one path from another. The foliage seemed to conspire, creating an eerie sameness that made every turn look alike. Her footsteps, once confident, now faltered as uncertainty took hold. Panic threatened to consume her as she feared she had strayed from her familiar way home. The forest's natural beauty had transformed into an intimidating maze, where every tree and every shadow appeared as a deceptive mirror image of the last. As the encroaching darkness deepened, she battled her rising anxiety, pushing her body through the underbrush, trying to remember the landmarks she'd used countless times to navigate these woods.

It was a race against time and her fear, an urgent attempt to find her way back to the safety of the village before the night's secrets fully unfurled, and her fear of the unknown became a reality. As the unsettling sense of being stalked by what she could only assume to be a werewolf tightened its grip on her, she felt a growing unease that urged her to flee. Panic and adrenaline coursed through her veins, driving her to her feet as she started running through the dark forest. With each pounding step, her surroundings grew increasingly unfamiliar. Trees loomed like shadowy sentinels, and the underbrush seemed to tangle at her feet. She ran aimlessly, her heart thundering in her chest as she picked up speed, the urgency of escape driving her forward. In the oppressive darkness, the sound of her breath and the rush of her footsteps filled her ears. But then, she began to hear something else— a haunting, primal sound echoing through the trees. It was the unmistakable sound of pursuit, the creature she had feared drawing nearer with each passing moment.

The relentless rhythm of its power and grace echoed in her ears, a chilling reminder of the danger that chased her through the labyrinthine forest. She dared not glance back, for the terror had become all too real, her only thought was to find her way to safety in this perilous game of survival amidst the darkness. Her heart was pounding in her ears and her limbs failing her as she ran through the forest, her breath ragged and laboured, each step became a monumental effort. In her desperate flight, she suddenly tripped over a gnarled root, sprawling to the forest floor. Pain seared through her, but adrenaline surged through her veins. She scrambled to get up but hit the ground again, exhausted she realized, her escape had come to a heartbreaking halt.

Her body refused to obey her commands, with trembling limbs she lay there, chest heaving as she fought her burning lungs to breathe. She snapped her head up to look around, her nightmare had vanished into the shadows but she knew it was only a matter of time before it would catch up to her again. Willing herself to move, she managed to roll onto her back, peering into the direction she had come from as her eyes adjusted to the darkness surrounding her. Long minutes passed, and then over the sound of the blood rushing in her ears, she heard it — rustling of leaves and twigs, the eerie whisper of fur against the night air. The werewolf, with one giant leap, emerged from the shadows and fixed its feral eyes upon her.

Frozen in fear, she felt unable to breathe, dwarfed by its imposing size, she could feel the creature's hot breath as it drew near on all fours, coming as close as to hover over her. The scent of the forest and the wildness of the beast enveloped her, and for a moment that stretched into eternity, they remained locked in a tense and inexplicable stillness. Y/N couldn't tear her eyes away from the werewolf's gaze, and the creature's intelligent eyes seemed to calculate the situation, caught between predatory instincts and fascination with her presence. Then, with a hesitant and almost tender movement, the werewolf lowered its large head and sniffed her.

It was a surrealistically intimate moment, where the boundaries between fear and curiosity blurred into something she couldn't comprehend. Y/N, still frozen in place, allowed it to happen, her heart pounding in her chest. The forest rustled, the night held its breath and she and the this wild beast existed in a tense and enigmatic moment. She now was at the mercy of the unknown. Not knowing what the future held, in that fragile moment of shared vulnerability, something unexpected had passed between them.

…

And then the spell was abruptly broken as it leaned in, got a hold of her face, and licked it. Its tongue left long clammy strokes over her cheek and down the side of her neck. With its wet snout, it nudged the low neckline of her dress for access. She gasped and thrashed in sheer surprise, struggling to get away, but the werewolf muscled her back firmly to the lush forest floor. It withdrew slightly to look at her, growling a low, possessive warning which vibrated through her very being. In horror, she watched the beast's thick, viscous drool drip from its fangs and felt it land with a deliberate and heavy splat onto her chest. Shivers ran down her spine as the invasive syrupy substance tenaciously clung to the soft slopes of her rising and falling chest, lazily pooling down into her cleavage as it glistened in the dim moonlight.

She could only expect the worst, powerless, as it continued to sniff her. Its keen sense of smell and big paws explored her curvacious body, moving downwards to dip underneath the hem of her dress, sending her nerves on edge. Its snout then pushed upwards, moving her dress along with the motion, to nuzzle apart her thick trembling thighs. Her fingers dug into the fresh earth beneath her and her skin prickled as goosebumps appeared all over her body, But before she could even flinch it let her know once more, and quite vocally, she wasn't allowed to move. Taking two deep huffs of her, the werewolf's hot breath washed over her sex. A strangled noise escaped her, and then, without any warning, it hungrily began lapping at her. The sudden sheer sensation of it drew a high-pitched wail from her lips, like a wounded animal, her body curled in on itself, thighs clamping down weakly around its powerful head. Her hands shot down to grab white-knuckled fists full of the beast's thick mane as it continued, absolutely unbothered, to wetly slobber away at her. And it was too much at once. Her stomach tied in knots, and she shook with mixed emotions tumbling away inside her, even if pleasure slowly but surely bloomed in her core. Then the creature's head snapped up, licking its lips as sure goal-set glowing eyes met hers to stare her back down into submission, into the moss and dancing leaves beneath her. She was overwhelmed by it, the werewolf's sheer masculinity and assertive power made her feel more vulnerable than if she were completely exposed to him. It, on the other hand, wasted no time and grabbed at her, pulling her in and pushing her back against his hips eagerly. Her insides contracted involuntarily as it ripped at her dress for easier access to more of her body. She was met with throbbing heat on her newly exposed skin, carnal desire and the sheer size of Him against her tummy. Her mouth went dry with the realisation of what would happen next..

- FIN

[it-was-too-cold-always]

Always Read the Fine Print Chapter 10

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

Who actually reads all the terms and conditions? After mindlessly checking a box years ago, our Reader unintentionally agrees to be part of a scientific study to create super soldier babies. To make matters worse, her fellow test subject is the brooding and intimidating Bucky Barnes.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: The morning after the wedding, Bucky and the reader prepare for the next steps of the study.

Warnings: arranged marriage, forced proximity, lots of angst, violence, PTSD/nightmares, panic attacks, language, SMUT 18+ only, oral fem receiving, unprotected sex, size kink, let me know if I'm missing anything

You were half awake when morning came. You peeked your eyes open to see the bright sunlight flooding into the room. Too bright. You closed your eyes and groaned; you were too tired to be awake yet. Your body felt heavy and…sore? The memories of last night suddenly came flooding into your mind – you and Bucky finally had sex. And it was magical.

You looked over and saw Bucky, wide awake, watching you. His head was propped up with his metal arm, and his other hand was resting comfortably on your bare waist. You were both still completely naked, tangled in the soft sheets of your bed.

“Good morning, doll,” he whispered.

“Good morning,” you whispered back. “How long have you been staring at me?” He chuckled and rolled his eyes.

“Sweetheart, when the view is this good, it’s hard to look away,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “But I’m afraid I won’t be able to stare much longer,” he said, the joking tone diminishing from his voice, “we have an appointment with SHIELD at 11:00.”

You frowned. This was a short-lived honeymoon, that’s for sure. You’ve been pushing down any thoughts or emotions related to the study, and now it was time to face everything head-on. The reality was setting in. Your stomach flipped and you felt like throwing up. Sensing your sudden discomfort, Bucky pulled you into his chest and rubbed your back.

“Let’s just do what needs to be done, one step at a time,” he whispered into your hair. “It’ll be okay.”

All you could do was nod. You were scared. You didn’t know what they would do if you didn’t get pregnant fast enough – or if you couldn’t get pregnant at all. And no one knows what’ll happen carrying a super soldier baby to term. Would your body even be strong enough? Your mind went to Twilight when Renesmee literally ripped herself out of Bella’s body. Screw that so hard.

“Let’s get cleaned up, then we can go downstairs and get you a cup of coffee,” Bucky suggested. The moment you got out from under the covers, you were very aware of your nakedness. Now, in broad daylight, you were feeling insecure about your body. But then Bucky got out of bed, and you were too distracted to be embarrassed. He was so chiseled; it was like he was sculpted by the gods. The strong muscles in his back and shoulders rippled as he got up and stretched. When he stood up, you blushed – you had a full view of his bare ass. You blushed even harder when he turned to face you. From last night, you could feel how big he was. But looking at him now, you wondered how the hell his cock even fit inside you. It was massive.

Bucky was amused by your blushing. You two spent all night making love, and now you’re suddenly bashful at the sight of him naked. He flashed you a smile, putting his hand on the small of your back as he led you to the bathroom. Turning on the faucet, he grabbed towels as you waited for the water to heat up. Holding back the curtain, he gestured towards the shower. “After you,” he said.

You smiled and hopped into the shower, letting the warm water relax your sore muscles. You’ve never had sex so intense and passionate before; you didn’t realize what a workout it was. You weren’t expecting Bucky to join you, so the feeling of his hands massaging your muscles startled you.

“Relax, doll. Let me take care of you,” he whispered into your ear. Slowly, you released the tension in your shoulders and let him take the lead. Between the heat from the water and his strong hands digging deep into your muscles, you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning. It all felt so immaculate. You felt so pampered.

Bucky groaned in response. He couldn’t help himself – the sweet sound of your moan brought him back to last night, and he was quickly aroused. You could feel it pressing into your lower back. He turned you around, took a moment to study your face, and leaned in for a gentle kiss. It deepened but remained slow and passionate. There was no rush, he was taking his sweet time. He moved from your lips to your neck, down to your breasts, taking one of your nipples and sucking. You moaned louder, tangling your fingers in his hair as he sucked and kissed your skin all the way down. His touch was electrifying, sending shivers down your spine. You had goosebumps even in the steamy shower.

Before you could fully process what was happening, Bucky was on his knees, pinning you against the shower wall, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder. He was slow and careful, wanting to remember every second of this moment. He looked up at you and murmured “my pretty wife,” right before he dove deep into your folds. You screamed in surprise - you weren’t expecting to be this reactive. Your clit was still sensitive from last night, making every touch more intense. He worked you over thoroughly, sucking your clit and pumping his fingers slowly inside you. It didn’t take much for you to come the first couple times (you lost track). Between his tongue and long fingers, you came undone quickly. Your legs were jelly. Bucky was the only thing keeping you upright against the wall.

You were in a wonderful euphoric haze when Bucky stood back up. He hooked your leg around his waist and held you tightly. Pulling you into another slow, passionate kiss, he slid inside of you. The intrusion made you gasp. You looked into each other’s eyes as he bottomed out. You’ve never felt more connected to another person in your entire life. Suddenly, you weren’t close enough to him. Pulling him into a more frenzied kiss, you grinded your hips, eliciting a growl from his throat. You needed more.

He dragged himself in and out of you, his eyes staring directly into your soul. You furrowed your brows – it still wasn’t enough. You needed to feel more of him. Sensing your desperation, Bucky picked up his pace until he was pounding into you. You were screaming, orgasm after orgasm ripping through your entire body. You were pretty sure he came at least twice, pulsing deep inside you but continuing his thrusts nonetheless. His cock was sinful. You were surprised he could last this long. Finally, when your pussy was too sore and his grip on your hips became too much, you tapped out. Resting your head on his shoulder, you tried to catch your breath. Your entire body was buzzing. Bucky was still holding you up, which you were grateful for. You’re pretty sure that if you tried to stand, you’d fall right over. Bucky softly kissed your temple, rubbing your back and murmuring praises into your ear - “so beautiful” and “all mine” were the only words you could make out in your incoherent state.  

Bucky was true to his word – he had every intention of cleaning you up, even after he made a mess of you yet again. He massaged your scalp as he worked shampoo into your hair, ran his hands slowly over your body as he soaped you up, and dried you off with a soft, fluffy towel. Carrying you back into the bedroom, he set you down on the bed while he started getting dressed. You were too damn tired to get up and get dressed, and he could tell.

“I’ll be right back with your coffee,” he said with a grin, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead. Checking the time on your phone, you realized you should at least try to get dressed. The meeting with SHIELD was less than an hour away.

Chapter 11

Taglist 💛

@kandis-mom @learisa @pono-pura-vida @smile1318 @stinkerbelle007 @glitterydeputyshepherdwagon @wonderland2425 @lowkeysebby @cookiie-c @mrsevans90 @touchit-pcy @vicmc624 @mrsbarnes32557038 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @wonderland2425 @tsofo26 @missing-loki @aesthetic0cherryblossom @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @ladyvenera @buggy14 @emmsybucky @crist1216 @jessicaloons @vrittivsanghavi @avenirectioner

[lazybutsmexy]

Heart-stopping

Alejandro Vargas x f!reader

Warnings: tiny bit of angst, mention of violence, description of injuries, otherwise pure fluff, pregnancy announcement, crack?

Summary: Only Alejandro can kill Alejandro. You may easily give him a heart attack, though.

On AO3

A/N: Sorry, this is not my triumphant comeback. I had to get this out of my system so I can continue my work. I hope to be able to write more soon though!

~•~•~•~•~•~

Only Alejandro can kill Alejandro.

The proverb was often repeated among his peers and subordinates with a mix of awe and reverence, and by his rivals and enemies with spiteful resignation.

You, however, repeated it as a mantra - or a prayer? - in your head whenever his chest rose and fell with every breath. Just like you had for a week now.

Just an hour earlier, the nurse had come with orders from the doctor to pull him off the meds keeping him asleep, and you anxiously wrung your hands together, waiting for any signal of your beloved Alejandro awakening.

When he finally shifted and gave signals of waking up, you released a shaky breath you weren't even aware of holding. His name fell from your lips in a whisper, and his eyes flew open as if a spell had been broken at the sound.

As soon as his eyes found yours, his lips flickered a smile, revealing the dimples that created ripples on his cheeks like the ocean.

"Buenos días, mi amor," he breathed out, his voice rugged and raspy from a combination of sleep and a dry throat.

"Es medianoche, pendejo," you offered him a wide grin, carefully approaching him and cupping his face, pressing your lips to his with the urgency that it warranted.

After the longest week of your life, your lover was finally awake.

A few seconds later, you pulled away and inwardly celebrated the little dispeased noise he made when trying to chase your lips. You offered him a glass of water instead, and he accepted it silently, taking slow sips until his parched throat didn't resemble a desert anymore.

Once he was satisfied, you took the glass back and cupped his face, your fingers stroking the growing stubble and brushing against the bandage covering his head.

"Are you hurting anywhere?" Your voice was quiet as you studied him carefully, looking for any hint of pain.

"I feel pretty numb all over," he groaned, nuzzling your hand like a sleepy cat, "I'm mostly confused as to why I'm here."

Your brows furrowed as you remembered the doctor had warned you about amnesia, and took you a few moments to finally gather your words.

"We were under heavy fire from the cartel while crossing the bridge," your hand slowly moved from his face to his chest, feeling the bandages under the hospital gown, "they got you between your chest plates, and the impact made you lose your balance."

You paused to take in a deep breath, trying to keep the tears at bay while you relived those memories. He watched you closely, his smile slowly falling at the signs of your distress.

"Oviedo jumped after you into the river, but you hit your head at the bottom real hard," you watched as his brows tightened and his fingers enveloped your wrist and his thumb traced your pulse, a silent apology of sorts. But Alejandro rarely ever apologized - or did anything else - silently.

"Lo siento mucho, mi amor," he offered, his heart breaking a little at the sight of the unshed tears pooling in your eyes, "I've made you worry for me again, didn't I?"

A sharp snort left you as you used your free hand to wipe the tears away. "I was worried sick, Alejo, and everyone else too," you briefly thought of Rudy, now in charge of the Vaqueros for the time being, and them too, who often texted you and called you for updates. "You were put in a coma for a week because your brain swelled up."

His eyes widened at the information, his fingers tightening around your wrist slightly. "Verga... That does sound pretty bad..."

You took a deep breathe in to compose yourself, and nodded as you leaned down to press your forehead to his bandaged head, enjoying the gentle warmth sipping from beneath them. "Doctor said you'll be out of commission for a while, until he's sure there's no lasting damage."

Alejandro suppressed a groan and a complaint at the news. He was a soldier commited to his cause, but he was also a realistic man. If he was in no shape to guide his men, he wouldn't dare put them in unnecessary danger. The quickest way to return to his duties would be to heal.

Only Alejandro can kill Alejandro.

The toughest man in the army.

Still, very much a man that can be brought down by bullets one day.

"What about you, mi amor?" He questioned you as he tenerly brushed your cheek with his fingers, eager to focus on something else. He noted the bags under your eyes, and let his eyes wander over your form. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

You kept in silence for a few seconds as you stared into his eyes, but moved to bury your face in his neck instead, immediately raising all the alarms in his mind. "... I'll be out of commission for a while, too."

His hand moved from your cheek to the back of your head, slowly stroking your scalp, "what happened, mi vida? Did they get you too?"

You enjoyed his touch with a secret smile in your lips. Even after all he endured, he cared so much about your well-being that it made your heart swell. It also made you feel just a tiny bit bad about what -or rather the way - you were going to tell him. But you wanted revenge for all those sleepless nights spent worried sick over him "...you did."

Alejandro blinked once before forcing your head off his shoulder so he could look straight at your face. His eyes searched yours in a raising panic as he registered your words.

He had no memory of the incident itself. Had you been close to him when he was shot? Had he hit you in the confusion after getting hit himself? He would never live it down. Even taking into account that in both your careers injuries were common place, he would never forgive himself if he had been the direct cause of any injury on you.

The warning bell from the machine registering his palpitations went off, signaling a worringly increase in his heartbeat, causing you to shake yourself from your trance to look at it.

Oh.

Oops.

"Alejo, tranquilo," you offered him an apologetic smile, laying your hand flat on his chest and rubbing it, "I'm sorry, I was just joking - kinda."

He blinked at you in confusion, his brows furrowing deeply as he looked at you as if you were insane.

"Esos chistes no son graciosos, amor," he scolded you, and you leaned in to kiss him sorry, but he pulled away with a petulant pout, "casi me da un infarto. I didn't know you were the kind of woman to make that kind of jokes."

You chuckled softly and pulled away, reaching into a paper envelope you had left earlier on the bedside table "Bueno, pero si me diste, Alejo," you smirked at him playfully, handing him the square picture, "you got me good."

He glared at you for a little longer before taking the picture, examining it. It had your name on one of the upper corners, and a circle zeroing on a tiny protuberance. "Y esto?"

"The reason I'll be out of commission, mi amor," you smiled at him warmly, "or should I call you papi? I mean, you should start getting used to it."

Alejandro's eyes shot up to meet yours again, this time wide as plates as your words sunk in. "...when did you...?"

"Doctor confirmed it two days ago," you stroked his cheek, watching him closely for any reaction. You hadn't actively talked about forming a family before, other than in a hypothetical future. So, you were still quite unsure whether or not he would take the news in stride or not.

You were rewarded with a wide grin that nearly parted his face in two, and his free hand moving to your body, tenderly landing on your belly. You reciprocrated with your own grin, your eyes flooding with fresh tears, this time out of pure happiness.

"Voy a ser papá?," he wanted to confirm, and you didn't wait to nod your head eagerly, leaning closer to him again until you were in range of a thousand of small kisses he spread over your face before pulling you in for a long kiss.

Only to be interrupted by the machine again, its alarm announcing his rising heartbeat and causing you to inch back from the kiss in a giggle.

"Alejo, tranquilo!"

~•~•~•~•~•~

BONUS:

"Soy tan feliz, mi amor," he mumbled in your temple, his lips brushing your skin. After the doctor had finally seen him after waking up, he spent a whole half a second trying to convince you to join him on the bed. He pulled you closer to him, enjoying your warmth and your closeness.

"I'm so elated," you hummed into his chest, before letting out a soft sigh, "I'm just not looking forward to your mamá berating us for getting pregnant before marriage."

"... Ay, pinche verga, cierto." He whispered in horror, the machine beeping loudly again at the thought of his very catholic mother reacting to the news.

"Alejo, cálmate!"

[hrefna-the-raven]

Cat and mouse

Masterlist - BG3 masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4

Words: 930

Summary: you try to win that game of cat and mouse you're playing with Raphael

Warnings: smut mention, kind of, no real smut, not yet 😇

"We delivered the devil, now I want what I'm owed! We had a deal!", Astarion snapped, the tone of his voice cracking ever so slightly at the shock the newly found information provided.

"Indeed we did. I discovered all there is to know about those scars. It's a rather grim tale, even for my taste", Raphael chuckled, "but what can I say? Dear old father has a taste for drama."

"Yeah I wonder who else does?", you muttered passing them, not even bothering to look at the devil as you made your way towards the river not far away from your campside.

The argument between the devil and the vampire subsided the further you got away and a sense of relief washed over you as the only sounds that filled the air were the gentle flow of the river and the soft chirping of crickets. Outwardly, you tried to maintain an air of indifference towards Raphael, but internally, a tumultuous battle of emotions raged within you. From the very moment you first encountered the devil, there was a faint connection, something special that lingered in the shadows of your mind, silently intertwining with the unknown threads of fate.

You undressed and entered the water, feeling a shiver run through your body as the coldness brushed against your skin. Inhaling deeply, you descended into the depths, enveloped by the serene silence of the currents, finding solace as your restless thoughts gradually eased. Time was elusive beneath the surface; it could have been a minute, two, or an eternity as it seemed, until an ominous feeling of peril slowly crawled up your spine, compelling you to resurface once more.

A gasp escaped your lips as you suddenly found yourself face to face with Raphael's naked human form, his eyes, a deep, mesmerizing shade of brown, locked on yours. The two of you were suspended in the water, locked in a moment of tension and hidden desire.

"Are you aware that cats usually despise water?", he asked, his voice low and seductive.

"Then perhaps this cat must be very tempted to catch the mouse", you shrugged, attempting to sound nonchalant and unaffected.

"A real temptress this mouse is and very... elusive", he chuckled softly, his breath caressing your skin as he inched closer, "you've been trying to ignore me."

"And you've been keeping secrets from me", you turned away, attempting to conceal the heat that was spreading across your cheeks upon realising the growing intimacy between the two of you.

You sensed a ripple in the water, causing the hairs on your neck to stand on end as if a scorching breath brushed against your skin.

But as you turned around, splashing water where the devil had been, you realised that he had vanished. A quivering breath escaped your lips and just as your heartbeat calmed down, something seized your foot and forcefully dragged you beneath the water's surface.

In a panic, you tried let out a piercing scream that morphed into a cluster of bubbles and you kicked in all directions, desperately fighting to resurface. Eventually, you emerged from the depths of the water, gasping for air. Your eyes darted around, attempting to make sense of what had just occurred. Still in a state of shock, your realised that you were no longer in the river. Instead, you found yourself confined again within that same room with its walls adorned in crimson hues and the opulent bed, this time pinned in the pool under Raphael's bare demonic figure. He leered down at you, his eyes flickering with an insatiable hunger and desire.

"My little mouse", he whispered into your ear, gently grazing his teeth along your neck, eliciting a suppressed moan that you fought to hold back.

In a desperate attempt to create some distance, you placed your hand on his chest, only to find your efforts futile.

"My cat", you swallowed nervously, "I propose a... deal."

Raphael raised an eyebrow, surprised by your sudden choice of words.

"A deal? How intriguing", his husky voice sending shivers down your spine.

"You'll tell me the complete truth about your feelings towards me", your fingers trailed down his chest in a newly found burst of confidence.

"And what do I get in return?", he half moaned, his growing desire evident.

This was a perilous game he found himself playing. If he wasn't careful, he would be ensnared by you instead of the other way around. Whatever enchantment you held over him was becoming increasingly difficult to resist.

"The chase ends once and for all", you wrapped your fingers around his hard length.

A primal sound emanated from the depths of the cambion's chest as he pressed his face against your neck, his hips instinctively moving to seek more of your captivating caress. It was at this precise moment that you realised you had him, despite any attempts he may make to cheat his way out this deal, his response spoke volumes, confirming the lingering doubt that had haunted you since the encounter at the mausoleum.

"So, do we have a deal, devil?", you leaned against his warm cheek.

The words slipped from your lips, a soft whisper while your hand kept stroking his cock. Raphael raised his head, his black pupils dilated with an intense longing. His lips crashed onto yours, submerging you beneath the water's surface, his weight pressing down upon you.

But just as suddenly as it began, it ceased. The sensation of his scorching skin against yours vanished, and you found yourself back in the river near the camp.

"Foul creature," you muttered quietly, attempting to push aside the pulsating heat between your thighs.

[otherworldseekers]

Something's Gotta Give: Chapter 8 Scene 1

Well it's been a while. Again. But I'm making good progress on this chapter so I figured I'd post the first scene.

Previous Installment

Something's Gotta Give Masterpost

Severia and Nero left Ul’dah with the object of their journey wrapped, boxed and packed away in Nero’s saddle bags by mid morning. With a fresh, and more docile, chocobo from the Ul’dah stables for Nero to ride they made good progress. But by the time they paused for the evening just short of the border between Central and Northern Thanalan Severia’s nerves were feeling frayed. 

Not for the same reason her nerves had been frayed on the way south. No, Nero’s constant attention-seeking stream of consciousness chatter had become something she could filter out. She had even grown used to it, to an extent. On the contrary, the problem this time was that Nero had not said an unnecessary word to her since their conversation on the airship that morning. It felt uncannily silent in the world without his voice keeping her company. 

They made camp within sight of the Nanawa Mines, avoiding the nest of giant ants, and settled down to a sparse supper well after dusk. Nero sat and ate and then laid out his bedroll without comment. Severia had spent most of the day avoiding eye contact with him, but now she noted that his brow shadowed his eyes more than usual, his lips were a savage line. 

It was no good pretending that she didn’t know the reason. His greeting that morning had been bright and cheerful and it was she who had brought the storm clouds to his brow. Only now, as a pang of regret rippled through her chest, did she realize how much she had come to rely on his easy smiles. Before, he would have lain on his bedroll and faced her so they could talk. He had seemed to enjoy talking to her. And for as much as she pretended not to, Severia had also grown to enjoy their conversations. Now he lay on his back and looked at the stars and she found the lack of his incessant questioning created an uncomfortable emptiness.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked him desperately as she fumbled in her pack for her tea cannister. 

“No.”

“Coffee?” She had picked some up on Ul’dah before they left just in case. 

“No.”

Her shoulders drooped. Such monosyllables were all he had given her since the airship. But she had done the right thing, hadn’t she? The things that had happened between them the previous evening had been a result of their dramatic circumstances. They had both been swept up in the romance of the situation. None of it had been real. He didn’t really want her. So why was he acting like this? To punish her? Maybe she deserved that for her harsh words that morning.

Besides, she was a pathetic and broken being, unfit for romance or love. Even if his regard had been true, she wasn’t capable of returning it with her fearful and disused heart. 

So she prepared tea for one. The familiar ritual and beloved beverage would go far to calm her. She managed to focus her mind on her task, shutting the world out of her awareness and all but forgetting Nero as she watched the kettle for the optimal moment to take it from the fire. Just as she was beginning to pour the water into her cup, a loud animal cry sounded in the darkness. 

Severia nearly jumped out of her skin. Then she screamed as the hot water from the kettle splashed over the hand holding the cup. Nero was on his feet before the kettle hit the ground. He dashed around the fire, took in the broken cup on the ground and the fallen kettle leaking its contents into the earth. Severia was holding her clenched fist against her chest, tears forming in her eyes. 

“Severia, are you hurt?” he asked, sinking to his knees and gripping her shoulders. 

“Of course I’m hurt, you big oaf!” she yelled at him in irritation. It wasn’t his fault, but the pain made her lash out.

Nero took it in stride. The fingerless glove on her left hand appeared to be soaked and he realized what happened. “Get this off right now,” he said as he tugged at her cuff. 

“No,” she said in sudden panic. “Leave it. I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be a fool. We need to get that off your skin and get some cool water poured over it quickly.” 

Nero fetched his canteen from beside his bedroll, yanked off the offending glove before she could stop him, and began to liberally pour cooler water over the site of the burn. Her skin had turned a bright pink and when he’d poured out all the water, he took her wrist gently in his hand and brought her hand closer to his face to inspect it. What he saw sent a chill down his spine. 

All around her wrist were scars. And he knew what kind. Her skin and even her scales had been badly damaged. The scale was pitted with scratches and gouges, the skin was puckered, ragged and red. The scars formed neat circles around her wrist that could only have come from being tied tightly with rope. 

Nero looked up at her, saw her chewing her lower lip, her brow furrowed with worry. She had not wanted him to see. But he had seen now and he couldn’t stop himself from pulling the other glove off her right hand. It was scarred just like the left. 

“Severia… what happened?” His throat felt raw as he asked the question. Seeing her with such wounds affected him more than he was prepared for. He hadn’t meant to sound angry, not at her. But there must have been some anger in his voice because he watched her expression go distant and cold. 

“It’s none of your business.” She pulled away from him, but his grip on her wrist firmed. 

“You’re right. It’s not my business. But, Seven Hells, Severia, can’t you see that I-” That I care. The thought of her tied up at someone’s mercy caused a fire to rage inside him. Whoever had done this to her, he would find them and rip their limbs from their body, he would fill their veins with acid, he would- 

“It doesn’t matter anymore. It happened long ago.”

“How long ago?” Severia’s expression flinched. She was reluctant to talk about this. But he had to know. He would go crazy if he didn’t know. “How long?”

“My tenth summer,” she answered grudgingly.

“But…” Nero ran a thumb gently over the scar on her unburned wrist. “How could something like this happen to a mere child?”

Severia gave him a sardonic smile. “You don’t know much about the Steppe. My tribe, the Tumet, had a ritual.” She pulled in a long breath and let it out slowly. “When a child reached their tenth summer, they were taken to the sacred tree and tied to it. Then the tribe left them there and moved on to their next camping grounds. It was a test. The child was to free themselves and find their way back to the tribe. Only at that point could the child earn their name and be a true member of the tribe.”

Nero had a look of intense distaste on his face and she knew what he was thinking. How barbaric. He wasn’t wrong, but she wouldn’t let wouldn’t let him disparage her heritage either. It wasn’t his privilege.

“Don’t you dare look down on us from your mighty Garlean pedestal,” she yelled at him. “I don’t need your pity!”

“No, you don’t,” Nero conceded. He let go of her wrists at last and sat back on his heels watching her. “Will you tell me what happened anyway?”

Severia held her wrists against her chest. The burnt hand throbbed. “It’s simple really. I couldn’t free myself. I struggled against my bonds for two days before I gave up. The rope was too secure and I wasn’t strong or clever enough. I was the kind of child the ritual was designed to eliminate from the tribe. They were probably glad when I never showed up.”

“Then how did you survive?”

Severia’s memory cast itself back to those horrible days. “On the third day I couldn’t even cry anymore. I had no water in me for tears, my throat and mouth were too dry to yell for help. My wrists were rubbed raw and bleeding. I knew I would die there, tied to the tree. And the next time the tribe returned, they would have to carry away and bury my bones before the next child was tied in my place. At some point I blacked out. When I came back to myself, I was laying on soft grass and a man was giving me small sips from his waterskin. I lived because I was rescued, but such an outcome is not allowed. My life was now taboo to my tribe. I have not seen them since.” 

Why am I telling him all this? I’ve never told anyone but Minfilia. Conflict raged in her mind. He was the worst person to tell her secrets to. He would surely use them against her. And yet… It was so easy to tell him. He was staring into her eyes, his own clear blue irises looking unspeakably beautiful to her. And there was a part of her that wanted him to know, to see her for exactly who she was. To know her and still look at her as if she mattered. 

“Do you have any salves with you?”

She blinked. “What?” 

“For your burn. We mustn’t neglect it any longer.”

“Oh. Yes.” She took a deep breath, praying for her heart beat to slow back down. “The green jar in my pack.”

Nero rifled through her pack until he found the correct container. Severia reached to take the jar from him, to put the salve on herself, but he cocked an eyebrow at her and shook his head. 

“Allow me.”

“But-”

“Please.”

His touch as he stroked the healing salve over her reddened skin was gentle and soothing.. Silence descended on them as he worked with care, making sure to cover every possible ilm of skin or scale that had been scalded. It was the first time he had touched her since last night and for some unaccountable reason Severia felt her body responding against her will. 

For a moment, when he was finished, it seemed as if he would not relinquish her hand. His fingertips lingered on hers for precious seconds before he withdrew, flashing her an all too brief smile and packing away the jar of salve. Severia bit her lip to stifle a whimper at the loss.

“Better?” he asked. 

“Yes. Much.” Her hand did feel better. Her heart was more confused than ever.

“Would you like me to attend to the tea for you?” 

Severia had forgotten the tea. “No need. We should try to get some sleep.” Sleep and try to calm her swirling thoughts. Nero nodded and set about clearing the mess she had made. “Nero, I can do all that.”

“Hush,” he said. “Let me do it for you.”

She subsided with a sigh, uncertain how to act with him when he was being so thoughtful, so she stood back and let him clear away the mess, her now useless left hand hanging at her side. This again, like his gallant rescue of her last evening, was a side of Nero she had not seen before. Why must he keep showing her new facets of himself that made her want to dig deeper? Why couldn’t he have remained the irritating asshole causing her trouble? It was so much easier to deal with him that way. 

When Nero had finished he stood in front of her again, an achingly earnest expression on his face that made her stomach do flips. He picked up her right hand and ran a thumb along the scar on the underside of her wrist. She shivered at the touch, but didn’t pull away. She didn’t think she could if she tried.

“Severia,” he said softly. It was totally unlike the playful and flirtatious way he had spoken to her at the gala, or the heated tones from later on, but somehow it effected her the same way. She felt herself flush at the mere sound of her name. 

“Yes?” she breathed. 

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of these scars.”

Severia blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Not once have I seen you without your wrists covered,” Nero observed. “And your idiotic resistance to taking off a glove soaked in scalding water. You’ve been hiding them all along. Why?”

“Because… because…” How could she explain to him that they were a permanent and constant reminder of her failure? Her insufficiency. “They’re ugly.”

Nero snorted. “You foolish girl.”

Severia tried to glare at him, but it was difficult when he was so close that she had to crane her neck to even look at him. Her expression just made him chuckle and he placed a hand on her cheek. 

“Your scars are proof of your survival, of your triumph over your circumstances,” Nero continued. “They are something you should be proud of. Don’t hide yourself. Not from anyone.”

“Nero…” How dare he know exactly what she needed to hear? 

Her body thrilled from head to toe as she noticed the way he was staring with intensity at her mouth. Her knees felt weak. He was going to kiss her. Did she want him to kiss her? Yes. Yes, she longed for the incredible feeling of his lips on hers. But no. It would be a mistake to give in to these feelings now. She had already made up her mind. 

His lips were a mere breath away from hers when she put her hands against his chest to stop him. “Please. Don’t.”

Nero froze, his eyes widening as if he hadn’t quite realized what he was doing. He straightened and stepped back. “My apologies,” he said shakily, running a hand through his hair. He made his way around the campfire back to his bedroll. 

“Nero,” she called after him and he turned to look at her one more time. “Thank you.”

He looked at her and now his expression seemed veiled. But he nodded to acknowledge her thanks. She sighed in relief and then gave him a small smile. 

“Goodnight, Nero.”

“Goodnight.”

Nero lay back with his hands behind his head. His eyes were on the stars but his mind played through Severia’s story over and over again, examining each detail. He had learned so much about her tonight, and yet everything he had learned only served to show how little he knew overall. Which only made his curiosity burn brighter. He wanted to know everything about her. He wanted to be the only one who did. 

“Severia,” he called into the night. 

“Hmmm?” Her voice was thick with sleep.

“Your name. You said you couldn’t be given a name until you completed the ritual. So where did the name Severia come from?”

“Oh. I made it up. When I came to Eorzea…”

Nero closed his eyes and smiled to himself as her voice faded into sleep. He didn’t know the circumstances or what had motivated her. But he imagined herself stepping onto Eorzean soil, a young woman with no name, and beginning her new life by declaring a name for herself. For some reason, though it wasn’t his place, he felt proud of her. Her name was perfect.

Thanks for reading! Comments and reblogs always appreciated!

[rearranged-fanfic]

New Story Out!

*Waves* Hello! It's been a while since I interacted with the fandom. The AO3 curse got me bad. Sorry, guys!

Anyway, I'm back for the moment. And I bring you a smutty two-shot of Merman!Satoru in apology. Hopefully, I'll be releasing Part Two by this Friday. REARRANGED is still taking a bit because Nanamin is decidedly hard to write, especially because I've been in a slump.

Anyway, it's super late where I am. I'll respond to all the messages and comments on here that I've been neglecting tomorrow morning! Sorry for ghosting you all! I missed you 🥰

In other news, I now have 84 messages on AO3 that I also need to respond to. Oops.

:.:

New Story

Seaside

Rating: E, Very E

Warnings: None

Summary: Will you let me keep you forever? When Reader-chan returns to her seaside hometown for the summer, she catches the eye of a mysterious suitor. Of course, she's not aware that she even has a suitor, let alone one as unusual as this.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Merman Gojo Satoru, Human Reader, Mystery, Horror Lite, Romance, Interspecies Romance, Human/Monster Romance, Courting Rituals, Misunderstandings, Explicit Sexual Content, Nonhuman Genitalia, Cervical Penetration, Happy Ending

*Excerpts from the story (Spoilers, duh)*

Excerpt 1:

The long reach of the dock is less intimidating than it’d been when I was a child.  It’d once felt like it stretched a mile into the sea.  Now, it’s just a short walk until I reach the end.  Shuffling off my sandals and rubbing my sore heels, I plonk down at the very edge.  The coolness of the water caresses the red-hot soles of my feet.  My sterling silver ankle bracelets reflect the light of the sun like fish scales. It’d been a bad idea to wear new shoes, I admonish myself. I kick out absentmindedly, sending ripples of water out to sea.  The ocean is calm right now, but I know that it can get rough.  I sigh and tilt my head back, basking in the midday sun.  I’d jump in to cool off, if I didn’t know any better. The water around the village isn’t good for swimming.  The surf and spray are rough at the best of time.  It’s good for sports and the like, but human bodies are too likely to get tossed around or pulled out to sea in a riptide. The cove that my little home rests on is one of the more dangerous areas, with the tidal pools that have formed here creating all manner of crazy currents when the tide changes.  I’d been scared away from taking a dip here time and time again when I was just a kid. Now, I know better.  Only my feet in the water, or Dad will claw himself out of his grave just to berate me. It’s so quiet out here, with only the waves to keep me company.  I let out a low hum—a song from very, very far in the past.  It’s what Mom used to sing to my sister and I when we were small.  I only remember parts of the words now, but the tune is forever ingrained into my soul. Then another sound joins my lament: a low, haunting wail. “A dolphin?” I ask under my breath.  Whatever it is, it sounds close.  Or it’s very, very loud. And as its beautiful cry dies off, I sing back to it a little louder.

Excerpt 2:

It feels hazy—like experiencing everything through a gaussian blur.  I can’t quite focus on any one thing.  It’s too hard to lift my heavy body.  Sleep paralysis, I think. This must be a dream.   It has to be. Then there’s a smooth voice murmuring into my ear.  The vibrations almost tingle.  I feel it down to the tips of my toes. It’s a man, I think.  One that I’ve never heard before—that’s a voice I’d recognize no matter what.  It’s so incredibly beautiful. “You didn’t come when I called.  I was worried,” the presence seems to almost be scolding me.  I’d laugh at this weird dream manifestation if I could move. There’s a beat. “You shouldn’t sleep like this, you know; you could drown.  You humans are terrifyingly fragile.”  A chuckle follows the statement, trails off and fades into the sounds of the waves from below. A dream. Just a dream. I sigh, leaning into the sweet touch.  My dreamlike phantom nuzzles at the place where my shoulder and neck meet.  The soft tickling comes again.  It lingers against my chin, leaving moisture in its wake.  Hair, I think.  Wet.  Cold. It’s such a contrast from the heat of my bath that I shiver.

[simlit]

All odd numbers for Kyrie!😁

What memory would your OC rather just forget?

I think he'd wish he could forget that he was given to the church as a baby. Not necessarily because he wants to reunite or even know his birth parents, he doesn't. But it's a constant reminder that he, quite literally, doesn't belong there. That he was given away as if he was a tool or some material good. It's just a lot to carry around with you.

What is your OC's fatal flaw? Are they aware of this flaw?

Fear of failure. Something that has only recently made itself evident to him (and me lol). In a way, he's a people pleaser. He doesn't want to disappoint those around him. He fears the ripple of consequences that might stem from his domino falling first, and doesn't want to be the person responsible for a larger collapse, so he sort of keeps to his duty as a cog, despite how he might not align with the objective.

How far is your OC willing to go to get what they want?

I would say... not very. He's lazy, certainly, but he's also sheltered, incredibly inexperienced, and lacks the means to get what he wants through pure brute strength, power or smarts. That being said, if the obstacle is something he can overcome, I think he'd be more inclined to actually try.

What's one way your OC has changed since you first came up with them?

I made Kyrie almost as a blank slate so that I could easily adapt him to the circumstances of the story. Because CotS is both interactive and filled with characters I didn't create, he had to be someone who could blend well with all types of people, and not have many "hardstops" so to speak, morally or otherwise. But along the way I've tried to make someone who is an "open template" entertaining, and I think Kyrie's almost lackadaisical unbothered humor emerged from all of ~that~. I didn't go in planning him to be such a huge fucking troll, but I'm glad he has his "thing". In a story with so many strong personalities, it would have been easy to get overtaken by the other cast members.

Do you have a specific lyric or quote which you associate with your OC?

"That's abominable." Because it's just so damn funny.

What is your OC's weapon of choice? Have they ever actually used it?

Yes, he has one, and no he doesn't use it. And it's been called into question multiple times in the story, and I still don't think a damn one of them knows the actual truth yet lmao. It's funnier that way. It wouldn't save him from getting murdered, obviously. It would probably just get him murdered faster.

If you met your OC, would the two of you get along?

Absolutely. If he wasn't so hot. Because honestly every time I look at him I just want to punch him in the face so 100% the conversation would go no where and I'd get arrested.

Does your OC have a faceclaim? If so, who?

No he doesn't.

What is the worst thing you have put your OC through story-wise?

I kind of... took his sister. Mean Jade go grr. I have this terrible habit of killing off loving sisters. I leave the bad ones though. Elsera says hi.

How does your OC behave when enraged?

He's one of those awful people who just gets stoic and civil when angry. As Tay said while having the absolute pleasure of being on the other end of it: that's probably worse. He's not been confronted with a situation that would make him exceptionally angry though, i.e. nothing life or death, so maybe that would change.

Does your OC have any illnesses or disorders? How do they handle it?

He doesn't.

What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

I think it would be loss. Which I guess is a generic answer, since it's pretty typical of human nature not to handle loss well. But I think when you have so very little in your life that is truly meaningful, then you're grasping at straws and have nothing to distract you from your grief. I think in the story currently, he's in a constant state of bracing. Trying to remain outwardly hopeful even though his body is already starting to reject the premise that things will turn out well, and that putting so much mental strength into denying it, degrades his focus in other facets of his life. Outside of the few moments where he's truly and genuinely amused, I do feel he's starting to lose himself under the pressure he would have, otherwise, been able to stand against without hesitation. I can't really imagine him in a place where he has to accept that loss is real, and I don't know how or if he can cope with it when it does.

What is your favorite thing about your OC?

I love what a huge fuckin TROLL he is. Sorry, it's so entertaining to me. It's one of my main reasons for preferring him with ~certain~ members of the cast. Mostly the ones who are ripe for riling up ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[annbourbon]

[[Name]]less

"Names are very important. Names have power. It doesn't matter if it's living or not. Once you give it a name you embodied that person or object. With the same anount of power." Says Yuuko in XxXHolic.

And I'm so sorry it took me so long to remember this quote~~

The irony is that it's not the first time listening to this. So let's delve into your name and why it's important. Especially in magical settings.

But to do that we need to be remembered of The Karmic Laws. Especially these:

You create your reality ~ Interconnection ~ Responsibility ~ Ripple Effect

You create your own reality.

You are chained down by your actions, words, and thoughts.

By now we all are fully aware of the Attraction Law. In truth, this has nothing to do with magic but with the way you are (remember that Karma is nothing but cause~effect) Hence why there's this urgency in curating our own life. To consume media carefully designed to better our lives and not the contrary. However not everyone does this. And even less people pay attention to the way they behave or are around others. We all are self-fulfilling prophecies. But have you ever thought of yourself helpless? That's because you have allowed others to take control and dictate your own reality.

Responsibility

You are responsible for your own happiness. However, you are also allowed to ask for something that it's not happiness. Yes, as strange as it seems, more often than not in our world, we strive for other emotions that are not happiness.

The question is if we're to break the compromise we have towards our own self.

Interconnection & Ripple Effect

No matter how small the problem is, how small the thing is, it always affects the people around you. We are not alone in this world.~ Yuuko Ichihara.

Your actions. Your food. All, from the clothes you wear to the place where you live. The people who bring food to your place and those who spent months cultivating them for you to eat. We are connected.

There's a term called interconnection or interdependence. The more you explore it the more grateful and terrified are of it. Grateful because our bonds are not easily broken. Terrified because of the way we affect others. We hold responsibilities just by existing. When we communicate our worries and fears, or our hopes. These, that are only of our own, end up chaining others as well.

That's why compliments can be complicated to come by sometimes.

To speak too much positivity will lead a person to find themselves as terrified of making mistakes as if you'd scream in disappointment. In both ways, chained.

Wish more of us would wonder about the effects our words have on others. How many people do we affect every day without realizing? How has what escaped from my lips weighed on those people?*

Frightening things, these words. Once they’ve escaped a person lips, they can never be returned. Once heard, they can never be ignored. Still, people throw them out far to lightly, often unaware of the chains they create.~ Ichihara Yuuko.

For another example, Chihiro name was tied to her memories too. Without her name she would have been trapped forever.

And even the name change wasn't fortuitous. Sen [[ 千 · せん ]] means thousand in Japanese. Not exactly subtle when it comes to name changes but the goal is reached anyways~ as the question arises: Are we able to navigate between a sea of thousands of people each day, sharing perspectives, opinions, being tied one to another in more ways than one~ and still keep our identity intact?

After all, names are a symbol. A symbol of our own identity. Tied to our mind. Though a name as Juliet in Shakespeare says, doesn't really matter for in essence a rose keeps smelling equally sweet. The names are in many ways, tied to our emotions and memories. There's a quote that explains it way better than me~

"Names have power, like magic spells. All of the sudden it seemed that her stepmother and stepsisters had indeed transformed her into merely a creature of ash and toil.” ~ Cinderella, live action. (2015)

Now that we have talked about that, we're gonna have to go back to fairies.

Mythology ~ Changelings

A changeling was a substitute left by a supernatural being when kidnapping a human being. Sometimes the changeling was a 'stock' (a piece of wood made magically to resemble the kidnapped human), more often the changeling was a supernatural being made magically to look like the kidnapped human. Supernatural beings blamed for stealing children included fairies, demons, trolls, nereids and many others. Usually, the kidnapped human was a child; but there were cases, particularly in Scandinavia and Ireland, where adults were taken.

Wikipedia

And

It was thought that fairies could only change their weakly and more starveling elves for the more robust offspring of men before baptism. In the Highlands, children used to be watched until the christening was over, lest they should be stolen or changed by the fairies.

Pantheon.org

There are several stories about changeling. Usually those were nothing but ways to explain why certain babies were dying, sick or different, in an autistic way but for the era they used what they could to explain it. And if I'm not mistaken, even though right now I couldn't find it, one of the methods for "having your kid back" was to call it by the name you would have given to before they were taken away. Acknowledging the presence of the changeling. Although other methods were much more bloody and included to torture the changeling. Or to guess for the name of the changeling.

One of the stories, if not about changelings about names and how important they are, it's Rumpelstiltskin.

A character who is presented to us as a mysterious gnomelike man who spins straw into gold for the benefit of a beautiful miller's daughter, in exchange for her future firstborn child.

Britannica.

When the gnome reappears to demand his payment the young woman, now a queen, cries and asks for mercy. He gives her three days to find his real name or he'll take her daughter. In the end she wins of course, and gets to keep the child and that's how we get to now his name is Rumpelstiltskin.

However, by bringing on this story I had another purpose too, as the story of Rumpelstiltskin summarizes in perfection several Karmic Laws:

You create your reality ~ Interconnection ~ Responsibility ~ Ripple Effect ~ Truthfulness

The moral of the story is, “Always tell the truth, and take responsibility of your actions”. If the miller’s daughter (in some variations is the father, but that only adds more weight to our interconnections and the ripple effect these have) had been truthful to the King, she would have never found herself in this situation. However, once she was trapped under the burden of her promise, she had to find her way out of it and honour the deal.

(...) Which is another way to learn never to accept deals from strangers without fully understanding the consequences and expectations.

FirstCry.com

Remember the deals and contracts I told you about in my last posts? Well~ as I said, things tend to connect.

And finally~ how does this ties to the Cheritzverse?

Well, for starters~ it's interesting to notice how the first game (Dandelion) did not allowed us to change the MC name. Her name is Heejung. That's it. However she loses her memories by the end of the game.

And this sets the second game~ Nameless. Making a big deal out of lost memories. And even better~ the game this time allows us to change the protagonist name. While her name is originally still there~ Eri. Now you have the power to change it.

By Mystic Messenger the MC has no name at all. And also, no memories and no eyes. Historically eyes are tied to our soul. To our emotions. I'll talk about this later in another post.

The Ssum not only goes as far as letting us change our own name, but our S.O. name too. And as players, some features are unlocked when you change the names, especially to the RFA members.

In the end, I don't think it's a coincidence the way it's played out. Especially not when we know the Wizard loves to take memories as a method of payment.

⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆

Links:

* Words are living beings

* Spirited Away

* Wiki - Changelings

* Changelings

* Rumpelstiltskin

* Britannica ~ Rumpelstiltskin

[0ranjo]

Prelude: Generation

'I can feel my hands, only when I am aware that I hold myself'

Yet I feel nothing when wrap my arms around myself to hold on to what's left of me, what's left of my Life.

The Highest in the Room.

The horned deity watched over the clouds, its pupils scanning the island, back and forth through the urban jungle and floral skyscrapers, adorned with greenery that lined pathways, seemingly endless in nature.

"My dear Giant, what are you looking at... who are you looking for...?" questioned the Dragon behind him, peaking with curiosity. "Do we live in this invisible realm for we too fear what the almighty has created in the realm of the living?" it replied, "Are these mortals doomed to the trials and tribunals of such suffering? Such that is Life?"

The winged deity glanced over despondently, shaking its head in disapproval to its fellow deity, its silver highlights flowing in the air as if they were underwater, rippling through the glistening rays of Sun that shone upon them.

"You kind-hearted creature, with great disheartened opinions gushing out of your wretched mouth. Can't you see the beauty of it all? You of all things that lived, seem Alien to the concept of Life."

It wrapped its arm around the Giant's shoulder, with reassuring pats that seem to awaken the Thinker from its trance. It pointed a claw towards a man walking along the Han River, the figure in a daze as he sways between the lamp posts through his route.

"Fate can be cruel, to even the most simple of Man. Yet the strongest still live to fight, and what for, in the inevitable fate of Death?"

"Because Life is a gift... an opportunity to be great?" The Giant answered while shrugging its shoulders turning his gaze towards the Dragon. "Ah, though you may be a deity, your soul still retains the rationality of Man. I mean, you are the first of all, the beginning of Life..."

A loud splash catches the attention of the pair, and they look back towards the figure... that is no longer on the pavement, but rather like a plastic drum off a ship in a storm, floating down the Han River, drifting away into the night.

"Life is filled with limitless possibilities, and Death is only a means to value Life." The Dragon continued, still gazing upon the mosaic that presents itself to them.

"Fate is the destiny of Man, that once altered, will shift the course of his journey, and in turn, his end." The Dragon concludes, before swooping down from the clouds towards the man in the river.

The Man in the River.

A man lies on the sidewalk along the Han River, groaning and writhing on the concrete pavement, as he awakens from a slumber and gathers himself. He fiddles through his pockets, and pulls out a red wallet.

He opens the wallet, eyes glistening in the brewing tempest, gentle in touch to a polaroid he removes from the pouch.

"I'm sorry... but don't forgive me..."

"Yunjin..."

His cheek, sleek from the tears pouring down, or from the rain streaming from the sky. The man already drenched even before the shower began, stands up from his slouch, and stares into the abyss ahead of him.

"I wish for what is forbidden to me."

To be continued.

[toungeandteeth]

11/28/2023

I wonder how capable I ever was about keeping her out of my mind. I long for something I don't know if it exists. If I indulge, I create the mindscape of a reality altered by a longing. Desire is a cruel act.

Even a moment glance at her face, and again, I'm smitten all over again, my chest doing a curl, my mind swirling the silent pond into ripples once again. The echoing ghost of the itch in my fingers. Ringing, like the sound her voice had, like the laugh from the other side of the room, I always managed to carve out, like the frying of my nerves, knowing I was not acting logically. That I was a fumbling, pathetic mess of a person, and trying to hold it inside; but it was liquid, it was vicious and without reason, spilling out of my arms and sloshing into crevasses. I haven't deleted the playlist I had, with Her in the veins of each lyric. I know Passing Papers like a tattoo I'll never get etched out of me yet. Songs I listened to while fixated on the meaning behind souls, songs I used as an explanation. I don't know if this longing will ever become something different. I don't know if this longing was ever meant to be anything different. How could I gently give it back to the universe after I coped with believing the connection was a sure sign of it?

Perhaps I am still positioned with the thought that she could be in a less-than-perfect situation, a world giving her hands to feed upon rotten fruit and act as if it's satiating. How could She, be with arms not perfect for her frame, that clank as they walk and pinch her skin and blister her knees. How could she claim love for something not For her soul? The universe is playing sick tricks by letting the hands of the unwashed come hold her skin and force my eyes with acknowledgment to be focused. And how selfish can I act like that's a slot I deserve, like my brittle hands are perfect for it as if my skin isn't aware of how she's far, far too beautiful for me? She will always be too beautiful for me. I have her image ingrained in my skull and a longing so entire.

I crave the thoughts in her mind like they're the nectar of dreams and will satiate even the sickest, coldest of days. 

Devotion. What a word that runs inside my skin, neurons revolving around the world, skipping to the tips of my body and wrapping around into my being. 

There have been months since the moments we've had and upcoming upon years without properly acknowledging each other's existence. I still have her text messages available on my phone, and her Instagram is blocked but not unfounded. I know how I could reach out to hear her voice with a touch. Is this a sign of my being? I've gone days, weeks, and months without thinking of her. And the entirety of the hand wrap still controls the direction I can face at times of weakness, and I open that playlist again, where I wonder how her face looks again, and I let the pain sting just a bit more.

And now, my playlists surround a completely different life. The songs that have her name written within the words are gathering dust. I know the way bony fingers feel in mine. Thighs of different types under my hands. Smiles blossomed from me, me taking a hook and catching the sides of them and making them smile harder. Hands I use to pin chests against the walls, grab the collars of shirts, curl onto the belt loops, hold a body. To hold a body. To grasp onto a mind so gently, softly, entirely, the care within similarity that there's love within the spaces we radiate inside. I'm expanding my mind with each day and letting the crust the past put onto me slowly peel itself off. I don't want to wonder how she's doing; maybe I must.

[numbskul]

You and the Pyro had been fast friends ever since you had arrived to work for Mann co. Their excitable attitude, clear body language, and evident likes and dislikes made it easy to communicate, despite your inability to understand their mumbles. It was this friendship that made you feel guilty for what you had been experiencing recently.

When you fell asleep at night, you could always tell when you were about to slip into a lucid dream. The way your body tingled and buzzed as you drifted off was a telltale sign. Watching the backs of your eyes yet again, you felt a sense of excitement. It had been a while since you had properly dreamt, and you were thrilled at the prospect of it finally happening again.

As the static faded into a familiar scene, you wondered what caused you to start in the base's shower room. Sure, you had awkward encounters in there before, but nothing too fresh in your memory to constitute a dream as far as you were aware. Even odder, nobody else was in there except for you and the sound of water running from the third shower stall. As the water splashed onto the floor, you felt your other senses start to fade in. The sound echoed around you as you felt hot moisture cling to your skin, beads of water forming and rolling down.

"Wait, the third stall?" You spoke to yourself, your words coming out garbled as though you had said them underwater. That always sucked about dreams, speaking became difficult and sometimes downright impossible. Still, you had a point. There were 9 stalls, and one of them was never used, ever. Each shower had been assigned to a mercenary, as to not mix up personal shower items or cause the petty squabbles some of them were known for. Recalling what you knew, the first one belonged to Scout, the second one to Soldier, then the third to... Pyro."But that doesn't make any sense!" You garbled, forgetting again the unpleasant feeling that dreams often connect to speaking. You then thought about how Pyro never takes off their suit, always staying inside the safety of the asbestos lining, always breathing through their mask. That fact combined with Pyro's abhorrence for water created a curiosity that seemed almost unshakeable. You slowly and steadily made your way to the third shower, cautious and slow, almost worried about what you might find.

As you reached their stall, you couldn't help but pause outside the curtain. Surely this was some sort of major privacy violation. "Just because everybody is curious about Pyro's appearance doesn't mean they don't deserve the basic decency to get dressed before-". But before you could finish that thought, the curtain moved, revealing a beautifully disfigured body. Their arms covered in artificial ripples, the wrinkled skin cascading into little waves before descending into a faded white where the scarring met the remaining flesh. Their whole body seemed to follow this pattern, a myriad of scars in a mesmerizing pattern that captured your attention completely.

Standing there with your mouth agape, totally entranced as you beheld the form in front of you, they shyly moved their arms to cover their breasts. Bashfully turning their head to the side, their face burst out in a bright red tinge. "Pyro-" you whispered, your voice coming out crystal clear. "You're beautiful."

Your vision suddenly started to fade into static as you felt someone start to shake you. "Wait!" Your voice abruptly unable to leave your throat, you tried to scream. "I'm not done yet! Please!" Barely a whisper choked out as you came to in your bed. Alone.

[a-tiny-voice-against-war-crimes]

I made this blog because I'm tired of living my day to day ordinary first-world-European-country life and whilst meanwhile, elsewhere on the globe literal genocides are happening.

I am a normalish young human living in the UK and personally, I find it pretty fucked up that as I'm eating a pastry I bought from Gregg's and thinking about summer work experience placements, fellow humans are living and dying in horrific conditions just because they were unlucky enough to be born who and where and when they were. What I find considerably more fucked up is how little I feel I can do about this.

I think we're all familiar with that sense of total helplessness we feel when we hear about some dictator starting yet another war on the news, or watch yet another documentary on people currently dying in camps in countries with tightly controlled borders and speech and little transparency in their statistics or governance. Of course, that sense of despair is one of the most powerful weapons of people in power and we can change the course of events through organizing and rallying together in protests and resistance movements etc, but what do you do if you can't strike or protest? If you can't join in a boycott or skip school?

This is a blog created for those people. Realistically, unless I miraculously rack up a bajillion followers overnight like a hellsite Kardashian, my voice and opinions and the influence I have is absolutely tiny in the grand scheme of things. But nevertheless, every voice matters. No matter how small or irrelevant, one of the ways EVERYONE can have some miniscule ripple effect in the vastness of modern day politics and what will be tomorrow's history is by speaking up.

Heck, even if you can't post stuff voicing your opinions out of fear of your family or social circle seeing or the risk of losing your job (and you can't create another account or blog for this) you can still view, like, reblog and share stuff to spread awareness and influence an algorithm- likes, reblogs, followers and any actions possible for traction for this blog are greatly appreciated, by the way.

Think about it- how much of your knowledge of the world, awareness of sociopolitical events, opinions, beliefs and et cetera did you learn from social media?

That is the power of using your voice, no matter how small.

This blog will for now be mostly focused on the war crimes in Gaza and Palestinian occupation, but was of course made with some other current atrocities in mind (*cough cough Russian invasion of Ukraine cough cough Uyghur genocide in Xinjiang in China*) which I'll probably be touching on more as time goes on and whenever the situation in Gaza is over (hopefully, with a total ceasfire soon).