#and it still is extraordinary that after 3 and a half years there are still some doubts about it?

[randomnameless]

Disengage and Billy anon!

Good then, given how SS is the "Billy route", it'd make sense if any Billy in a crossover game treats it as "canon", even if the lack of Rhea is glaring, but I guess you can't have Rhea and Supreme Leader on the same level, else things will become nonsensical.

(even if the crossover game tries to retcon Supreme Leader!)

Usually, I'd be okay with the message, just like FE16 and FE in general isn't a story about how nobles came to be or how they should be born, but how they should use their power, and in general, the true'n'tried "it's what you do that defines you, and not who you were born as".

But...

Given Supreme Leader's inclusion and general, uh, aversion to Nabateans, Billy's going all "it doesn't matter how I got this power" kinds of suck, for reasons the devs clearly said they dgaf about, re:Nabateans.

Billy was born as half-human, got magic blood from his papa and mama, and a magic rock standing for his heart from Citrus's own wishes. In a way, Billy not caring about how he got his powers would ignore how he actually got them, i.e. Citrus deciding to save her child!

But giving spotlight to Citrus would give spotlight to the Rez Sothis plan, which would, uh, actually means giving some spotlight to Rhea and we can't have that - as we saw, no bond ring, relics were retconned, etc etc etc. Indeed, Billy still sad to fight people he used to know, Supreme Leader (Flamey who?) etc etc.

However, as you pointed out, it completely destroys the general Fodlan scapegoat of "crusts bad and the reason why people are evil" and finally poor Billy got his game follow the "traditional" but imo only acceptable narrative of "power not inherently bad, it's what you do with it that counts".

[chilumi-shipper]

Little Lamb (3)

Kamisato Ayato x Fem!Reader / Wanderer x Fem!Reader / Alhaitham x Fem!Reader x Kaveh

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, Lambgirl!Reader, Dumb and Innocent Reader, Manipulation, Pseudoincest, Size Kink, Overstimulation, Praise, Slight Degradation

Summary: Genshin men fucking innocent little lambgirl you.

Go check out the other boys (Diluc, Kaeya, and Xiao) and (Zhongli, Childe, Albedo, Kazuha, and Thoma).

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Kamisato Ayato

His parents took you in when you were both just little kids.

The young Ayato's curiosity about you began the very moment you entered the estate with a confused look on your face.

"Ayato, this is Y/N. She really needs our help." His mother was gentle when she introduced you to him.

His mother said to him in a soft voice, she spoke about how you were a poor, helpless girl that they rescued from Kairagi Samurais who were planning to sell you because of your extraordinary features.

Young Ayato's hands couldn't help but reach out for your soft and cute ears in fascination, but you backed away before he could feel the fur of your ear on the pads of his fingers.

"Oh, she's a little shy. But I hope you can treat her like a sister." You hid behind his mother, looking at him as he stares at his mother in disbelief.

"Is that understood, my darling?"

His light purple eyes stared at your small form, looking up at him with such innocent and soft eyes.

"I don't want her as my sister." Tears welled up in your eyes as you hear the young boy say those words.

"...Ayato?!" His mother was at a loss for words, she didn't expect such an answer from her well-mannered son.

When you were rescued, you heard all about Ayato and Ayaka, the former was still a baby, but you were told that Ayato was a kind-hearted and polite boy, and that he will surely accept you within his home.

A family is something that you have always wanted.

Ayato knows that. Although... he has never viewed you as a sister, back when he was a child, you somewhat acted like a pet, especially towards his parents. And now, you act like a servant, constantly trying your best to please him in hopes that he starts to view you as family.

That was all you wanted, so for so many years, you have done everything in your power to meet the young lord's expectations.

As you both grow older though, his demands turned... more unusual.

Your tasks are not akin to the ones of a regular servant.

According to him, your tasks are... more of familial matters, something more important.

"I c-can't... I-I can't do it, Ayato..." Your whimper was accompanied by a few sniffles, tears coating your eye as you held your body up on top of him.

He wrapped his hand around his dick, caressing your folds with his tip. "But it would really really make me happy if you ride me, darling." He pouts at you, and you could only look away for that was your greatest weakness.

You were both fully naked, him laying on his bed and you holding yourself up to try and straddle him. However, for the past five minutes, you were only able to get the tip of his cock in before you turn into a whimpering mess.

"But Ayato... It h-hurts." You frowned at him, your ears folding as a sign of your sadness.

He sighs, his hips shooting forward a little to push some of his length into your cunt. "There..." He grunts in your ear, causing an uncontrollable wiggle of your tail that somehow always happens when he does something like that. "Now keep going..."

You felt his hand tighten around your waist, probably due to your pussy immediately clamping down on him despite not even half being pushed in.

After a few seconds, you try again, pushing yourself down on his length to take him in some more.

You cry out only halfway in, looking desperately in his eyes and shaking your head. "No no! Ayato, I can't..."

You just couldn't anymore, normally, he would be the one to do all the work of fucking you. You felt ashamed, not even being able to fulfill his request.

Ayato merely sighed in disappointment, before switching your position so that he was on top of you. Then, he slammed his cock all the way in, making you scream out in euphoria as you cling on to him for dear life.

He breathes heavily as he fucks into you, "When you can finally do what I ask you to do, perhaps... I'll finally acknowledge you as family."

Underneath him, you acquire some new-found determination, next time, you will try your best so that you can finally be a proper Kamisato.

Scaramouche (Wanderer)

Nahida has been hearing the prayer of a certain lamb girl trying to get into the Akademiya. She senses the pure heart and determination within you and decides that she will help you out.

"I know someone that can tutor you so you can pass your entrance exam!"

And that's why you ended up in the home of a grumpy looking scholar with a big hat. You smiled brightly at him, clutching your books to your chest.

"Lesser Lord Kusanali said you're really smart and that you would love to help me!" You looked at him expectantly, not faltering under his intense gaze.

Much to his annoyance, he couldn't possibly go against Nahida, so he opted to sit you down and actually try to teach you.

Quickly did his annoyance grow when he realized that nothing sticks to that brain of yours except food and delusions. You talk all about getting into the Akademiya but you could not even grasp the easiest subject in the entrance exam.

Your first session wasn't the best, you left his home disappointed and Wanderer knew that Nahida would question him about what had happened and why you looked so sad.

For your second session, Nahida gave him an advice: "Why don't you try quizzing her and giving a prize when she gets a question right. Don't put her down with those insults you usually give."

This ultimately sparks an idea in his head.

You were bent over his counter top, your skirt hiked up and your underwear on the ground. You breathe heavily and closed your eyes as he sinks his cock deeper into you.

"Now... which Darshan in the Akademiya specializes in biology, and the study of medicine?" He whispers in your ear, and he almost chuckles as he sees your tail wiggle, which he know at that point means that you know the answer.

"Amurta!" You answered enthusiastically, your legs twitching as he starts to play with your clit with his fingers.

"That's a good girl..." He started to thrust slowly into you as he plays with your clit. You moaned, feeling warm from his rare praise.

It's simple really, nothing is a greater prize for you than receiving praise, feeling good all over. He knows that you would do anything to be called a good girl, to be acknowledged as smart, you have always been submissive like that.

He's been setting up quizzes like these ever since your second session, and it's proven effective, if you get a question correct, he starts to fuck you play with your body the way you like, throwing in a praise to get you going, but if you get it wrong or take too long to answer, you get a spank and most likely get degraded by him. If you pass the quiz, you get to cum and be treated like perfect little princess, if you fail, you get to go home with a red butt and watery eyes.

"What is the name of the border that separates the desert and the rain forest?"

Your blood runs cold, and he notices it immediately. You know that one, but for some reason it's blurry in your mind.

Wall... Wall of... Saa...

Smack. You yelp as you feel a slap land on you clit. He feels you squeeze around him in surprise, making him thrust according to what speed he wants..

"Wall of Samiel." He spits out, roughly pounding into you. "Stupid slut."

"I-I knew that!" You cried, feeling disappointed that you couldn't piece it together in your mind faster. You cling onto the counter as his brutal thrusts shake your whole body.

At the end of that session, you got an 13/20. Could be better but he decides to let you cum that day, as well as fill you up with his own seed before cleaning you up and sending you on your merry way.

"Bye bye, Hat Guy! Tomorrow, I promise you don't have to spank me once!" You waved him goodbye, oblivious to the weirded out stare the people passing by gave you. You merely thought about how many praises you're gonna get tomorrow.

Alhaitham and Kaveh

He really should charge Kaveh twice as much of his rent.

"...and you will be staying in my room with me!" Kaveh exclaimed excitedly as he proudly presented to you his room.

Your eyes lit up at the sight of the well-kept room, everything neatly in place, thought there were some crumpled paper pooling from his desk, and the decor well-chosen for his own preferences.

"Woahhh!"

As your eyes scanned the room, Alhaitham managed to catch your gaze, merely standing on your left with his arms crossed.

"I don't seem to remember allowing someone else to live in my house." He spoke directly to Kaveh, before he focused his eyes on your ears sitting on top of your head. "Or do you plan to excuse her as your 'pet'?"

You hide behind Kaveh, hoping he would jab at the gray-haired man for you.

"This is both our house, I pay the rent too y'know!"

"Barely."

"Whatever, you just don't understand what being kind is." Kaveh grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his room, before shutting the door in Alhaitham's face.

"Ignore that guy... he's just a bitter lonely scholar!" The blonde said the last part particularly loud, intending to let his roommate hear what he said.

You giggled, nodding as you take in the room you'll be sleeping in.

Kaveh isn't coming home tonight. Apparently, he's gonna be spending the entire night at the Akademiya working on a project that he's been neglecting for a month.

That leaves you all alone with the gray-haired man that you fear so much. Though, without Kaveh to rile him up, he's quite nice to you.

He even made dinner for you and him to share.

As you ate, you keep thinking about Kaveh, if he's gonna come home or not. You've never slept alone, and you are quite afraid.

Alhaitham took note of your troubled expression, "Kaveh isn't coming home tonight." He says, and you begin to panic, shaking in your seat.

"I-I can't..." You shake your head, looking down with watery eyes. "Can't sleep... a-alone."

He merely sighs, not wanting to hear the bleats of a panicked lamb in the middle of the night. "Sleep with me then."

...

He didn't expect to see you fully undress yourself after bringing your pillows into his room. "What are you doing?"

You look up at his clothed form, looking at him as if he's the crazy one for not taking off every garment on his body for bed. "Kaveh says that the only way to sleep right is if you sleep fully naked."

You took off your underwear, making Alhaitham sigh, "Did he now...?" His words were laced with skepticism that you were too stupid to notice.

You nod, making your little nest on your side of his bed. "Mhhmh, the air is nice and chilly, and the blanket keeps you warm." You cover yourself with his blanket. "You should listen more to Kaveh, Mr. Alhaitham, he's smart and nice and caring...."

"And stupid..." He muttered under his breath, taking off his top to expose his toned upper half. Despite his suspicion on what exactly happens in the confines of Kaveh's room, he can't exactly deny his intrigue in you, so he indulges.

He rids himself of his clothes, his weight dipping into the cushions as he lays next to you. Under the blanket, the skin of his muscular arm feels the pads of your searching fingers. He turns to you, seeing you already looking at him while your hands finally wrap around his arm.

You look cautiously at him, all while you guide his hand between your legs. "Did Kaveh teach you this too?" Alhaitham looks at you unbothered, letting you place his fingers against your core.

"Yeahh... when I can't sleep... iiih" You squeal out when his fingers start moving to rub your clit. You held onto his wrist, ever so slowly grinding down on his hand.

Alhaitham pries his hand from your hold, making you whimper as you chase after his touch. "How lazy..." He shakes his head, sitting up to position himself above you. "When you go back to his room tomorrow, why don't you show him what I'm gonna teach you."

You look at him curiously, his hand reaches for his cock, holding it at the base and nudging the tip at you clit. He rubs the tip continuously at it, occasionally running through your hole.

You instinctively open your legs wider for him, moaning as you feel wetness pool out of your pussy. "M-Mr. Alhaitham..." Your ears fold, feeling overwhelmed by such a large thing being pressed against your sensitive part.

As he moves to line up his length to your cunt, his tip leaving your clit covered in his precum, he feels the vibration of your shaking tail near your heat.

"Excited?" Alhaitham scoffs at the sight of your hole leaking with cum as he pressed his tip against it.

You nod, a deep blush evident on your face. "M-Mr. Alhaitham... I like this..." You let him know, nodding at your self-realization.

He eases himself inside you, breathing heavily at how you clamp down on him immediately. "Kaveh ought to treat his little pet better, I bet fingers aren't enough to get you off now, huh?"

Feeling how incredibly tight you are, Alhaitham grips your waist for support, pulling you closer to sink himself deeper into you. You flutter around him so sweetly, welcoming his cock with such warmth and pleasure that it has him lost for words.

Soon enough, he pounds away at you, hitting your sweet spot that pushes you to let out some cute little bleats. While you were losing your mind being fucked by his cock, his expression was as if he was reading a book, blank and intense.

While you were tearing up from the pleasure, slurring as you say his name over and over, your body shaking, he rams into you with feverish intensity, so composed and dominant.

It's when he combines his fingers, rubbing at your clit, with his hard thrusts did you finally scream so loud at him. "M-MR. ALHAI.... AHHH." You held desperately onto his wrist, trying to ease of of the pressure off your pussy, but he was relentless.

"Cum with me." He says so stoically, but it remains a command in your ears, even if you don't necessarily know what it means.

You let go of... something... a knot-like feeling in your tummy, and next thing you know, there was something incredibly hot flowing inside you, filling you up with warmth.

Alhaitham pulls out, and you get a glimpse of his softening cock with cum still staining the tip. "Tell your beloved Kaveh that that's how you get a little lamb to sleep." As he mentions it, you feel your eyes droop, tiredness taking over you after that mind numbing orgasm.

"I will, Mr. Alhaitham..."

...

"He did what?"

You merely nodded at his question, pointing at his pants. "Yes, Master Kaveh... with his cock, almost like yours!"

You were sat naked on his bed, nice and ready for bed, and as Kaveh was reaching out for you to initiate your nightly routine, you started to talk about last night.

"I really like what Mr. Alhaitham did, Master Kaveh. He's really good!" You smiled all innocently at him, unaware of the current eruption of emotions in his mind.

"Good, huh?" Kaveh places himself on top of you, pinning your hands on the bed. "That's the last time I'm spending the night at the Akademiya."

He reaches out to kiss at your fluffy ears, just like he knows you love. "Since you loved it so much, why don't I show you how it's really done. I'm sure Alhaitham is to stiff to let you get the full experience."

You feel your tail shake with excitement, and as he noticed it, he smiled, his hand reaching to rub your glistening pussy.

Long story short, Alhaitham hears some bed creaking and loud bleats from a certain lambgirl coming from Kaveh's room for many hours that night.

He's had a chance to think about it...

Perhaps if that cute little lamb would accompany him in his room more often, then he can let Kaveh get away with not paying rent for a couple of weeks.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Little Lamb in this day and age?!?! (⁠‘⁠◉⁠⌓⁠◉⁠’⁠)

Hahahahah, yeahhh, it's been a while, I hope you enjoyed!

[fraugwinska]

I tried my hands on an Human!Alastor fic ;> It's still very different to write for Human Al, but I hope y'all like it ;> Special thanks to @hurthermore for beta-reading and encouraging me <3 This one's for you, love! !! NSFW - Heavy Smut Ahead, Minors DNI - 6k words !!

„You need technical assistance, sir?“

Alastor looked up from the papers on his desk, adjusting his glasses that slipped down the bridge of his nose. He didn't expect her to come in this late, or at all, not while he was still at the station. The curious little sound engineer that had started half a year ago was standing at his office entrance, hands in the pockets of her outrageous trousers. She was tiny, her small figure barely filled the door frame, even with her bulky tool bag that hung from her shoulders. Alastor leaned back in his seat, folding his hands, focusing his tired gaze on her defensive expression.

She was a novelty, that one. Not the first woman working at the station of course, but the first to assert herself in the male-dominated field of technical engineering. Her male colleagues saw the spunky, brass girl as a joke, either ignoring her or trying (very amateurishly) to bed her – both which didn't faze her at all meeting both scenarios with the same contemptuous indifference. The women – secretaries, errand girls and concierges – were much more organized and refined in their bullying. Shortly after her arrival rumors had already spread, one more abstruse than the other, and they had collectively decided to pretend the engineer didn't exist in their periphery. More than once he witnessed her talking to his own secretary Ruth, just to be left standing while Ruth got up and walked out with the other girls to lunch in the middle of her sentence.

The little engineer took it all in stride, though. Never complained, never became outright disrespect- or revengeful. Gradually, her expressions steeled, her answers shortened and her work hours shifted to evenings or nights, with less people to run into.

Alastor had been fascinated by her the moment they first met. He had just started his usual 'Saturday Golden Hour', his favorite and most popular segment to host, broadcasting the newest releases of jazz and swing in the evening, just before sundown. Not even ten minutes in, right after he started playing Bing Crosby's new song 'Dancing in the Dark', listeners started calling the station by the handful, complaining about horrific feedback's and sudden blackouts. While Alastor watched Rufus Ellis, the head of the tech team, frantically run around, yelling at his workers, the little engineer had wordlessly grabbed a few tools and vanished. Five minutes later, his broadcast went back to working perfectly, sound crisp and quality flawless once again. She had returned, put back the tools from where she had taken them, and when Ellis – flabbergasted – asked her what she had done, she had calmly explained that she went up on the roof to check the transmitters connected to the radio tower and fixed a broken generator that had malfunctioned due to some doves nesting in it.

No one thanked or even acknowledged her, they just shrugged and went back to business as usual. But Alastor didn't forget, and from this day he was determined to find out more about this extraordinary girl. She reminded him of his own struggle as the exception to the rule – it was a well-kept secret throughout the station exactly what Alastor looked like and who he was. That was the only reason he was able to do what he felt was born to, a cruel, unfair compromise. So, he felt an unusual sympathy for her, in addition to just his natural curiosity for oddities. However, he didn't expect her to be so elusive.

Whenever he tried to engage her in a conversation, she gave short, finite responses, avoided his eyes and hurried to get away from him, sometimes even bordering on rudeness in her haste to flee from him. Alastor was, to be frank, perplexed - his charm usually drew in the ladies unwantedly. That it had failed him now, with the little engineer, when he welcomed it for a change? Peculiar. To a degree, it angered him, but it also awakened his hunting instinct, just not the one he was used to.

“I'm afraid so, dear.”, Alastor smiled, standing up. He rounded his desk, hands behind his back, and went to her side, looking down a t her. Granted, he was a tall man, but next to her, he felt almost gigantic, which satisfied him in a strange way. “I noticed my microphone was acting up today, and would like you to take a look at it, if you don't mind. Before it decides to give up on me mid-broadcast.”

“That's my job, sir.”, she just answered, eyes intensely staring at the carpet. Alastor's eyebrow twitched in slight aggravation. But he lead her to his booth, unlocking it to let her in. She went straight to his seat, dropping her tool bag next to it and started to pull his microphone to her to inspect it. He quietly closed the door, locking it discreetly – just as a precaution so she couldn't flee him again so easily, now that he finally had her in his vicinity.

Alastor walked over to her, leaning over her shoulder to watch her carefully taking the device apart. She startled when she saw him out of the corner of her eyes. “It may take a while, sir.”, she mumbled, an obvious attempt to make him leave. Alastor laughed. “I've got nowhere to be, dear, take your time.”, he said with a hint of mischievous delight. He heard her scoff, turning back to her work. There was a prolonged silence, her fiercely ignoring Alastor's quiet, content humming while her fingers picked apart and put together parts and cables. He used the time to analyze her appearance – her hair was smooth but more unkempt than for a girl her age – how old must she be? Twenty, maybe Twenty-one? Vanity surely wasn't a flaw of hers, she didn't wear much make-up and Alastor saw various faint, light scars on her arms and hands, little bookmarks of mishaps and failures of her chosen career – the sight of them sent a sick shiver down his spine. Given his... hobbies, he found twisted appeal in scarred skin, finding beauty in those white, shimmering lines where blood once dripped from. He roamed her supple, curved body – unlike the recent fad of skinny, androgynous frames she was built womanly, round and fleshy... how beautiful could he paint her with white streaks on this vast canvas, add some masterpieces of his own to the collection?

“Alright.”, she pulled him out of his thoughts, mounting the microphone back on it's flexible stand. “A few cables were starting to corrode, I've replaced them, it should work fine now.” Alastor grinned down at her, putting one of his hands on her shoulder. The first real contact. “What an efficient engineer you are, dear. Always coming to my rescue, I have yet to show my gratitude.” She didn't look up, didn't even acknowledge that he said something to her, just packing up the various things she had spread out for the repair. Now that was just rude.

“Hello? Is this thing on?”, Alastor strained himself to sound lighthearted as he knocked two times on her head, feeling the shivers of impatience rising. The engineer closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, shifting in his chair with furrowed brows. “I'm getting paid to do my job. I don't need anything else.” She attempted to stand up, but his hand, still resting on her shoulder, holds her in place. “If that's all, sir?”

“Now now, not to hasty. I'd think it's unlike you to leave work halfway done. Normally you are quite thorough, aren't you?” Alastor cooed, tilting his head at her. “My work is done.” she said, her voice now intense and a faint tint of red on her cheek and neck. My, there's the little ferocity he thought she'd lost at the job. “Why we haven't tested the thing, dear – How can I be sure it works properly?”

“Because I know what I'm doing.” She looked outright offended at the implied possibility that she failed the task he asked of her. He had to chuckle, such a childish reaction to something so innocent. Maybe it was because implications like these grated her thick skin, but Alastor had no problem with being the straw that breaks that camel's back. He was skilled in putting people back in their place, and with her, it would be much more entertaining and much less fatal than with his other... acquaintances. He decided to tickle this sleeping dragon just a bit more, with a funny little idea in mind.

“No one is infallible – especially when they are so young. No fault in that, dear, but I'd like to be sure.” Alastor swiftly grabbed her wrist, pulling her up to stand. Putting up no resistance, most likely because of sheer perplexity, he twirled her almost like in a dance, side-stepping to his chair, and sat down, pulling her onto his lap, locking her there by an arm wrapped around her waist. The look on her face was worth it's weight in gold – eyes wide, mouth agape in stunned shock, and tips of the ears reddened. Her hands grappled the armrests so forcefully her knuckles were as white as the scars on her arms, and within seconds of regaining her active conscience she squirmed against his body. “What... that's so... sir, please let me g...” “There you go, dear.”, Alastor ignored her babbling, using his free hand to put the headphones on her. Her pulse under her thin, clear skin drummed faster against him, it's heat felt like it could boil his own blood.

He grabbed his own microphone, swinging it up between their faces and leaned forward, chin resting on her shoulder and the grille brushing his lower lip. She stared, dumbstruck, a bead of sweat forming on her forehead. He chuckled against her cheek, leaning his mouth to the mic as he pushed the switch on the control panel up, and his rich, sultry baritone echoed in her headphones.

"How about it, darling, do you hear me?"

She breathed deeply, gulping, and her heart sped up even more. Alastor smiled devilishly against her soft skin, delighted and in awe by how far he got her worked up as she just nodded sharply.

"No soundrops, feedback or small interferences?", he hummed, his voice dripping sweet honey. She took a moment to answer. "N-no... everything seems alright."

"Lovely." He almost whispered, but she heard it crystal clear through the headphones. He let a low sigh and took off his glasses with one hand, slowly, teasingly, his nose tracing over her neck, as if it was coincidental, as if he'd never ever do such a thing intentionally, putting the accessory on the table next to him, eyes locking on the hazel ones of hers mirrored in them. "Although I wonder..." He pushed the mic nearer to her mouth, seeing a tremble running over her body. "... if the higher pitches might be a problem... You wouldn't mind help with that, would you?"

She stiffened up, barely daring to breathe, her skin erupting into goose flesh underneath his lips, he felt the impulse to press them against her, lick the salt and nervousness from it.

"Sir, I-I can't.."

He chuckled at her strained, whispering voice. How beautiful was her distress, so rich, so fragrant, almost strong enough for him to savor its essence without even needing to touch her.

"Then, may I assist you?", Alastor felt himself giddy with impish delight, his hands slowly trailing upwards from her waist to her bust, cupping her gently through the thin fabric. This made her wriggle again, a small, high pitched squeak leaving her lips that his microphone just amplified in glorious reverberations. Alastor chuckled darkly as she froze, neck burning red in deep embarrassment from the sound she heard from the headphones.

"Now we're talking. A wonderful first try. But let's see what else we can get out of you, darling. After all, we want to be thorough."

His hands palmed and kneaded the supple flesh through the cotton, feeling her squirm and tremble and the warmth of her bosom, imagining the blood rushing through her heart. How exquisite was she?

He could hear a small whimper as her head slightly lowered. Was she closing her eyes? He imagined it so. Imagined she'd shut her pretty eyes closed, furrow her brows in conflict as her legs pressed against each other in fruitless desperation. Her hands tightened on the armrest.

"You are so very quiet, dear. Why don't you relax and turn the volume up for me?"

With one of his hands he quickly loosened the two buttons that kept her blouse close and tugged at the collar to widen the neck hole, then slid under her brassier and gripped one breast with a tight squeeze. Alastor caught his breath as he realized just how sensitive and sweet the freckled skin under his fingertips was. Soft. Warm. So fragile... He would never have imagined this was hiding under her daily uniform, her sagging shoulders and loose jacket hiding those lovely features. Alastor felt a delightful spark crackle in his head and shoot up the nerves of his spine. His hunting instinct pulsed under the mask. But... with a slight delay, Alastor recognized it as a different type of hunger... one of the carnal and more depraved kind. Another novelty for him.

Alastor suddenly wondered what her lips tasted like, how soft and warm would they feel on his, her teeth biting, her tongue teasing him. How many ways could he break her - and could he do it quickly, with his bare hands, with his words alone maybe, or with his undisciplined arousal pushing against her rear-end through the fabric of his trousers? How often did she think of him? How did she think of him? Did she fear him, or dislike him even? He could hear her breathing hasten as he was trying to compose himself.

There was the devil's urge to just let himself go. To shove the equipment aside and tear those outrageously inadequate clothes away from her flesh, run his hands over the skin he didn't get to see yet, trace and map those scars of hers until they fade underneath his fingers. Mark her more thoroughly than any machine mishap ever could. Make her cry, moan, beg and whine under him until there was nothing left in her and this novel hunger was satisfied.

A wonderfully loud moan escaped her, a sweet, silky, vibrato sound of passion, that went right from Alastor's chest into his pelvis. She opened her eyes wide, pressing her hand firmly over her mouth, mortified at her own pleasure.

Oh, Alastor thought to himself, smiling mischievously as the shock of lustful rapture coursed through him, how easy it was for him to undo her. So unexplored, so fresh... "Do you wish to stop, darling?", he asked with a teasing pinch of her hardened nipple, which made her cry out and her other hand fly up and cover her mouth, too. She shook her head, her cheeks flushed and hot, eyes hazed with confused pleasure. He rubbed and teased the nipple gently in his palm, holding her close, making her struggle in defiant silence. The only sound was his gentle, patient humming.

But oh, she was breaking, crumbling like a stale beignet, and the noises his hand bullied out of her turned from hushed whimpers to barely muffled groans and cries for him, long and wanting 'Sir's and 'Oh's. She was melting under his palm. He grinned wickedly, his lower body hard and wanting against her as he put the microphone to his own lips again and spoke into it.

"Say it with your words, dear, should I stop? Or is it that you can't hear me?"

"Y-yes! I mean... No sir... d-don't... stop." There was a suppressed crack in her voice, and Alastor sighed with lust at her gasping affirmation, grinding against her plushy backside. He has found it amusing to push her limits, break through her thick skin and riddle her, like an ice pick cracking open a glacier. And now it would shatter her so gorgeously. "It's Alastor, darling." He whispered into the microphone with a dragging, sultry voice, his hand retreating from her breast, only to snake it's way to the hem of her pants. Her legs twitched, pushing together to futilely protect her modesty, but her body eagerly arched in a way that gave such easy way for his fingers to slip under the garments, feel and stroke the short, coarse hair, following it's trail, only to meet soft, silken and slippery wetness. A startled gasp escaped her and the only reason she didn't leap up was because Alastor kept his firm grip on her waist, pulling her tight against his throbbing erection. Her head fell back onto his shoulder, exposing her delicate throat as she whimpered, hands flying from her mouth to the armrests again, gripping so hard her fingernails dug into the hard wooden surface.

He tried to restrain himself but couldn't, he testily bit into the thin, soft flesh of her neck as his fingers found their way into her entrance and dipped deep in, coating his palm in generous wetness and crooking, exploring carefully, but with a patience even he was surprised at, eyes fixated on the taut fabric as he thrust into her in tandem with the waves her body undulated at the new sensation, her sweet taste on his tongue.

"S-Sir, please...", she groaned against his hand that still remained pressed over her lips, as if it could suppress the bliss Alastor wrought her into. He withdrew his hand for a moment, fingers wet, glistening and slick, as she was breathless, but she couldn't hide how her hips were chasing his retreating touch. He leaned into the microphone, barely lifting his mouth from her neck.

"Say my name, and I shall listen, little engineer."

She hesitated for just a heartbeat, before opening her eyes, hazily staring at the ceiling as Alastor patiently waited, his fingers drawing idle circles around the sweet pearl on her outer folds. She pressed her lips together for a second, seemingly mentally preparing herself, and then opened her mouth, to give in, to submit to him.

"...A-Alastor, please..."

"I like the sound of my name from your lips, darling." He almost purred in return and resumed his movements with added vigor and focus. He put down his head on her shoulder, nuzzling into the juncture of her throat, watching her reaction and every detail of how his hand worked her over with the rhythmic hump of his hips, forcing him to breathe harshly as he was starting to be deprived of blood. He had barely noticed it, how incredibly erotic and sinful this whole thing felt not just for her, but for him, too. Partly of course, because of the chase, the coaxing, the hunt to have her call and writhe for only him, not for any of these imbeciles that tried to get their pick with her, his ears pricked and eager to savor her wanton sounds... A surprising need to be connected, closer to her than anyone ever could be in her whole life, and it made him even giddy to know no man had touched her like he was doing now, taking her purity with ease and glee.

But there was another part, something he thought slumbered too deep within him to be ever awoken, a roaring fire in his guts as the alluring, delicious scent of her arousal assaulted him like a siren's song, lulling, cajoling him with sensual desires to drown in them, to abandon all else and indulge, to completely give in and surrender. It wasn't tactical, calculating or strategic, but wild and primal and primitive, and not at all as painful or awkward to him as he had always thought it'd be.

What a revelation a woman's body could be.

He almost missed her coming into his eagerly working hand - a sudden, full-body twitch that went through her spine, a whine in her voice that ended in a choked sound as her orgasm claimed her and washed her away in the torrent of rapture - eyes going wide as the air escaped her in a desperate cry, hands gripping his thigh and the chair's armrest so hard the nails left little scratches in the wood. He barely had time to notice it before her climax hit him like a truck - the convulsing of her inner walls, gripping and spasming tightly around his fingers as he slowed and stroke out her high.

This moment was pure madness in his veins - his head foggy and airy, like a drug, like a vicious new addiction he would do almost anything for. Her body went slack against him, and the only thing that held her upright was Alastor's arm still securely around her, still keeping her pressed onto his hard length, still pulsing for some release of his own. Alastor wanted more, already was plotting what his hands could be doing to her body next as she came down from her high and back to earth, the heat leaving her body slowly as the soundproofed air trapped within the booth hung heavy with her hot breath and the smell of her passion.

The first movement of hers, after having come undone so beautifully for and on him, was to lift up the headphones.

"Well then, little engineer.", he huffed into her ear, laughing with barely hidden delight. "What is your final assessment?"

"Your microphone works perfectly. J-just like I said it would." She was determined, if nothing else. And unbearably cute when she was defiant. Alastor simply adored a fiery spirit, even as he was already thirsting for more. He looked up, her sharp tone prickling his pride. He shot her a glare from the corner of his eyes, his usually calm smile tugging upward in a half smirk as she avoided his eyes. Oh, was she starting to have second thoughts about her tone towards him?

"I always admired your work ethics and knowledge, my dear, even though you eluded my attempts to give you your well-deserved recognition." The hand not occupied in playing with her still moist, delicate flesh lifted the arm that she had still buried in his thigh, brushing his fingers lightly over her knuckles as he brought it to his lips. She went still as a stone under his fingertips. "I asked myself, what would be the reason you ignored and evaded me for so long? Do you dislike me that much, little engineering girl?"

"No." It took her a moment, a little quiver in her voice, but it seemed like this was the first time in a long while that her answer was as blunt and truthful. He sighed contentedly, planting a soft kiss on her hand. "Quite the contrary, in fact."

His eyes snapped to her, narrowed. She still refused to look at him, still tense and obviously embarrassed, her free hand trembling on her lap. So it hadn't been animosity that made her behave so coldly towards him, not aversion that made her flee his presence and not prejudice that made her avoid their encounters but...

"Ah." Alastor chuckled softly at her awkward behavior, grinning delightedly at the revelation. "Of course."

Shyness was a curious thing, he thought, often misinterpreted as either prude modesty or cold antipathy. And it seemed Alastor had fallen for the latter interpretation - he would've been miffed at the thought if it hadn't brought her here, into his lap, and into his hands - alas, better late than never, he guessed. And there was still something to take care of.

"Well, since you're not running from me now..." His hand left hers and joined his other one in pulling the belt of her pants open, gently tugging on the metal buckle until the strap slipped free. "Let me finally show my gratitude in kind, for the lovely engineer and her marvelous work."

He loosened his tight grip on her, enough so that he could turn her to face him - for once, she glanced at him from under her lashes, not only out of bashfulness now - but he thought he saw something like cautious anticipation there, too. His grin became even wider as she kept his gaze, even if barely. A last stubborn act of shy rebellion - in another situation it would have enraged Alastor, but now, he was delightfully fascinated and challenged by her stubborn nature, by the unpredictability of her reactions even now, as she herself hooked her fingers under the hem of her pants and pushed them down over her shapely hips.

The last barrier of decency fell between them, revealing the full picture before him - there was her reddened face framed by cascading locks, eyes lowered in embarrassed defeat; Her stiffened nipples prominent on her perky, tight breasts; The damp patch of dark pubic hair that barely hid her glistening privates and the plush roundness of her thighs. And the whole body covered in tiny, white streaks, healed cuts and burns scattered in between her freckles. Oh, she would be delightful to ruin over and over again.

He took a step towards her, his hands immediately moving to her hip, exploring, caressing the soft flesh. This time, she did not move away from his touch and watched him with big, wide-blown eyes, full of expectation and a new type of uncertainty as he lifted her up onto the main control panel. He discarded of his jacket, the cloth too heavy and hot for him now, and threw it aside carelessly, leaving his bow tie hanging loosely around his neck as he went back to the woman, his little prey. Her knees parted slightly when his body wedged between them, an inviting gesture from her, though Alastor suspected she herself didn't notice. He grinned darkly, lifting her chin up by a finger, before bending over and planting a firm but restrained kiss on her lips, feeling his own skin crawl in electric stimulation, eager to finally taste her. His hands made quick work of his slacks, freeing his almost painfully erect member with a pleased sigh. From the way she gasped and her eyes widened, he could easily deduct that she had less to no experience whatsoever.

Oh, what a fortune. Alastor relished the thought of claiming precious, well kept treasures, his breath quickened as he broke from the kiss, hands running over her heated skin in swift, soothing motions, goosebumps trailing in their wake as he felt her shudder with hesitant desire beneath him. Oh, this would be fun.

"Let's be sure you'll hear my message loud and clear, this time, hm?"

He took her mouth again before she could protest, discreetly angling the microphone down with one hand just near enough where she would soon enough be connected to him. With a sly grin, he lined himself up to her waiting entrance and slowly pushed in. She stiffened at the unfamiliar invasion, a mewl muffled against his lips and hands in his shirt, and he stilled, enjoying the way her body reflexively tightened and squeezed around him as she tried to cope with the sensation of him stretching her.

She gasped as her chest heaved from the feeling, her walls convulsing around him like a vice. He allowed a low groan to escape him, she felt so gloriously tight and hot he had trouble keeping his composure, hands twitching to rut into her and just plow through.

"Ready for the final test, darling?"

"T-test...?"

He didn't bother to give her an answer as he started to move. In and out, with slow and drawn out movements, keeping his thrusts shallow at first, deep and precise enough to press against her innermost point and making her moan helplessly. The wet sounds of their coupling reached his ears, coupled with her wanton cries, an obscene and enchanting noise he was waiting for. With a mischievous smile, he picked up the headphones from where she had put them down, lifting it to one of her ears. Her face flushed in such lovely shades of red when the squelching echoes of what the mic picked up reached her ears, amplified and oh-so-clear thanks to her own handiwork.

He let out a guttural chuckle as he leaned into her, still thrusting slowly, her head falling on his shoulder and hanging onto his shirt for dear life, knuckles white as she could hear all the sweet sounds their bodies made and how they connected, each inch of her body singing praises for only him, for his size and rhythm. He could tell the moment her walls began to relax around him, squeezing the blood into his member as she took him in again and again, accepting it's size wholeheartedly with greedy eagerness.

"Such a talented woman.", he praised into her free ear, sighing at the delicious way her slick, swollen lips slid over his length, her thighs twitching against his with every single thrust and every word that fell from his lips. "Just listen to the fruits of your impeccable labor, dearest. Almost wasted in a place like this."

A moan, shaky and delirious, a shuddering sob for him, so high and flustered she sounded almost pained escaped her throat. She pressed against him and with a jolt that reverberated through her spine, convulsing so sweetly against him he almost came from the tremor that rushed through his cock. But it wasn't her peak. Alastor hadn't gotten his fill yet and he wouldn't stop now until it was both of their turns, but damn if he wasn't tempted.

He reached to the other ear to put the second headphone on her. Now her world had no escape, she could only listen, only hear every filthy wet noise of his slick slide, his ragged breathing and the beat of her own heart- a heavy, cacophonous staccato.

Her eyes were heavy-lidded, head clouded and flushed, looking up at him with rapt fascination. His own gaze met hers as his pace increased, suddenly snapping his hips with harsh precision, and his voice was low, carnal.

"But their loss is my gain, darling. Don't you ever forget that, now."

And his thoughts went to of those incompetent, thickheaded dunderheads who took their jobs, but were no where as skilled or invested as her, knowing full well they were inadequate and undeserving to get close to her, trying to touch what clearly should have been for him alone to do, and it sent a nasty spark of possessiveness through Alastor, igniting a furious hunger, a beast waking up within him and snarling with unbridled desire, to claim, to mark her as his. And nobody else's.

He grinned devilishly, a low rumble in his throat as a needy whine escaped his little engineer and he grabbed her waist tightly, digging his fingers into the fat there as he picked up speed and drilled into her with more intensity, savage, merciless and utterly ruthless, finally throwing all composure and rationality overboard to replace it with feral instinct and possessive desire. Her hands clutched him desperately, thighs tensing and pressing against his moving hips, her choked cries of his name were nothing else but heavenly and he was filled with lecherous obsession and greed - yes, he could get addicted to the sound of his name being screamed and moaned from her lips, her sweet, wet flesh fluttering around his throbbing length, the violent stuttering of her breath that just enticed and pleaded him to continue.

"Mine. My own, little, eager engineer." he hissed against the shell of her ear, headphones slipping from her, hips still pounding away at her heat with feverish pace and an undeniable pleasure coiling low and tightly within his pelvis. With every harsh thrust, every desperate, salacious cry, he pulled her deeper and deeper into sinful depravity, her head thrown back in bliss, the headphones slipping from her head as her nails scraped desperately over his clothed chest. The sharp bites of pain mixed with a sweet ache and tightening within Alastor, telltale signs of his climax nearing rapidly. "No more avoiding me, no more elusion or flight for you, understood? You are mine and mine alone."

Her toes curled as his words spurred her over the edge with him, her core spasming and quivering around him as her moans became ragged and desperate, jaw agape in rapture but no words found as she toppled into her orgasm, dragging and taking Alastor with her. The immense wave crashed into him and swept him along, and he growled in the sensational and exhilarating feeling and his head fell against her shoulder, with a growl ripping from his throat, low and guttural. His seed emptied in her with long, forceful spurts, her body tensing and relaxing as each twitch and jerk pushed his release deeper and deeper, the pleasure so acute, so sharp it was almost painful, until both their highs subsided and Alastor had to rest against her for a moment, their labored breaths the only noise that reached his ears.

Alastor sighed contentedly, his hand loosened it's grip and his fingertips gently traced over the angry, red lines they had left behind on her tanned skin of her waist, feeling her shivering underneath him. His lips pressed into the soft crook of her neck, placing a tender kiss on the flushed skin. He would have to do something about the bruising and marks... His eyes wandered up and he noticed that she was staring now, hazily and exhausted, her pupils still wide, lips bitten swollen and reddened, her cheeks and chest still painted pink with lingering arousal. The sight was so deliciously debauched and lewd, a smirk crept on his face.

"It seems that the equipment is indeed in perfect working order again, thanks to you, darling."

"...Yes, sir." she replied warily, her voice still breathless. Her usual demeanor returned, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes she tilted her head away from him. He chuckled, lifting her chin and capturing her lips once again, not much for hers but more for his own gain, and then moved off and out of her. He took a moment to savor the view - the red, swollen flesh, leaking his essence that pooled on the metal surface of his control panel he would work on in a few hours, and her thighs glistening in the faint orange light of the booth.

"Please, darling, from now on..." Alastor took a handkerchief from his breast pocket, wiping the mess of his hands and cleaning her with careful gentleness, her legs twitching weakly at the contact.

"...call me Alastor."

He hummed quietly and lifted her from the console, closing the buttons on her blouse again with fastidious efficiency after she slipped back into her pants. Then, with a few quick motions, Alastor picked up his jacket and fixed his own appearance, before helping her stand properly on her trembling feet.

"I trust we won't have any misunderstandings anymore?" He smiled at her, tilting his head slightly, a soft and yet challenging smile, his hand cupping her face and the thumb brushing her lower lip. Her cheeks grew warmer and redder again, her eyes flickering downwards, then back up, before she nodded silently. "Excellent."

Alastor put the headphones back on their rack, before taking his glasses, slipping them back on and reaching for the door handle, his other hand extended towards his little engineer in an inviting motion.

"Come along, my dear. Let me treat you to a nice cup of coffee, I find there's nothing better after a job well done."

She paused, her face going a shade darker and her lips pressing together. Then, after a heartbeat, she stepped next to him and through the door he opened for her. He could see the small smile that crept onto her lips as she hurriedly passed him, a shy glance shot towards him, but this time it didn't feel like she wasn't fleeing, but almost daring for him to chase her.

Another kind of hunt, he mused, and the thought made him smile as he closed the door and followed her out.

[celesterayel]

goodbyes & waiting | luke castellan

pairing : luke castellan x aphrodite!reader

request: happy holidays! could you write a luke x aphrodite reader? (maybe with angst?) <3

IN WHICH — there are the moments you shared and the sadness that came after.

"trust that you betrayed, confusing that still lingers. you took everything I loved and crushed it in between your fingers" - o.r.

w.c. 1k

warning(s) : lots and lots of angst ゜✭・.

✩ ‧₊˚ author's note this act hurt me so much in the feelings. I've never written something so angst, hope you enjoy it tho, love :)

your heart didn’t hurt, it burned.

you wished you could tear the wretched thing out and never feel anything again but it remained there, silently killing you from the inside out. in your palm lay a small pendant, not the prettiest thing by any means and resembling more like something you’d find at a second-hand store. the chain was thin and dull but at the center lay a small heart of twine and charms. your finger brushed over it, as if attempting to soothe your own heart, a manifestation of your pain literally.

god, you wanted to burn it to the ground. you wanted to scream so loudly and raw that you’d scream your vocal cords out of your throat. you wanted to scream at the gods–fuck them and fuck the fates–and most of all, at him.

had it meant nothing to him? this…whatever it was between you two? how could he have left you so brutally? without a second thought.

the pendant burned in your hand but you’d sooner kill yourself than part with it. it was the last thing you had of luke castellan. the boy who had loved you at your lowest, who once would have rather burned the world than let it hurt you. but he had hurt you and with the blow of godliness that ran in his blood.

you never did see it coming.

✩ ‧₊˚

you had first arrived at camp a year before percy jackson appeared. no sooner than you did, were you claimed by your mother, the goddess aphrodite. and unlike how the poets and half bloods describe it, children of aphrodite were not all inherently blessed with grand beauty. rather you were made to be beautiful in the way extraordinary things are: ingrained into the brain like a itch in a way so profound.

something about you entranced others, maybe the way you spoke or how you approached everyone like they were someone you had known since forever, you were just always a shining light for others to flock too. something so incredibly enchanting, gentle like the breeze of the camp waters. 

luke was the first person to approach you after being claimed, the same boyish smile you’d later fall in love with on his face. 

“the names luke castellan. yours?” he breathed out, something about the way he looked at you like you were every enchanting thing in the form of a person made your heart sing. 

you knew that your heart would belong to him every moment after. 

something in the way he looked at you like you were his forever after made you feel complete. like you weren’t so alone in this world made of monsters and man, godless beings of hunger and pain. and it seemed like he knew it too because there was a knowing in his eyes, a connection between you too that would hurt for every lifetime and the next. 

you and luke only grew closer after and where you went he followed. where he strayed, you wandered. secrets moments shared beneath candlelights with his hands on your waist and yours bunched in his hair. 

“your my forever, you know that right?” he’d whisper against your lips, trying to breathe you in like you’d disappear from his arms. 

you’d just kiss him harder like his words could burn themselves to your lips. like he could burn himself into your very being and never leave you. one day you’d tell him he’d already had.

moments by the lakes where he’d hold you against him and you’d rest on his shoulder like it was the only place you’d ever need. trinkets you’d find when you’d go exploring with the littlest campers that you gifted to him and he kept like they were the grandest of treasures. times when he’d cry into your shoulder and you’d just hold him all the more closer like you could take the pain. the pendant he had spent months and late nights learning to craft from hand to give you. you planned out your future together late, late into the night when you couldn’t sleep: maybe someday he’d whisk you away to visit paris or to see the great big apple–only later you’d go without him. 

holding you so tightly, he’d ask, “where would you want to go if we ever leave here?”

“anywhere you go.” the late nights near the lakes always made it seem like your cocoon, a safe haven from everything else. nights like these only made you fall in love with him more. 

“yes, but if you could pick anywhere, where would you want me to take you, “ he huffed out, chuckling. 

you grab his hands and press a kiss to his lips, tasting freedom and fire all in one breath. kissing luke was always electric, every want and lightning burn in one breath, one touch. 

you leaned back, before contemplatingly saying, “i’ve always wanted to go to see the city lights in the big apple.”

“i’ll take you one day.” it was a promise. a future for you both. 

“i’ll hold you to that.”

✩ ‧₊˚

but it never did happen.

✩ ‧₊˚

you remember the scream you felt bottled in your throat when you found out what had happened. the looks the others had given you when percy told you what luke had done. why he wasn't here with you guys. why he wasn’t here with you.

the betrayal hurt more than anything you had ever felt. parts of the pieces of the future you had made crumbling as quickly as you both had made it. the trinkets you had given him were gone just as he was.

as the months passed, here you stayed as the others left. hoping that by some miracle, your golden boy would return to you. that'd he'd come back ready to make good on his promise. he’d return to the lake where you had once built your future but he never did and the scream in your throat never left.

you promised me, luke.

footsteps approached you and there at the bottom of the hermes cabin stood percy jackson, “y/n, it’s time to go.” 

he looked at the pendant in your hands before giving you a sad smile. he knew your history and your pain–once upon a time, luke had been his first real friend.

you wiped the tears that had fallen down your cheeks and slipped the necklace back onto your neck. you couldn’t bear to part with it, not even after all this time, after all these moments. 

you looked behind you to the cabin one last time—breathing in the old memories and letting them go one last time—before you turned back around. 

“let’s go.” 

in the end, your golden boy had been far too much like his father and you were the one to be left waiting.

[ghostshipernr1]

In my opinion, ghouls are a kind of hybrids of different animals, they retain their features, such as wings, tail, horns, as well as some behaviors: purring, chirping.

it looks like this:

Swiss - Tasmanian devil

He definitely inherited his wild and chaotic nature from this animal. He has strong fangs and sharp claws. It's hard to deal with during the day, but at night? Good luck. At night, hes hunting instincts are active thanks to its extraordinary sense of smell and well-adapted eyesight.

Cirrus - raven

At first glance, it's easy to guess what animal she's related to by looking at the large pair of black wings on her back. If you don't even guess? Just wear something shiny, like a silver ring or necklace, and you'll be able to see her looking at you all day long. It's very likely that at some point she won't be able to take it anymore and when you look the other way she will try to steal it from you. (Most often with positive results) (Seriously, how does she even do that?)

Mountain - St. Bernard

Personally, I believe that every earth ghoul is in some way related to a specific breed of dog. Just like his dog side, he is reflected in features such as loyalty, friendliness and great patience. Everyone wonders how he always seems so calm and collected even when Swiss, Phantom and Dew are bothering him and guess what? Even he doesn't know that.

Although everyone knows one thing, if you ever hurt someone in his pack, there is no place to hide. And when he finds you? Well, no one knows because no one has lived to tell about it yet.

Yup he's a really good boy

Rain - otter

A fluffy ball in the middle of the lake, that's how you can describe our water ghoul. But don't let appearances fool you, sometimes it can be a real nuisance, like when he accidentally lost his favorite stone and didn't want to leave the lake area until he got it back (after an hour and a half search involving at least 20 people, it turned out that the stone was still was in his pocket) (oopsie:3).

Once Dew played him a documentary about Giant River Otters and he had to sleep with him for a week because he had nightmares (not nice Dew)

Phantom - bat

As anyone would expect, our little gothic boy is most closely associated with bats. For this reason, it is impossible to miss a large pair of (as he calls it) "vampire" wings on his back.

Every year, the ministry holds a Halloween competition for the best costume. Every year since his call, his elaborate costumes have won at least the podium.

Aurora - opossum

I know, I know, what does Aurora opossum sound like? Would such a sweet little ghoulette be an ugly half-rat from the trash? Now go to Cumulus or Mountain and say the exact same words and see what happens.

Immediately after visiting earth, Aurora had problems with self-esteem, which was not helped by her bald rat tail and gray, nondescript fur. The rest of the ghoulettes noticed this immediately and decided to change it. For a good week, none of them left Cirrus's room until Sunshine called an urgent meeting in the living room where, together with the rest, they presented the new face of Aurora. The previously bald tail is now covered in colorful ribbons, just like her beautifull hair, small claws covered with red nail polish, all the makeup well matched to her complexion and finally a beautiful dress that Mountain couldn't take his eyes off. The first moment Aurora noticed the proud and happy faces of her companions, she immediately ran to the mirror and immediately cried, but this time they were not tears of sadness, but tears of happiness.

Since then, everyone has made her realize how beautiful she is at every step (and she believes it every time).

Dewdrop - rabbit

Really a rabbit? Damn rabbit? From the beginning of its life, Dewdrop has been asking himself this question. After all, how could this big scary ghoul be related to something so... Cute? No wonder, after all, it's hard to take someone seriously with big fluffy ears that just beg to be pet. But don't make Swiss' mistake and don't underestimate him, after all, he is still a fiery ghoul and that element of heat still makes itself felt. (Poor Swiss, after calling Dew a snowflake, he has been knocked out for 10 minutes because he got hit in his balls so hard). Despite his fluffy white fur and cute little tail, Dew knows how to defend himself well - after all, it's not for nothing that nature gave him damn strong legs and even stronger teeth. However, this does not change the fact that, just like Aurora, he still has many problems with self-esteem (If they could, they would gladly switch animals). What Dew doesn't like the most in the world are the sweet looks people gave him when he tries to walk down the hall as if nothing happened and, even worse, when they try to touch him. (But don't worry, Aether knows how to deal with them).

It took him a long time to get used to his own appearance, and even now, when he notices many advantages in himself (for example, teasing Aether in his favorite shorts that perfectly fit his god gift ass), he still has a lot of doubts. But don't worry, on such days there will always be a ghouls ready to prove him that he is perfect the way he is.

Aether - grizzly bear

Try to guess who in the ministry gives the best hugs?

Any ideas?

NO?

Then I will answer you of course its Aether!!!

The mix of his thick brown fur and soft belly gives us the perfect material for afternoon naps. Aether is the type of person who, when he sees someone having a bad day, immediately brews a good cup of tea, turns on a comfortable movie and engages the person in a long cuddle session. Despite his comfortable nature and generally good view of the world, as soon as someone tries to harm his herd, in less than a second this sweet cuddly Teddy bear can turn into a bloodthirsty beast and nothing can stop him. Sometimes when he sees members of his family arguing and it escalates to possible harm to each other, he has to react. He personally hates himself for this because his greatest fear is that in the eyes of ghouls he loves, he will become a monster.

Cumulus - snow owl

For the first month that Rain and the ghoulett met, he could only describe her as absolutely terrifying. Don't get him wrong Cumulus is like a sister to him but... the way despite her huge snow-white wings, she is able to sneak up on him and scare him is absolutely terrifying.

Once, when he went to the kitchen at 2 a.m. to get a glass of water, he noticed her standing by the fridge. He called her and she turned her head 180 degrees and asked what was going on. He ran out of the kitchen in terror and couldn't sleep that night. The next day he discover flowers on his desk and a card with an apology (where did she get the flowers at 2 a.m.?). Fortunately, after a year of living together, Rain know that there is nothing to be afraid of and Lulu is one of the nicest people he knows.

In appearance, apart from the previously described wings, Cumulus has pearly snow skin, white fluff surrounding its neck and ankles, and large white curly hair resembling a cloud. Despite her elegant appearance, Cumulus isn't afraid to get down and dirty and is more than willing to do some spontaneous mud wrestling with Mountain or roll around in the gurney with Swiss. (Poor Cirrus who then has to take care of her tangled feathers)

Sunshine - pony

She loves racing. And when I say she loves it, I don't mean racing once im a while. NO. Every day, she, Dew and Swiss (aka the fastest ghouls in the Ministry) have to compete with each other every time. No matters of its of who takes the bathroom faster, who takes someone else's seat, who gives Copia the documents from his desk faster. She just loves it.

She, Dew and Swiss are a real danger.

Besides, she's a really good girl, really...

While the rest of the ghouls have paws or claws, she is the only one with hooves, poor Cirrus has a really hard time cleaning them from dirt, grass and mud.

When we talk about the sunshine, one fact cannot be omitted... She has a beautiful blonde ponytail and every day she devotes at least an hour to its care so that she can wave it proudly.

I hope you liked it, if you want a story about one of the ghouls, don't be afraid to ask :3

[simply-whump]

See You in My 19th Life (이번 생도 잘 부탁해) - Whump List

Whumpee : Moon Seo Ha played by Ahn Bo Hyun and Ha Do Yoon played by Ahn Dong Goo

Synopsis : Ban Ji Eum has an extraordinary ability: she can remember the memories of all her past lives. Repeating her reincarnation for nearly a thousand years, Ban Ji Eum has been living her lives diligently. After her previous life is cut short by a tragic accident, she sets out to reconnect with the people of her past life in her current one, and decides to find a man named Moon Seo Ha, whom she met in her 18th life. Will memories of her 18th life sabotage romance in her 19th? Or will love endure across different lives? (MDL)

Genres : Comedy, Romance, Fantasy

Warning! Possible spoilers below!

Moon Seo Ha

Ep 1 : Has a nightmare about his traumatic past (bad car accident that left him with hearing problems) — Upset — Using a hearing aid, items thrown at him, small cut on his forehead

Ep 2 : Surrounded by too much noise, kinda triggers his hearing problems, takes out his hearing aid, heavy breathing, ptsd from his car accident, dizzy, leaning on a wall, ears ringing (Gif Set) — Grabbed by the collar — (Flashback) Scratch on his hand, concern for him, hit lightly on the head, hand bandaged — Crying 

Ep 3 : Ptsd triggered, strong panic attack, falls on his knees, heavy breathing, concern for him,  given a bag to breathe in, remembering traumatic memories (Gif Set) — Grabbed by the collar

Ep 4 : Hit in the face, lips bleeding, concern for him — Drunk, walking unsteadily, talking about his painful memories — Still drunk, half carried, transported in a cart, falls from the cart, half carried, put to bed, remembering traumatic memories, crying in his sleep

Ep 5 : Has a nightmare, wakes up with his ears ringing badly, groaning in pain, collapses to the ground — Hurt his hand, bleeding, concern for him — Keeps recalling traumatic memories — Fighting

Ep 6 : Learns that someone tried to kill him when he was a kid, has a nightmare, sweating — Teary-eyed, punched, fighting with his friend

Ep 7 : Recalling painful memories, jumps into a pool, drenched and pretty miserable 

Ep 8 : Fighting, head hit by a wooden bar, ears ringing, in pain, head bleeding — Bandage on his head — Learns a difficult truth, distressed, crying, screaming, slumped on the ground sobbing

EP 9 : Has a nightmare, sweating — Crying, hugged — Angry outburst, crying

Ep 10 : Choked 

Ep 11 : (Flashback from his past life) Stabbed — Choked

Ep 12 : (Flashback from his past life) Stabbed, in pain, bleeding

Ha Do Yoon

EP 3 : Humiliated, insulted, phone smashed

Ep 6 : Ridiculed/humiliated — Teary-eyed, punched, fighting with his friend

Ep 7 : Drunk (and way too cute), almost falls — Teary-eyed

Ep 9 : A bit manhandled (semi-comedic) — Teary-eyed

>> More Whump Lists

[chaos0pikachu]

with another slew of announcements from netflix and hbo max about show cancelations got me thinking about that “why do folks like BL” post again where someone mentioned that the dramas are one-and-done’s and like, I think that’s why people are gravitating towards kdramas and cdramas too

like, you can watch all of Love Between Fairy and Devil and be satisfied, it’s a one-and-done, you can watch Bad Buddy and be happy, you don’t need a season two for My Name, or Extraordinary Attorney Woo, or even Squid Game, special episodes for Cutie Pie or Love in the Air are nice but not required, shit’s done, it’s completed, finito 

a season two or a special episode is nice, but it’s either an extra or a continuation. Like yeah you CAN watch TharnType 7 Years of whatever the fuck, but you don’t HAVE too and still get a full story outta TharnType. No one is suddenly not going to understand Love in the Air if they don’t watch the special episode. Yeah it’d be cool to have a second season of My Name but it doesn’t HAVE to happen b/c the story wraps up at the end. 

American television doesn’t work like that and honestly it’s getting fucking annoying b/c streaming services just cancel shit whenever the mood~~ strikes them. Netflix has been notorious for cancelling shows after 3 seasons b/c like a kpop contract the original show contract is up for re-negotiation and Netflix doesn’t wanna pay ppl more (corporations caring about people? in this economy??) 

now with the merger of Discovery and Warner Bros it’s freaking Hostel up at HBO Max, shows getting axe murdered left, right, and center sometimes while still in post-production. It’s wild and it blows like fuck why bother getting invested in anything??? I was curious about watching Half Bad but the show got axed after one season so like, why even bother watching an incomplete story??? 

The only shows that seem guaranteed for continuation are if they’re juggernauts like Euphoria, Stranger Things, Game of Thrones spin offs, Star Wars and Marvel or prestige award shows (like Succession and White Lotus)

so yeah I end up watching a lot of international media b/c at least shit is finished and not a half-baked cake

[scotianostra]

On 10th July 1802 Robert Chambers, the Scottish naturalist and publisher, was born.

I wonder how many of you out there have owned a Chambers dictionary? We always had one in our household growing up, mainly for checking words while playing scrabble.

Two brothers, Robert and William Chambers founded the company that published the book also played a major part in the growth of 19th century writing and publishing in Scotland and the development of the city of Edinburgh.

William and Robert Chambers were part of a relatively prosperous Borders mill owning family with deep roots in Tweeddale. William the elder was born in 1800 and his brother Robert on this day, two years later.

Their father lost his business in 1814 and the family upped sticks and moved to Edinburgh. Life in the capital began in a tenement flat in Nicholson Street. It was a “second rate street home to other families with limited means.” They remained there for less than a year before moving to an even poorer area of the city.

William took up a job as an apprentice in a booksellers, his early jobs being cleaning and lighting the fire, preparing the oil lamps and running errands, but it put him in god stead for his oncoming years. He took lodgings in The West Port, his brother later joining him, but was jobless, William helped support his sibling, he then suggested Robert, using the last few books from his father’s house in Peebles open a small bookshop in Leith, the family business was born. Within a short time William also opened a bookshop close to his brother.

A small printing press was acquired and together the brothers turned to publishing. They printed, bound and published a range of books including 750 copies of the Songs of Robert Burns, a best-seller in 19th century Edinburgh.

It was perhaps inevitable that both would turn to writing and together they wrote and published the Kaleidoscope a fortnightly periodical. Half a century later William reflected on the struggle to produce the journal. “The mechanical execution of the literary serial sorely tested the powers of my little press which received sundry claspings of iron to strengthen it for the unexpected duty.” Although the Kaleidoscope didn’t last long, life was getting better. It was, “a small trial of one’s wings.”

Thanks to a commission from Walter Scott William and Robert moved home again as their business continued to develop. By 1832 the first edition of the Chambers Edinburgh Journal was published. It was an immediate and unprecedented success with 30,000 copies sold in Scotland and a further 20,000 in England. As well as publishing pieces by Walter Scott between 1879 and 1895, the magazine published 3 short stories and 1 article written by Arthur Conan Doyle. Initially Robert was only a contributor but after the 14th issue he became joint editor and W and R Chambers was founded.

I really should only be covering Robert in this post, but I have to tell you a bit about William, who rose to become Lord Provost of Edinburgh, in that position he helped save the life of a stray dog that was going to be rounded up and destroyed as he never had a license. Hearing of the poor dog William himself paid for the license, a collar for the dog and feeding bowl that can still be seen in The Museum of Edinburgh. Without this act of kindness we might not know the extraordinary tale of Greyfriars Bobby!

Anyways, back to we brother Robert. In 1844 Robert published, anonymously, the Vestiges of the Natural History of Creation, 15 years before Darwin’s Origin of the Species. It received very mixed reviews. One said that, “there was a fair chance of poisoning the fountains of science and sapping the foundations of religion.” Another took an opposing view by saying the book was like a, “breath of fresh air to workmen in a crowded factory.”

William and Robert Chambers achieved much in their lives but perhaps their greatest satisfaction came from the purchase of their Scottish Borders home 40 years after their father had been forced to give it up.

[actualhumancryptid]

Kate Winslet Pushes Her Characters, and Herself, to the Edge

(New York Times interview/photos with a big readmore and no screencaps because accessibility)

As a young star, she endured Hollywood’s brutal treatment of women. Now she’s putting her resilience and grit on full display.

By Susan Dominus

Published March 3, 2024 Updated March 8, 2024

Kate Winslet was standing in front of a microphone, breathing hard. Sometimes she did it fast; sometimes she slowed it down. Sometimes the breathing sounded anxious; other times, it was clearly the gasping of someone who was winded. Before beginning a new take, Winslet stood stock still, hands opening and closing at her sides; she looked like a gymnast about to bound into a floor routine. Every breath seemed high-stakes, even though she was well into a long day of recording in a dim, windowless studio in London.

Winslet was adding grace notes to scenes of herself in “The Regime,” a dark satire created by Will Tracy, a writer and producer on “Succession,” that began airing on Max in early March. Winslet plays Elena Vernham, a dictator ruling precariously over an imaginary Central European country, and she was in the studio rerecording (as is common practice) lines that needed improving, including snippets of Elena’s propaganda: “Even if the protests happening in Westgate were real, which they are not” and “He’s still out there, working with the global elite to destroy everything we’ve built.” Sometimes Winslet laughed out loud after delivering a line, and sometimes she fell completely silent, absorbed in watching a scene of herself with her new recording looped in. “God, she’s such an awful, awful cow,” she said at one point, sounding appalled but also a little awed.

The part of Elena, a despot on the verge of a nervous breakdown, is a departure for Winslet, who has chosen, over the course of her career, a wide range of characters who have in common an intrinsic power. Elena is erratic and grasping, with a facade of strength that covers up a sinkhole of oozing insecurity. Winslet gave a lot of thought to how Elena would sound: She chose a high, tight voice, the sound of someone disconnected from the feelings that reside deep in the body. Elena has the slightest of speech impediments, a strange move she makes with her mouth, a hand that flies to her cheek when she is under real stress — those tells are her answer to King Richard’s hump, the body politic deformed.

Onscreen, as Elena, Winslet is coifed and practically corseted into form-fitting skirt suits, with lacquered fake nails. The day she was recording, in early January, Winslet might have been any woman at the office: blond hair, a hint of roots starting to show, jeans of no particular timely style that she occasionally tugged up from the waist, a black V-neck sweater she occasionally pulled down at the hem. It’s only when you look directly at her, face to face, that you see the extraordinary — the dark blue eyes, the beauty marks (not one, but two), the elaborately curved mouth.

As Winslet recorded, Stephen Frears, one of the show’s two directors, guided Winslet with considerable understatement from his seat across the room: a half-nod here, a thumbs-up there. “Was that all right, Stephen?” Winslet called over after one take; she peered over in his direction, expectant, obedient, professional. Frears, who directed “The Queen” and “Dangerous Liaisons,” among others, was silent, with his eyes closed, his head back. Winslet and a few members of the production team waited for his approval. As the moment stretched on, it seemed that Frears was not deep in thought but deep in sleep. Winslet appeared to register a brief moment of surprise, then smiled and moved on — all right, no problem.

Winslet is not precious or easily rattled; on set, over the years, she has broken a toe, suffered hypothermia and fainted, but very little slows her down when she’s shooting. She’s not a fan of a lunch break. Her sturdiness works its way into her performances onscreen: Even in many a period drama, Winslet, for all her femininity, conveys the impression of someone who could hold her own in a street fight. On one occasion when she actually found herself in peril, during a house fire at Richard Branson’s home in the British Virgin Islands, Winslet, efficiently assisting the evacuation, picked up Branson’s nearly-90-year-old mother and carried her down several stairs. (Winslet is married to Branson’s nephew, Edward Abel Smith.)

Winslet’s practicality makes her eminently relatable, but it comes with a forceful energy. A friend commented to me that Winslet’s patent resilience makes watching her — even in a film about a shipwreck or the Holocaust — an experience in which the viewer’s stress level never interferes with an appreciation of the work. “I don’t worry about her,” she says. “She will turn up OK. Even if she has to eat acorns all winter.”

The day after her dubbing session in London, Winslet and I met near her home on the coast of England; she had decided we would visit a local beach. When I entered her car, I noticed on the floor of the back seat a bowl of half-eaten oatmeal that had clearly been there for some time, a sight that made my heart leap — I somehow felt immediately absolved of all my own car-food sins. “There’s just stuff rolling around the back of the car, clink, clink, all the time,” Winslet said. “Sometimes I look in the back, and I’ll see, like, three apples.” At least, she would console herself, the intention was that apples be eaten. The procurer of those apples would be her husband, who goes by Ned, and their would-be consumer the couple’s 10-year-old son, Bear. (Winslet has two other children: a 23-year-old daughter from her first marriage, to Jim Threapleton; and a 20-year-old son from her second marriage, to the director Sam Mendes.)

The sky was cloud-covered, the air wet and chilled. The temperature hovered around 38 degrees, so we loaded our arms with blankets and traipsed in the direction of a white weathered beach hut a short sprint away from the water. Winslet’s hut is just one of thousands along the shores of the United Kingdom — on many beaches, they go on for miles — some of which have been passed down within families for upward of a century. (This one once belonged to Ned’s grandmother.) Winslet pulled on a lock, and the door swung open to reveal a mostly empty, unheated room with a few beach chairs, a skim board hanging on the wall and a bench in back, which is where we would sit and talk for the next several hours, covered in blankets and eating pastries Winslet bought that morning. Winslet also had her bathing suit with her. “I might go in for a swim later,” she told me.

Winslet is a devotee of cold-water swimming, which she has enjoyed not just near her home but also in Alaska and Norway, where, she told me, the water was dotted with ice. Cold-water swimming is popular in Britain, but it seems especially well suited to Winslet, who prides herself on stamina: For the 2022 movie “Avatar: The Way of Water,” Winslet, after considerable training, managed to hold her breath underwater for an astonishing seven minutes and 15 seconds (some Navy Seals never break three minutes). On set, she has little interest in the creature comforts that some stars expect: During the filming of “Mare of Easttown,” an HBO limited series from 2021, Winslet’s only real ask of Mark Roybal, one of the show’s executive producers, was that he replace the extra-large trailer he had intended for her with one the same size as those of her colleagues. “I’ve seen her literally pulling cables, moving props,” Roybal says. “It’s crazy. She’s not far from who she was when she grew up. That’s who she is.”

Winslet was raised in Reading, an hour west of London, in a working-class neighborhood where, she has said, many of her friends were aspiring to be flight attendants and hairstylists. Unhappy at her local school, she enrolled at age 11 in a private performing-arts school, offsetting some of the cost with voice-over work and a role as a teenage sleuth on a television series. Her father, an aspiring but ultimately unsuccessful actor, worked for the postal service and sold Christmas trees; when Winslet’s performing-arts school ended for her at age 16, she took a job slicing deli meat until her former principal suggested that she audition for a part in a movie based on the true story of two young girls who colluded in murder. Why did the principal think of Winslet? “I looked like the girl,” she told me. Winslet was desperate to win the part. “I wrote letters to the character,” she said. “You chant. You pray.” It turned out that the resemblance was important to the director, Peter Jackson, who wanted an unknown in the role. “That’s the lucky-break moment,” Winslet said.

The movie, “Heavenly Creatures,” set her career in motion, but she was still a fledgling actor. When she was brought in to audition for a small part in the 1995 adaptation of Jane Austen’s “Sense and Sensibility,” Winslet pretended she thought she was there to read for the more significant role of Marianne, younger sister to Elinor, played by Emma Thompson. Thompson, who also wrote the screenplay, ultimately championed Winslet’s casting. “It was immediately apparent to me that Kate would absolutely capture the quintessence of Marianne,” Thompson says. “She came in — 19 years old, I think — and had all the passion and the wide gaze of a youthful and optimistic spirit, a soul that believed the best in people. I rushed past her in the corridor, needing a pee, and she said as I came rushing back, ‘I know I can do this,’ and I think I might have said, ‘I know you can.’” The two women grew so close that Winslet kept, for many years, a souvenir of the last day of shooting — the box of an apple strudel that they feasted on for consolation as they tearfully prepared to part ways. (When Thompson turned 40, Winslet gave her the box for her birthday.)

In late 1995, Winslet was passed a long treatment for a film called “Titanic,” the printout of which she recently found in storage, discovering that she had written on the front page, “I love this.” The part of Rose in “Titanic” catapulted her into the realm of the 20th century’s great cinematic heroines. More endearing than Scarlett O’Hara, less thorny than Erin Brockovich, Rose is a Juliet-like figure in love with love who subverts the plot, surviving tragedy instead of succumbing to it. Since then, Winslet’s best performances are of imperfect women who persevere, who are flawed enough to do real damage but still evoke from the viewer deep, sometimes uncomfortable sympathy. In her role as Hanna, a former Nazi prison guard in “The Reader,” for which she won an Oscar, Winslet employs a forceful physicality that the viewer eventually understands as the unyielding rigidity of a woman who can’t make sense of complexity. She pulls off a more exuberant high-wire act in her portrayal of Clementine in “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” a character whose fervent soul spills all over the place. When she meets Joel, the halting figure played by Jim Carrey, Clementine is careering as fast as the train on which they’re talking; she veers dangerously close, emotionally, to going off the rails altogether, with just enough charm and smarts to pull herself to safety, to keep Joel, and viewers, more intrigued than alarmed.

Winslet seems to relish pushing her characters — and herself — to the edge. Todd Haynes, who directed Winslet in “Mildred Pierce,” an HBO limited series about a divorced mother during the Great Depression, recalled one scene she shot in an evening gown on a rainy, frigid night in Queens. After the first take, Winslet, drenched and chilled, screamed out, elated, “This is what we get to do with our lives!” Winslet’s response did not surprise Haynes, given the roles she’d chosen in the past. “I think the pain that she sometimes endures is part of the thrill and excitement that she fully embraces in her work,” he says. “Kate wants to be put in places she’s never been before and be fearless about it.”

Moments like that, Winslet said, do thrill her: “It is living at the absolute edges of the physical lengths to which one can go to feel the most exhilarated and alive,” she said. Women who take risks interest her. In an upcoming biopic, “Lee,” which Winslet produced, she embodies Lee Miller, a onetime model who emerged from a traumatized youth to become a significant World War II photographer. But Winslet also clearly sees the discomfort she experiences on set as an inevitable part of moviemaking, something she has chosen to embrace rather than bemoan. “Still never to this day would I say: ‘I’m cold. I have to stop,’” Winslet said.

I’m cold, I thought to myself. I have to stop. We’d been sitting in that unheated shack, the ocean waves growing louder as the tide rolled in, for almost three hours, as if Winslet, in this instance too, would never be the one to suggest a break. Every so often, labradoodles, cocker spaniels, retrievers, dachshunds and their owners trotted by the aperture of the shack’s open door. The number of people walking their dogs seemed to have picked up, even as the day got colder; Winslet theorized, without resentment, that maybe word had gotten out. Finally, we agreed it was time to go, but by then it was too late for Winslet, who had plans to visit a new godchild, to go swimming.

If only I’d brought a bathing suit, we could have both gone, I said as we left, meaning not a word of it. Winslet brightened at the thought: We’d go tomorrow, she assured me — she could lend me a bathing suit!

Some measure of Winslet’s fame is tied to her beauty, but she seems intent on deflating its importance, using her influence to convey the message that women have value beyond their looks. In “Mare of Easttown,” Winslet, who played Marianne (Mare) Sheehan, a small-town detective grieving a dead son, refused to let editors retouch so much as a wrinkle. A “global ambassador” for L’Oréal Paris, she appears in an ad in full hair and makeup, then pins up her blond strands and starts wiping her makeup off, all the while speaking to the viewer with the urgency and focus she would give to any climactic monologue. “To believe that you are worth it is something we can all help each other to do,” she says. “And perhaps as we all walk through the world, we can show up for each other without judgment.”

Winslet came of age in the era of waif-chic, which has made her all too expert in the subject of harsh objectification. After her role in “Titanic,” public scrutiny of her body was so chronic and exacting that it threatened to consume her. The British tabloids tracked her weight as if it were a matter of national security; Joan Rivers cracked wise about Winslet sinking the Titanic. In a 1998 Rolling Stone article, Winslet said that she was a heavyset teenager who “sensibly lost the weight doing Weight Watchers. End of story.” She now openly acknowledges that at one brief point in her life, she struggled with an eating disorder. “I never told anyone about it,” she said of that time. “Because guess what — people in the world around you go: ‘Hey, you look great! You lost weight!’” For that last bit, Winslet slipped into a pitch-perfect American accent — Los Angeles, maybe a film executive. “So even the compliment about looking good is connected to weight. And that is one thing I will not let people talk about. If they do, I pull them up straight away.” (For the sake of simplicity, I will direct the reader to assume that curses have been edited out of any Winslet quote on the subject of weight, celebrity or tabloids.)

In the hut, I had wondered aloud to Winslet about the impact of Ozempic on all this. “I actually don’t know what Ozempic is,” Winslet said. “All I know is that it’s some pill that people are taking or something like that.” I told her that Ozempic — which apparently has not yet saturated English culture as it has in the United States — was a very in-demand diabetes drug now commonly taken off-label for weight loss.

“But what is it?” Winslet said, her mouth full of pastry. I went on: It was a shot people took that dampened their interest in food. Winslet looked appalled — as if I’d just told her that millions of Americans were voluntarily injecting themselves with something that made them feel dead inside when they looked at a sunset. “Oh, my God,” she said. “This sounds terrible. Let’s eat some more things!” She made a show of eating more of her pastry, crumbs tumbling onto the blankets.

Together we watched a short video highlighting Winslet’s early career; at one moment, seeing red carpet shots of herself the year after she won the Oscar for “The Reader,” Winslet commented sharply, “Look how thin I was.” This was not Winslet yearning for that moment; it was Winslet feeling sadness for that former self, a young woman who was separating from her second husband and could barely eat from stress, watching her private life become the subject of entertainment-news headlines.

What Winslet accepted as the norm back then she now understands as small cruelties that she is relieved her younger counterparts no longer have to endure in quite the same way. Although a few actors of Winslet’s age have scoffed at what they perceive as the preciousness of intimacy coordinators, Winslet thought her entire experience as a young actor might have been different had they been available to her. “I would have benefited from an intimacy coordinator every single time I had to do a love scene or be partially naked or even a kissing scene,” she said. “It would have been nice to have had someone in my corner, because I always had to stand up for myself.” And often, she didn’t — she felt that whatever was being asked of her was simply part of the job. She has a litany of unspoken objections she wished she had felt empowered to make: “I don’t like that camera angle. I don’t want to stand here full-frontal nude. I don’t want this many people in the room. I want my dressing gown to be closer. Just little things like that. When you’re young, you’re so afraid of pissing people off or coming across as rude or pathetic because you might need those things. So learning to have a voice for oneself in those environments was very, very hard.”

On set, she rarely felt empowered to complain, even when the conditions were difficult. In a 1997 Los Angeles Times article, Winslet, still exhausted from the seven-month shoot of “Titanic,” described the experience as an “ordeal,” recalling two moments of filming in the water that sounded distressing in her telling (though she emphasized to me that she was never in danger). When I spoke to the film’s director, James Cameron, he said that although the set was extremely safe, he might have given Winslet more space to raise whatever subjective concerns about the work she was feeling at the time. “You have to sort of be given permission before the fact,” he said. “I can’t say, sitting here today, that I made that abundantly clear.” He described Winslet as “a force of nature,” adding that “when someone projects that kind of energy and that kind of power to the people around her, it’s difficult to see when they’re in trouble emotionally.”

Like many of her characters, Winslet considers herself a survivor: She survived two public divorces, and she survived the paparazzi, packs of men who chased her in cars or staked out her house. (When she was a new mother, she would put on a hat and sunglasses, hand her baby over a wall to the next-door neighbor, climb over the wall herself, then take the baby through the backyard gate and get on a city bus, where, she swears, no one ever recognized her.)

It’s clear that some of the strength Winslet projects — her nothing-stops-me attitude on set — is a defense she built up, by necessity, years ago. “I was already experiencing huge amounts of judgment, persecution, all this bullying,” she said. “People can call me fat. They can call me what they want. But they certainly cannot say that I complained and I behaved badly. Over my dead body.” To object, especially for young women, was to risk a ruined reputation. “I would not have known how to do that without people in power turning around and saying, ‘Oh, Jesus Christ, you know, her again, that complainer,’” Winslet said. “I would rather suffer in silence than ever let that happen to me, even still today.”

To Winslet, as a mother, it’s a particular horror that the public body-shaming once reserved for celebrities is now a trial that any young woman with a phone might go through. For British television, she recently made an improvised film, “I Am Ruth,” with her daughter, Mia Threapleton, about a mother trying to understand the unraveling of her teenager; behind the closed door of her bedroom, amid the privacy of the world of her phone, Threapleton’s character is enduring bullying on social media in response to revealing images she has posted of herself. With “I Am Ruth,” Winslet became an Everymom, opening her up to interactions of a different kind. “I’ll go to the grocery store, I’ll go anywhere, like walking down the street, and people will stop me,” she said. A parking attendant put her hand on Winslet’s arm and started to weep; Winslet knew intuitively it was about “I Am Ruth.”

In her roles, and in her own life, Winslet has moved, sure-footed, from the role of ingénue to the role of the fierce protector. Roybal described Winslet as an advocate for the crew on “Mare of Easttown,” someone who would personally call the executives if she felt there was some inequity on their part. While shooting “Mare,” Winslet sat in the trunk of a car where the then-19-year-old Angourie Rice would be filming a kissing scene, so Winslet — a safe, big-sister figure — could personally pass on notes from the director coming in through a radio.

By the time she filmed “Mare,” Winslet had decades worth of emotional experiences she could readily access. “In the beginning,” she said, “I would rummage around my emotional toolbox and pull out something that had actually happened to me. But that stopped working for me at a certain point. I don’t know why. As you get older, you live more life; you have more real experiences that you add to the emotional toolbox without realizing that you’re doing it. And so sometimes, as you get older, quite honestly, emotions are easier to access because they just simmer below the surface all the time — because there’s just so damn many of them.” Winslet’s scripts are heavily covered in notes laying out the emotional marks she would need to hit.

The hazard of watching Winslet as Mare is that her acting is so nuanced that you suddenly see others’ elsewhere as telegraphed semaphore (the bitter wife, her arms folded across her chest; the disappointed teacher, mouth tugged downward). In a scene from “Mare” in which Winslet tries to tell her grandson’s pediatrician about her travails with her son, Kevin, who died by suicide, she is reflecting not any one thing but instead the several conversations her character seems to be having simultaneously: one with the pediatrician, one with her past self, as she drifts in and out of being present, and another with her current self, as she struggles to control the frustration she feels at how little the doctor can grasp of this painful history. Watching Winslet, we don’t see a protective mother; we see our own mothering, the depth of our own complicated feelings about the mistakes we’ve made, the gap between all that we feel and all that can’t be easily said.

Winslet seemed uncomfortable talking about her process, not so much because she feared it would sound pretentious, but because it was personal. Long after “Mare” was finished shooting, Winslet wept in interviews when talking about the character’s loss of a son; she couldn’t stop reverting to those emotions she so carefully internalized, any more than she could clear out all the lines of dialogue that have lodged themselves in her consciousness, no matter how much she would like to forget them.

“I finally realized I needed a bit of therapy” to move on from playing Mare, she said. “You actually change something in your brain chemistry about how you think — you know, it’s very, very strange.” She would be at the store buying jeans and realize that she was buying the jeans that Mare would wear — awful-looking jeans, in fact. Her children would sidle up next to her at the house, on days after filming that had left her depleted. “Kevin’s not real,” they would whisper, as if letting her in on a secret. “And neither is Mare. It’s just pretend.” Being an actor, of course, entails coming all too close to the knowledge that for someone in the world, that suffering, that pain, is real. Winslet’s empathy — a protective instinct that extends to her characters — is part of what makes her performances so powerful.

The day after our talk in the hut, Winslet and I headed back to the beach in her car. On our way over, Ned, already waiting there with Bear, called to check in. “The sun is shining,” he told his wife. “It’s really special. But I think everybody got the memo. So — quite a few people.” Ned’s subtext was clear: She would not have a lot of privacy. “Great!” Winslet said, then laughed, not quite a nervous laugh but a sendup of one.

At the beach, Bear was kicking around a soccer ball with his dad. Chatty, funny, smiley, he told a story about the time his dog peed on his favorite soccer ball — he cocked his leg just so, a bit of brilliant and spontaneous mimicry, which I observed again when he put on the voice of his older brother, urging him on in a bit of daredevilry.

I changed quickly into a suit that Winslet lent me and put on a long fleece-lined coat made just for this winter-swimming business, and then there was no more avoiding it: I joined Winslet at the shore. We hesitated briefly, and suddenly a pack of young men were walking by. “Oh, there really are a lot of people,” she said, and for a moment I thought I saw a look of real distress on her face. I remembered she told me that she left New York in 2010, after living there for many happy years, in part because the paparazzi seemed to be picking up their focus on her: She noticed herself looking over her shoulder too often and decided it was time to get away.

Winslet quickly whipped her head around and trained her eyes back toward the ocean. It would clearly be better to move forward than stand paralyzed and exposed on the shore, so in we went. A step, then another — she jog-walked her way into the water, and I had no choice but to follow.

“You have to commit, Susan!” she called out. I managed to pull my focus away from the daggers of cold and look up in the direction of her voice. Fifteen feet away, she was submerged up to her chin. Her eyes were closed. She was far enough out from the shore to be unrecognizable to the public. The water hid her. She breathed in and out slowly, meditatively. A minute passed, then a few more. And then she was up, cursing, cursing the water, cursing the whole idea, laughing, heading toward shore.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Introduction. The hypothesis of a God

II.

It seems, then, that all is ended; it seems that, with the cessation of the worship and mystification of humanity by itself, the theological problem is for ever put aside. The gods have gone: there is nothing left for man but to grow weary and die in his egoism. What frightful solitude extends around me, and forces its way to the bottom of my soul! My exaltation resembles annihilation; and, since I made myself a God, I seem but a shadow. It is possible that I am still a me, but it is very difficult to regard myself as the absolute; and, if I am not the absolute, I am only half of an idea.

Some ironical thinker, I know not who, has said: “A little philosophy leads away from religion, and much philosophy leads back to it.” This proposition is humiliatingly true.

Every science develops in three successive periods, which may be called — comparing them with the grand periods of civilization — the religious period, the sophistical period, the scientific period. [3] Thus, alchemy represents the religious period of the science afterwards called chemistry, whose definitive plan is not yet discovered; likewise astrology was the religious period of another science, since established, — astronomy.

Now, after being laughed at for sixty years about the philosopher’s stone, chemists, governed by experience, no longer dare to deny the transmutability of bodies; while astronomers are led by the structure of the world to suspect also an organism of the world; that is, something precisely like astrology. Are we not justified in saying, in imitation of the philosopher just quoted, that, if a little chemistry leads away from the philosopher’s stone, much chemistry leads back to it; and similarly, that, if a little astronomy makes us laugh at astrologers, much astronomy will make us believe in them? [4]

I certainly have less inclination to the marvellous than many atheists, but I cannot help thinking that the stories of miracles, prophecies, charms, etc., are but distorted accounts of the extraordinary effects produced by certain latent forces, or, as was formerly said, by occult powers. Our science is still so brutal and unfair; our professors exhibit so much impertinence with so little knowledge; they deny so impudently facts which embarrass them, in order to protect the opinions which they champion, — that I distrust strong minds equally with superstitious ones. Yes, I am convinced of it; our gross rationalism is the inauguration of a period which, thanks to science, will become truly prodigious; the universe, to my eyes, is only a laboratory of magic, from which anything may be expected.... This said, I return to my subject.

They would be deceived, then, who should imagine, after my rapid survey of religious progress, that metaphysics has uttered its last word upon the double enigma expressed in these four words, — the existence of God, the immortality of the soul. Here, as elsewhere, the most advanced and best established conclusions, those which seem to have settled for ever the theological question, lead us back to primeval mysticism, and involve the new data of an inevitable philosophy. The criticism of religious opinions makes us smile today both at ourselves and at religions; and yet the resume of this criticism is but a reproduction of the problem. The human race, at the present moment, is on the eve of recognizing and affirming something equivalent to the old notion of Divinity; and this, not by a spontaneous movement as before, but through reflection and by means of irresistible logic. I will try, in a few words, to make myself understood.

If there is a point on which philosophers, in spite of themselves, have finally succeeded in agreeing, it is without doubt the distinction between intelligence and necessity, the subject of thought and its object, the me and the not-me; in ordinary terms, spirit and matter. I know well that all these terms express nothing that is real and true; that each of them designates only a section of the absolute, which alone is true and real; and that, taken separately, they involve, all alike, a contradiction. But it is no less certain also that the absolute is completely inaccessible to us; that we know it only by its opposite extremes, which alone fall within the limits of our experience; and that, if unity only can win our faith, duality is the first condition of science.

Thus, who thinks, and what is thought? What is a soul? what is a body? I defy any one to escape this dualism. It is with essences as with ideas: the former are seen separated in Nature, as the latter in the understanding; and just as the ideas of God and immortality, in spite of their identity, are posited successively and contradictorily in philosophy, so, in spite of their fusion in the absolute, the me and the not-me posit themselves separately and contradictorily in Nature, and we have beings who think, at the same time with others which do not think.

Now, whoever has taken pains to reflect knows today that such a distinction, wholly realized though it be, is the most unintelligible, most contradictory, most absurd thing which reason can possibly meet. Being is no more conceivable without the properties of spirit than without the properties of matter: so that if you deny spirit, because, included in none of the categories of time, space, motion, solidity, etc., it seems deprived of all the attributes which constitute reality, I in my turn will deny matter, which, presenting nothing appreciable but its inertia, nothing intelligible but its forms, manifests itself nowhere as cause (voluntary and free), and disappears from view entirely as substance; and we arrive at pure idealism, that is, nihility. But nihility is inconsistent with the existence of living, reasoning — I know not what to call them — uniting in themselves, in a state of commenced synthesis or imminent dissolution, all the antagonistic attributes of being. We are compelled, then, to end in a dualism whose terms we know perfectly well to be false, but which, being for us the condition of the truth, forces itself irresistibly upon us; we are compelled, in short, to commence, like Descartes and the human race, with the me; that is, with spirit.

But, since religions and philosophies, dissolved by analysis, have disappeared in the theory of the absolute, we know no better than before what spirit is, and in this differ from the ancients only in the wealth of language with which we adorn the darkness that envelops us. With this exception, however; that while, to the ancients, order revealed intelligence outside of the world, to the people of today it seems to reveal it rather within the world. Now, whether we place it within or without, from the moment we affirm it on the ground of order, we must admit it wherever order is manifested, or deny it altogether. There is no more reason for attributing intelligence to the head which produced the “Iliad” than to a mass of matter which crystallizes in octahedrons; and, reciprocally, it is as absurd to refer the system of the world to physical laws, leaving out an ordaining ME, as to attribute the victory of Marengo to strategic combinations, leaving out the first consul. The only distinction that can be made is that, in the latter case, the thinking ME is located in the brain of a Bonaparte, while, in the case of the universe, the ME has no special location, but extends everywhere.

The materialists think that they have easily disposed of their opponents by saying that man, having likened the universe to his body, finishes the comparison by presuming the existence in the universe of a soul similar to that which he supposes to be the principle of his own life and thought; that thus all the arguments in support of the existence of God are reducible to an analogy all the more false because the term of comparison is itself hypothetical.

It is certainly not my intention to defend the old syllogism: Every arrangement implies an ordaining intelligence; there is wonderful order in the world; then the world is the work of an intelligence. This syllogism, discussed so widely since the days of Job and Moses, very far from being a solution, is but the statement of the problem which it assumes to solve. We know perfectly well what order is, but we are absolutely ignorant of the meaning of the words Soul, Spirit, Intelligence: how, then, can we logically reason from the presence of the one to the existence of the other? I reject, then, even when advanced by the most thoroughly informed, the pretended proof of the existence of God drawn from the presence of order in the world; I see in it at most only an equation offered to philosophy. Between the conception of order and the affirmation of spirit there is a deep gulf of metaphysics to be filled up; I am unwilling, I repeat, to take the problem for the demonstration.

But this is not the point which we are now considering. I have tried to show that the human mind was inevitably and irresistibly led to the distinction of being into me and not-me, spirit and matter, soul and body. Now, who does not see that the objection of the materialists proves the very thing it is intended to deny? Man distinguishing within himself a spiritual principle and a material principle, — what is this but Nature herself, proclaiming by turns her double essence, and bearing testimony to her own laws? And notice the inconsistency of materialism: it denies, and has to deny, that man is free; now, the less liberty man has, the more weight is to be attached to his words, and the greater their claim to be regarded as the expression of truth. When I hear this machine say to me, “I am soul and I am body,” though such a revelation astonishes and confounds me, it is invested in my eyes with an authority incomparably greater than that of the materialist who, correcting conscience and Nature, undertakes to make them say, “I am matter and only matter, and intelligence is but the material faculty of knowing.”

What would become of this assertion, if, assuming in my turn the offensive, I should demonstrate that belief in the existence of bodies, or, in other words, in the reality of a purely corporeal nature, is untenable? Matter, they say, is impenetrable. — Impenetrable by what? I ask. Itself, undoubtedly; for they would not dare to say spirit, since they would therein admit what they wish to set aside. Whereupon I raise this double question: What do you know about it, and what does it signify?

1. Impenetrability, which is pretended to be the definition of matter, is only an hypothesis of careless naturalists, a gross conclusion deduced from a superficial judgment. Experience shows that matter possesses infinite divisibility, infinite expansibility, porosity without assignable limits, and permeability by heat, electricity, and magnetism, together with a power of retaining them indefinitely; affinities, reciprocal influences, and transformations without number: qualities, all of them, hardly compatible with the assumption of an impenetrable aliquid. Elasticity, which, better than any other property of matter, could lead, through the idea of spring or resistance, to that of impenetrability, is subject to the control of a thousand circumstances, and depends entirely on molecular attraction: now, what is more irreconcilable with impenetrability than this attraction? Finally, there is a science which might be defined with exactness as the science of penetrability of matter: I mean chemistry. In fact, how does what is called chemical composition differ from penetration? [5].... In short, we know matter only through its forms; of its substance we know nothing. How, then, is it possible to affirm the reality of an invisible, impalpable, incoercible being, ever changing, ever vanishing, impenetrable to thought alone, to which it exhibits only its disguises? Materialist! I permit you to testify to the reality of your sensations; as to what occasions them, all that you can say involves this reciprocity: something (which you call matter) is the occasion of sensations which are felt by another something (which I call spirit).

2. But what, then, is the source of this supposition that matter is impenetrable, which external observation does not justify and which is not true; and what is its meaning?

Here appears the triumph of dualism. Matter is pronounced impenetrable, not, as the materialists and the vulgar fancy, by the testimony of the senses, but by the conscience. The me, an incomprehensible nature, feeling itself free, distinct, and permanent, and meeting outside of itself another nature equally incomprehensible, but also distinct and permanent in spite of its metamorphoses, declares, on the strength of the sensations and ideas which this essence suggests to it, that the not-me is extended and impenetrable. Impenetrability is a figurative term, an image by which thought, a division of the absolute, pictures to itself material reality, another division of the absolute; but this impenetrability, without which matter disappears, is, in the last analysis, only a spontaneous judgment of inward sensation, a metaphysical a priori, an unverified hypothesis of spirit.

Thus, whether philosophy, after having overthrown theological dogmatism, spiritualizes matter or materializes thought, idealizes being or realizes ideas; or whether, identifying substance and cause, it everywhere substitutes FORCE, phrases, all, which explain and signify nothing, — it always leads us back to this everlasting dualism, and, in summoning us to believe in ourselves, compels us to believe in God, if not in spirits. It is true that, making spirit a part of Nature, in distinction from the ancients, who separated it, philosophy has been led to this famous conclusion, which sums up nearly all the fruit of its researches: In man spirit knows itself, while everywhere else it seems not to know itself — “That which is awake in man, which dreams in the animal, and sleeps in the stone,” said a philosopher.

Philosophy, then, in its last hour, knows no more than at its birth: as if it had appeared in the world only to verify the words of Socrates, it says to us, wrapping itself solemnly around with its funeral pall, “I know only that I know nothing.” What do I say? Philosophy knows today that all its judgments rest on two equally false, equally impossible, and yet equally necessary and inevitable hypotheses, — matter and spirit. So that, while in former times religious intolerance and philosophic disputes, spreading darkness everywhere, excused doubt and tempted to libidinous indifference, the triumph of negation on all points no longer permits even this doubt; thought, freed from every barrier, but conquered by its own successes, is forced to affirm what seems to it clearly contradictory and absurd. The savages say that the world is a great fetich watched over by a great manitou. For thirty centuries the poets, legislators, and sages of civilization, handing down from age to age the philosophic lamp, have written nothing more sublime than this profession of faith. And here, at the end of this long conspiracy against God, which has called itself philosophy, emancipated reason concludes with savage reason, The universe is a not-me, objectified by a me.

Humanity, then, inevitably supposes the existence of God: and if, during the long period which closes with our time, it has believed in the reality of its hypothesis; if it has worshipped the inconceivable object; if, after being apprehended in this act of faith, it persists knowingly, but no longer voluntarily, in this opinion of a sovereign being which it knows to be only a personification of its own thought; if it is on the point of again beginning its magic invocations, — we must believe that so astonishing an hallucination conceals some mystery, which deserves to be fathomed.

I say hallucination and mystery, but without intending to deny thereby the superhuman content of the God-idea, and without admitting the necessity of a new symbolism, — I mean a new religion. For if it is indisputable that humanity, in affirming God, — or all that is included in the word me or spirit, — only affirms itself, it is equally undeniable that it affirms itself as something other than its own conception of itself, as all mythologies and theologies show. And since, moreover, this affirmation is incontestable, it depends, without doubt, upon hidden relations, which ought, if possible, to be determined scientifically.

In other words, atheism, sometimes called humanism, true in its critical and negative features, would be, if it stopped at man in his natural condition, if it discarded as an erroneous judgment the first affirmation of humanity, that it is the daughter, emanation, image, reflection, or voice of God, -humanism, I say, if it thus denied its past, would be but one contradiction more. We are forced, then, to undertake the criticism of humanism; that is, to ascertain whether humanity, considered as a whole and throughout all its periods of development, satisfies the Divine idea, after eliminating from the latter the exaggerated and fanciful attributes of God; whether it satisfies the perfection of being; whether it satisfies itself. We are forced, in short, to inquire whether humanity tends toward God, according to the ancient dogma, or is itself becoming God, as modern philosophers claim. Perhaps we shall find in the end that the two systems, despite their seeming opposition, are both true and essentially identical: in that case, the infallibility of human reason, in its collective manifestations as well as its studied speculations, would be decisively confirmed. — In a word, until we have verified to man the hypothesis of God, there is nothing definitive in the atheistic negation.

It is, then, a scientific, that is, an empirical demonstration of the idea of God, that we need: now, such a demonstration has never been attempted. Theology dogmatizing on the authority of its myths, philosophy speculating by the aid of categories, God has existed as a transcendental conception, incognizable by the reason, and the hypothesis always subsists.

It subsists, I say, this hypothesis, more tenacious, more pitiless than ever. We have reached one of those prophetic epochs when society, scornful of the past and doubtful of the future, now distractedly clings to the present, leaving a few solitary thinkers to establish the new faith; now cries to God from the depths of its enjoyments and asks for a sign of salvation, or seeks in the spectacle of its revolutions, as in the entrails of a victim, the secret of its destiny.

Why need I insist further? The hypothesis of God is allowable, for it forces itself upon every man in spite of himself: no one, then, can take exception to it. He who believes can do no less than grant me the supposition that God exists; he who denies is forced to grant it to me also, since he entertained it before me, every negation implying a previous affirmation; as for him who is in doubt, he needs but to reflect a moment to understand that his doubt necessarily supposes an unknown something, which, sooner or later, he will call God.

But if I possess, through the fact of my thought, the right to suppose God, I must abandon the right to affirm him. In other words, if my hypothesis is irresistible, that, for the present, is all that I can pretend. For to affirm is to determine; now, every determination, to be true, must be reached empirically. In fact, whoever says determination, says relation, conditionality, experience. Since, then, the determination of the idea of God must result from an empirical demonstration, we must abstain from everything which, in the search for this great unknown, not being established by experience, goes beyond the hypothesis, under penalty of relapsing into the contradictions of theology, and consequently arousing anew atheistic dissent.

[ratatouillewastakendammit]

Another smut excerpt of my Chrollo fic <3 (holding up hypnotism wheel Oh you wanna click that link so bad)

(reader has nen abilities that let other people feel her emotions when touching her)

＊

＊

"Again."

With a pained sigh, you pushed yourself off the grass, ignoring the painful urge to lay back down and rest your aching muscles.

Per your request, you had sacrificed a Saturday of lazing around to pick up training again. With the York New auction steadily approaching, you weren't keen on the possibility of holding the Troupe back with your less than extraordinary combat skills.

Improvements had been made, sure, but most of the members were still so far ahead of you.

And Chrollo was a whole different story.

Saying he was a formidable opponent would have been a crude understatement.

With his acute senses and unparalleled intelligence, he could easily beat you within seconds, as he had multiple times in the past half hour. But adding that to smooth reflexes and years of his own power cultivation meant the defeat was inevitable before stepping into the ring.

Shooting forward, you immediately analyzed his relaxed posture, searching for any areas that might give you an opening. Within seconds, you attempted to analyze his exposed stance, despite recognizing that it was a purposeful tactic.

Like a usually dormant animal, Chrollo never seemed to make the first progression with you, instead waiting for you to strike before mirroring in retaliation.

Arrogance was not an adjective you would use when describing yourself, and stupidly was probably lower on that list. It was obvious that he would be able to overcome you just as easily now as in a situation where he threw the first hit, so you didn't make any negative comments. Besides, you were the one who had asked for his help anyway.

You tensed your hand, lunging forward.

Fatigue had begun to take a toll on your body, making the once agile movements sloppy under the weight of exhaustion. He effortlessly caught your fist, using it as leverage to yank your body past his and effectively tripping you with an outstretched ankle.

With a surprised yelp, you fell to the ground once more, a location that seemed pretty popular for you during these training sessions.

Still encasing your hand, Chrollo positioned your tumble so that the most force would be taken on your back instead of into a face full of dirt. Regardless, the air was jerked from your lungs upon impact. This gave him ample opportunity to guide your arms above your head, efficiently rendering you incapacitated.

He peered down at your form, searching for any hint of unexpected retaliation. Obviously, he found none, having left your limbs useless from his own imprisoning grasp and hours of debilitating exercise.

"And I think that leaves me with another victory. Unless, of course, you're planning to beat me from all the way down there." Not a drop of sweat coated his flawless skin, a physical reminder of his superiority in this realm.

You shot him a glare, squinting in between the splintered rays of sun his form had fractured. It had started to set a few minutes ago, emphasizing the shadows that hid dormant around the desolate field.

"Fuck you."

"Time and place, darling." He quipped, offering you a hand up.

You took it with an irritated scoff, but you couldn't help the spark of warmth his words sent blossoming up into your cheeks.

It had been two weeks since you had fucked Chrollo Lucilfer.

Not that you were counting or anything.

As it turned out, even after years of surviving without the contact you unfortunately lacked, you were quite a sucker for it.

A mere taste of his caress left you with an irritatingly strong craving for more. So many waking minutes were spent wondering if or when he would take your mouth in his again.

Obviously, you weren't going to bring it up. The subject was still new and delicate to you. While completely normal, it was almost as if mentioning it might break some part of the stability you had gained in this relationship, or embarrass you at the very least.

So, you had come to the sullen conclusion to ignore the problem unless he mentioned it. Still, it was impossible to disregard the hollow yearning that grew stronger with every flirtatious comment or innocent brush.

Just as now, when he arms wrapped around your torso to teleport back to the penthouse. The world around you dissolved as usual, objects melting into one another before rebuilding into a completely new location.

The inclination to stay in his grasp was strong, but you forced yourself away, not wanting to slowly ease into the desire that you had tried so hard to overcome. If he took notice, Chrollo didn't show it, offering to begin dinner while you hopped into the shower.

Cold water fell down your body, but it did nothing to quell the itching warmth of your longing. It might've been because you had been deprived of that aspect for so long or maybe because of the blockages, both emotional and material, that you had built.

With a nen ability that transferred your emotions through direct physicality, you had never entertained the notion of enjoying it.

Even if you were strong enough to constantly conjure an output of protective aura, you doubted that you would ever really be able to relax in the presence of another.

Chrollo's individual mastery had been quite the beneficial skill. It not only allowed you to become more lenient in how you approached human contact, but embrace it in some way.

On the other hand, your continual itch for his touch might have been because of how good it was. Obviously, you had nothing in terms of comparison, but fuck, you were getting needy.

With a soft swipe of your arm, the fog was wiped from the mirror, revealing your reflected image. The form looked back at you, no longer smothered in dirt and sweat, but still just as unsatisfied. She dried the dampness from her skin with a plush towel before throwing on a pair of shorts and oversized shirt.

It was one of his.

While he wasn't exceptionally larger in terms of muscle, his height warranted a big enough difference so that fabric fell just above your knees. Even though you had your own pajamas, you had found that his stolen clothes were your favorite type of apparel in terms of comfort.

With your hair cleaned and favorably restyled, you walked out from his bathroom into the living room.

The aroma of miso and simmering garlic met your senses, matching with the soft sizzle of frying butter. You followed the pleasant scent inside the kitchen, meeting Chrollo, who had just finished introducing noodles into the cacophony of flavor.

Watching him cook was something you genuinely enjoyed. He displayed an odd nimbleness between the searing heat of the pan or the fine tip of a cutting knife that would usually have you mesmerized.

However, you were still a bit distracted at the moment, to say the least. Before you knew it, two bowls of steaming umami were being carried over to the table. You ate with sizable gratitude, the hollow emptiness in your stomach from extraneous activity finally filled.

The meal was mostly quiet, most likely because you were the more talkative individual of the two of you. This time, you pushed yourself to ignore the other hankering that had yet to be gratified, instead focusing on the luscious flavor of the broth against your tongue.

And while that strategy might have worked for a while, your self-control crept away as soon as you moved to the couch.

With tentative maneuvering, you allowed yourself to lean into Chrollo, body tensing slightly when he pulled you closer.

The television was turned on, though you weren't exactly sure what was playing. It became a muted buzz as you mentally willed yourself to relax, an endeavor that grew increasingly harder as his hands trailed down to meet yours.

A surprised hum met the muffled silence of the unknown channel and you, curious, offered him a detached murmur of inquisition.

"Nothing." He replied, offered you a small grin. "You're just really turned on right now."

Your eyes shot up.

"What? No, I'm not!" Your sputtering fizzled to silence as he slowly raised your uncovered wrist, still in his grasp. It clicked and your jaw dropped in shock. "You, asshole! What happened to your weirdo constant nen output bullshit?"

"I thought I was making you nervous for some reason so I figured I would check." He chuckled under his breath. "Clearly not."

Heat blossomed up your neck as you snatched your arm from his grasp. "That's cheating!"

He cocked an eyebrow in amusement. "Cheating? That's quite an assumption, darling. Besides, you clearly weren't going to say anything."

"Well, you weren't doing anything either." You scoffed, crossing your arms. "I didn't want to bother you with doing something like... ya know, if you didn't want to."

"Didn't want to?" The muscle in your chest began to accelerate as he turned, gently guiding your shoulders back until you were laying flat on the couch. "I've wanted you for months."

"So why didn't you? Say anything, I mean."

"I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable." Ebony locks perfectly framed every angle of his face as he looked down at you, falling slightly to the left as he tilted his head in inspection. "Of course, I was under the impression that you would've asked for my help."

"I don't..." You shifted underneath him, averting your gaze with an awkward sigh. "I don't like asking for stuff like that. It's embarrassing."

Consideration flit across his face for a moment, only to be replaced moments later with desire. "Well, that works out perfectly then. You won't have to ask."

With a complacent smirk beginning to grace his features, you watched in confusion as leaned forward, warm breath tickling the rim of your ear. You gasped when he lifted his knee, pushing it in between your thighs.

"You're going to beg."

And then his mouth was on your skin.

His kiss traveled from below your ear to past your collarbone. A pleasured sigh was quickly drawn from in between your lips, captured moments later by his own once more.

Goosebumps erupted up your back as his hands slipped under your shirt, ghosting above the curves of your hips before moving up to find your chest, gently beginning to knead the flesh.

Dexterous fingers rolled over your hardened nipple, delivering soft pinches whenever he saw fit. That recognizable, titillating warmth had begun to flare in your abdomen, increasing steadily until the area underneath was throbbing in anticipation. In desperation, you began to unconsciously grind your hips against his knee, relishing in the dull pressure it provided against your clit.

With one final tweak, he changed positions to wrap his arms under your thighs, allowing him to prop you up and efficiently move to his room while keeping his mouth on yours.

After carefully setting you down on the bed, his lips resumed their previous placement on your neck, sucking and biting and creating the marks you were sure would have to be hidden later.

But you didn't care.

Your attention was intently captured on the way he was making you feel, the way he lifted the fabric of your shirt to let his kiss trail between your breasts and down toward your stomach.

His hands playfully rimmed the hem of your shorts, toying with the fabric that blocked his contact from where you needed it most.

"I know how much you hate that part of your nen ability, but in all honesty," He pulled the piece of clothing away. "I quite enjoy feeling how desperate you are for me."

Confusion arose on your face as you watched him fall back, tugging your ankles to pull your body closer to the edge of the bed. "What are you doing?"

Ignoring your question, Chrollo took a knee on the mattress, bending down so he was eye level with your form. You immediately went to close your legs in a feeble attempt at preserving your dignity, but he held you steady.

Silver irises shot up to meet yours. "Eyes on me, darling."

He placed his mouth on your thighs, dangerously close to aching slit, marking the soft flesh before moving back for a moment.

And then he licked straight from your cunt to the tip of nerves above it, gaze trained unwavering on your face the whole time. Your back arched in surprise and you tried to stifle the whine threatening to fall from your throat.

Still, a quiet hum slipped out, tickling Chrollo's acute sense.

Removing his tongue from your skin, he gave you an expression laced in imitated disappointment. "I'm almost certain I mentioned something about staying quiet last time."

'I want to hear you.'

But you offered him a shrug, refusing to entertain his constant teasing. "Must've slipped my mind."

"Oh, I'm happy to help jog your memory. I said," his grasp on your thighs tightened, fingers diving downward to toy with the wetness of your slit. "that I want to hear every pathetic sound that comes from that nasty, little mouth of yours."

"Sorry, doesn't ring a bell." You retorted, trying to remain steady in the wake of his words.

He cocked an eyebrow, obviously unfazed. You simply mirrored the action and he hummed in the feigned displeasure encasing his amusement.

"Such a brat."

Leaning down once more, he encased his lips around your clit.

And then he sucked.

Hard.

The moan that was ripped was nothing less than disgraceful. The sinful noise echoed off through the room, no longer stifled with unmet attempts.

His tongue swirled around the oversensitive bud, pulling similar sounds with each lick.

It wasn't long before your high was advancing, pulling you closer and closer to the brink of euphoria with every oral caress. It was at arms reach, mere moments away from the release you had been neglected of these past weeks.

And then it was gone, sweet bliss yanked between the tips of your fingers as he backed away.

"What... what are you doing?" You breathed, glancing up in shock. The whine was exceptionally pitiful, but you lacked the mind to care, still reeling over the loss of your ever-so-near climax.

"You don't know?" He tilted his head. "I know you had some trouble remembering my words earlier, but I'm sure you can manage to conjure up something more recent."

Bits and pieces about making you beg filtered through your train of thought and you groaned in realization. "Fuck you."

Chrollo chuckled, tone dangerously low. His fingers teased your slit, thumb barely grazing the oversensitive tip. "That's the idea, but I don't think you've earned that yet."

Every whisper of pleasure was pure torture.

Even as he finally began to apply pressure, you knew that it would merely be a tease, offering you the notion of satisfaction just to tear it from your grasp moments later.

He inserted a finger, pumping it in and a few times before following it with another, making sure to keep his thumb trained on your clit.

Already close from before, it didn't take long for you to creep up upon your high. Of course, he was able to tell, well acquainted with the unconscious roll of your hips and the convulsions around his hand that signaled a climax.

It was stolen away from you once more.

Hot tears brimming at the corner of your eyes threatened to overflow, boiling with physical frustration.

Taking notice, he let out a laugh, brushing away one of the droplets with tender mocking. "Aww, did you want to come?"

"Please." You breathed, taking notice of the cruel glee lacing his expression.

"Oh, come on." He pushed a strand of stray hair behind your ear. The gesture seemed loving, but his tone reeked of imitated sympathy. "I know you can do better than that."

"Please." You repeated, a little louder this time, even though it came out sounding just as pathetic. "Fuck, I'll do anything, just please."

He removed his other hand from your thigh to undo the strings of his sweatpants. "Please, what, darling? You're going to have to be more specific."

Embarrassment pushed into the forefront of your mind, but it was nothing in comparison to the burning need already present.

You averted your line of sight, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Please let me come."

The statement was flustered and quick, something much too humiliating to admit at a normal volume. Still, warmth blossomed up your neck as it was quietly sputtered.

Tipping your chin gently with the tip of his finger, he forced your gaze to meet his. "Now that wasn't too hard, was it, love?"

Aligning himself at your entrance, he pushed forward in a way that set every nerve in your body on fire.

He started to roll his hips into yours at a steady pace and you groaned at the delectable pressure, fingers curling into the silk sheets that had once been so pristinely organized.

But just as you were, they had turned into a mess, undone easily in the hands of another.

Chrollo's thumb found your clit once more, circling around it in a tortuously slow rotation. The prickling heat in your core sparked brightly with every thrust. His previously established rhythm had started to accelerate, leaving you a puddle of desire.

Bliss had clouded over your vision, infiltrating your train of thought until there was nothing left but pure lust. The soft throb in between your thighs had also begun to quicken, matching the speeding drum of the muscle against the walls of your chest.

Some part of you, most likely the perceptive fragment left, took notice of it. "I... I'm gonna-" The rest of your statement fizzled away into a broken moan.

"I know, darling, go ahead." By the soft rasp in his voice, you were almost certain he might have been close too.

Your climax was merely a whisper away, taunting you with its cruel pleasure. It filled you to the brim, bursting at the seams and threatening to spill over.

Ecstasy shot through your body, flooding over your conscious mind in a way that your legs shaking. A sharp cry was torn from your throat as you arched into the euphoria.

Gently helping you down from your high, Chrollo continued, finding his own soon after with his hands still wrapped around your hips. He gave them a soft squeeze, carefully pulling out and picking you up to continue the same route he had the night of your first time.

Prior exhaustion seemed to have crept back. The hot bath water felt all the more delightful against your skin, soothing the sore muscles between bubbles that smelled of lavender and vanilla.

Chrollo's loving praises and soft caress filtered through the aromatic foam. You watched as he turned away to grab a towel and another shirt, still his.

"Thank you." You murmured, taking his hand out of the tub.

"Of course, my love." Brushing the wet hair away past your ear, he placed a soft kiss upon your temple with a smile. "Always."

[ironwoman359]

Taylor Reads - July WrapUp

So I have a spreadsheet where I keep track of all the books I read each year, and I also keep a scrapbook style reading journal where each month has a spread of all the books I read that month, and I'm going to start putting my wrap ups here on tumblr, because I can :3

I had a unexpectedly fruitful reading month in July; I only read three books in June, but the League of Extraordinary Gentlefolk comic here on tumblr made me want to read some classic victorian sci-fi, which pulled me out of my reading slump and got the ball rolling on some of my reading goals.

Here's everything I read in a glance, and beneath the cut is a little blurb review for each book!

The Black God's Drums by P. Djeli Clark - 4/5 Stars This is a fantasy novella set in a post Civil War alternate history steampunk New Orleans featuring street urchins and sky pirates. Need I say more? P. Djeli Clark became an auto-read author for me after I read Ring Shout, and while this didn't have quite the punch of that story, I still thoroughly enjoyed it.

The Invisible Man by H.G. Wells - 3.5/5 Stars My first classic of the month, I went back and forth on whether to rate this book 3 or 3.5 stars (I think it's rated 3 on my storygraph, actually), because while there were parts that were slow/boring to read, some of the prose was very memorable, and the ending was excellent. I find Dracula to be a bit more readable, but if you're interested in these early sci-fi classics, I still definitely recommend it.

20,000 Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne - 2.5/5 Stars This book, on the other hand, I found mostly frustrating. I wonder if I would have enjoyed it more in a serialized fashion similar to Dracula Daily, because the long descriptions of travel to a place where nothing much happens and lists of fish and mollusk species that our main character saw quickly became boring. These moments were interspersed with genuinely interesting character moments and scenes of adventure, but reading the whole book in one week really detracted the impact of those scenes for me. Maybe read an abridged version if you're interested in the story but have more trouble with older books.

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson - 4.5/5 Stars This was by far my favorite of the classic sci-fi (or would this be classic horror?) books that I read this month. The book is presented as a mystery that, as a modern reader, it's hard not to know the twist to, but even then, the execution keeps you engaged the entire time. This is by far the most readable of the classics I read this month as well, and is also very short, so there's nothing holding you as a modern reader back from checking this one out! I dinged it half a star because I found the ending to be a bit abrupt and unsatisfying; I wish we'd gotten to see our pov character react to the final explanations and truths instead of him just vanishing from the story. But still, this was very very good!

Cinderella is Dead by Kalynn Bayron - 4/5 Stars Do you want a sapphic YA fairy tale retelling where our black lesbian protagonist decides to attempt to single-handedly overthrow the patriarchy? Yes, yes you do. While not a perfect five stars, this book still felt absolutely tailor made to my specific tastes, and if I had been a teen myself when it came out I probably would have been obsessed with it. Kalynn Bayron just had a snow white retelling come out last month and if it's anything like this then I need it in my hands yesterday.

The Time Machine by H.G. Wells - 3/5 Stars Reading the book that is credited for popularizing the idea of a time machine as an avid fan of time travel stories today was an interesting experience. I have a few more books of his on my tbr to go before I can make a final judgement, but I'm not sure if Wells's writing style is really connecting with me. I found this to be a little more readable line by line than The Invisible Man, but there were more striking character moments in that book than in this one. Still, seeing the arguable origin of one of my favorite sci-fi subgenres was very cool.

Assistant to the Villain by Hannah Nicole Maehrer - 2/5 Stars I started writing a stand alone review for this book and it's already over one thousand words long. It seems I always have more to say about a book that I thought was bad than a book I thought was good. Suffice it to say, this book had a good premise (if you're into that sort of thing) but it needed several more rounds of editing. It felt like I was reading an unpolished manuscript that had been sent out on submission, not a finished product that I paid money for. Very disappointing.

The Hero of Ages by Brandon Sanderson - 4.5/5 Stars There's not much you can say about this book on its own, as it's the third book in a trilogy, but suffice it to say it was a perfect ending to said trilogy. I have so much love for these characters and this world, and I can't wait to start reading era 2!...after I start Stormlight. And Warbreaker. Why am I trying to read the entire cosmere before Wind and Truth comes out why is this my life-

He Who Drowned the World by Shelley Parker-Chan - 4/5 Stars So this is a book that I started on audio back at the end of May, and for whatever reason I listened to the first 60% or so in a few days and then just...stopped. Had no desire to pick it back up, not because it wasn't good, it was, it was really good, I just had some kind of mental block on it for some reason. Then in a burst of inspiration after finishing the Hero of Ages a few days ago, I put the book back on and listened to another hour of it, then finished the rest on ebook during a slow couple hours at work. Again, not much to say about this if you haven't read the first book, She Who Became the Sun, but I highly recommend this duology, it's incredibly written, queer as hell, and the ending was extremely satisfying.

Abeni's Song by P. Djeli Clark - 5/5 Stars Beginning the month where we started it with P. Djeli Clark, this time with his middle grade debut! I love middle grade books, I usually read at least one per month if not more, and this was an absolutely stellar example of the genre. A great coming of age story based on West African mythology with lovable characters and the type of plot that will keep even adults hooked, I highly recommend this and can't wait to read the sequel when it comes out next year!

[moonjxsung]

Adding onto my last ask with my top 5 albums of ALL TIME….. in this order under great duress, but realistically they’re all fucking phenomenal:

1. Junk- M83

Ohhhhh my fucking god. I could talk about this album for YEARS. The instrumentals. The mix between upbeat/melancholy, the way it tells a story the whole way through. Guys I listened to this album on a loop all of winter and it’s officially my most listened to album of all time. Absolutely fucking phenomenal. Favs on here are probably “Bibi the Dog” and “Solitude” but it’s truly no-skip. This album makes me ascend. I would’ve killed to watch their Coachella set in 2016

2. How to Be a Human Being- Glass Animals

This albums feels like being transported back to the early 90s- it sounds like vibrant colors and textures and it’s just some of the most unique sounds I’ve ever heard. Beautiful lyricism from Glass Animals always. They were my most listened to artist in high school and seeing them get so big is like !!! ummm deserved !!! Favs on here are “Life Itself” and “Mama’s Gun”

3. Zaba- Glass Animals

By far the sexiest album I’ve ever heard. Sexy instrumentals, sexy lyrics. I need to eat someone out to this album do you understand !!!! This was my most listened to album in freshman year of high school and I used to listen to it on the way to competitions and fantasize about this one percussion instructor I was obsessed with who drove a really fancy Porsche. This album still sounds like him to me. Favs are “Hazey”, “Gooey” and “Wyrd”

4. Who Really Cares- TV Girl

Bisexual anthem clap if you’re surprised! No but this album feels like adjusting to your sexuality again at the tender age of half-fifty after one decade of antidepressants and selling your identity off to intrusive thoughts (meee :3) it makes me cry, it makes me laugh, it’s inspiring. I listen to this album and I’m like hmmm I hope everybody finds their own form of love in this universe and I hope they feel it so wholly and deeply that even the pain is subsided by the comfort in knowing that the human experience is a thing!!!! Favs are “Not Allowed” (fic which we do not speak of🫶), “For You”, and “Cigarettes out the Window”. My ex was a chain smoker so I hear a little bit of him in that one. Fuck you dude ❣️

5. DSVII- M83

Albums don’t need words to be fucking extraordinary. This one is that album for me. It transports me to a whole new world, the synth and the instrumentals are truly remarkable. It makes me feel like a child again and it reminds me of skipping school for a week straight when I had pneumonia and watching trippy 90s cartoons straight out of a fever dream over a bowl of soup. It’s like if “The Neverending Story” had a fully instrumental album to go with it. I hear Falkor in this entire album. Favs are “Feelings” and “Temple of Sorrow”

You’ll probably catch a few of these in fic playlists in the future, but highly recommend every single song on every single one of these albums. They remind me why I’m so into music in the first place. I can share my top 5 kpop albums if yall are interested tooooo 🫶👼 I love these questions so much thank u for this cloud anon ily

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Part 2 - Forgiven

A Till Death AU

Major spoilers for Till Death in this thing, obviously. Three parts, 2,5-3k words each. Content warning: It’s fucking cold.

Find Till Death here: Ebook | WIP Intro

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Snow. On the ground, on the trees, falling from the sky. Making each new step harder than the one before as Finnian stumbled through the bitter cold. Eyes almost closed against the biting wind, he pushed on. He couldn’t feel his hands anymore; the only reason he knew he was still holding the cane was because that damn thing got stuck on every possible obstruction hidden beneath the layer of white.

His toes were cold, and numb, and probably half frozen off already, too. It made it harder for him to keep his balance, and he kept stumbling, sinking up to his thighs into the snow. He wore both pants he owned over another, but the thin fabric was long soaked, sucking the last bit of warmth out of his body. 

After struggling back to his feet, Finnian clung to a tree, catching his breath. He didn’t have the strength to remove the freezing clumps clinging to his legs, and it would be pointless anyway. Instead, he squinted against the snow, hoping, praying to see anything at all. A path, the regular shape of a man-made structure, a warm light. Anything to show him the way.

His sense of direction had always been extraordinary, but no one would be able to orient themselves in a storm like this. The only thing telling him where he had come from was the trail he left in the snow. He didn’t know if he was still walking in the right direction. He feared he wasn’t. Even though he couldn’t see the sun, the light was fading. He should have been there already. 

Everything white was slowly turning gray. The ground. The clouds. All around him, the barren deciduous trees reached their branches towards the sky like skeletal fingers, the snow-covered pine trees looming dark and threatening in between. Droplets of red glistened in the snow in his wake, but he didn’t know where he was hurt, and it didn’t matter. At least he couldn’t feel it.

He fell, and he fought to get back to his feet. His hand around the cane trembled so hard it didn’t do much to keep him steady. Staring ahead, he dragged his feet through the snow until he fell again, and again, and again, and every time, it took him a bit longer to get up than the last.

Until he didn’t get back up.

His hand grasped at nothing, having lost the cane. He tried to push himself up with his arms instead, but they crumpled under him, leaving a flurry of red and muddy brown behind as his trembling fingers slid over the ground. Snow clung to his cheek, and his head still pounded, and he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and rest.

Looking at the endless white, he knew he wouldn’t open them again.

He gathered the last of his strength and started to crawl. Snow filled his boots and his sleeves as he dragged himself over the ground. He made it a step and a half before he collapsed for good, his shoulder stuck halfway in a pile of snow. Too weak to lift his head, Finnian tried to pull it deeper into his soaked scarf. If he cried, the tears froze on his cheeks before he could feel them. His eyes burned all the same.

It was hopeless. He wasn’t going to make it. Accepting the inevitable, Finnian closed his eyes. He pressed his hands against his chest in an attempt to keep them away from the snow, even if there was no warmth to find. As the storm raged around him, he tried to remember Eilis’ hut, to keep the one memory worth holding onto with him as the darkness reached for him.

* * * 

The storm was bad, but not as bad as she had expected. Eilis sat in front of the fireplace, a half empty mug of lukewarm tea next to her. Not wanting to bother with the unwieldy loom yet, and with too little light for embroidery, she alternated spinning and knitting last year’s dyed wool into a blanket. 

A loud bang outside made her drop the spindle, and not in the way it was meant to be dropped. She nudged it away from the fireplace with her foot, listening. Just when she thought the wind had blown a branch against her wall, the noise returned, and a moment later, metal clattered.

With a huffed exhale that was the closest to a curse she ever got, Eilis put her spindle aside. Silly goats. Of course, they would pick the worst time for their little games. Perhaps they were bored, or perhaps they were upset she had come earlier today for the second milking. Be it as it was, she had to make sure no one got hurt.

Instead of grabbing her shawl, she took her cloak from its hook, pulling the hood over her hair before she stepped outside. The sun had barely sunken below the horizon yet, and it was already so much colder than during the day. She kept close to the hut as she stomped towards the shed, the snow catching enough of the fading light so she didn’t need a lamp.

With her hands wrapped into her cloak, she wiped the stack of snow from the latch before pulling it back. She blocked the door with her foot as she opened it, only a slit in an attempt to keep the cold out and the animals in.

From inside the darkness, a goat bleated angrily and a black head rammed against the door. With a yelp, Eilis jumped back, her big toe pounding. Another impact, and the black one squeezed through the opening and ran off.

Hopping on one leg and humming angrily, Eilis peeked inside the shed. A few curious stares and the quiet rustling of feathers answered her, but all the other animals seemed to have settled down. She closed the door and started following the trail the black one had left in the snow, repeating in her mind every curse she had ever heard.

Anger was better than the fear creeping into her thoughts. If he ran into the forest in such weather, he was going to die. Gods, he had never done something like this before, and she could have understood it when he was a young ram, bored with being cooped up in the shed all winter; but why start now when he was getting old? 

Her heart sank when she saw that the trail led into the darkness between two snow-laden trees at the edge of her clearing. For a moment, she considered going back for a lamp, but that would cost her valuable time. With this much snow, it wasn’t the lack of light that was a problem anyway, it was the storm.

At least between the trees, the wind wasn’t as strong. With her cloak pulled tightly around her shoulders and her arms wrapped around herself, she followed the trail for a minute or two. The sight of a black shape against the barely brighter backdrop gave her new strength. She’d grab that stubborn goat by the horns and drag him back if she had to.

As she came closer, something didn’t look right. The black one wasn’t alone. Something—someone else was lying there, a shapeless mound in the snow, dark fabric and leather almost completely covered with white. The black one stood next to the figure, looking at her. Eilis ran, every exhale lingering in the air as a white cloud.

Next to the black one, she fell to her knees, her hands trembling as she reached out. What was someone doing out here, at night, during a storm? Perhaps a wanderer who had gotten lost. Who might already be dead, for all she knew. Who was—

Finnian.

For a few seconds, she stared into his too pale face, unable to believe it. His eyes were closed, his left temple crusted with dried blood. He didn’t stir as she put her hand on his cheek. Gods, he was so cold. She had to get him inside. 

When she tried to turn him onto his back, his backpack was in the way, so she slipped the stiff leather straps off his shoulders. Without it, she managed to roll him onto his back and pull his head into her lap. She couldn’t see if his chest was rising under layers of snow-crusted fabric, but if he was still breathing, it was shallow—or cold—enough not to be visible in the frigid air.

Don’t be dead don’t be dead don’t be dead.

Despite her quickly rising panic, she took the time to crawl around him, checking for obvious injuries she’d make worse by dragging him along. There were none. Instead, her knee hit the solid wood of his cane, which was buried in the snow next to him. 

As she dug it out, she wondered how she was going to carry it. He needed it, and if she waited until the morning to fetch it, the storm might very well bury her tracks and everything else under a fresh layer of snow. His backpack was less important, but perhaps she could carry it on her own back, or perhaps…

She fumbled with his cane, finally managing to tie it to the backpack, and then threw one of the straps over the black one’s head. The goat looked less than impressed, but he didn’t try to shake it off, dragging it behind him just as she dragged Finnian behind her.

The way back to her hut took way too long, and with every step, it became harder for her to dig her freezing fingers into his clothes and pull. Despite being dropped multiple times, Finnian didn’t wake up. Why didn’t he wake up? He had to wake up. He had to be alive.

Eilis almost fell into her hut with him, mobilizing the last of her strength to pull him in front of the fireplace, shoving the things lying there out of the way. Her cup toppled over, but she only threw a rag onto the spill, not bothering to clean it up properly. All the snow was going to melt anyway.

At a quiet “baa” from the door, Eilis’ head jerked up. The black one stood in the doorway, backpack strap wrapped around his neck and snow-covered backpack stuck on the doorframe. She cast one last glance at Finnian and jumped up, because she needed to close the door, and she couldn’t leave the goat outside in the cold.

After being freed from the backpack, the black one followed her willingly, vanishing into the shed without fuss. She’d have to thank him tomorrow, perhaps give him some dried carrots, but right now, she needed to make sure his vigilance hadn’t been in vain.

Back in the hut, with the backpack shoved into one corner and the door latched shut, Eilis approached Finnian, kneading her hands in an attempt to bring the feeling back into her fingers. He was so horribly pale, water dripping around his motionless body as the snow began to melt.

Please don’t be dead.

No. He couldn’t be. The layer of snow on top of him had been too thin for him to have been lying there for long, and besides, the black one must have heard him. He was alive, and he was going to be fine.

With shaking hands, she tugged on his clothes, freeing him from his soaked woolen scarf and tattered coat. Three shirts followed, one so threadbare and full of holes the only thing holding it together must be three strings and a prayer.

Clutching the wad of fabric, Eilis watched his chest. She held her breath until she saw it rise, and then her shoulders dropped with a relieved exhale. Still, she couldn’t help but notice how thin he was. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Perhaps he hadn’t. Half starved, half frozen, his clothes in tatters. What had happened to him?

She could ask him that when he was better.

With renewed determination, she went for his shoes. The leather was wet, but well-worn enough it wasn’t hard to get them off. His pants were a different story. The wet fabric clung to his skin, and tugging and pulling got her nowhere. She had to peel the layers off one by one, but even though she moved his bad leg this way and that, he didn’t wake up. 

When all the cold, wet fabric was finally gone, and all that was left on him was a small silver bell on a leather band around his neck, she rubbed him dry with the thinnest blanket of her stash, then spread one half of the remaining ones on the floor in front of the fireplace. She rolled him on top of the blankets so he was lying on his side and facing the fire, and buried him under the rest of the blankets. He would need more warmth than that, but first, she double-checked the door and windows, made sure the flame in the oil lamp was burning as low as possible in case the fire in the hearth went out, and stripped out of everything but her undergarment. 

The water in her pot was still lukewarm. She filled a cup and returned to Finnian’s side. He didn’t wake when she put her hand on his cheek, nor when she shook his shoulder. In the end, she dipped a piece of cloth into the water and squeezed the drops into his mouth, massaging his throat to prompt him to swallow.

After half the cup, she gave up. She put the water aside and threw more logs into the fire, glad she had brought enough wood inside to weather a several day storm. With her bare arm held in front of Finnian, she waited a few minutes to make sure he wasn’t too close to the fire. Assured that he wouldn’t be burning instead of freezing now, she slipped under the blankets behind him.

He was so terribly cold, not feeling like a living being at all, but as she pressed herself against his back, she could feel his breaths; weak, but regular. Eilis stretched to entangle her feet with his, wrapping both arms around him. Shivering, she thought back to the last time she had held him, worried he might die. Back then, she had been afraid to lose a stranger. This time, she was afraid to lose a friend.

And she wasn’t going to.

[noodles-n-soba]

How they'd spend old years eve with you

Modern AU!

Characters: Cyno, Heizou, Itto, Kazuha, Razor, Zhongli

CW: A lil nsfw at Heizou, didnt proofread!

A/N: Happy new year guys (well, in 11 minutes..) I hope y'all had a great year and I hope I could've made a lot of you better with my headcanons and fanfics. It's been a rough year for me too, but I still found a way to turn my battles into creativity. Stay safe :)

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Masterlist

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Cyno

You've been looking forward to spending this special day with Cyno..!

Throughout the year he been be all serious about business, never really having time to relax.. But now that it was old years eve, he could finally let out a sigh and relax on the couch.

It was his idea to start the night with a game of TCG, which you had started on.. But still, you weren't as good as him..

Playing cards for almost half an hour, since you were that desperate to win, you didn't realize it was already around 5 pm..

"Oh! We should prepare a meal for ourselves.." You mentioned.. Looking at the cards in your hands, you were so close to winning.. You actually wanted to continue the game.

Since you both weren't in the mood to invite anyone, you had the house all to your own... So, while you played another card, you two conversed about whatever you were going to cook.

 Finally bringing down one of his character cards, you had a mighty fine idea of dinner.. Well, he just mentioned a nice rice dish would've been okay with him, but of course.. You had to go extraordinary since it was old years eve..!

So, inspired you dropped your hand if cards, notifying Cyno you'd start cooking so you could be done by 6 pm.. He observed your cards, letting you know you could've won if you continued playing..

Cooking together with Cyno is a must... He can cook like a God. After you had explained your entire cooking plan, he proceeded to do his part with such precision.. You were almost afraid his vegetables would taste thousand times better-.. Like, come on.. Your prepared meat had to match the flavor..

As expected! The dish was AMAZING. Watching  game shows on TV while enjoying your meal together in peace was all you could've wished for!

He brought up a few jokes, but they were so bad.. Jeez..

After dinner you cleaned up and decided to lay on the couch, your head resting on his chest and continued to watch TV till it was almost time for the countdown..

Without any words he gazed at you, seeing the sparkle in your eye was way better than any firework.. But still...

"You want to watch outside?" The excitement was ginormous as you sat up straight, but not before you exchanged an I love you.

Looking out of the window, being comforted by each other's warmth, you shared your new years resolutions.. Staying with him till death separated you. Well, how cheesy, as a thousand sparks appeared in the sky, he told you he thought about the exact same thing.

Within a second it seemed like the night had suddenly turned into day, the amount of fireworks that were sent flying into the sky.. 00:00..

You wished each other a happy new year, smooching each other and smiling.. It wasnt that much, but the thought behind it meant a lot more to you two

Heizou (A little nsfw-)

You two have been together for 3 years now, and every year you insisted on sitting with him, some good tunes blasting from the radio and some snacks on the table while you crack cases with him..

The first time you decided you wanted to do this on old years eve, he had been very confused.. Though, he didn't see the problem with it..

Now, you've become a reliable helper, even if it was one day a year.. It was fun too? You saw it as a kind of game, gluing all the clues together, marking important words who nobody noticed, laying connections..!

"Now, (Y/n)  do you see all these patterns? I think we've come closer to sewing all these parts together..?" Heizou shoved a file towards you, your eyes scanning the sentences quickly as you underlined another detail which seemed important.

The excitement in your doing and eyes always hyped him up, happy that someone close to him shared his passion in some way..

"Here! You can figure it out better this way." You smiled at him, handing back the paper as you took a sip of water. You had to stay sober so you could crack cases-

"Mhmm... Oh gee? I overlooked that.. How come?" His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, indexfinger and thumb caressing his chin as his eyes observed the paper.

"We got a culprit!" He eventually notified, his smug grin appearing again. You cheered happily, already standing up to get the champagne because.. You had to celebrate of course.

"Hey? (Y/n), are you spicing it up with Heizou or something!?" You looked at the person down the stairs.. Right, you had guests over. You forgot.

"Not really, we were working on a case, but we're done now.." You ran down the stairs, standing next to Itto.. Who invited him again- Well whatever.

"So, that's cleared now?" Kazuha smiled, appearing next to Itto. You nodded and gazed at the clock..  You were busy for two hours..! No wonder they got suspicious.. Well, you had half an hour left until it was 12 o'clock.

"It is, thanks to my amazing s/o, I cleared another hard case." Heizou's arm snaked around your waist, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek. "I also hope you're not done with the 2nd bottle of champagne." He added, walking past them with your hand in his, his thumb sensually caressing your hand.

"No worries, Kuki and me kept them under controll." Seeing Gorou laying on the couch, Kuki watching TV and Scaramouche.. Whatever doing on the floor, you squinted..

".. So laid back.." You whispered, Heizou grinned and pushed the neck of the bottle in your hands.

"Lets pop it open outside.. Just shake it a little.. Move up and down with your hands you know.." The way he stared in your eyes nearly made you pass out, the fact you could feel his breath tickle your lips too..-

"Bro's! They're gonna pop open another one! Cmon we gotta see this.." Itto waved with his hands, taking Scaramouche's hat in his hands for absolutely no reason, waiting for the three of them to come along.

"Ugh.  Give that back.." Scaramouche groaned, slowly awakening from his slumber. Gorou finally opened his eyes too.. Rubbing his own forehead and blinked a few times as Kuki already stood on both her feet.

Heizou and you seemed too indulged (?!?!) With each other as the rest followed to the garden, it seemed like they were pretty much all drunk.. Even Kuki who was pushing so hard to walk straight, they all tripped over their feet in some way.

"Whatcha say.. This one's for us, we run to the bedroom, lock the door and end this year with a really good bang?" Heizou whispered in your ear, your cheeks flamed slightly, your undeniable smile visible for him.

They all chanted, waiting for you to shake the bottle and make the champagne pour out.. Your hands tightened around the neck, staring at Heizou as you shook it around.

"..." He carefully looked at your hands, the grin on his face returned.. The bottle shot open as the champagne poured out. The crowd went absolutely wild..! Praise the almighty (Y/n) for popping a motherfucking bottle..-

Anyways, Heizou quickly took the bottle out of your hands to take a few gluttonous sips. Surprised you stood there, what the hell were you supposed to do wi-

He grasped your jaw, pulled you closer and kissed you, pouring the liquid in your mouth. Eyes wide open you drank, at this rate every body screamed out of excitement.. This was why you could determine they were drunk- You would never hear them shout like this.. Except for Itto..

They were absolutely howling, Heizou somehow distracting them in a way you could sneak past them all, back into the house

"You're gonna see something else exploding tonight.. I'll give you a happy new year in advance.." He smoothly notified, you chuckled as you pulled him with you up the stairs.

Itto

So, in advance, you knew he was the king of stupid ideas.. And it has been a tradition that you would light fireworks with the gang and you, being the S/O of the boss.

As always, Itto was way too excited to wait till it was old years eve. So, about one and a half days before it was legally allowed to be shooting fireworks, he was already looking through all the fireworks he was going to shoot off that day

You were just observing with arms crossed, sighing deeply as he rattled on about all the cool plans he had. You shook your head in disagreement, but kept your words to yourself.

"Hey hey! C'mon c'mon… (Y/n), please.. This one's so cool! You've gotta look at this, I'm surprised we still got these from past year? Thought we used it alllll up.." He held the funmakers in his hands, you blinked a few times.

"Nuh uh Itto. We're not doing it.. It's a day or some till new year's, can't you wait a little bit..?" You noticed how his smile turned into a slight frown, his cheek rounding up as he gave you puppy eyes.

"Pretty pleaaase.. Just one…!" He begged, you closed your eyes and hummed softly. "Okay. Just one."

He cheered, rushing outside already without a single hesitation. You slowly followed him, seeing he was already outside crouching and setting up everything.

His hands searched around on his body, trying to find something. He stood up and sighed deeply.

"Baby." Itto turned around, his eyes sparkling. "You forgot this." You threw the lighter at him, he caught it and gave you a close eyed smile.

"Thank you!" You chuckled, leaning against the doorframe.

"(Y/n), you know you're out in the open.. Is that really that handy.." Startled you looked over to the side, seeing Kuki walking over to you together with the rest of the squad. You hid your face in the scarf you were wearing.

"… Ah, well.. Itto just took a full sprint towards the front door.. Didn't even have time to stop him or anything. What's the chance of him getting caught.. Right.." Your sentence ended with a tone of doubt, realizing it was Itto.. He would get caught so easily.

"Itto, might wanna get to the back.. Don’t you?" You nudged over to your house, he backed off from the firework, holding his arm in front of you as he fixed his hair with his other free hand.

"Nah! We should be fine, cops ain't got nothing on me..!-" He got interrupted by a load bang, you flinched slightly as the rocked soared up through the sky. Your eyes followed it, the bang making Itto roar loudly in excitement.

"LET'S GOOO!" He raised his fists up in the air, nearly hitting one of his gang members.

"Boss! What're we doing today?" They chanted, you gazed at Kuki and whispered you probably had to make some preparations for old year's eve. She nodded and walked back inside with you.. You two decided to prepare some food and drinks, since they would be staying over tonight

"Are you looking forward to new year's, (Y/n)?" You sighed deeply, looking over to her with a tired look on your face. "Kinda worried.. It involves Itto. Simply that.." You responded, staring at the glasses Kuki placed on top of the kitchen counter. "Hmm, I understand. He can get himself into trouble quite frequently and he's really reckless." Kuki quickly wrapped an arm around you and pulled you closer to her, you sighed deeply and leaned in for a few seconds.. Backing off again soon, since you had a lot to prepare for the night!

You couldn't really stop him from drinking anything, he was going wild-

He also made you sit on his lap and kept you close,  his arm wrapped around your waist. You were simply thinking about the fact that you were surprised Itto didn’t get caught by the cops, slowly relaxing in his arms.

Smooching you every 30 seconds, he simply got lost in your sweet smell, being so damn clingy the entire evening.

Before you knew he threw you over his shoulder, pointing to the door, almost tripping over. "Let's go light some fireworks again..?!" Itto cheered, his fist being raised up in the air.

"… You're not lighting up anything.." Kuki mumbled as you all marched over to the door.

Kazuha

The days towards the end of the year had been really peaceful..!

You had celebrated Christmas together with all your friends, but you and Kazu promised each other to spend the last day of the year with each other.

Happy he was home for one day, you wanted to do nothing else but be really close to him. You were used to him being gone for long periods of time since he liked traveling that much.. Vid calling you wasn't really enough, but if you ever had the chance to go with him.. You took it. And he loved showing you around the world.

But now that he decided to stay home, your face nuzzled into his chest as the Christmas tree still stood in the corner of the room, comfy lights decorating the room.

Normally he wouldn't be a fan of alcohol, but... He wanted to drink with you, for once.. Since it was almost new years..- (AAH)

Sadly enough you didn't get him so drunk that he would let out small hiccups, muttering cute things under his breath, but it was also a reliever that he was kinda sober so he could experience the last few seconds of the year with you.

While you two finished a bottle, you talked all about your favorite moments.. Bringing back up the summer vacation where you traveled together with him to some country outside Japan, though your memory failed to retrieve the location.. But you did remember what kinda stuff you did there..~

Both of your cheeks had a pink dust brushed over them, feeling the warmth in the room raise, Kazuha recommended going outside where it was a lot cooler.

So, you stood up, still holding the glass with beverage inside in your hands as you walked over to the front door with careful steps.

Before you could open it, Kazuha had already caught up with you and opened it for you like the gentleman he was..

You already smelled the gunpowder, indicating people had already started sending fireworks up in the air.. With a deep sigh you smiled and crossed your arms.. Noticing sparks in the air once in a while.

"I know we both prefer peaceful.. So here.." Kazuha closed the door behind him, pulling out two sparklers. You blinked surprised as you saw the particles flying off, but slowly took one and chuckled.

"Its way more quiet.." And with that he finally stood next to you, watching both your sparklers slowly burning up.. Seeing different colors like green and red appear in the sky once a while.. He lived for such sights, and he would kill to make sure you were next to him on these beautiful moments.

"Hey, (Y/n). I've got a few things to mention before we step into this new year just around the corner." He begun, staring straight into your eyes. You hummed loud and clear, quickly checking the time on your phone.. How was it already 23:48.. Time flied..

His sparkler died out first, so he placed it on the floor for him to pick it up later.. And wrapped an arm around you. You scooted closer without hesitation, looking up to observe his lively eyes.

Then he started telling you about how he loved you, how much he adored you, how every bit of you was perfect.. Just.. 5 minutes filled with lavish praise?

Taken by shock you gazed at him, a little stunned by his decision to say all this to you right now.. As the amount of fireworks being shot in the air slowly increased by each minute, you hugged him tight.. A smile formed on your face for the hundredth time that day.

As the two of you stood there in silence, the clock had 3 minutes left before it would tick into the new year, Kazu slowly let go and cupped your cheeks in his hands.

"(Y/n). You're amazing, you know that..?" He stared right into your soul, his gentle gaze was pain softening, your entire body turning into pudding and your mind blanking out for a second.. How could he be so enchanting..!

"Kazuha.. I love y-.." You couldn't even finish your sentence or he already kissed you, thousands of fireworks flying up in the air resulting in the sky changing all sorts of colors.. You knew that if someone had made a picture it would've been the most perfect shot ever.

He let go, eyes never taken off you even though all the action happened in the sky.

"I love you too, (Y/n).. Happy new year.." He hugged you tight, caressing your back really slow.. Your reaction was to rapidly wrap your hands around him too, your face buried in his chest.

"Hey hey? You two flirts. Won't you look at this?" Your body flinched, turning your head to see a phone held in front of your face.

"Oh, Heizou? Scaramouche?" Kazuha brought out with an heartwarming smile on his face. Scaramouche simply crossed his arms and hid his face in his scarf.

"So there was someone who made a pic..?" You said surprised, Heizou closed one eye and he stuck out his tongue.

Razor

You had already warned him for all the loud sounds he'd hear in the city, but he still wanted to enjoy some outside time with you.

It was a cold winter, you had your arm hooked through Razor's as the two of you slowly observed everything.

Even though Christmas had already passed, the lighting still hung in the air.. People excitingly ran around, still getting their last minute fireworks for tonight.

"Isn't it pretty.. All the lights, the sounds of the city being so lively..? Getting served delicious food." You happily hopped around while Razor silently looked around. He held you closer to him.

"As long as you have fun.. Its okay." He replied, growling softly. You sighed and gently ruffled his hairs, pressing a smooch on his cheek.

"I'm having a lot of fun, but it'd feel better if you were enjoying it too!" You hugged his arm tightly, he looked at you.. Tilting his head a bit afterwards.

"I.. Try." You chuckled softly, standing still out of nowhere and turned your body towards him.

He seemed a little surprised, but turned to you too, staring right in your eyes. You cupped his cheeks in your hands, your thumb softly caressing his soft skin. "Let's forget all formalities, all awkwardness.. Let's have fun."

People rushed past you, hands intertwined with each other so you wouldn’t lose each other. It softly started to rain, you looked up to the sky and smiled. "Hey? It's starting to rain?" You notified, Razor shortly sniffed.. Feeling the atmosphere changing to something more comfy for him.

"Am.. Glad." He removed his bangs out of his eyesight, giving you another short stare, a soft smile appearing on his face.

You passed a few food stands that were placed out in the city, enjoying everything that was granted to you tonight.. As long as you were together, it would be fine.

"You know what's the best part of new years Razor?" You started softly, he squeezed your hands lightly as he hummed. "The fireworks. They're loud, but so incredibly colorful and beautiful.." He blinked a few times, eyebrows slightly furrowed. "Is it?" He replied, you nodded excited.

He closed his eyes, placing his indexfinger and thumb under his chin. "There's.. A nice spot.." He whispered in your ear, his eyes slightly glittering.

And so, Razor led you to a place you never really visited, running past tons of trees and bushes. You completely trusted him, knowing he knew the forest like his back pocket. When he noticed your speed was slowly decreasing, he stopped running and turned around to you.

"You.. Okay?" He asked, you panted and nodded. He squinted slightly, not fully believing you.

".. Here." He turned his back towards you, kneeling down a bit and held out his arms on the side. "Jump." His hands gestured for you to climb on his back, you gasped.

"R-Razor..! No nee-" "(Y/n), no worry.. Time is almost 00:00. We can make it.. On time." His hair waved along with the wind, you gulped nervously and jumped on his back.

He easily ran, like you were weighting nothing, towards the spot he was thinking off..

Finally, after minutes, he stopped.. You opened your eyes again, only to see the two of you standing on top of some kind of hill.

The moment he placed you down, the fireworks already started going up in the air, surprised and stunned you slowly found balance on your feet, looking up to the sky..

"Woah.." You brought out, being unable to find any words. The colors filled the sky, Razor was just as surprised as you were.

"Beautiful.." He grinned pleased, his grin grew wider as he chuckled. Your mouth was slightly open, completely concentrating on the colors in the sky..

"(Y/n).." You turned your head to him, he hugged you tightly. Your eyes widened, but you softly readjusted to him which resulted in you wrapping your arms around him.

"Thank you for making my year a lot better.." You laughed happily.. Your life couldn’t get any better.

Zhongli

Old years eve with Zhongli is next level peaceful.

The two of you always evaluate the day, what happened at work.. But on new years eve you discuss what life decisions you two will make in the new year.

Living in a beautiful house with a balcony, the two of you sit across each other, each a glass of wine, having a direct view on the sky.

"I'm the happiest man alive, to witness this together with you.  The end of an eventful year.." His eyes seemed to light up, you took another small sip of wine as you smiled.

"I am grateful to sit here with you. So much tried breaking us down, fortunately, it wasn't strong enough." The wind blew slightly, making you shiver shortly.

"Cold?" He already started taking off his coat as you raised your hand to deny the cold, till you coughed lightly. "Don't worry, here.. Take this.." He stood up and walked towards you, making sure his coat covered up your body.

"A lot warmer..  Isn't it?" He took his time walking back to his spot, his hands still on your shoulders.

"Something the matter?" You looked up, seeing his sharp jawline.. He shook his head, bangs loosely moving along. "Not much, simply time ticking as I think about a lot. There is so much we still need to do." He sighed deeply as you reached out for his cheek.

Surprised he looked down towards you once your hand cupped his cheek. "We still got a lot of time, no need to stress yourself with it.." You smiled kindly, warming his heart up all again in this chilly weather.

"... I love you (Y/n)." He pressed his lips against yours and let go soonly after, he checked his watch.. Fixing his sleeves while he slowly walked back to his chair. You observed his back muscles and bit on your lower lip.

The way his tight blouse revealed his toned body, the belt around his waist exposing how small it was.. Yet himself being so tall.. Towering over you whenever you stood next to him..

He poured another glass for the both of you while staring straight into your eyes once a while. "It's getting late. Almost New year.. What are our wishes?" He begun, handing you over your glass. He sat down with his own afterwards.

With your lips slightly parted, you seeped air through your teeth as you stared to the sky, soon to be filled with colors.

"Finding a solid job that is..?" It sounded more like your personal new years resolution, though it was necessary to mention, it wasn't something that you could really reach together.

"Don't worry, I'll help you sort that out." Zhongli's comforting voice reassured you, another sigh escaped your lips.

"I'd like to.. Move away from the apartment. The balcony is very nice, but it isn't really.. My dream house." You eventually brought out, your glazy eyes finally recapturing their sharpness as you made eye contact with your man. "Understandable. Let's try doing that before next year ends." He placed his hand on top of yours, he got a nervous laugh out of you by doing simply this.

"That's a big goal ain't it?" "And I'm sure we'll fulfill it, no worries (Y/n)." He said, taking another sip of wine. You did the same, feeling your head spinning slightly.. You couldn't really recall how many bottles the two of you had finished, but it was fun to just.. Talk and drink something with your S/O.

"It's almost 00:00. I want you to know that once we enter this new year, I will still love you nonetheless, and my love has never decreased.. I hope we can stay like this, (Y/n), forever." A short twinkle appeared in his eyes, another laugh shook loose from you.

"I love you too Zhongli, please stay at my side.. And don't leave." He stood up, slowly retreating his hands back from yours and held them behind his back. He looked up to the sky, his jawline clearly visible. Once again your heart throbbed.

You eventually did the same, his arm being raised as an invitation for you to come closer, so you did. The moment you reached his chest, he wrapped his arm around you.. Breathing in and out deeply once.

"What would I ever do without you.. Hm?"

[baerverteidiger]

This is my DJ Character on Beatmania IIDX.

DJ BAER..

I only recently started getting back in Beatmania IIDX...

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

In the event that you do not know...

Beatmania IIDX is one of the hardest rhythm games on the planet.

The timing window in Beatmania IIDX is very small and the game has one of the steepest and hardest learning curves of ALL TIME!

To keep track of my scores on Beatmania IIDX, I purchased my first 'E-Amusement Card" on 4/14/2024!!! (Below)

Before that...

I haven't really played Beatmania IIDX seriously since 2006-2007. It has been over a decade since I have taken this game seriously!!!

Since I have comeback... I have sightread AAA'd a Level 1, Level 2, Level 3, Level 4, Level 5, and Level 6!!!

And... I have even gotten "Single Digit Greats" on a song!!

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After not playing Beatmania IIDX for years... I have come back into the game looking like a monster!!

Seriously...

Very very very few people play Beatmania IIDX in the United States and around the globe, because the game is so difficult.

Many people have tried getting good at Beatmania IIDX, but the steep learning curve and difficulty deter gamers from going farther.

I know that I am not the best Beatmania IIDX player, but...

I have done some pretty EXTRAORDINARY things since coming back into the game...

Single digit greats... Sightread AAA's... I even passed my very first "Dan Course."

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The only major problem I have with Beatmania IIDX...

The nearest arcade cabinet is... over an hour and a half drive!

I spend over $20 round trip to play Beatmania IIDX EPOLIS. Not only that, I also have to spend money at the arcade to play the game.

I wish there was a Beatmania IIDX machine closer to me and/or I wish I was sponsored to play.

This game is so increasingly difficult and rare in the United States...

I can play the game at home on PS2, but... there are more songs and better hardware on the arcade cabinet.

I just wish there was a machine closer to me, so I could use the gas money on game credits.

Or...

Konami/Bemani could sponsor me and send a machine to me locally.

If I play the game in public, it could give the game more exposure in the United States.

Either way... I just want to play the game more...

I hate driving so far to play...

Sometimes I wonder if sitting in a car for that long affects my gameplay...

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If this post interests you or makes you curious about my scores... You should check out my Flickr Account... I have been using it as an image dump site for my recent Beatmania IIDX records.

Remember... It has been over a decade since I took this game seriously... (And I am still a beast!!)