#THERE'S NO TIME TO JUST SIT DOWN AND INGEST AND PROCESS

[satoruhour]

geto and reader sneaking out from jujutsu high school

have good day/night ! :)

a/n: apparently geto doesn’t have a least fav food bc he consumes curses so often that he’s content to eat anything. sigh. / 1.7k ☆ / @crysugu @lvlybee @na-t0

“nah, you’re lying.” it wasn’t peculiar for geto to hang out in your room after classes (if you could even call them that with gojo usually interrupting them or him getting called out of class to complete a mission). it’d be left with the two of you, and while shoko is not opposed to participating in the (vastly different) insanity you two would usually bring, she prefers to watch from the sidelines with a burning, shortening cigarette and an amused smile.

“like i— for one, love pineapples on pizza and, cherry tomatoes, but i just hate it when they don’t choose the right ones, you know?” geto leaves you to ramble until you realise your voice is simply countered by low hums and nods, “you don’t have any food you hate, do you?” you sit up on your bed after a long time of quelling the loud beats of your heart, looking incredulously at him still lying down, long legs going past the footboard, long hair and all. it grows faster in the summer, you realise — jet black hair that flows like a blackened river right down to his nape — and you find you’ve noted it down in your head a bit too often.

the repetitive memory is paired with reminders to give him the silly star clip you found at a corner side store and plain black hair ties (you steal them sometimes, he doesn’t ask for you to return it). it all but muddles your focus, these thoughts, all because you find it terribly difficult to look away from geto suguru’s unprecedented beauty. the graceful slant of his eyebrows to his hair, right down to the stubborn strands of feelers on the left side of his face that won’t stay in his bun—

“i’m not lying; i really don’t,” the dark-haired sorcerer laughs breathlessly, and he doesn’t notice your daze or the way you jerk at his chortle. his eyes come to rest on you, looking soft and gentle, a gaze even he doesn’t give gojo, and you think he looks the prettiest when his spread out locks converge as he sits up to rest on his elbows.

but besides the warmth of these domestic scenes through rose-coloured glasses, you can make out the underlying sorrow that pools beneath the light-hearted laugh. sometimes you can feel its heaviness, weighing suguru down more than it could ever do to you, and though he’s never lets you in, you had an inkling on what exactly tears at his mind.

it’s how every curse geto exorcises ends up in him, tainting his system with the harrowing taste similar to a rag that’s used to wipe up vomit and feces. it’s how he stifles gags each time a mission is completed, swallowing the curse with scrunched up eyes and a permanent frown. it’s how he’s ingested curses so much that he would be content with any type of food.

“then… let’s go out and find what food you hate then. process of elimination,” you offer softly with a giggle, pushing his legs off your bed before getting up yourself and stretching your limbs. it was late afternoon after all, causing the room to bathe in a general laziness and orange hues to prepare for sunset. you pull on his pants, leaning over him that teases the line between love and friendship.

geto mumbles, “like… right now? don’t we have a meeting with yaga-sensei soon?” and you’re prepared to get rejected with that reason (“oh shit, i forgot—”) until he takes your hand in his and surprising you with the idea that he’d disobey authority for a stupid idea of yours. he thumbs the back of your palm like he’s done it a million times before — c’mon, he says, and then the walk out is silent, hand loosely clasped in his as he skillfully manoeuvres through the traditional architecture of jujutsu high so well you’re convinced he skips classes.

it’s like you undo the tiring climb up the foothills of mount mushiro when you’ve finished an early morning mission, feeling the tug of geto’s hand on yours. it feels like it goes on forever too, but you bask in his occasional turns to look at you to check if you were still there: as if your hand in his isn’t enough, as if you were a reverie in his eyes, as if he didn’t have the sun in palm of his hand, in all her glory in this late, blinding glow. there’s a familiar manifestation of a stingray about three quarters through, the little creature floating beneath suguru’s hand.

“won’t you get caught by the school?” you laugh, but you climb onto it anyway — there’s a small humming sound that emerges from the curse and your stroking, ghosting hand only draws more pleased exclamations from the stingray.

it’s here where he sees how his akaei reacts to your touch and voice that geto thinks maybe collecting curses isn’t so bad. it’s on days like this where he think it might be worth it if little moments like this could clear the tainted, blurry cataract that mixes up who he should be protecting in this fucked up world.

the akaei jerks you forward and you let out a little yelp, face resting just inches from suguru as you clutch onto a fin of the creature — geto swears he hears a cackle from the curse and simply clears his throat, ignoring the pounding of his heart and the way he could smell cherry lip gloss on you. he wouldn’t put it past you to get cherry tomato flavoured lip gloss, but he imagines no matter how much you liked the vegetable (fruit?), you probably wouldn’t be putting that on your lips.

“shall we go?” 

beyond the school, he realises he’s not sure where you want to take him and he dispels the curse, already thinking of the lecture he’d get but instead he’s allowing you to drag him out of the heavy foliage and into the humble shops lining the bustling town. with this, geto is able to see your person without feeling like his heart is going to burst out of his chest, pushing down words that he wasn’t sure you’d reciprocate whenever you turned around to point out the stores you would frequent.

and geto certainly is able to get that little piece of heaven and normalcy that he craves, letting someone he cherishes pull him through throngs of people to find his least favourite item, just because. he lets you sift through convenience stores and family businesses, eating with the unforgivable rays of the setting sun dancing through your features and his bowl of wanton noodles at the chinese shophouse that it convinces him any type of food could be his favourite as long as you’re stuffing your face with waffles or initiating a brain freeze with a 7-eleven slurpee.

and years later, geto somehow still has a bit of trouble categorising foods into ‘favourites’ and ‘non-favourites’, a sorting system that’s black and white, years later. he much rather place (almost) all of them in the grey simply because experiencing dessert and starters and main courses now with your mere presence was enough to make everything delicious against his repulsive palate.

“still thinking?” geto’s thoughts are interrupted by you as you call from across the table, a hand reaching out to hold his. 

he only nods with a languid smile, reminiscent of the mornings when that’s all he has energy for — and except maybe your teasing and lovesick voice. he’d have all the energy for that. “i’ll have what you’re having.”

you giggle, “again? okay… don’t blame me if you spit out the escargots like you did on our last date.”

geto stifles a laugh and only sends the confused waiter off with both of your menus and soon he’s pulling lightly on your hand and he makes you burst out laughing like he usually does, “what did you order again?”

the food turned out… mediocre to say the least. for such a renowned restaurant, you’d expect phenomenal tastes and combinations, except they were overrated too much by critics with only the plating to praise — but still, the night doesn’t end when the bill is hastily paid and geto buries you in his embrace.

“coat’s warm,” you smile. it’s the winter, he’s got you engulfed in his large coat as your nose crinkles at the snow brushing upon your cheek — unbeknownst to you, you wouldn’t have this reality in another universe where christmas was so near — but you would die before you let geto slip from your grasp again. you hoped it would be like this for every other time someone such a yourself crosses path with a certain dark-haired, lovely and kind person like geto suguru: in love, holding his heart in your hands, like sending out a message (“i’ve got him — have you?”) to all the you’s in every other realm.

“what do you say we finish the leftover pizza in the fridge?” his grin is blinding, something you never thought you’d see past high-school, but slowly, you’ve picked up the pieces and cleaned off its rough edges. you’ve polished them and melded them back together bit by bit. in the 55 by 63 refrigerator at your small shared dorm in your alma mater, all of geto’s pineapples were littered messily over your side of the dough, ingraining that dramaticized display of how, to geto, pineapple on pizza tasted worse than swallowing curses.

though, it was one of the favourite foods he’s developed a taste for after eating it with you a few times. sure, he at first hated the sweetness that contrasted with the saltiness of the dough, although seeing the fullness of your cheeks and how well you ate; it was simply that, that made him love it — but he’d never tell you that, not while you also loved it, because if anything meant more than his rediscovered love for food, it was your love for the same exact things that would make him order all the hawaiians in the world.

as geto’s lips meet with yours (smelling like cherry tomato lip gloss, he stands corrected!), he thinks that lecture and temporary suspension from his old teacher was worth all the days spent with you — pineapples and (right) cherry tomatoes and all.

[littlemisspascal]

Rockford & Roan Pt. 5

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Female Reader/OFC ‘Roan’

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary:  There’s no escape. You’re prey in a spider’s web.

Rating: T. Heed the warnings y'all!

Warnings: Language, Reader has a dog, Reader has military background, Superpower AU, They Were Roommates AU, self-esteem issues, soulmates-ish, original characters, worldbuilding, references of dead bodies + suicide, police, trauma, ptsd flashback including non-con touching, fear

- Reader has no first name and no physical traits described in detail except for being shorter than Rockford. Reader is mentioned to have hair

Author Note: Thank you always for the kind support💗

Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜💜💜

Series Masterlist

The Body

The warehouse is bone-chilling. 

It’s your first observation when you follow Rockford inside, body temperature dropping as the frozen air slices through your jacket like the blade of a knife. The windows are all busted, jagged shards of glass litter the grimy concrete floor beneath your feet. Various metallic beams covered in rust criss-cross overhead. It’s a hauntingly eerie place, even with the multitude of policemen and CSIs meandering about.

And there, in the center of it all, a woman lies dead wearing a bright yellow duffle coat and matching yellow rain boots.

You inhale a sharp breath upon seeing her. Banjo whines softly, laying down with his head on his paws, and your hand fidgets with the urge to pet him, empathy twinging in response to his fear. 

“Victim is Carmin Carrillo, thirty-eight years old from Toven with a gift of claw extension according to her driver license,” Inspector Dorrance informs you and Rockford, his voice a low rumble as he recites information from his pocket notebook. “We’re in the process now of determining contact details. Couple of kids screwing around found her, but it doesn't look like she’s been here long. Suicide by cyanide ingestion, just like the others.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Rockford mutters under his breath, snapping on a spare pair of latex gloves Dorrance provides.

Your match wastes no time in striding forward to carefully analyze the body, staring down for a long beat at her hands stained scarlet with blood. He moves onto her coat next without saying a word, crouching down and running a gloved hand over the yellow material, flexing his fingers afterwards almost clinically. An umbrella is pulled out from the coat pocket, scrutinized by his brown eyes as if it were an explosive device. He actually reminds you a bit of bomb-sniffer dogs at airports and train stations, unflinchingly calm and dedicated to their task at hand.

Unlike the canines who usually sit upon making a discovery though, Rockford stands to full height and swivels around. “Miss Roan, what do you feel?”

“From who?” you ask with a quick, confused look over at Dorrance. The inspector merely crosses his arms over his chest with a quiet sigh, radiating something akin to resignation.

“Our victim here,” Rockford says.

Your eyebrows lift so high up your forehead you’re surprised they don’t fly off. What Rockford’s suggesting—feeling the emotions of the dead—is a delicate process involving empathic echoes. Emotional imprints left behind in the wake of traumatic events which empaths can tap into and experience for themselves. During your service, you’d been instructed to focus your mind-gift on the living souls rather than the deceased, but that didn’t stop the echoes from setting off a series of ominous clicks in your eardrums like a Geiger counter when you brushed too close.

“If it’ll solve this case faster, go ahead,” Dorrance says, noticing your hesitation. He eyes Banjo, a note of firmness slipping into his tone when he adds, “But the pup stays back.”

You glance over at Rockford, finding him rapidly scrolling on his phone, oblivious beyond the screen. “O-okay,” you reply, and hand over Banjo’s leash in exchange for your own pair of latex gloves.

The concrete is cold under your knees as you kneel beside the body. Carmin’s lying on her left side with her eyes closed, raven locks framing her head, long and frizzy. She could almost be mistaken for sleeping, if not for her unnatural stillness and the dry blood coating her hands. 

Dorrance had mentioned the victim left behind a note. What he’d failed to say was that she’d cut the message into her own palm with her fingernails—no, with her claws.

Naranja.

The Spanish word for orange. You mouth it to yourself, baffled. Was it a side effect of the cyanide resulting in the self-mutilation or is there another, more meaningful reason for its existence? It’s gruesome either way.

Rockford’s leather shoes shuffle out of the corner of your eye, reminding you of the task at hand. Empathic echo. Right. Your match is counting on you to be helpful. You mustn’t let him down.

You stretch out your empathy, the emotions of those in the room overlapping and ricocheting off of one another like rain pattering on a metal roof, but they aren’t what you’re searching for. Focus. You sidestep them, feeling your mind-gift sharpen, scraping along the walls, the floors, no corner left unchecked. Focus.

A distinct clicking sound sends a little spark down your spine, growing in frequency as your empathy zeroes in further, and you have no idea what you’re engaging with, but it’s–

The change from individual clicks to a shrill whine is explosive, silencing all other sounds, vision whiting out as if a spotlight’s been aimed directly at your eyes.  

Fear starts pooling in your gut, slow at first, ignorable. But it keeps building, bubbling up your throat, wrapping around your heart. The desire to scream burns worse than acid. Can’t. Your mouth is sewn shut. Muscles paralyzed. Everything’s on fire. There’s no escape. You’re prey in a spider’s web. 

Trapped. Poisoned. Dying.

You hear it then. Somewhere as close as it is far away, muffled and distorted by time—the quiet hiss of laughter. 

Shuddering, it reminds you of—

Oh, dear God no.

“Miss Roan?”

Hands tear at your clothes, grimy fingers grazing skin as a heavy weight pins you to the ground. Acrid breath floods your nostrils. And lust, so much vile, thirsting lust it sours your stomach, gagging at the deluge. Get off, you think hysterically, get off get off get off.

“Miss Roan!”

You blink, sucking in a shaky lungful of air. You’re in the warehouse still, on the floor, but you’d been moved away from Carmin several feet. How long were you ensnared by the echo? By the…rest of it? You blink again, struggling to focus. Rockford’s crouched in front of you, brown eyes full of concern. 

“It’s alright, Roan. You’re okay.”

His hand squeezes your shoulder, and it grounds you back in reality the same way an asteroid crashes to the earth, sudden and violent. Uncaring of the destruction upon impact.

You flinch, and there’s a collective groan from the entire room’s occupants as they press their hands to their heads, teeth gritting and eyes scrunching. Even Banjo’s afflicted, pawing helplessly at his ears. 

It’s your fault they’re in pain. Empathy taking root in their minds, holding them hostage, applying pressure until it hurts. You force yourself to take another breath, trying to reign it in, box it up, but it’s not–it won’t–fuck, what the hell is wrong with you?

“Kez.” Rockford’s gaze remains steadily locked with yours, expressing nothing, an impenetrable mask, though his voice is a little rougher than normal. “Take her outside.”

“Tim,” Dorrance starts.

“Now, Keziah,” Rockford cuts him off, not quite snapping but close enough.

Too rattled to speak, you feel like you’re watching yourself be pulled clumsily onto your feet by Rockford and passed over to Dorrance. The inspector holds onto Banjo’s leash in one hand and your bicep in the other, leading you both towards the rear exit of the warehouse, away from the lights and cameras still swarming at the front.

Even while functioning on autopilot, it’s hard to ignore the stares of the CSIs, their silent judgment palpable even without your triggered mind-gift achingly aware of their distrustfulness like individual bug bites. It’s even harder to ignore how Rockford’s emotions have never felt so distant from your reach before, guarded and indecipherable. A door once freely open now barred shut.

And it’s funny, you think, how someone who’s the most important person in your life can so suddenly change into an unrecognizable stranger in a mere matter of minutes. As if you never really knew them at all.

My fault. I caused this.

It’s all so fucking hysterical.

The Discussion

Inspector Dorrance guides you to a bench outside, releasing his hold once you sink down heavily. Banjo hops up on the seat next to you, snuffling at your jacket sleeve before curling closer, and the man seems to realize the dog is trained enough to remain put, letting go of the leash so it hangs limply next to your leg.

You try again to wrestle control of your empathy, but it continues slipping free and bleeding out into the atmosphere, drawn to the laid-back stillness of Dorrance’s mood. Unshaken by your episode. Unbothered by your nearness.

Just…clockwork calm.

Maybe it’s due to his training that he keeps a cool head, or maybe the sucker he digs free from his inner suit pocket is infused with some kind of mood-numbing ingredient. Either way, after unwrapping the candy, you barely catch a glimpse of its bright green coloring before it’s shoved into his mouth, rolled around on his tongue.

Dorrance looks over across the wharf, out at the docked boats and to the nightly horizon beyond. You follow his gaze, absently stroking a hand over Banjo’s ears, the mutt’s affection a low hum taking some of the sting out of your mind-gift, and there’s a moment where the whole world feels hushed.

The moon hangs above the sea, cascading streaks of silver light upon the waves. Shining brightly even in the darkest of hours. A rebel against the encroaching, ravenous shadows.

“I used to smoke like a damn chimney. My boyfriend hated it,” Dorrance says, out of nowhere. He holds the sucker’s stick between his fingertips, gesticulating as he talks. “It was Tim’s idea, substituting candy for cigarettes. Loathed the suggestion at first, thought he was taking the piss out of me, but now…” He shrugs, wedges the sucker back into the corner of his scarred mouth.

You stare at him, the details of his face highlighted by the moon. Standing out as a beacon in the void. He shouldn’t be here–there’s a dead body literally right behind you, far more important than your pathetic issues–but he shows no signs of impatience, outward or internal. No blame either, but its absence doesn’t loosen the weight on your chest. Doesn’t mean you didn’t royally fuck everything up.

Banjo presses impossibly closer, wet nose against your wrist disrupting your spiraling thoughts. 

“Tim Rockford is a very perceptive man, Miss Roan,” Dorrance says, blunt and to the point now. Your eyes snap back to him, subconsciously sitting up straighter in response to the tone shift. “But even he has his blind spots. Things—and people—he takes for granted, expecting them to do whatever he wants them to regardless of the consequences. Especially when there’s a case to be solved. Do yourself a favor and don't let yourself become one. Talk to him, alright?”

When Rockford had said–

You belong anywhere I am.

We’re stuck with each other.

–he’d meant every word. 

At the time, at least. Before your lapse of self-control proved your empathy can’t be trusted under pressure, not even with your match within close reach. You used to face down enemies bigger than mountains, teeth bared and blood under your fingernails. You used to be fearless. 

You’re not that person anymore. And you’re not who Rockford deserves as his match either.

You need to be better. You have to be.

“...Alright,” you repeat quietly, thinking back to the icy certainty you’d felt back at the apartment. How you’d known there was another side of your match you’d never encountered before. And this is it, so it would seem, a side passionately dedicated to his work that shouldn’t have to be burdened with your mistakes and triggers. “I–I’m sorry for losing control the way I did. It shouldn’t’ve happened. It was unprofessional and–”

“At ease, soldier.” It should be irritating to hear, a reminder of a life you’re no longer living, but the words strike a chord deep within, shoulders reflexively dropping. “Headaches are common amongst the force, each of us trying to understand why people do the things they do.”

A burning sensation lingers in the back of your throat. Hand trembling even as it runs through Banjo’s fur. “She was scared. Carmin, I mean. Absolutely terrified during her final moments. And I swear…I know how this sounds, but I swear, inspector, I heard somebody laughing at her. She wasn’t alone.”

Dorrance’s eyes widen slightly at that, and you can feel the ticking of his mind speeding up, realization striking. “Fuck,” he breathes, half turning to glare back at the warehouse as if he could see through to the interior. His jaw clenches so harshly around the candy stick you’re surprised it doesn’t cut in half. “Fuck, Tim’s been right all along, hasn’t he? These suicides—somebody’s been pulling the strings. But how? Why?”

You don’t have the answers he wants. You’re not Rockford. Can’t produce calculations and explanations out of the tiniest of observations. The only thing you can do is offer Dorrance’s own advice back to the man.

“Talk to Rockford,” you say, because he’s the best chance of making sense out of any of this bloody mess. And together, Dorrance and him will get Carmin and the other victims the justice they deserve. “Tell him what I felt.”

Dorrance is silent for a moment, just watching your face, and to his credit he doesn’t ask why you don’t tell Rockford yourself, doesn’t dig his fingers into the proverbial wound you’re struggling to stitch back up. It hurts to wonder what you must look like in his eyes, fidgety and unstable. A far cry from the woman he met earlier. 

“I will,” he finally nods. “Take your time out here. Come in when you’re ready.”

And then he’s walking past you, turning his back on the moonlight and returning to the warehouse of metal and death. Not once does the steady tempo of his mind falter.

You’re not sure if you’re more comforted by his strict self-control or envious of it.

You’re not sure of much right now, actually.

The Woman

Time has a strange way of moving when you’re lost in your thoughts. Could be five minutes you sit there, could be forty. You don’t know, don’t care much either—it’s just you, the moon, and Banjo.

The little mutt nudges at your hand when it’s still too long, and then when that doesn’t achieve the ear-scratches he craves he goes one step further and stands with his two front paws on top of your thigh. He looks at you squarely in the eye. You stare back. 

“I was back there for a moment,” you tell him, a hollow, emptiness in your voice. “In camp during the raid when that man…when he tried to…” You take a slow, trembling breath, swallowing harshly against the lump in your throat. “Well, you don’t need to hear about that. We’ve all got our bad days, yeah? Just the way the cards are dealt.”

Banjo sneezes. Maybe that’s all it is, but part of you like to think he’s agreeing bad days are a total pain in the ass.

“Finding you was a good day though.” You boop him on the nose. “One of my very best.”

Banjo’s tail starts to wag, but then his ears perk, hearing something. He turns immediately, a low warning growl building in his chest. And that’s the thing about your scrappy dog—he’s a friendly, easily pleased ball of fur at his core. He doesn’t growl at anything or anyone unless there’s a damn good reason to.

And that’s when you feel it.

A shard of curiosity deliberately pricks your mind-gift, sparkling and bright. Attention-seeking. It doesn’t stem from the direction of the warehouse, but closer. Alarmingly so. 

You turn your head so fast your neck aches, squinting against the darkness. 

There, several feet in front of you, a woman stands on the concrete dropoff separating land from water. She waves when she catches your wide-eyed gaze, a cheeky gesture, curiosity morphing into satisfaction. A glimmering diamond which might have mesmerized your mind-gift if not for its sharp edges promising a painful cut. Whoever this stranger is, not only has she snuck up on the backside of a crime scene, she’s also been trained to fend off empaths.

Alarm bells ring loudly in your mind. You’re torn between shouting for backup–if anyone will even listen to you–and going down there and confronting her yourself. The woman stares you down, practically daring you to make a choice.

It’s Banjo who makes your decision for you. He leaps off the bench before you can even think of grabbing him or the leash. The second his paws connect with the ground he’s off like a rocket with his sight set on the woman, ignoring your cry of his name as you chase after him.

The distance to the dropoff is short, but with the amount of panic pumping through your nervous system it might as well be miles. You’ve got to catch Banjo, stop him before he causes harm. Growling is a rarity for him. Outright charging at somebody though? It’s as if he’s been possessed or replaced with an entirely different dog. 

You don’t think things can get any worse. 

The woman falls backwards over the edge into the water.

What the–

Banjo doesn’t stop, committed to his hunt, and jumps after her.

FUCK.

If your heartbeat wasn’t throbbing in your ears, maybe you would’ve heard the lack of splashing after their dives.

As it is, you make the leap, your little mutt dog the only thing on your mind. Your body instinctively braces for the cold water to hit, but it never comes. You just keep falling and falling, the colors of your vision warping into a blurry haze. 

Of course, you think, mentally kicking and cursing yourself for forgetting every lesson instilled in you during recruit training, including the most important one of all. Determine the enemy’s gift before engaging. Of fucking course she had to be a portal maker.

When reality finally settles again, you find yourself rolling across a wooden tile floor, stopping just before your head collides with the edge of a leather sofa. For a second you merely lie there, taking stock of your body, the aches from your limbs of being unceremoniously dropped out of the portal. 

A familiar bark has you sitting up in a rush. You spot the woman first, dark haired and stylishly dressed. She’s reclining comfortably in a plush chair next to a marble fireplace with a massive piece of artwork worthy of being displayed in the Louvre hanging above. You’re in someone’s house, you realize, another stone of dread dropping into your stomach. The woman smiles at you, perfectly pleasant, but her glittering amusement makes you grit your teeth in irritation. 

Banjo barks again, yanking your attention to the other half of the room where the largest book case you’ve ever seen takes up almost an entire wall. He isn’t growling anymore, but his hackles remain raised, tail held stiff. Once you notice the man crouched in front of Banjo, offering his hand for the dog to smell, you cannot believe what you’re seeing.

Because the man he…

Brown eyes lift over Banjo’s figure to lock with yours, a dimpled smile curling on a mouth outlined in dark, bristly hair.

The man has Rockford’s face. Identical to the very last detail.

“So, you’re the unfortunate soul who matched with my brother.” He stands to full height, dressed in formal wear with an untied floral robe swishing with every movement. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you face to face, Miss Roan. You and I have got quite a lot to talk about.”

[bonefall]

Could a more advanced clan use tar as a glue replacement? It's made using wood from what I heard.

It's possible, but only for an advanced Clan. It might even be a little beyond what BB cats are capable of.

What you're thinking of is probably birch pitch, though pine can be used as well. Birch is better though, it makes a finer tar, but if you have English Clans they may want to use pine pitch because it's one of the few uses for the detested sitka.

(Also "pitch" tends to refer to more viscous material, where "tar" refers to thinner, more watery liquids.)

There's two things that makes it hard to collect. First, and most importantly,

TREE OIL IS FULL OF PHENOL. Your cats CANNOT breathe in the smoke or aroma that's going to be produced by making this. It is a deadly, toxic gas to cats. In humans, we're so resistant to this that we've used it as an antiseptic, dumped it right into our wounds. Cats CANNOT ingest or smell this without getting sick. Phenol causes a LOT of poisonings because of the popularity of essential oil.

Think of it as the kitty equivalent of lead paint. We used it for years because it's cheap, easy, and works good... and never realized that it was lead in the water and walls giving people brain damage.

And, secondly, what also keeps it hard to get is that it needs to undergo dry distillation. Basically, it needs to be sweated out of the wood, drained, and then processed a second time..

So only a Clan that has FIRE and POTTERY SKILLS will be able to do this. At bare minimum, you will need THREE POTS and CONTINUOUSLY BURNING KINDLE. Here's a basic diagram for you;

[ID: 3 pots, labelled and color coded. Pot 1, the green pot on top, has a lid. It rests inside of Pot 2, which is the largest one and has fire burning inside it. Pot 3 is purple and underground, below the others.]

Pot 1 and Pot 2 have holes cut in the bottom, for the liquid to leak out. This could work with just flowerpots, but historically, special structures are made for this purpose so you collect all the oil.

Also protip stand the bark upright and against the sides of the pot, not laying flat down. This isn't a sauna, stand up birch.

ONCE YOU'VE DONE THIS, YOU HAVE OIL. You do NOT have tar or pitch yet. The liquid you have collected is OIL.

Oil can be used as a water-repellant when applied to leather and wood, a heavy-duty cleaning agent (but watch out), and birch oil specifically can repel gastropods.

So now we need to turn that oil into pitch. This is the most dangerous part for a Clan cat, as it involves a LOT of smoke. If your Clan could make a gas mask, it would be helpful here

[ID: A cat with a gas mask sits next to a burning pit with toxic smoke rising out of it. Like the diagram above, Pot 1 is green and nestled within Pot 2, which is red and contains fire.]

Oil is reduced to pitch through evaporating the moisture out. Toxic fumes are BILLOWING out during this entire process, and there is a point in this process where you've gone too far and just burnt it into useless carbon.

So if your cats can create a gas mask then that's very helpful. Otherwise... you'd better do this on a windy day.

(I made this mask based on the P-helm of WW1 and Plague Doctor masks, feel free to run with it... but you will need Glassworking Skills unlocked for it, something BB cats don't have.)

Once you've done this, you have pitch or tar, depending on the thickness you reduced it to. This can be used for MANY things, and is the best adhesive that Clan cats could naturally access. It's especially useful for weaponry, keeping blades on shafts or sticking extenders to claws, but it's also VERY useful for preserving leather and wood as well.

So as you can see, this is a pretty high-tier process! BB Cats will very, very rarely do this. I imagine it was briefly popular while they were trading with BloodClan, but fell back into disuse. As a water-repellent, they prefer beeswax.

[sencubussubs]

Let’s talk VISION BOARDS

hi lovelies <3

I am a little late to the start of the year but let’s talk VISION BOARDS!

oh my gosh i LOVE vision boards. Every. Single. Thing. i put on my vision board last year manifested - and boy i was NOT good at manifesting (i was overthinking, spiralling, constantly dipping out of believing in manifesting and myself.)

Low effort and loads of fun i absolutely recommend vision boards.

I mentioned in a previous post that part of how vision boards work is by familiarising your brain with seeing the people/places/objects etc on your vision board and partly with emotions! feeling like its all yours now.

-

So, how can we put an effective vision board together?

Well first, what do you want your year to look like?

your vision board can be for any amount of time, but i think year long ones are most common <3 (it doesn’t mean the manifestations will take a whole year!)

You can start with a pen and paper (or notes app) and write down what you want the next year to look like:

It may help to have some headings to organise sections of life. for example:

Career

Relationships

Travel

Experiences/ events

Material Goods

Then you can find specific people/places/things you want to manifest such as a specific career, car or ipad. A specific type of love language e.t.c.

-

Second lets get some useful apps:

- Pinterest (of course!)

- Picsart (or any photo collaging app or website)

(OR ALTERNATIVELY you can print out individual photos, cut, organise and glue down your photos on a piece of cardstock/paper or poster board- the world is your oyster baby!)

-

Apps in tow we can move onto the Third step

finding good pictures!

In my vision board from 2023 i didn’t think too hard about pictures - i found pictures that represented what i wanted, i whacked em where i thought they looked good, printed that baby out and slapped it next too my desk where i looked at it all the time. Not purposefully because i took the time to, but rather just because i would automatically be pulled to look at the bright colours whenever i went to sit down at my desk (and when i would die in my games and need to look away from my screen :P ).

While deciding to do a vision board for 2024 -only during this process did i check my 2023 vision board and realise everything manifested- i watched lots of youtube videos from people whose vision boards were successful. it gave me motivation and enthusiasm to make my vision board and i learned a couple handy tricks along the way:

due to my copy and paste not working on tumblr for some reason, i am going to list the youtubers at the end rather than linking them.

- Using pictures from YOUR point of view

select pictures where it looks like you are already in it - e.g. wanting to read loads in 2024? pictures of someone (with your skin tone) reading with the book in their lap (example pics at the end)

You can also take this further and cut out your own face and put it over people in pictures - sounds silly but it worked for Tam Kaur! (check her out)

- Find pictures that truly invoke the emotions you want to feel

want to be given flowers? don’t settle for any picture of someone giving flowers, find the one that makes you feel the way you feel when you imagine it happening. The one that makes it feel real and heartwarming.

- Make sure you enjoy looking at the pictures/ layout you use!

you are gonna look at this and ingest it subconsciously all the time, so make sure it looks nice! Hopefully the emotions you feel from the pictures will already help this - but we wanna make sure the underlying subconscious message is “this is all already mine” not “oh god i hate this thing”

- Putting it somewhere you often look

if you’re like me, you might not have a manifestation routine and don’t want to consciously decide to spend five minutes staring at the vision board. I placed the vision board next to my desk and schedule, i looked at it every time i sat down - especially because i liked the photos so much it always caught my eye - and whenever i looked away from my screen. This allowed me to subconsciously familiarise myself with all the people/places/things on there! I also had a wallpaper on my phone with another small vision board so i looked at it even more often :)

- lastly, your vision board is yours - you don’t have to share

Honestly i truly believe in keeping my manifestations to myself till after they materialise in the 3D, mostly because of the stress of having other people think you’re crazy - i know that this is also my fault due to everyone is you pushed out, but i feel like for a lot of baby manifesters this is a familiar feeling. Manifestation is your own journey - do not let anyone take away your belief or chip at your self concept!

I am going to make a post soon about addressing people asking about manifestations! <3

-

Final step: HAVE FUN

Enjoy the process and embody the version of yourself who is receiving all of this, It is done, this IS your 2024!

-

the list:

Here are all the youtubers whose videos i watched while creating my vision board for 2024 <3

- Tam Kaur

- Anila Sita 101

- Hailey gamba

- The Gem Goddess

I hope this helped and enjoy making your vision board!

bye lovelies!

Seeing people’s successes really motivates me so i might also make a post on the things i successfully manifested in 2023 with my vision board <3

[lilac-hecox]

Red number two looks very interesting :o

(Ty!!)

2. "I'm so fucking pissed." - Ian/Shayne | Ian/Anthony

--

Anthony is back at Smosh for three whole months before he finds out about Ian and Shayne. The worst part is that he didn't find out because Ian bothered to tell him, no, he found out because he happened to see them together.

Anthony and Ian had been working late at the Smosh office alongside Josh as they finished up the vocals for a song they planned on incorporating into one of their future sketches. Ian had stretched and glanced at the clock before he sighed.

"I actually gotta get going," he had said.

"Oh?" Anthony started, taking off the headphones as he had looked at his best friend, "What's up?"

"Nothing serious, just dinner plans with a friend," Ian explained, "and if I don't leave now I'm going to be late."

Josh offered his hand in the air for Ian to give him a high five, not quite tearing his eyes away from the music program he had pulled up on his computer.

"I'll be in normal time tomorrow morning if I need to re-do anything," Ian explained as he high fived Josh. Then he moved over towards Anthony, giving him a bright smile and a quick side hug that Anthony only just had enough time to return.

"Okay, man, see you later," Anthony had said, the headphones hung around his neck. Ian wasn't obligated to tell him all his plans, but he hadn't mentioned a dinner at all when Anthony asked if he didn't mind staying a little late tonight.

Anthony picked up the headphones and was about to put them back on when he noticed Ian's phone sitting at the edge of the table they had been working at. Anthony had rolled his eyes, taking off the headphones fully before he went and grabbed Ian's phone.

"I'm going to try and catch him," Anthony had explained to Josh as he hustled out of the room, hoping to catch Ian before he left the parking lot in his car.

Ian was in the parking lot by the time Anthony had caught up to him, but he wasn't alone. Shayne was there, his own car parked next to Ian's, his stocky frame pressing Ian up against the side of his own vehicle. Shayne had a hand cupping Ian's jaw as they kissed slowly, familiarly, in the studio parking lot.

Anthony had stood there dumbfounded, Ian's phone slack in his hand. He doesn't remember exactly what had happened next. Whether he made a sound or whether Ian could sense him there, but either way Ian looks up and catches Anthony's eye.

He and Shayne break apart like they are suddenly burning each other.

"Anthony!" Ian said, breathless, his face red. Shayne looked at the ground, unable to meet Anthony's eyes.

"You, um, forgot your phone," Anthony had explained, holding up the device as proof of his reason for being outside, for seeing what he did.

Ian, still beet red, strode across the parking lot and took his phone from Anthony's outstretched hand.

"I-" Ian started, looking up at Anthony with worry.

"Your dinner," Anthony said, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"What?" Ian had said, confusion lacing his voice.

"You're going to be late, remember?" Anthony had said, trying to play it cool though his insides were swirling like he had just ingested something toxic.

Ian had nodded, had turned away from Anthony, "Right."

Then, Anthony was gone, back inside the office, not willing to let the scenario play out in front of him.

--

That was three days ago. Three days where Anthony and Ian didn't talk about what happened, what he saw. Anthony had finished out his session that night with Josh, trying to pour himself into work and forget what he saw outside in the parking lot.

The next day he worked on his solo channel, not going to the Smosh office. He didn't talk to Ian at all. His mind reeled, haunted by what he saw, his body and mind trying to digest it, process it, make sense of why the image of Shayne and Ian kissing was making Anthony feel like he swallowed glass.

Deep down, he knew why, he just didn't want to give it a voice.

Anthony had saw Shayne and Ian kiss on a Monday evening. He wasn't back in the office until today, until Thursday. Mercifully, Shayne happened to have the day off, but Anthony knew he would see Ian. He had half-expected Ian to text him after the incident, try to explain or...apologize? For what, Anthony wasn't sure. But Ian never texted and now Anthony sat stewing in the conference room.

The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. How could Ian keep this from him? Why did it not come up? He had so many questions and Ian had all the answers.

There was a knock on the door and Anthony looks up, not bothering to school his expression of annoyance when the door opens and he sees Ian poke his head into the room.

"Selina said you were looking for me?" Ian asks, as if it is not obvious, as if he didn't just blow Anthony off for three days.

"Can we talk?" Anthony says, more curt than he means to, "In your office?"

Ian swallows thickly, but he nods, swinging the door open and heading towards his office, Anthony trailing behind him.

They walk silently to Ian's office. Thankfully no one else happens to be around at the time as Ian holds open his office door to let Anthony pass through before he follows after, shutting the door behind him.

Ian stands nervously in the room, looking somewhat like a child who is about to be scolded.

"Look-" Ian starts with a sigh.

"I thought we were going to be better with this whole communication thing," Anthony says, cutting Ian off.

Ian blinks at the razor sharp tone of Anthony's voice.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't think it was a conversation we should have over text. I didn't even know if you wanted to talk about it or just pretend it never happened."

"Of course I want to talk about it! You were making out with an employee of ours!"

"I-" Ian falters, "I know there's, like, dynamic shit, but it isn't weird really. Shayne was the one that asked me out and it's been almost a year."

Anthony's heart drops to his feet. Almost a year? Anthony and Ian had reconnected about ten months ago. All this time, all this rebuilding of their friendship and Ian had said nothing about the fact that he was dating Shayne?

Jealousy seeps into Anthony, feeling like it's choking him. His best friend, Ian, had hid something so big from him. They were supposed to be open and honest with each other and already Ian was keeping secrets.

"I'm so fucking pissed!" Anthony snaps, he watches Ian flinch. "I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

Ian scoffs, "Sorry, I didn't realize I have to tell you when I'm dating someone."

"Maybe when it's someone who works for us?" Anthony bites back, "Is he the first or have you been hooking up with other employees?" Anthony snipes.

A wounded look crosses Ian's face, "It isn't like that. I...I know it sounds fucked up because I'm technically his boss, but I lov-"

"Stop," Anthony says, verging on desperate, "I don't want to hear it."

"Look," Ian starts, stepping closer to Anthony. The older of the two feeling like he wants to cry. He's angry at Ian, he's hurt, he's sad, and jealous, all this poisonous feelings creating a storm in his body. He wants to leave, he wants to be as far away from here as he can be, but what would that do? It would be like before, when they ran from conflict instead of talking about it, but this topic, Shayne and Ian, it is the last thing Anthony wants to hear.

"I'm sorry. I should have told you. I just...he and I started kind of dating right when you and I reconnected and everything was new on both sides. I didn't want to rock the boat either way, so I kept it from you, until I knew where things might fall with Shayne."

Anthony closes his eyes, "And now?"

"We're good," Ian says, softly. Anthony feels like he's been punched in the gut, "he makes me happy, Anthony."

Happy. Ian deserves to be happy.

Ian steps closer, his hand seeking out Anthony's shoulder.

"I want us to be okay too, Anthony."

Anthony squeezes his eyes shut tighter, takes a deep breath, then he nods, looking at his best friend, the most important person in his life. He swallows past the thick rope of jealous that feels like it's strangling him.

"We are...we will be," He admits, "I just, I want you to tell me things."

Ian nods, "I'm sorry."

Anthony, he loves Ian, he does, probably too much judging by the pain that ricochets through him. He loves Ian and he wants Ian to be happy. Who is he to complain? He left. He gave opportunity for Shayne to grow closer to Ian. He wasn't there and Shayne was. He has no one to blame but himself.

"I forgive you," Anthony says carefully. He touches Ian's elbow and watches his best friend smile in response. "And I'm glad you're happy."

[alj4890]

Hi, I have a request. Take as long as you need, or just delete if you don't find it appealing, but...

I'd love a fic in the early days of Tobias & Chris's relationship. They're public now and very much in love, but he witnesses a tender moment between her and Ethan... how does he react?

🤣 I was actually working through a fic along these lines for one of my kiss prompts. Your request came at the best time to help me finish this 😊 Hope you like it 😘

Thirty Kisses in Thirty Days Challenge with the prompt: a passionate kiss ending in ripped clothing.

@jerzwriter @hopelessromantic1352 @trappedinfanfiction @twinkleallnight @tessa-liam @kyra75

Masterlist

Visceral Reaction

At a coffee shop not too far from Edenbrook...

"Hello, Doctor." Chris tapped Ethan on his shoulder.

He turned around with a start then slowly smirked at her. "What are you doing here?"

"I need coffee." She replied.

"So you decided to come all the way down here on your day off." He rolled his eyes. "Surely you've got a coffee maker at home."

Chris nudged him forward when the line moved. "Yes, I have a coffee maker at home, but this place makes the best pumpkin spice lattes."

Ethan winced.

"What?" Chris demanded.

"I can't believe you're going to ruin coffee with a fad." He grumbled.

"A fad? Pumpkin spice is not a fad!"

"Yes, it is." He argued.

"You are such a coffee snob!" She exclaimed. "I can't believe that the man who introduced me to the espresso romano is going to stand here and deride my love for pumpkin flavors in coffee."

"Lemon is a natural additive that is used to diffuse the bitterness of the espresso." He reminded her. "It does nothing but make the coffee refreshing."

He placed his order along with her typical pumpkin spice latte. While still arguing with her, he paid for both their drinks and guided her towards an empty table.

Chris sat down caddy cornered from him so she could watch the door for Tobias. Her gray eyes narrowed playfully on Ethan's blue.

"Are you actually going to sit there and say that the spices used to make pumpkin spice are unnatural? Because I would like to point out that cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, and cloves can be found in many people's gardens."

Ethan leaned forward, eyes locked onto hers. His smile grew over how passionate she could get when defending her arguments for something completely ridiculous.

"No. I am going to sit here and say that your addiction to those particular spices is unnatural." He gestured towards her cup. "No one should ingest as much of those as you do."

She burst into laughter while playfully shoving his shoulder for bringing up her need for all things pumpkin spice.

"You know," her eyes sparkled with her humor, "researchers at John Hopkins did a study not too long ago on why people like me love pumpkin spice desserts and drinks."

"Really?" Ethan relaxed back in his chair. "I'll bite. Why do people like you fall so hard each year for a scam of charging an extra dollar or two for some spices you could add at home yourself?"

She snorted, propping her head on her hand while looking up at him. "As you well know, Dr. Ramsey; smell particles are able to travel to the back of our nasal passages and activate our smell receptors when eating."

Ethan merely lifted an eyebrow in response.

Chris grinned at him. "And the parts of the brain that process odor are very close to the parts of the brain that process memory information."

"So this is all about triggering happy memories?" He concluded. "That's why you drink this poor excuse for coffee by the gallon?"

"I work with you, Ethan." She teased. "Pumpkin spice is the only thing saving you daily from my temper."

She winked at him. "If I were you, I'd get down on my knees tonight to thank God for giving you this spice for protection."

Ethan snorted, fighting back a smile. He hadn't realized he needed something like her humor to help diffuse the tension he was currently under.

"How's work going?" She asked, sipping her coffee.

"Well, for the most part." He replied.

Chris noticed the dark look that passed over his face. There was only one thing that she knew of that could cause that particular expression.

"Have you talked to your father recently?"

Ethan averted his eyes from hers.

"Yes. He keeps calling."

"About your mother?" She carefully prodded.

He nodded, eyes narrowing upon his coffee without really seeing it. His mind was a jumble of memories and lingering bitterness. It was both distracting and disconcerting that his parent whom he hadn't seen in over twenty years was trying to get back into his life. If she was causing these types of problems now, how much more trouble would she be if he allowed her into his life again?

His eyes shot down to the sight of his hand being held by Chris. Her thumb brushed over his knuckles as she squeezed it in silent understanding.

Ethan swallowed before looking up at her. There was no pity that he could detect in her facial expression, only a sense of friendly concern. Without words, she was letting him know that she was fully on his side and would support him no matter what he decided to do about his mother.

He gripped her hand in gratitude.

****************

Tobias could only stare at the sight of his girlfriend at first laughing, talking, and playfully touching a man she not only worked closely with but also had quite the romantic history.

For some reason, their conversation took a dramatic shift from humor to being serious. Now, the two were holding hands while gazing at one another in silence.

Chris shared recently that she thought she and Ethan had found a new way forward in friendship. Tobias was happy that they had, especially since they worked together. He couldn't begin to imagine how awkward it must have been for the two of them. It was one of the many reasons why he never dated anyone that worked at Mass Kenmore. He needed work to be as stress-free as possible.

I had no idea that their friendship was THIS close.

He prided himself on never being jealous. At least he hadn't been before in previous relationships, or whatever his brief flings could be considered as. But, something about seeing Chris be herself, her fun sweet self, with someone like Ethan made his heart nearly stop.

Tobias knew Chris was his as well as her love and affection belonging to him.

If she still wanted Ethan, she'd never have agreed to go out with me.

He reminded himself that fact a few more times as he made his way over to their table.

Still though, why is she here with Ethan?

After all, she'd been the one to insist they meet here before going to see a matinee.

Was it so she could see Ethan or to get that coffee she talks about all the time, he wondered.

Chris noticed Tobias first. Her smile turned more tender just at the sight of him while she let go of Ethan's hand.

"Hey." Tobias greeted them both with a forced smile.

It took a lot of focus to keep it firmly in place.

Chris reached over and took his hand, tugging him down to greet him with her usual kiss.

That action went a long way to reassure him that all was still well between them.

Though he did still wonder at the closeness between her and Ethan.

He couldn't help but be worried. He trusted Chris and knew she would never cheat on him with another man. But...this was Ethan. He'd been the one man she'd waited over a year on in the hopes to be able to be with him.

"What are you two up to?" Tobias attempted to sound casual as he sat down next to her.

"Nothing much." Chris kept her hand in his. "Ethan and I were having our usual debate over coffee."

"Oh?" Tobias looked curiously back and forth between them.

The subject of coffee doesn't require all the little touches, smiles, or absolute attention, does it? Nor does it turn heartfelt later on.

"You need to tell him the truth." Ethan rolled his eyes at Tobias. "What we were really discussing--"

Here we go. Tobias braced himself.

"Is Chris's addiction."

Tobias sat there an extra second to absorb that statement.

"You mean her pumpkin spice addiction?" He asked.

"You told Ethan about your theory, didn't you?" Chris wagged a finger in warning at Tobias. "I knew you two would give me trouble one day."

Ethan chuckled. He was grateful that Chris was keeping the last of their conversation between the two of them. Though he was on his way to being close friends with Tobias again, he wasn't quite ready to share what was going on with his mother with anyone else at the moment.

He noticed the time and got to his feet. "I've got some lab results that should be finished by now. I'll see you in a couple of days."

Chris waved goodbye then focused on her date.

Tobias summoned his typical smirk for her before she could ask if something was wrong.

"What time does the movie start?" She asked.

"In about an hour."

Her smile turned flirty. "An hour, hmm? I think between the two of us, we can find a way to pass the time."

That wasn't a bad idea. He actually needed a little more proof that everything was still the same between them. What better way to do so than taking Chris somewhere more private?

"Come on." He laced his fingers with hers as he got to his feet. "Let's find a place without people."

Chris nearly tripped in her haste to follow him outside.

The sun was shining a little too brightly for what he had in mind. Tobias looked about the busy street, seeing nothing conducive to finding a spot where they could be alone.

He glanced down at her bemused face then led her towards where he'd parked. He opened the passenger door and instead of letting Chris get in, he sat down and moved the seat as far back as it could go.

His lips curved when he looked up at her.

"Care to join me?" He asked, reclining the seat the rest of the way down.

Chris laughed at his not so veiled hint of how they should spend their free time. Without a second thought, she settled on top of him.

Once the door was shut, the two attempted to get a little more comfortable.

"This is nice." She murmured, placing kisses along his stubbled jawline.

"Yes, it is." His hands moved along her back.

He needed more of her. His lips found hers in a heated kiss. His tongue slipped through her parted lips to seek her own. Her moans filled the air as she restlessly moved against him, needing more of his touch.

Tobias was determined to drive her crazy. He wasn't certain where this desperate need to do so came from. All he knew was he felt it the moment he stepped into that coffee shop and saw her with Ethan.

When I saw them holding hands...

His hands slid under her sweater to seek out all the spots that made her go wild. Chris broke away from his kiss. Her breaths hitched with every touch he lavished upon her mixed with how he kissed her neck.

The cramped space made every motion turn into an almost teasing sensation. It gave just enough friction to work them up but not enough to satisfy. The dark tinted windows fogged up, giving them all the privacy they needed to take things further.

Tobias became almost frantic to begin getting Chris out of her clothes. He gripped the bottom of her sweater and jerked it up. In his haste, he didn't realize that it had gotten snagged on the door handle.

A ripping sound rent the air making the two pause.

"How bad is it?" Chris asked, twisting around to see the damage.

"Bad." He muttered.

He could tell that the tear in her sweater went halfway up her back. Tobias was in utter disbelief that he'd allowed his jealousy to get to the point where he was actually ripping her clothes off just to prove that all was right between them.

Chris turned back towards him, mouth crashing against his for a long, deep kiss. Something about having him that eager to be with her made her desire for him quadruple.

Tobias moaned her name when she broke away to slowly begin unbuttoning his shirt.

Her gray eyes, stormy with desire, caught his attention.

"Since I can't go to the movies now," she teased, sliding her body against his in a sensual rhythm, "you'll have to keep me entertained for the next few hours."

His smirk flashed as he tried to catch his breath. Seeing her flushed from their kisses went a long way in giving him back his confidence.

"Just the next few hours?" His hands began their delicious torment to her sensitive skin once more. "That's all you need?"

Chris arched into his touch. Her lips curved as she gazed down at him.

"Not even close." She replied. "But it'll be a good start."

[katealpha]

Just as Sisu had done when she was coming back from a journey away from Heart, Raya had found herself sauntering down the bridge that led away from her home. With a hand under her belly and one upon her back for support, the princess truly was reduced down to an encumbered waddle. With one foot in front of the other, Raya groaned as a flurry of squirming wriggles jostled within the confines of her womb. Her constantly aching back didn’t help things either. The princess felt like she was carrying an overripe jackfruit in her belly, and it was sitting right in her pelvic region. A brief rub around the circumference of her gut was enough to keep them calm, especially in moments of exertion. She was a good mile away from her bedroom, and she hadn’t stopped for a moment in coming to the entrance of her land. She had something important to do.

The princess knew that she should be resting, but Raya was one to seldom listen to people. It was both a virtue and a flaw. It was tough to take advantage and control her, but there were times this had gotten her into trouble. Chief among those times invoked the very person Raya was waiting for: Namaari. The two princesses of neighboring lands had grown much closer since the time that they were bitter enemies. Sisu made sure that they reconciled after her resurrection, and I turned out all they needed was a while to talk things over and an honest apology from both Namaari and her mother Virana for what they did. While not everyone, not even a few dragons accepted their apologies, Raya and Namaari managed to reconnect.

The last time Raya had seen Namaari in person was about seven months ago, when she went to Fang for a weekend. Raya was pregnant at the time, she was slowing, but when Namaari asked, she simply said that she was bloated from Fang’s generosity. It worked, surprisingly enough, but now there was no hiding how far along she was. A year has passed since Raya had ingested that gem that Sisu formed with her magic, and that meant she was full term now. Huge wasn’t even close to how to describe the princess. Absolutely nothing could fit over her girth at this point except for the stretchiest of fabrics. Feeling bold however, Raya decided to use dresses that split down the middle and spread open like curtains, letting her belly hang out in all its glory. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the feeling.

A few moments went by, and Raya finally arrived at the top steps of the bridge while went down towards the path into the jungle. She’d stay where she was. She didn’t feel the need to exert herself that much, and potentially run the risk of being an easy meal for one of the 12 foot spiders that populated Heart and Talon’s surrounding jungles. There she waited, a hand on her lower back to ease a soft cramp and a huff leaving her mouth. Raya felt another squirm inside her belly, which caused her to look down and smile.

“Excited to meet your aunt…or maybe even your other mother? It’s gonna be love at first sight for when she sees how big you’ve made me.” Raya stroked up and down her belly, the warmth from within soothing her as it drives up her hand and through her arm, right back into her chest. This little moment with her future children wouldn’t last long as she heard the sound of vegetation moving.

“…Raya??”

The princess of Heart looked up from her swollen midriff and met the gaze of Fang’s own princess. Mounted on the back of her serlot cat, Namaari had never been so gobsmacked in her entire life. Of course, her meeting Sisu in her dragon form was a very close second. But this time, Namaari was actually having trouble processing it all. There was her best friend who she’d been writing to and from for the better part of a year, and she was…massive! Raya broke the silence smiled, giving a wave and a sheepish smile, her heart thumping with excitement.

“H-hey Namaari! You’re right on time!”

Namaari got off the massive cat, which was starting up at Raya with equal surprise to its rider. Approaching slowly, Namaari walked up the steps towards Raya.

“Hey…Raya. What’s going on with your stomach? You look…pregnant! Are you?..” Namaari said, finally able to form some words.

“I am…you remember how Sisu ate the gem and gave birth a year later? Well…I decided I wanted to make a dragon of my own…and I wanted to surprise you.” Her hands cradled around her belly, a blush growing upon Raya’s face as she then held her hands out.

“It worked on you?…you could have at least dropped a few hints, depla. I feel like I just got the wind knocked out of me.” Her hands met Raya’s holding onto them as they stood together on the bridge.

“Don’t think I don’t know how clever you are, Maari. You’d have figured it all out before I could knock the wind out of you. Consider this payback for Spine.” Raya chuckled and smiled a bit wider. She loved the banter she shared with Namaari.

“You’ve got to be kidding. Nevermind that. You uh…you look good. I just…I have so many questions about this. I can’t believe you’re pregnant with a dragon…or dragons..”

“Dragons. I’m having twins. I’m way bigger than Sisu was at full term. I feel like I’m going to burst.” Raya rubbed around her stomach after letting go of Namaari. She’d stroll around Fang’s princess and look down to her feline mount. “But I’ll answer all of them for you. As soon as we get someplace more private. Hopefully I don’t break your kitty’s back when she’s getting us back to the Palace.”

The serlot gulped visibly as it starred up at Raya, knowing that the heavy women would be a lot to handle…..

————————————————————

Here comes part three of the Pregnant Raya saga! Here we have her reunion with Namaari. There will be more coming in time so I hope you’ll be patient. Just know that Raya will not be getting any bigger from here. She’s a full size and ready to pop! Big thanks to Julias-Rocks for their amazing work on these art pieces! I hope you’ll enjoy this as well!

[alexcutecolly]

thanx for the concern! I’ve been rly exhausted recently but mayb resting in v.olo’s stomach or intestines while he rubs his belly would fix me >w< and he would enjoy that alot too I hope!! I love him a bunch

omg yes! V.olo falling asleep laying on us while we’re in there is so good!! uuu hearing his heart slow down all around us and knowing hes comfy and full!! ❤️

the first time would b a little scary for us and him too but it would be so relaxing after a bit and uuu can you imagine him feeling us slip behind his collarbone the first time ? and then he learns it really helped us relax and not work too much abd hed have more fun with it!! and making friends with his team is rly cute too a cuddle pile would be great and soft! and if he eats us or doesnt hed be so fun to hear talk about his favorite things like ruins n myths!!

omg you drew him as a merman that’s great!! What if he said we got the artefacts together cuz we were with him the whole time? and you’re right he’d be so warm and swaying back n forth when he’s swimming would be nice too!!

uuuuuu yes!! ❤️ and halfsize means he can savor us more and maybe lick his lips and sigh after he gets us all the way down in his human half but we still have a long way to go to get into a comfy spot in his coils where he could lay on us! uuuu omg omg a kiss where were resting in him is making me blush uwu hes so cute!

- v.olo uwu

ps. omg this ended up rly long sry

I'm finally here, I'm so sorry for the wait dear anon! 😓 I hope you're feeling better now! 😟 And oh don't worry about long asks! Write as much as you like! 💕

Mmmmm, V.olo's belly and intestines would definitely be of great help! 🥺 Imagine if they had healing abilities tbh! Like, no matter how exhausted or sick we are, some hours of rest inside of him and we're feeling like brand new! x3 and of course he'd love that! He could let himself relax for a bit and rub our spot, or even fall asleep as he does! 💕 Either option would be so cute hehe, and it'd feel so peaceful to be on the inside while he's slumbering ❤️

Oh yeah the first time ever would definitely be so so terrifying for us!! We wouldn't know if it'd be safe or not to stay inside his stomach, or if we could even be able to breathe at all! I feel like V.olo would feel a little calmer than us though, since he's the one that proposed the idea after all, and maybe he even practiced with some food before! x3

It'd be a whole different experience with a tiny wriggling person though, so he'd be surprised at first to feel us slide down and past his collarbone after swallowing us ❤️ and then we realize no harm is done in his belly and it's actually a soothing event for the both of us, and it turns into a pleasant habit from that moment forward x3

His team would really adore us imo! Like, we could sit down with his T.ogekiss and H.isuian A.rcanine by a bonfire and discuss various topics, like myths and the inscriptions/pictograms found in some ruins as we pet our mons 😭❤️ it'd just be a good time between close friends!

Oh thank you anon! 💕 I'm pretty proud of that drawing, hehe. I think V.olo would definitely say we found the artifacts together, since he's both technically not wrong and also a very endearing guy ❤️ I feel like the inside of his belly would be a little splashy for us because of some water he ingested, but other than that it'd warm us up and we could travel safely with him ❤️ also I think his m.erman scales would be golden imo, cause they'd look really good on him!

Ikr??? Half-size vore is amazing, cause it lets the pred take more of their time with eating and savouring the prey; it's a slower process than g/t vore, but it makes it even more satisfying for the devourer! You're so right btw, I can see n.aga!V.olo sighing and licking his lips once he's finished gulping us down, humming softly as he curls up in his coils and waits until we get to his tail stomach x3 💕 And we deserve a swift kiss when we do, because we've been such a good prey! Hehe, the idea makes me blush too! >w< ❤️

Also dear v.olo uwu anon, what do you think of the new L.egends game that's just been announced? I've never played the X./Y games, but it looks like I'll have to check them out in the future xD how about you?

[princessmisery666]

Samnesia - Chapter 10 - Magical (end)

Series Summary: Brooke is a calming distraction from the chaotic mess of Sam’s life. When a hunt keeps them separated for over a month, Sam returns to find she no longer remembers him. The need to find out what happened while he was gone sends Sam on a case that will change the course of his life. What he discovers along the way will change the way he looks at love.

Chapter Info

Summary: Now: Sam has to decide how much he wants Brooke to remember. Is it too much of a risk to have her remember everything? 

W/C: 4.3k

Warnings: mostly fluff, a bit of angst, happy ending.

Characters: Sam Winchester, Original Female Character (Brooke), other OC’s, Dean Winchester, Rowena MacLeod.

Extra special shoutout to: @slytherkins - this would not have been possible without her input, she deserves co-write credits.

Beta: @deanwinchesterswitch

Graphics: @talesmaniac89

A/N: This is it. The end. I'm sad that it's come to an end but so excited to have it out there. Thank you to everyone who has been reading either silently and/or commenting 💓🤩

Previous Chapter

Now

Dean had taken it upon himself to distract Brooke while Rowena did her thing, claiming to want to show her all the cool things the Men of Letters had accumulated over the years so Sam could focus on Rowena and her spell.

Sam was grateful Brooke wouldn’t have to ingest anything to break the curse. The potion Rowena was brewing did not look appetizing and smelled like the wrong end of a hellhound. Though, was there a right end to a hellhound?

Rowena sighed, and Sam saw the agitation in her eyes and pursed lips. “Everything okay?” 

“While I am the best at what I do,” she explained, “memory spells are tricky at best. And though I enjoy the company of a strapping young lad such as yourself from time to time, you hovering over me like an oversized hawk is a wee bit distracting.” 

“Sorry,” he said and moved from perching over her shoulder to a seat on the other side of the table. “It’s been a tough few weeks. I just need this done.”

For a moment, she looked sympathetic, but Sam knew it wasn’t for his weariness. “It’s almost done,” she said, picking up a vial of yellow flakes and tipping its contents into the bowl. “So what do you have to be so sullen about?”

“Not sure you noticed, but I burned down my girlfriend's house.” He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, feeling the three days’ worth of growth on his cheeks. He’d had more important things to worry about than shaving, but he wondered how disheveled he looked.

Rowena tsked. “Now, you know that's not strictly true. It isn’t as if you set a match to it yourself.” 

“But if I hadn't tried to remove the ring-”

“Samuel, how could you have possibly known that that would happen? I have no doubt that even Malakai was surprised by that turn of events, and he cast the cursed spell. Beating yourself up over it isn't going to do anyone any good. Better to pour that energy into doing what we can to right the situation.”

“You're right. It's just hard to shake this guilt.”

“Perhaps, but even harder is deciding what to do next.”

“What do you mean? We lift the curse, right?” He frowned, worrying he’d missed something off the list that would delay the process. Sitting forward, he fretted, “Did I forget something?” 

“No, no,” she assured him, “my instructions were very specific, and you followed them to the letter.”

Sam’s relief was palpable. The thought of having to wait any longer was unbearable.

“But you have a decision to make, Samuel,” Rowena continued solemnly. “I can restore all of her memories and allow her to keep the ones she’s made since this unfortunate situation began, or I can be very specific about what she remembers.” 

“I want her to remember all of it,” Sam said. 

“I’m sure you do, my dear,” she smiled sadly, “but being associated with a Winchester is dangerous business. Having one love you has proven to be fatal on many occasions. As a consequence, I think you should fully consider all the possibilities before you make a final decision.” 

“I want…” He hesitated, then almost to himself, as a reminder, “Messing with memories is dangerous.”

“It is extremely dangerous,” Rowena agreed when his silence dragged on. “That’s why you need to make sure your decision, whatever it may be, is made for the right reasons. So, I’ll ask again.” She lowered her voice and spoke deliberately, “How much do you want her to remember?” 

Sam scrubbed a hand down his face, considering the witch’s warning, but was startled by the broken sound of Brooke’s voice when she said his name from the doorway. 

“Sam?” 

He whipped around on his seat to see her eyes filled with tears, and it was clear she’d heard enough that his hesitation was distressing. 

“Brooke, I…” He was on his feet and chasing after her before she’d completely turned to walk away. “Brooke, wait.” 

“I can’t believe you're even considering it,” she snapped over her shoulder. “After everything.” 

Sam’s longer legs allowed him to gain ground on her, and he managed to step into her path. She shoved at his chest, but he refused to move, and she let out a frustrated growl. 

“You’re mad at Tommy for messing with me, and here you are considering doing the exact same thing.” 

“I hesitated,” Sam admitted, “because there was a lot to consider, but-”

She interrupted him, indignation and hurt caught in her throat. “But what? You and everyone else get to decide what happens to me, but I don’t get a say in it?”

“That’s not what-” 

“I get it. You needed a distraction from everything. Something, anything normal. But now what?” Her tears finally fell freely, and Sam’s heart ached as he thumbed them away, but she continued. “The illusion is over, and I can’t be your distraction, so you’re just done with me? How is that-” 

Sam interrupted her by cupping her face and drawing her to his mouth. She resisted for half a second, not quite ready to let go of her offense. But she allowed him to pull her closer, and his kiss seemed to mend the wounds his hesitation had caused.

“You’re not a distraction, Brooke. And even if we spent a million lifetimes together, I’d never be done with you. I don’t know how this works now, how we move forward, or even if we can,” he said, uncertainty and worry washing through him like a cold sweat. “And you’re right, this decision should be yours, but if you don’t hesitate in making it, I’d be worried that you don’t fully understand what it is you're signing up for.”

“I do,” she said, but her voice was small and uncertain. She cleared her throat and spoke with more conviction. “I do, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t scare me a little, too.” She shied from his gaze with a light blush. “I don’t have all my memories, but I have all the information.” She looked at him again, giving him the most resolved smile he’d ever seen on her, “And I know how I feel.”

If Sam knew anything, it was that time should never be considered a luxury. He had to take every moment for what it was, and although she hadn’t said the words, he knew what she meant. 

“I also know how I feel, and that’s why I hesitated. There’re no more illusions. You’ve seen behind the curtain, and I still want you here, but maybe that’s selfish of me. Now you know exactly who we are and what we do. You've seen the kinds of people and forces we encounter. How dangerous they can be. Hell, all this,” he lifted her hand, so she looked at her ring, “this was someone’s idea of fun. So you’ve seen how they won't hesitate to go after the ones we love. You and me? A relationship like this? This is something I didn't allow myself for a long time. Perhaps, I shouldn't have allowed it this time.”

Her face crumpled, “Don’t say that.”

“I don’t regret a second of us,” said Sam, cupping her cheek, and she nuzzled into the warmth of his hand, her eyes slipping to a close. He couldn’t help but draw her closer to softly kiss her lips. “The only people Dean and I allow close to us are already in this life, and even they don't always escape the acquaintance unscathed. To be with me, you’re putting yourself and your loved ones at risk. No matter how we feel, how truly head over heels in love with you I am, it’s something we have to consider. We'll do everything in our power to protect you and your family and friends, but I need you to be sure that this, and everything that comes with it, is what you truly want.”

“Did you forget my family is all law enforcement?” she asked, her brow cocked. “I know it’s not the same, I know there’s more risk involved, but I’m no stranger to having to look over my shoulder. But no risk, no reward, right?”

He gave her a brief smile. “But you need to make a fully informed and carefully considered decision that it’s worth it.” He sighed heavily, the next part wasn’t as easy to say, but it had to be said. “I want you to be sure I’m worth it.”

She rose to the tips of her toes and kissed him, chaste but firm. “My memories may be fractured, but I know - without a shadow of a doubt - in here,” she said, taking his hand and placing his palm flat over her heart, “that you are. Sam, I lo-” 

“Wait,” he said, harsher than he intended. “Don’t say it, not yet. Can you wait until after we break the curse? So I know that it’s real.”

She smiled sweetly but shook her head. “Memories or not, it won’t change how I feel. You feel like home, and I love you, Sam.”

He kissed her again, the confidence in her statement cleansing him of his remaining anxiety. He slipped his arm around her waist, and just as he pulled her flush against him, Dean cleared his throat, interrupting them. 

“Sorry, guys,” he said, “but it’s time.”

Brooke watched Rowena with nervous fascination, as did Tommy. The bowl in front of her sizzled like a skillet, but when Brooke peered over, nothing moved inside. The purple, vaporous substance glittered under the light but was otherwise still.

Rowena turned to Brooke with a small smile, holding out her hands. “Are you ready, my dear?” 

Brooke swallowed thickly and stepped forward, giving Rowena her trembling hands. She wasn’t quite sure what she was supposed to do, but she was willing to do whatever was asked of her.

“While I respect your wish to keep all of your memories, old and new, you must understand that leaving everyone else unaffected could prove to be…problematic,” Rowena explained. “Your family and friends won’t remember things exactly how they happened after the curse was put in place. They won’t remember your relationship with Thomas.” She pursed her lips and shot a dangerous glare at him before turning a sweet smile back at Brooke. “I thought it best they simply think you were busy with your new beau, Samuel. They’ll perhaps scold you for letting him take up so much of your time, but ultimately, they’ll just be happy you found someone.” 

“And my house?” asked Brooke, following Rowena’s gaze to Sam. 

He gave her a tight smile. “They’ll think it was faulty wiring,” he said and dropped his eyes.

“Okay,” nodded Brooke, “let’s do this.”

“I’m going to add the last ingredient, and when I do, the contents of the bowl will illuminate and look much like flame,” Rowena explained, “but I promise it will not burn you. The ring must pass through this fire, and as it’s stuck to your hand, well… You should feel a slight tingling sensation, is all. Nothing to worry about.” 

“Okay,” said Brooke, throwing a panicked look at Sam. He nodded, giving her a crooked half-smile.

“You can trust her.”

“Ow!” Tommy yelped, and Brooke turned back to see Rowena holding a few freshly plucked strands of his hair. 

She dropped the strands into the bowl, and there was a blinding white light. Brooke jumped back, afraid of being burnt despite Rowena’s assurances. She watched the purple flames dance, and for a moment, she thought she saw an image of her and Sam flicker across them, but as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. 

“Brooke,” said Sam softly. She didn’t have the words to reply, there was a literal magic flame swaying in front of her, and she was supposed to put her hand in it. She sensed rather than saw Sam step up beside her, but when he took her hand, the trance was broken, and she peered up at him. 

“We can do it together,” he offered, then quickly looked to Rowena as if to ask if that was okay. The witch nodded, and the small gesture cured Brooke of her residual apprehension.

Sam let her lead, and she took a hesitant step forward. Slowly, she lifted their joined hands, drawing closer to the moving magic, still expecting to feel an unnatural heat at any moment.

“Wait,” he called a second before the violet flame licked their skin. She gazed up at him, panic in her features, which Sam smoothed away with a hand on her cheek. “If something goes wrong-” 

Rowena tutted, but Sam continued as if she hadn’t. 

“-I need you to know I love you.”

She tiptoed to capture his mouth with her own, and at the same moment, she threw their hands into the blaze. Her hand tingled as Rowena said it would, and as it crept higher up her arm, Sam broke the kiss. Brooke’s vision distorted, but she could still discern his concerned frown. Before she could ask if something was wrong, she heard Rowena say, “Dean, be a dear and help your brother catch her.”

Then, everything faded to black. 

Sam chewed the wick of his thumbnail, keeping vigil beside Brooke’s bed. Her eyes darted under her lids, and her body jerked intermittently. Rowena assured him it was expected, but it did little to calm him. Brooke hadn’t regained consciousness, and it had been almost two hours.

She didn’t look comfortable. Her fists clenched around the bedsheets, and her brow was set in a deep frown. She looked as if she were having a vivid dream, and Sam hoped, perhaps selfishly, that it involved everything she’d forgotten. He whispered reassurances to her, willing her to wake up. He wanted to uncoil her fist and kiss the tension away from her rigid digits, but he feared touching her would cause some unforeseen complication.

“I’m right here, Brooke,” said Sam.

A wave of nausea curdled in his stomach. What if, when her memories were once again intact, she wouldn’t want him to be there?

Dean cleared his throat from the doorway, and it startled Sam, but not enough that he took his eyes off Brooke. 

“No change?”

Sam shook his head, “Nothing.”

“I took Tommy back to his family,” Dean reported, “douchebag even thanked me. I stayed long enough to watch Brooke’s brother and his band of merry men show up to arrest him.”

Sam had given Brett all the non-supernatural information he’d gathered on Tommy when he’d dropped Brooke off at his house the night before. The evidence of his stalking was indisputable, even if Brett had been suspicious of Sam. 

“Let’s hope the justice system does what it’s supposed to.” 

“Oh, I think it will,” said Dean. “And if not, some other system will. He was shouting about magic and witches while they bundled him into the car. He’ll be in a big white room before sunrise.”

Sam scoffed, “I guess Rowena let him keep all his memories, too. Good.”

Brooke’s hitched breathing was the only sound for a moment. Sam heard Dean approach but didn’t look up.

He felt Dean’s hand on his shoulder, and Sam heaved a sigh. “Please don’t give me a lecture right now.”

“No lecture,” Dean said, giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze, “but the easy part is over, Sammy. Now the hard part starts, figuring out how you move forward together.”

“We’ll work it out,” Sam said confidently, “Too much has happened for us not to.” 

“I know,” said Dean, just as Brooke omitted a small groan.

“Brooke,” Sam said, taking her hand in his own.

Her eyes fluttered open, but she quickly scrunched them closed again and covered them with her free hand. “Ow,” she moaned. In a whisper, “My head hurts.” 

“Rowena said you’d probably have a pressure headache for a few days,” Sam explained in a hushed voice, “undoing the spell means we’ve overloaded you with information. You’ll need a couple of days to recover fully.”

“I’ll get you some aspirin,” Dean said, backing out of the room.

Brooke pouted, groaning as she wriggled her hand free from Sam’s grasp to rub small circles on her temples. “Ow, ow, ow,” she whimpered, “my skin hurts too. Is that normal? Like a tingling sensation.” 

“I don’t know,” he said, “I’ve never been in this situation before.” She continued to massage her temples, but her face remained scrunched with pain. “Why don’t you try and sleep?” 

“Sleep sounds good.” Her voice was already drowsy. “But only if you stay with me.”

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

She stretched her arm out, blindly searching for him, and he gave her his hand. “You’re too far away,” she whined, tugging him closer as she scooted over in the bed to make room for him.

His smile beamed as he slipped his arm under her neck, and she snuggled closer to him, throwing her leg over his hip. Placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, he muttered, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” she said, but her voice sounded far away like she was already half-asleep. Her steady breathing tickled the base of his throat, and Sam closed his eyes, content to just lay with her while she fell asleep, buoyant in the knowledge that she was free of the curse and hadn’t asked him to leave. 

Suddenly, she gasped and pulled back. 

“What’s wrong?” asked Sam. 

“I love you,” Brooke blurted as if the thought had only just occurred to her.

Sam’s heart might have actually jumped to his throat. Now that he knew she remembered everything, he could trust the truth of it.

Still, she seemed so surprised by her own statement that it made him a little uncomfortable. “Is that a problem?” he chuckled.

She edged closer to him, her lips brushing his when she said, “Absolutely not.”

The day had been perfect, despite crying on at least four occasions. Brooke’s heart was full, and it was impossible to stop herself from smiling. From across the large room decorated in white and autumn oranges, she observed her friends dancing with the bride. At the bar were her mother, Brianna, and father, Brian, talking to Sam and Dean. Her mother’s smile was just as big as Brooke’s had been all day, and her father shook Dean’s hand with his other clasped on his shoulder. She knew without being able to hear the conversation that Brian was thanking Dean for helping catch Tommy in the same sincere, enthusiastic way he’d thanked Sam.

The unfortunate house fire must have been mentioned, as she glimpsed that distant flash of guilt on Sam’s face. She had yet to completely convince him that she didn’t blame him, that she thought it was almost romantic that their love for one another was so strong it literally set something ablaze. Granted, it had only been a month, and the insurance company was dragging its feet with the payout, so it was still a sore subject.

Brett stepped into her line of sight, interrupting her view. “Hey, Baby Bee,” he said, offering her a glass of champagne before standing beside her.

“Hey, Big Bee,” she smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. “Feel like a husband yet?”

He chuckled, “Absolutely, and I have to say, it’s a pretty damn good feeling.”

They touched their glasses together in a toast and took a small sip in unison, Brooke never taking her eyes off Sam. This had been the exact scene she’d wanted to see play out since her birthday, Sam being greeted by everyone with familiar and welcoming hugs. Well, perhaps not everyone. Chris had been glaring daggers at him most of the day, but Brooke had been able to ignore it, and Sam didn’t seem at all fazed by it, but he relaxed more when Dean arrived.

Sam had been Brooke’s plus one, and Brett had insisted that Dean join them for the evening celebrations as a thank-you for his role in capturing Tommy.

“You look happy,” Brett said, breaking her contented daze, watching Sam and her Dad talking animatedly.

“I am.”

“I gotta say, I was worried for a minute there,” he admitted, and it was that which made her take her attention from Sam to look at her brother. “Taking off for a couple of weeks with a guy you’d just met. That’s not like you.” 

That had been the easiest lie to tell. After all, it was a half-truth, Brett and the rest of her family believed she’d found out about the stalking, and though her relationship with Sam was relatively new at the time, she’d stayed with him while he and Dean conducted their investigation.

She shrugged, “I guess when you know, you know.” 

“And do you know?” he asked, that brotherly protectiveness taking shape as skepticism.

“Yes, I do,” Brooke said without hesitation, turning to face him. “I know without a doubt that I’m in love with Sam, and he’s more than proven he feels the same. He makes me happy. He’s sweet, kind, funny, selfless, smart, generous, patient, and there’s not a disloyal bone anywhere in that six foot-three package of sexiness.”

Brett groaned, but his complaint was made through a smile, “Ugh, please spare me.”

“Mostly, though, he makes me feel safe.”

“I like him,” Brett declared. “He didn’t flinch when I gave him the ‘if you hurt my sister, I’ll murder you’ speech.” She rolled her eyes, and he grinned. “Seriously, I’m happy for you, Bee.” He pulled her into a tight hug. “And maybe, in a couple of years, I’ll be asking you if you feel like a wife yet.”

Brooke felt her cheeks heat up as he released her, but she raised her glass again, “A girl can dream.”

“What’re we dreaming about?” Sam asked as they swallowed the last of their drinks. 

“You,” she admitted and felt her smile grow impossibly wider.

“Excuse me,” Brett said, walking away, “I’m going to ask my wife if she’d like to dance.”

“Congratulations again,” Sam called after him before turning his attention to Brooke. “Hey,” he smiled softly, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on her lips. “Have I told you that you look beautiful today?” 

“Oh, only a hundred or so times, but what’s one more?”

“You look incredibly beautiful today.”

He kissed her again, deeper this time but still appropriate for their current location. It was sweet yet frustrating, and Brooke wanted to drag him away from prying eyes and show him how beautiful she looked under her dress, too, but it was still early, and it wouldn’t have been fair to leave Dean on his own with her family.

Expecting their moment to be interrupted by the eldest Winchester at any moment, she reluctantly pulled away from Sam. “Where’s Dean?”

He rolled his eyes as he stepped to the side to give Brooke a clear view of the bar. Dean was talking to the maid of honor, Tara, and it looked as if the honor was all hers.

“Oh, thank god,” sighed Brooke, “I thought Emily was going to try her luck with him, but Tara is so much better for him.” 

“Oh, I’m sure Dean can find a way to corrupt her,” Sam chuckled. She laughed with him, their eyes locked until she started dancing on the balls of her feet. “C’mere,” he said, pulling out a chair and maneuvering her into his lap as he sat down.

“Thank you,” she muttered, “these shoes are killing me.”

They both observed the room for a moment. Brett and Olivia swayed slowly in a dance that didn’t match the beat of the song, stepping to their own personal music. Emily, Cara, and Nikki stood at the edge of the dancefloor, taking pictures. Brooke felt her smile widen, and she knew her face would ache for days to come. 

“You haven’t stopped smiling all day,” Sam observed.

“Honestly, I’m not sure I could stop if I tried,” she laughed, cheeks blushing rouge. “Because a few months ago, I snuck into a stranger's car, and it’s the best decision I ever made.”

Before Sam could respond, the DJ announced it was time for the bride to throw the bouquet. 

“Anyone who wants a chance at being the next one down the aisle should report to the dance floor right now,” DJ Backstreet shouted unnecessarily. 

Brooke watched as everyone clambered around chairs and other guests, setting drinks down so they could rush over, but Sam broke her focus. “You not going?”

She grinned mischievously. “Is that a proposal?” 

Sam scrambled for a second, and she saw his brain shortcircuit as his eyes filled with mild panic. She kissed him, nibbling his bottom lip as she pulled away, and it was enough to tell him she was simply teasing him. But he surprised her by asking, “Would you like it to be?”

She spluttered for a moment, mouth opening and closing until Sam matched her playful grin from before.

She laughed before sobering and telling him, “I wanted this.” She gestured around the room. “I planned something this grand and extravagant for my ‘big day’, no expense spared. I was, admittedly, bragging a little, but I was so excited and happy.” Her eyes involuntarily drifted toward Chris, standing beside her brother, watching the women on the dancefloor. She turned back to Sam, smiling gratefully, and his mirrored hers. “But I promise you, I’ve never been happier, felt richer, or more loved than I do when you smile at me like that.”

Slowly, they inched closer, but only a breath from connection, Sam put a hand on her cheek and held her still, leaning back slightly so he could look into her eyes. “I love you, and maybe, one day…”

“Brooke,” Emily called from across the room.

Brooke twisted in her direction, but Sam was quicker in catching her cheek with his palm and turning her to face him again. 

“No more interruptions,” he said, pressing his mouth to hers.

End.

If you made it this far, thank you 💓🤩

Master Lists: Samnesia // All The Fandoms

[shaunsummers]

Tek's Birthday!

The tone seemed a bit off from what she knew from Beatrix so far and when her head turns with a brow lighty cricked in suspicion, Siren is met with a teasing sneer. That observant bitch. "Yeah, well, I don't mind playing doctor." Her eyes turn away as she represses a guilty smile, she was too high for this shit, and goes for the wipes on the end table to clean her hands of the strong scent of menthol. Seeing as though Devin had been patched up and heavily medicated, she should start to feel some relief. The morning after was bound to be hell, however, and, on second thought, a t-shirt may be a little difficult for her to get into. A tank top would be better. So, she travels to the closet to retrieve just that, handing it over to her in exchange for the bottle of vodka after Devin takes a hearty swig.

Seeing the tank placed into her hand, Devin felt a sense of relief. Any pressure against or movement of her shoulders just seemed like a bad time. "Oh yeah?" Still, even in the strain through her voice as she places herself into the top, Devin couldn't help but to tease. "Where did you get your experience? Ho academy?" But to her dismay, she is swiftly met by the threat of Siren's mighty flick with her curled middle finger and thumb hovering just over her nose. Her heart drops. "Please, don't."

"You must be allergic to the phrase 'thank you'." Siren's death stare softens a bit as she lowers her hand. Like Devin ever said 'please'. That royal ass kicking from Beatrix was doing quite the number. Then as her eyes were stilled locked with Devin's, Siren enjoys her share of the bottle before passing it to Quinn with a light smile, "Your go."

"Uhhhhhhhhh." Rebel's cognitive processing nearly fails in the proposal as many things were working against the brain cogs turning without falling off the hinges. The garlic bread, the many ingested doobies, a few shots, and the simple fact that her feelings for Tek never actually went away created a cocktail that was difficult to know what to do with. She knew what she wanted and it showed as Rebel glanced down at her lips in hard pressed debate. But, a simple fact remained, they had never talked about it. What happened, it wasn't good nor something that she wished to repeat; and definitely not something she was proud of how she handled. If it was back then, Rebel would have taken the leap no problem. But now? She yearned for more than to steal a quick kiss. She wanted clear communication. "Yo, dude, we should probably talk..."

------------------------

"I'm sure you do." Beatrix mutters in humor, barely audible. But watching things play out in front of her, she can't help but laugh. Devin had, against all odds, been so swiftly humbled. She'd never seen that before.

Quinn takes the bottle from her with slight eyes of judgement, taking a swig. "C'mon, you guys need to quit being so goddamn mean. Devin's gotten enough shit for a night." Sure, sometimes she talked out of her ass, but she was just talking out of her ass. Plus Devin got the fuckin' torture rack on her arms, they could cut her a break.

"What? I'm just sitting here, and I brought free booze." Beatrix arches an eyebrow at the continuation of Quinn's diatribe. What was her problem?

"Just...fuckin' be nice. Both of you." Quinn cuts a look between them before passing the bottle along, letting it drop again with mild frustration. Devin had been dogged on a lot tonight, and it was starting to annoy her. She'd been going through a lot lately, it had rarely stopped for her, really, so fuck. Let the girl have a decent fuckin' time.

...Oh shit. Despite how nervous she already was, it skyrockets with Rebel's words. Never had that particular string of them ever ended well, and she hadn't expected all the lightness and silliness to get sapped away so quickly. The fear that she had overstepped gripped Tek first, and she was suddenly all too aware of every time they hadn't talked when they probably should've, and the horrible time when they had and it only imploded everything.

Tek nods in response, silence blanketing her lips under the chaotic whirling in her mind. She didn't know if it was real or just some reactionary thing that was driving the abrupt worry of losing her again. It had taken so much time for them to be okay. "Did I just...mess up?..." She asks, loosing a measured breath in attempt to calm herself. Her fingers pensively trail down the outside of Rebel's arm, still cognizant of the mutual desire hovering steadily between them—Tek couldn't miss it with her lingering so close—but it was hard not to be so unsure, even after all this time.

[johninrags]

Trust in the beauty of things

In 1989, during the depths of a night, a severe headache besieged me. I hastily ingested a handful of over-the-counter pills I discovered in a cabinet, but the torment was such that stillness, either sitting or lying, was unattainable. I desperately tried various postures, applied ice packs, and exerted pressure on my temples, but to no avail. The pain was unyielding and relentless, reducing me to a writhing state of agony on the living room couch, powerless but to surrender.

Given the severity and endurance of the pain, I decided to turn this dreadful situation into an opportunity of self-exploration. I focused intensely on the source and nature of the pain, striving to understand it— a sort of mind over matter experiment. To my surprise, I began to find some peculiar enjoyment in the process. Then, something unexpected occurred.

I was enveloped by the most exquisite music I had ever encountered. It was a sophisticated symphony, so crystal clear that each note was distinct. The interplay of instruments was so harmonious that they melded into a unified whole, a symphonic perfection. It was hard to classify within existing genres but carried a distinctly modern tone. It showcased a plethora of electric and contemporary instruments, each contributing to a breathtaking rhythm. The bass notes were unconventional yet comfortably nestled within a progressive, ethereal chord structure. Strings weaved the melody with empowering subtlety. Any attempt to describe this soundscape would inevitably fall short of its grandeur.

Alongside this mesmerizing music, a vibrant panorama unfolded before my eyes. I found myself soaring over an endless expanse of water, bathed in a radiant light casting a spectrum of colors on the gently undulating surface below. To my astonishment, I realized that the music was intertwined with lyrics, subtly layered into the structure, discernible if one chose to listen closely. Straining to understand, the lyrics suddenly clarified, and it felt as though they were exclusively written for me. The composition was a personal masterpiece. The words resonated deeply, igniting a surge of warmth and light within me. They resonated as if spoken from a loving father to his son, "You have to trust in the beauty of things." With these words, my existence vibrated with renewed energy as the dream state crumbled.

I awoke, my eyes peeling open to the sight of my body lying on the couch. Strangely, I was unable to move. My legs were propped against the back of the couch, hands folded on my chest. Paralyzed, not just by the overwhelming beauty of the experience but by an actual physical immobility. At that time, terms like 'lucid dreaming' or 'out of body experiences' were alien to me, often met with societal disapproval. Despite the puzzling situation, I remained composed, comforted by a warm, loving vibration that filled my entire being. Miraculously, the headache was completely gone.

Suddenly, I felt an immense pressure, as if a colossal weight was bearing down on me. It was as though I was deep underwater, feeling the crushing weight compressing my chest and lungs. As I heard my own groans, I feared it might rouse my roommate. Panic surged through me, and instantly the pressure lifted. Disappointed at my own fear, I mentally pleaded, "Don't go away, please don't leave me." As if understanding my remorse, the comforting pressure returned momentarily, like a reassuring hug before leaving me to my bewildered senses.

[sagemoderocklee]

do you think any naruto characters would have allergies to any foods? i have so many family and friends with food allergies but almost no tv shows or stories have characters like that.

anon you have come to the right person because i have food allergies and i treat lee's reaction to alcohol as a food allergy! im allergic to alcohol when ingested as a drink but if it's cooked into foods i am typically fine--which is fine cause i was never much of a drink anyways. im also allergic to wheat and soy, and am currently struggling to figure out if--thanks to long covid--ive developed an allergy to some fish or if its something else as ive been having reactions to some things but it's not consistent

i have two fics where lee's alcohol allergy is featured--Plus One and RtS--and the reactions he has to it are just pulled from my own experiences.

i haven't thought about this for other characters per say, but one thing im sort of vaguely aware of is that allergies are more prominent in america/the states because of the way our food is processed. there's an article i read recently about gluten intolerant folks in the states not reacting/having such mild reactions to bread made in europe just because of the processing of grain there vs the states. i did not try this out when i was in ireland because i was 1. anxious and 2. didn't want it to actually work and then come back to the states and not be able to have bread

anyways you didn't ask me about MY medical/food history, im just rambling, but the reason i bring this up is i guess i wonder how common food allergies would be. obviously dangerous allergies that result in anaphylaxis aren't going to be eliminated just because of how food is processed so it's very possible that other naruto characters could have or develop allergies.

sometimes allergies develop because you eat soooo much of something, so maybe like naruto develops an allergy to something in ramen lmao

i def think the only time i do see food allergies in media is when it's being used as a contrivance to create a situation where a character almost dies because of food--sometimes it's done for comedy, sometimes it's used in a more series fashion, but i think i really have only ever seen it used in that context (recently watched My Best Friend's Exorcist which was... a film. honestly disappointing but i hear the book is very good. but the point is there was a nut allergy in that and it was, again, presented early on so that down the road when one of the characters was possessed she could essentially poison the person with teh allergy)

it would be really nice to see media shift and acknowledge the seriousness of food allergies outside of as a plot device. it would be like cool to see something where it showcases that food allergies are a disability and can make you feel very isolated. like your friends all go out to eat but you cant join them--ive had situations where ppl have picked a place for a con tradition and been like 'oh sorry i guess you can just sit there' and i think ppl don't realize just how shitty that is!

anyways rambling again! sorry anon! thank you for the question!

[bysaber]

KEEP IT ON THE LOW.

M. FUSHIGURO x fem reader

SUMMARY — Megumi is getting around to the fact that you aren’t settling down. Inspired by Creepin’ (Metro Boomin, The Weeknd, 21 Savage). Prequel.

WARNINGS — mdni, 18+ content, implied alcohol and drug consumption, smut, mutual masturbation, unprotected sex, pussydrunk megumi, creampie, toxic relationship, choso x reader mentioned, megumi is obsessed

WORDCOUNT — 1.8K

NOTE — hello, 3am here!! happy belated valentine’s day everyone <3 since it’s so late i couldn’t revise it, sorry :( but enjoy this bittersweet fic!!&$?

Megumi Fushiguro wasn’t expecting to spend Valentine’s Day alone.

Even though the date had never held a special meaning to him, after twenty-one years of letting the day pass by like a normal weekday, he expected this year’s to be a little different.

Fair mistake, he believes.

As he finishes his last joint, he checks his phone one last time; it’s ten past two and no messages from you.

A bitter smile grows on the boy’s lips, for he really doesn’t know what he was expecting — he hasn’t heard from you in two days, except when Itadori commented, with a sour expression, that he had caught you in his house making out with his brother Choso.

Megumi really doesn’t know what he expected.

He knew you. He knows you; always sleeping around, never getting serious with anyone. He shouldn’t get attached just because you’re friends and sleep together.

And yet…

Here he is, heartbroken. Cans of beer scattered all around his living room, high out of his mind, deprived of sleep as he waits for a text he knows won’t come.

His devotion to you has become irreparable. You had come into his life with a kind smile and beautiful words, destroying his barriers and forcing your presence into his routine.

After making Megumi depend on your body and get used to your presence, it was too late for him to escape his obsession once he realized you weren’t going to change for him.

His heart aches once again, but he isn’t sure he wants to forget you. Even if it hurts — even if it’s still Valentine’s Day, somehow, and you’re probably at a party or fucking someone else. He can’t fathom the idea of living without being with you somewhat.

He feels dizzy, the control over his body disappearing as he lays on the couch and closes his eyes. He wants to enter a dream world; a world where you are his.

“Megumi,” he snaps his eyes open and sees you right there, frowning.

You give him no time to second guess himself as you cup his face, your hands cold. Megumi feels his skin crawl and sits up, “Fuck, what time is it?”

He seems to forget you’re there for a second as he searches for his phone when you answer, “It’s four in the morning, ‘Gumi,” you step in front of him on the couch. “You texted me a couple hours ago asking me to come, I missed it but decided to take a chance and check if you were still up—”

You keep explaining about how you had found him passed out on the couch and waited for about half an hour, but his heart is racing as he thinks about why would you be awake at such an hour.

With that outfit.

He processes it slowly, his head pounding, the fact that you really were partying and decided to stop by on the way home.

Were you with someone?

Did things work out or not?

Is he supposed to be your second fling of the night?

His heart breaks once more, and he isn’t sure he wants to know.

But you could’ve hid it better.

“Babe,” he interrupts you.

When you stop your rambling, looking down at him with eyes glowing like they usually do, Megumi decides he doesn’t want to.

Keep me in the dark.

He tugs on your waist, pulling you to sit on his lap and you understand all of his signals perfectly; crashing your mouths together as your body weights on his.

It doesn’t matter. As long as you keep it from him, as long as you pretend he is your one and only, he’ll accept it.

He’ll pretend you love him back.

His tongue invades your mouth, the alcohol you’ve both ingested mixing together as he licks and devours you without a care in the world. He kisses you as if trying to consume you, sucking on your tongue and letting saliva drip on your chin.

It’s messy and nasty, but Megumi doesn’t care — he has you now, and he has to silence all the thoughts in his head.

“Fuck, Gumi, missed me that much?” you’re both out of breath when his mouth leaves yours, your hands quickly going to unzip his pants.

His gaze follows your movements, your question echoing in his mind as he lifts his hips so you can pull his pants and boxers down. Missed me that much?

Megumi wants to cry when you close your hand around his shaft, he wants to whine; missed you so much. Stay with me, only me. Keep me close, don’t ever leave. His lips quiver and he sighs when you spit on his tip and use your thumb to smear it before pumping his length slowly.

Pretend you love me the same way I love you.

The sounds he makes are answer enough for you, and you smile lovingly as you kiss him again, taking your time to explore his mouth this time. Megumi falls apart under your touch, whining softly into your mouth, thrusting his hips to meet your hand.

“Missed you too, babe. So much,” you say — and, to him, it almost sounds like it’s true.

He feels like he could believe you, especially when you’re taking so good care of him.

Reality sets in when he starts to lift your dress, wanting to make you feel good too, and remember just what you were doing. You probably used that dress as you fucked someone else and that angers him, “Take it off. I want you without it.”

You frown slightly, but do as he tells you, stopping your movements briefly to take the dress off and throw it somewhere in the room.

Megumi’s eyes glow with love and adoration, grateful for having you without that piece of clothing staining his thoughts, your naked torso now on full display for his lips to kiss and mark.

He pushes your panties to the side, sliding his fingers through your folds while attaching his lips to your collarbone, kissing the area softly, “Fuck, babe, so wet.”

You shiver, not complaining when his kisses turn into hickeys that will stay in your skin for days — he’s the only one you ever let mark you.

He never asks why, and you will never tell. But he’s grateful, nonetheless.

“Calm down, baby,” you giggle, giving attention to his throbbing erection again. “What’s with you today, hm?”

What’s with him today?

“Just… just feeling like I could die for you,” he confides, mouth still on your skin so he doesn’t have to face you, thumb hovering over your clit playfully.

“Fuck, Gumi, that’s why you’re my favorite.”

Megumi stiffens for a moment, his heart racing as he tries to think coherently while you’re jerking him off.

He doesn’t want to be your favorite, but the words are stuck in his throat and all he does is slide two fingers inside your pussy, savoring the whimper you let out.

You aren’t dumb; you are aware of his devotion to you. It makes you feel alive. It turns you on and messes with your head, you just don’t know how to love properly.

Swinging your hips on his fingers as he thrusts them in and out of you, you let your head fall back, his wet kisses on your chest making you shiver, “Megumi… need you inside, babe…”

He nods, always so pliant, removing his fingers from you. As you take your hand off his cock, he uses his own to smear your wetness on it before aligning himself to your entrance.

Megumi’s hold is tight on your waist as you start sinking onto him, his eyes searching for yours. He fights to keep them open, the familiar sensation of your warm pussy squeezing him tight making him crumble.

Fucking take all of me. Kill me if you must, just pretend you love me.

After bottoming out, he chokes, “Your only one.”

You stay there for a few moments, staring at each other as you feel stuffed with his length, eager for more. Megumi looks at you as if begging for mercy, and your walls contract unconsciously, making him whimper.

So you lie, “My only one,” because you know that’s what he wants, and his arm is soon wrapped around your waist to freely manipulate your body at his will.

His hips snap up roughly as he moves your body up and down, your mouth hanging open to moan freely as sweat droplets start to appear in both of your bodies.

You can feel all of him, filling you so good it almost hurts, your hands on his hair and shoulder, pulling and scratching as you try to focus on his concentrated expression.

Megumi’s free hand goes to your clit, massaging it messily and it makes you take a little control of your movements with a roll of your hips, which you know drives him insane.

His movements falter, his head now thrown back as he cries out, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” pulling your body closer to his.

His words make you feel even better and you roll your hips again, clenching your walls on purpose, your tits squeezed against his chest as you lick his neck. He moans loudly, shamelessly.

He’s out of his mind.

“I fucking love you.”

You feel your body trembling, your orgasm approaching and his grip on you tightens once again; he knows your body like no one else.

Megumi picks up his pace and, when you look at his face again, you see he’s crying.

That is enough to make you cum, smashing your lips together to moan into his mouth while gushing on his dick, drunk in pleasure as you cry, “Love you, love you, ‘Gumi.”

He’s unable to breathe for a moment, your words and the pleasure he was feeling building up too fast. He can barely process you kissing his teary cheek when his cum fills your pussy, the orgasm making him tremble and knocking him out of air.

You keep milking him until nothing comes out, his whole body shaking slightly, feeling oversensitive.

“Sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…” it’s the first thing he says when he can finally breathe normally, your hands back on his face as you analyze him up close.

“It’s okay, silly. I’m on the pill,” you smile, always so lovingly. “Besides… look how hot it is.”

Slowly, you get up to remove him from you; your juices mixed together dripping on his cock nastily.

Megumi feels his dick twitch, especially when he looks back at you and sees your eyes glowing. How can you be so dirty? he thinks.

But then he remembers, he doesn’t want to know.

[macbeth-of-glamis]

the never-ending moons : prologue

our protagonist, amiel greyire, reflects on his past life decision and what he’s done.

fourth era, year 171. he was 19. he’d been fighting for his entire life as an orphan. but this time, it was different. he’d been picked up from the slums of the capital city of alinor, in the summerset isles. by that time, the war in cyrodil had already been bubbling and they needed soldiers. children. the aldmeri dominion needed children to fight their wars with men. it enraged him to his very core. even at that age, before everything, the way they stole him away made his blood boil. mer was not superior over man or beast, and man and beast were not superior over the mer. they all were awful in their own rights.

he gripped the chair he was sitting on in the briefing room as sweat dripped down his forehead, heavy pants leaving his parted lips as his bright blonde hair stuck to his forehead. he was changing. the aldmeri dominion made him like this. they forced him into this. threw him into a pit with the sabre cats, one of which was a carrier for the lycanthropy, and he got bit. there were six orphans in the pit, he was the only one who emerged victorious. one other survived, but… he was different. the orphan, who was a year younger than amiel, had to be dragged out, almost dead. amiel on the other hand, had ripped the throat of the lycanthropy-infected sabre cat out with his teeth, the metallic liquid coating his teeth and dripping down his chin. the ingestion of the lycanthropy infected blood is what caused his affliction.

his head twitched as he took a deep breath. his fingers tapped against the underside of the chair, closing his eyes. he was listening to the battle plan of his squadron. they were sending him, a child still, onto the front lines. sure, he was over eighteen— of age in the summerset isle— but he was still very much a child. he hated the aldmeri dominion. he never wanted to be this, he never wanted to be a soldier. yes, he was rotting on the streets— homeless and hungry— but he never would have chose this unless he was kidnapped from his bed in the middle of the night, which he was.

he remembers when the white-gold concordat was signed, outlawing the worship of talos. he was a devout trinimac follower from childhood, and did not follow talos— he did not doubt the existence of the human who rose to godhood. outlawing the worship of someone infringed on the rights of the people. this should have only applied to the empire, but, much to amiel’s dismay… this was taken away from everyone. even those that did not follow the empire.

he remembers the day he deserted. his half transformed paws dug into the dirt of the side of the valus mountains. he was trying to flee into morrowind. his paw was dug into the dense clay and dirt of the mountain, gripping on as he scaled the steep mountain. his feet were half transformed as a way to grip into the dirt, but then it began to crumble. he fell, a hundred or so feet to the forest floor below him. but, he was left unharmed. his hands and feet shrank from paws into his mer-hands and feet. he shouted, ripping off the aldmeri dominion emblem that was sewn onto his pack. he hated them, he hated who he had become. his blood boiled in his body and he roared, hands hitting against the dirt beneath him. he just wanted to leave. he knew the thalmor would find him one day, and he knew he’d never outrun them, but he’d at least try. his slender hands rubbed against his neck, knowing the marks that were there. stripes, mimicking that of a saber cat. he touched his fangs, sobbing. he wished he wasn’t like this.

he remembers his travels through tamriel. and through these travels, through these thirty odd years— he barely aged. his lycanthropy changed him. slowed the aging process. he was spotted in cyrodil by an old friend, who commented on it. amiel said nothing, and then left again for morrowind. he lived in blacklight for three years before being run out of morrowind. he lost control, ripped apart a little boy. he still thinks about that kid. he didn’t deserve that. after that, he ran to elsweyr and lived among the cat people. they were similar to him, in appearance, but they knew what he was. they didn’t like that. he left elsweyr after four years.

he lived in valenwood the longest, even though the aldmeri headquarters was based there. he knew if he hid long enough before emerging, they wouldn’t find him. he lived in aronthia. he met a girl, tyria. she was a nord who moved there from skyrim. they got married. he lived in aronthia for sixteen years. he loved it, he loved his wife. he kept his condition under control. until he didn’t. he ripped her apart as she slept. she couldn’t even fight back as his canines ripped into her.

he cried for the first time since seeing his fellow orphans die in that pit. there was so much blood. and in the center of all of that blood, was a wedding band. a shiny, golden wedding band that was tainted with the crimson blood of his now deceased wife. he sat in the corner of the room, shaking and sobbing. he was a monster. he hadn’t lashed out like this since he killed that little boy in blacklight.

instead of turning himself in, he left. he was a fugitive of the nation of valenwood. he knew if he turned himself in, he would have been given to the aldemeri dominion. he couldn’t bring himself to go back. not ever. he didn’t know how long he ran. but, it had to have been no more than four years. he crossed into cyrodil again, but then legally— for once— made his way across the border and into an entirely new place that he had never seen before.

skyrim.

[secretwritingbullshit]

salvation

I was "saved" on 12/11/2023, at 29 years old. I put it in quotation marks as that's the date when I said the prayer and starting changing my habits, however I think Jesus has been in my heart since about May.

I've suffered with anxiety for as long as I can remember. Sometimes, it's nothing more than the basic "what if" scenario running through my head. Other times, though, I'm shaking, crying, and my body feels like it's actually processing premature death.

While on a charter bus with my husband and 50 strangers going an hour and a half into the middle of the jungle in Mexico, I had one of the bad kinds of anxiety attack. I sat in my seat desperately trying not to draw attention to myself, discretely wiping the contact tears and sitting on my hands so no one could see them shaking. Head down, I counted every fiber in my tennis shoe laces to try to ground myself again. It wasn't working. The fire in my chest was demanding to be seen. I also, however, wanted more than anything to not ruin this trip for my husband. We were on our way to see the Mayan Ruins and it was a bucket list activity for him.

I started praying. I don't go to church, I don't pray before meals or bedtime or read the bible at all. I never have. But i don't know what else to do to stop this feeling in my heart, so I pray. "Jesus, please help me. Jesus, please bring me peace in your name. Jesus, please come into my heart for my husband's sake. Please heal me. Please help me. If I am fearfully and wonderfully made, please help me live in this moment and not in the tormented world my head creates for me."

I stopped shaking. I stopped crying. I stopped feeling like I was going to die. The fire in my chest was doused with water. I laughed. I felt peace. My heart felt full. My husband and I climbed up the Mayan Ruins, walked around the jungle, and got followed by spider monkeys. It was truly one of the most amazing experiences. I knew my prayer worked, but I didn't realize how much it had worked.

Not much changed in my life after that, except I thought about God and Jesus a little more. A couple of months later, we were planning a trip to Ireland. I had a nicotine habit that dated back about 12 years. I had quit for a week, a month, even up to a year.. but always wound up with a cigarette or a vape back in my hands eventually. I was nervous about this Ireland trip as I didn't think I was capable of going nine hours on a plane with no nicotine.

Why don't I just see how long I can go today before I cave? I can start gathering data about my addiction, soo how many hours I'm at now, and hopefully work up to going 9 hours by September when we leave. Queue the immediate craving. So I start thinking, how am I going to do this? Praying worked in Mexico- maybe every time I get the craving for nicotine, I think of Jesus instead, God wouldn't want me to be damaging my lungs, maybe I can give this burden to him.

I haven't felt the need to ingest nicotine since. I was delivered from this habit by Him with more ease than I ever imagined happening. My first try just to see how many hours I could go hasn't ended yet, 172 days later.

After I realized those cravings were not coming back, I realized how impactful Jesus had been in my life. Then I had panic set in. Am I only believing Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior because it's benefiting me to do so? Is He serving my needs or am I serving His? I've now had two nearly impossible situations end in the best possible outcome for me, am I really saved? Or just selfish? Will I stop believing once my prayers stop being answered?

A few weeks later, I found myself mindlessly scrolling through facebook reels while I was supposed to be sleeping. Out of nowhere, almost all of those reels were Christian's talking about Jesus. "Micro-learning" they called it. Learning things in minute long videos to hold your attention span. I started talking to my sister about it, who is a Christian, and she told me "Jesus is seeking you out. He's surrounding you with His word, and answering your prayers. He's making an effort to be in your life. You can accept Him, He is seeking you."

That got me. He is seeking me? Is that what this is? I used to say when people asked me about religion that I couldn't choose what I believed. I just didn't believe it all and I WANTED to, but I couldn't help it. He made me believe.

Then I went to a church function with my sister. A women's study Christmas learning event. This was the night I said the prayer and got saved. A few days later- I met with my sister's pastor, Pastor Scott. He asked me about my story and I told him. He asked me very plainly- if Jesus was to come back today- would you be going to heaven or to hell?

This took me back a little, as I still had self deprecating thoughts, I still struggled to forgive myself for all that I had done in my life, and I didn't know how Jesus or God could forgive me for it. I told him yes anyway, as I knew being saved meant I was going to heaven. The FEELING of it just wasn't there yet. He told me to start reading the bible, and to start with John.

I actually started reading- I'm very bad at discipline, but I started reading. I then understood I wasn't only believing in Him because my prayers were being answered. Jesus was showing me He is the son of Father God the same way He showed everyone when He walked on earth. He was leaving the 99 to come get me. He was helping me believe the things I couldn't choose to believe. He was giving me my salvation, and I now FEEL hat it's like to be saved.

I feel the Holy Spirit in me all the time. Pointing out to me when I commit sins that I don't think about. Reminding me to love everyone the way Jesus loves me. Taking care of my body, keeping in His word, and fighting His fight. I have discipline I never had before. I have peace I never had before. It's growing.

So even if you don't believe. Even if you don't feel it, it doesn't make sense, or you are out of escapes. Pray anyway. Over and over, as many times as it takes. And I believe Jesus will change the unchangeable things in your life too. Nothing is too big for him.

[stensgaardwells81]

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