#angular binding

[scarlett-fever]

i've accepted duncan into my heart thru the power of transgender yaoi

[heysillybee]

Aaaand ofc Peridot is growing on me, ofc she is

[ritika-25]

Data binding in Angular is a powerful concept that facilitates the synchronization of data between a component and its corresponding view (HTML template) or between child and parent components.

[lokisgoodgirl]

No Mercy [Loki x Female Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Loki interrogates you....sexually. Warnings. 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Ceremonial erotica. Fun & Games. Soft! Dom Loki. Established relationship. Light bondage. Denial. (w/c 1.8k)

“Do you plead mercy, little one?” Loki’s voice is terrifyingly calm. If it weren’t for the violently hard erection pressed against his thigh beneath those tight, slutty trousers you might actually believe you were in danger. Deny me, you’d challenged him. Make me break. And he has. And he’s close.

“You’ll never make me talk,” you say defiantly. The layer of fear in your voice is fake, but the tremble isn’t.

It feels like you’re dripping on the bed, knees together, folded to the side, hands tied to the posts. Loki’s eyes flicker to the sheets beneath you as you squirm and a slight narrow of his eyes confirms that yes, you are in fact, dripping on the bed.

You’ve been at this for almost an hour. He’s barely touched you. Just a graze of his tactfully deployed fingers, a blindfold, the targeted skim of his breath and the devastation of his carefully chosen words.

Now the blindfold runs between his fingers as he tilts his head, thinking. “My interrogation requires a little more...finesse, then,” he says, making the blindfold disappear in a flash of green. “A touch more...pressure.’ You whine, yanking the thick leather binds wrapped around your wrists. The manufactured innocence on your face is like blood to a free-wolf and Loki’s lips curl in a wicked smile.

“I’ve been doing this a long, long time,” he says imperiously as he unbuttons a cuff. His long fingers make slow work of folding the sleeve up the meat of his forearm. “I may be a Prince, but an Interrogator of the Crown was my calling, I think. Don’t you?” Your chin rises and you nail him with your stare, hoping your tits look as great as you think they do. You arch valiantly towards his quiet wrath and with a deep breath, you deploy your best 50's starlet impression. “You’ll never break me….Loki Laufeyson.” He releases an exaggerated growl that makes new arousal well between your tightly closed thighs. “Is that right?”

A golden flicker licks from his forehead, the horned diadem unfurling from nothing at all. He’s working on the other sleeve as he swaggers to the side of the bed, taking his time. An oil of sweat has formed on your chest and you squirm for real, trying to break free. “You know how I feel about the horns, oh god-” you mutter, breaking character, clenching as another devilish smile stretches his lips. He stands by your head, crotch inches from your face. So close you can see his cock throb through the fabric. So close you can smell the earthy sweetness of his pre-cum. A low rumble of laughter penetrates the air. “I think you’re closer to defeat than you let on, little one,” he says, drawing a cool finger down your cheek. “Desperate to yield to me, desperate to give in to my demands; to furnish me with the carnal knowledge of your body that I require…that the realm requires.” Against every instinct screaming in your body, you yank your face away. “Perhaps not,” he says bitterly. A wave of dark sandalwood fills your nostrils as the mattress dips and Loki mounts the bed one impossibly long leg at a time.

He spreads his knees while he spreads yours. His face is bladed and angular in shadow, smouldering eyes sparkling beneath his battle-crown of gold.

The god reaches forward and runs his huge palms up the front of your thighs. His touch is electric. You buck up, feeling a web of arousal stick against the bedsheets. Loki glances at it through half-lidded eyes, his trunk heaving with heavy, silent breaths. “You bring this on yourself,” he whispers coldly as a strange object appears in his hand. It looks like a little bell with a round, tapered tip. But heavy. It looks heavy. There's a slight amber tint that warms in the low light.

“My seal,” he explains with an air of condescension. He swings it between his thumb and forefinger. “You will submit to me...one way or another.” He leans closer, dragging the cool golden seal over the curve of your breast and a violent shiver wrenches down your spine. “They always do,' he says. "And I have come prepared.” His eyes follow the metal seal’s descent over the dip of your waist, enjoying the shudders of overstimulation they cause. The graze of his raised markings harden your nipples and you strain your neck to the ceiling as he runs a line down the centre of your stomach and pauses at the top of your mound. The weight between your legs is unbearable; it’s an emptiness only Loki’s cock can fill. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk?” he murmurs sweetly with those dark brows peaked. But it’s an act, trying to trick you – of course. Oh god, he’s so fucking hot, it’s terrible. Every urge screams to cry mercy and have him fuck you like a victorious king; ride him as you hang onto those horns and make him see double. “Do it,” you spit, clenching your teeth. You yank the leather ropes again. “Pervert.” Loki’s brows rise in genuine surprise, a flash of mirth you recognise skating across his face before his features harden again. Role play with Loki is like nothing else. The king of your heart, but king of the performance too. “Very well,” he says, and the cool roll of metal slips against your cunt. He toys with it, pressing its ridged base against your clit and rubbing it in slow, maddening circles. “This seal has started wars,” he says in the same calm, even tone, “ended them, too.” Your stifle a groan of pleasure as the curved tip dips inside your pussy. Its sharp bite seems to melt inside the heat of your slit. “But you may be my greatest challenge,” he purrs as he slides it from the hole. You whimper as he brings it to his lips, rolling it, moaning in a low inhumane frequency. “And since I have just now claimed you with my crest...perhaps your conscience will allow me to claim you with my cock.” Your will to resist is fading fast. Loki tsk’s with feigned irritation as the seal vanishes and his attention turns to the mess beneath your legs. Arousal sticks to your inner thighs in a glistening sheet.

You groan as he flexes his fingers in front of his face, thick veins standing to attention on the back of his hands. He folds all but two, sucking them between his lips and hollowing his cheekbones in the process like an absolute whore. Without a pause, he curls them inside you and the air dissolves from your lungs in a strangled moan of his name. “Doesn’t count…” he warns. You look at him with your mouth open, brow a map of twitching lines. "You have to say it."

Loki kneels between your legs, as cool as Jotunheim ice, pumping his fingers slowly inside your slippery cunt, thumb sliding against your swollen clit with an arrogant smirk on his face. Your hips rise to meet him on every thrust of his palm. Breath comes in short bursts as you clench around his fingers, back arching into his touch as orgasm threatens to ruin you- He slips them out. “Loki!”

The frustration is real - no need to act. The god’s eyes widen in a shameless caricature of innocence. “I have given you every opportunity to yield to me, I have I not?” He pushes the rolled sleeves of his perfectly fitted shirt higher in a targeted attack. Your legs have begun to tremble at the loss of his touch. “And at every opportunity," he continues, "you have stayed true to your loyalties...which I respect."

The ceremonial sincerity in his voice is sickeningly erotic as he hooks his hands beneath your knees. “But pleasure...true pleasure...is a privilege reserved for those who yield to me.”

The sharp cool of his metal diadem stings your flesh as he kisses your inner thigh. He draws closer to your desperate sex, so close you can feel his breath cool against it as he says, “So cry mercy darling, and it will be yours.” He’s really dialled the drama up to eleven tonight. Instinctually you try and lurch your arms forward to grab the curve of his horns and press him deep into your pussy; mad for the feel of his tongue flat and flawless moving against it. “Oh god,” you whimper, fighting yourself. “Good girl,” he purrs, grazing his parted lips over your swollen labia. It’s too much. “Oh god, Loki…” “Good girl, say it...beg for it,” he spits as he falls back on his haunches and reaches for the button of his suit trousers. He looks so fucking mean.

The beat in your chest has turned to syrupy thumps as your legs straighten and contract on either side of him. “You want to be my good girl…” A pop echoes and his cock suddenly weighs in his hand like a weapon. You’re salivating...actually salivating. He pumps slowly back and forth, jaw clenching, his eyes hard as flints. “Don’t make me finish myself on your traitorous face.”

“Mercy,” you gasp. Loki’s grin widens and it touches his eyes. He licks his lips. “Do you want me to stay in character?” he asks quietly as his clothes disappear- everything but the horned diadem on his head.

His shoulders roll and every muscle in his torso tightens, thighs bulging as he clenches against the punishing grip of his fist. You bite your lip, nodding. His eyes flash. “Well chosen,” Interrogator Loki says. The hard edge in his voice has returned with a vengeance and he melts the leather binds holding you with a wave of his hand. “I trust my faith in your repentance is not misplaced,” he says as he crawls up your body with intent. Loki’s hair swings around your jaw, the scent of him, the weight of him. His length presses like metal against your throbbing clit and you buck your hips, trying to catch him. Every thought in your head evaporates as Loki of Asgard buries himself inside you with a shuddering exhale. Your legs wrap around his hips, forcing his ass down, pushing him deeper.

There’s a thud, and then another one; the curve of his horns beating against the headboard. Loki deploys a wolfish smile as his fingers curl around your wrists. “Can’t take any chances with my minx of a prisoner,” he whispers against your cheek. “No mercy,” you moan into his open mouth. It’s a request he understands as he delivers another targeted roll of his hips. “No mercy,” he replies.

A/N - Have I told you guys how much I love you recently? Because I really do. I hope you know that. x

Tags ( in comments - all of you, soz. Normal way is not workinnng)

[asiantransformations]

Prologue - A Deal with the Devil

Mr. Chen sat at his grand mahogany desk, the faint glow of his jade desk lamp casting sharp shadows across his angular features. In one hand, he swirled a glass of aged whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light as he leaned back in his chair. Before him lay a file marked Confidential—a dossier on JunHao, the man who had once been an untouchable icon of success, strength, and masculinity.

“JunHao,” Mr. Chen murmured, savoring the name like a delicacy. “You had it all, didn’t you? A thriving business, a loving girl, and a body that could make even gods envious.”

He glanced at the photo pinned to the top of the file. There JunHao stood, shirtless on a magazine cover, his sculpted physique the picture of perfection. The biceps that could stretch the seams of any suit, the chiseled abs, the confident smile—it all reeked of success, of invincibility. But Mr. Chen saw something else. Ambition. Greed. A man who had soared so high he never bothered to look down.

And that was where Mr. Chen came in.

He had orchestrated the entire downfall with surgical precision. Junhao’s business, a chain of high-end fitness centers, had been booming. But like many businessmen who thought themselves untouchable, JunHao had been careless with his partnerships. He hadn’t noticed when a shell company, quietly owned by Mr. Chen, began acquiring shares in his supply chain. He hadn’t realized when critical shipments of equipment were delayed or canceled, choking his operations.

Then came the financial strain, and with it, the loans.

“Desperate men make desperate decisions,” Mr. Chen muttered to himself, taking a sip of whiskey. He remembered the day JunHao had walked into his office, his broad shoulders weighed down by stress, his usual aura of confidence cracked.

“I need a loan,” JunHao had said, his deep voice betraying a hint of desperation.

Mr. Chen had leaned back in his chair, feigning concern. “A loan, you say? From me? The terms would have to be… unconventional.”

JunHao had hesitated, but he was a man with his back against the wall. He had signed the contract without reading the fine print. It was a devil’s bargain, one that Mr. Chen had designed with a very specific clause: in the event of the business fails, all of JunHao’s assets—all of them—would transfer to Mr. Chen.

It wasn’t just the gyms. Not just the properties or the accounts. It was everything JunHao had. Without him realizing, it included his body and the ownership to it.

————————————————————————

The collapse had been swift. Within months, Junhao’s business was in shambles. The loans he had taken to save it became an anchor, dragging him further into the abyss. And when the inevitable happened—when Junhao defaulted—Mr. Chen made his move.

He had summoned Junhao to his private estate, the contract in hand. Junhao, now a shadow of his former self, stood in the opulent office, his powerful frame visibly worn by stress. "Guess your business failed and everything of yours is now mine!"

“You can’t do this,” Junhao had growled, his fists clenched.

“Oh, but I can,” Mr. Chen had replied, his tone calm and cold. “You signed the contract. You agreed to the terms.”

“I’ll fight this in court!”

Mr. Chen had chuckled darkly. “You won’t get the chance. The clause is binding, immediate, and irrevocable. I don’t just own your business, Junhao. I own you.”

Before Junhao could react, Mr. Chen had signaled to his guards. They restrained the struggling man as Mr. Chen retrieved a small vial from his desk—a blend of ancient Chinese alchemy and cutting-edge bioengineering.

“This,” Mr. Chen said, holding the vial up to the light, “is your key to freedom—or, rather, mine.”

Junhao’s eyes had widened as the liquid was injected into his neck. He had thrashed against the guards’ grip, but it was no use. The process was instantaneous. A searing pain had coursed through his veins as his consciousness was pulled away from his body, drawn into a swirling void.

When Junhao woke, he found himself in a frail, elderly body, his once-pristine physique now a distant memory. Across the room, Mr. Chen stood in front of a mirror, marveling at his new form.

“This… is perfection,” Mr. Chen had said, flexing his biceps and running his hands over his chiseled abs. He turned to face Junhao, a smirk playing on his lips. “You should be proud, Junhao. Your body will be put to far better use in my hands.”

Junhao had screamed, lunging at Mr. Chen, but his new, weakened body betrayed him. The guards dragged him away as Mr. Chen laughed, his deep, commanding voice echoing through the halls.

“You should have read the fine print, Junhao,” Mr. Chen had called after him. “You’ve given me everything. And I do mean everything.”

Mr. Chen stepped out of the private chambers in only his underwear, feeling the weight of JunHao's powerful form. His every movement felt fluid, controlled, and effortless. It was a far cry from the frail, aging shell he had once inhabited. As he walked down the hallway, he marveled at the strength that now surged through his limbs, the sensation of each muscle flexing with the slightest movement.

He flexed his biceps—massive, round, and hard as stone—and let out a deep, satisfied breath. It was like a drug, this power. His former body, though fit, had never compared to the raw might he now commanded. These arms—these biceps—could easily crush anyone who dared to oppose him. The veins that snaked across his skin pulsed with vitality, evidence of his newfound strength. Every push, every pull, every lift was easier now, as if the world itself bent to his will.

He grinned, eyes tracing the contours of his new physique in the mirror as he walked past. The chest—wide, firm, and densely packed with muscle—caught his attention. His pecs were like slabs of stone, firm and unyielding, pressing against the tight shirt he had chosen to wear. When he flexed, the movement was hypnotic, a showcase of sheer power. The depth of his ribcage felt more pronounced, the muscles more pronounced, each fiber finely sculpted to perfection. He could feel the strength of his lungs, the way they expanded and contracted with ease, fueling his movements.

His mind raced with the possibilities. In this body, he was capable of feats that would’ve been impossible in his former, weaker form. There was no limit to what he could do, no obstacle he couldn’t crush beneath his new strength. He felt like a god, a man whose very presence commanded the room. Every glance from a passerby, every flicker of acknowledgment from those around him—he could see the admiration, the envy, the lust in their eyes.

But it wasn’t just the physicality that set this body apart. It was the knowledge embedded in every fiber, every cell of this machine.

Now, Mr. Chen stood in front of the mirror in JunHao's—his— gym, his reflection a living testament to his triumph. He flexed his biceps, marveling at their sheer size and power, and smirked as he ran his fingers down the ridges of his abs. His servants were in awe of what he attained.

“This body,” he said to himself, his voice rich and resonant, “isn’t just a vessel. It’s a weapon. A masterpiece.”

Mr. Chen lifted the weight, a staggering amount, effortlessly. As the barbell rose and fell in perfect rhythm, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement. Every inch of JunHao’s body was designed for optimal performance. His shoulders were broad and thick, built for lifting, carrying, and crushing. His legs were powerful pillars of strength, veins and tendons twisting beneath the skin as they absorbed the pressure with ease. His calves were muscular and solid, able to sprint for miles without tiring, propelling him forward with each step.

He was a walking weapon—a machine capable of destruction.

The gift of virility was perhaps the most intoxicating. Mr. Chen had always been a man who desired control over everything, and now, he had control over the most primal part of his new form. He could feel the sheer force of Junhao’s masculinity coursing through him, the power in his loins that seemed to radiate outward, a constant hum of energy that never faded. His once-feeble self had known nothing of this.

This was a different kind of strength.

It wasn’t just about physical satisfaction. It was about dominance—asserting control over the very essence of another person. The body’s virility wasn’t a mere function of attraction; it was a weapon, a means of asserting his superiority, of owning and controlling.

The mind that came with this body was just as powerful as its physical form. Junhao’s intelligence had been sharp—business savvy, ruthless in his own right. But now, those instincts and ideas had become Mr. Chen’s. He could feel it—the knowledge embedded deep within the muscle, the experience that came from years of competition, of pushing himself to the limits. Every decision Junhao had made, every business deal, every negotiation—it was all there, like an archive waiting to be unlocked.

Mr. Chen felt as though he were walking in the footsteps of a man who had already laid the path for success. Every strategy, every move he needed to make, was now at his fingertips. JunHao’s thoughts, his methodical and strategic way of thinking, now surged through Mr. Chen’s mind as though they had always been his own.

He could feel the instinctual knowledge of how to read people, how to control a room, how to exploit weaknesses. His ability to manipulate, to strategize, to make others bow to his will—it was second nature now.

Every touch felt electric, as if JunHao's body was awakening to its new owner, recalibrating itself to fit Mr. Chen like a finely tailored suit. Every nerve ending seemed to buzz, hyperaware of his movements, responding to his commands with an eagerness that was both exhilarating and addictive.

Running his hands over his chest, Mr. Chen marveled at the power beneath his fingertips. The solid ridges of muscle, the soft yet firm hairs brushing against his palms-it was all so alive. His previous body had been stiff, sluggish, and unresponsive, a constant reminder of his age. But this? This was perfection incarnate, and it responded to him like a finely tuned instrument.

He progressed to his bedroom and then on the full-length mirror that dominated the corner of his suite, captivated by the sight before him. Mr. Chen wanted to explore this new opportunity in private. As he flexed, his reflection seemed to shimmer with vitality, every muscle rippling beneath his skin in perfect harmony. The sheer control he had over this body was intoxicating.

But then, something unexpected happened.

A faint warmth began to build, spreading through him like a slow burn. It started in his chest, radiating downward with an intensity that took his breath away. By the time he noticed the faint wet spot forming on his underwear, it was too late to deny it-this body wasn't just alive; it was thriving, responding to his every whim with an energy that left him breathless.

"This... this is something else," he murmured, a grin spreading across his face as he pressed his palm against the damp patch, feeling the heat beneath. "You've really outdone yourself, JunHao."

Rather than being embarrassed, Mr. Chen reveled in the sensation. He let the feeling wash over him, leaning into the raw vitality that coursed through his veins. He flexed again, harder this time, watching in awe as his biceps bulged, veins snaking across his forearms like rivers of power. Mr. Chen moaned every so loudly as he groped his new cock. The wet patch grew slightly, and he couldn't help but laugh -a deep, resonant sound that echoed through the room.

"This is what it means to feel alive," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "This is what I've been missing."

He sat on the edge of the bed, letting his hands roam freely, exploring every inch of his new form. The hard planes of his chest, the taut curve of his thighs, the firmness of his calves-each touch sent a jolt of pleasure through him. It was as if the body itself was rejoicing, celebrating its new owner with a symphony of sensations.

After a few minutes of indulgence, Mr. Chen was covered in JunHao's precious juices which reeked of testosterone, a testament to the new virility. A taste of it sent shockwaves of energy and flavors to his tongue as he forced himself to stand, steadying his breathing as he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. He wasn't going to let this body overwhelm him-not yet, anyway. There was so much to explore, so much to discover, and he wanted to savor every moment.

He changed into fresh clothes, opting for a tight-fitting shirt that showcased his physique and a pair of jeans that accentuated his powerful legs. As he left the room, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror one last time and couldn't help but to pose what he had.

"Let's see what else this body can do," he said to himself, stepping out into the night, ready to test the limits of his newfound strength and charm.

Next Part

[that-basic-simp]

Water Lily

Mizu X Fem!Reader CW: Uses the scientific term for a man's groin WC: 2.4k+ Uses he/him pronouns at the beginning and then changes to she/her Also POV change at the end

"Mizu?"

"Yes, Mizu."

"Like water."

He nodded his head.

"Interesting name for a man," I said, eyeing him up and down.

He was tall and slender. Raven like hair that was tied into a bun, a Kasa on his head that hid his face if he tilted it down. There were round tinted glasses on his face. Wonder why they were tinted? Was he hiding something that he shouldn't? Such as his eye color. Taking a closer look, even if they were tinted, I could see the shape of his eyes. They were round, not almond. His face was pretty angular, which there were some men here with angular faces, but not like his. He was a peculiar man, I will say that.

"Please, I-I understand if you don't want to take me in, but I need to find shelter for the night. A-And I thought this place was abandoned."

"It wasn't, at one point," I said.

"Did you have a family?"

"Yes. A big one at that."

Looking at the surroundings, Mizu nodded his head, "I can tell by the size of it."

"But we weren't rich enough to live in the big cities like Kyoto."

"So why settle out here? In the middle of no where?"

"It was quiet and there weren't many visitors. Except you."

"I-I don't mean to rush this, but," he shifted and that was when I saw it.

There was blood dripping from his side. Rushing him inside, I closed the door and sat him down.

"Take your shirt off," I said.

"I can handle it myself, thanks," he said.

"Please, you're in need of stitches and you're in no condition of doing it yourself."

"How do you know?"

"Were you the same one to do the patchwork in your shirt?"

Eyeing the white stitches that were haphazardly done, Mizu pouted and sighed.

"Fine. B-But promise you won't tell anyone?"

"Tell anyone who? That I saw a man shirtless? I had male cousins who would swim naked in the river behind the house. I've seen more penises than I'd like to," I sighed.

"I take it you're not fond of it?"

"Never was and never will be."

"Why are you out here all alone?" Mizu asked as I got the needle and thread ready, along with some alcohol.

"My family left me."

"Why?"

"The same reason as to why I never want to sleep with a man, let alone be touched by one."

"B-But why are you helping me?"

"You seem like a nice guy," I said.

"So you don't like men?"

"Not romantically."

"I see," Mizu said. "Well, you're in luck."

"Why's that?"

As soon as Mizu removed his cloak and shirt, I understood why. There was a binding around his chest.

"A woman."

Mizu nodded her head, "Yes."

"Well, do you want me to call you sir or madam?"

"Mizu."

"Mizu? Just Mizu?"

"Yes. Just Mizu."

"Well, if there was one thing that stuck from my family, is I always gave people nicknames. No matter if they were staying for the day or a week."

"Why?"

"Hospitable," I said and got the needle and thread ready, stitching up the stab wound in Mizu's left abdomen.

"Geez, you have a lot of scars over your body. What kind of a samurai doesn't wear armor?"

"I-I'm not a samurai. I have no honor. Unless you count revenge honorable."

"Why the revenge?"

There was a long pause.

"I know it's easier said than done, but you can trust me. Not like I have anyone to tell your secrets to. I do live alone."

"Surprised you haven't gone insane," Mizu said.

"You and me both."

"Do you remember when the four white men came to Japan?"

"My parents told me about it. Caused a big stir."

"I was the product of one of them. He slept with my mother and she had me."

"C-Can I look at something?"

"What?" Mizu turned towards me.

Reaching up, she flinched away, causing me to retract my hand. Slowly nodding, she leaned towards me. Removing her glasses, I finally found what was hiding underneath. Bright, blue eyes that seemed to shine in the firelight. They reminded me of the river outside, how it shimmered and shined against the morning and evening sun.

"Your eyes," I began.

"Just say it," Mizu said with annoyance.

"Say what?"

"That I'm a demon, an onryo. A dog."

"They're beautiful."

"What?"

"Your eyes, they're beautiful. I haven't seen anything like them."

"O-Oh," Mizu said. "T-Thanks, I guess."

I smiled, "So cold. Yet the minute you're exposed to a burning fire, you freeze up."

"I haven't really been complimented throughout my years of being alive. I was seen as a demon. A monster. That I had no right to be alive."

"But you are, aren't you?"

"Alive only to do one thing and that is kill those white men."

"What do you plan to do afterwards?"

"I don't know."

"Well, you always have a place here, Mizu," I said, taping some gauze around the stitches. I put the binding on her chest and she pulled the shirt up.

"Stay as long as you need to," I said, throwing the needle away.

"You never told me your name," Mizu said.

"Y/N."

"Y/N," she said. "Thank you, Y/N."

"Rest, Mizu. I will fix you up something to eat to help with the healing process.

"How can I repay you?"

"By coming back alive."

"Back where?"

"Here. I like your company."

Even if I couldn't see her, there was a smile across her face. Once I had finished making her something to eat, I sat down beside her and handed her the bowl.

"So, your family," Mizu said.

"Minute they found me with a woman they picked up their things and left."

"Nice of them to leave you a house to yourself instead of throwing you out."

"They went with my aunt and uncle. They're lords so of course they'd want to live in a bigger place than this."

"Of course. The greedy just become greedier."

"But I have found solace within these walls. I thank you for the company," I smiled.

"Thank you for helping me."

I nodded, standing up, letting Mizu have some space and time to eat.

"You're handy with a sword," I said, watching her practice.

It's been a few days since Mizu arrived at my doorstep asking for help, even though she really didn't want it at first. I was sure she would have left by now because of how she spoke of her mission. She was serious and she wanted these people to pay. I felt her pain, her vengeance. But it was killing her on the inside.

"I am handy with other things," Mizu said, wiping some sweat from her face. "Anything is a weapon if you really think about it."

"In your hands, even chopsticks can be a weapon."

She chuckled, "Yeah. I guess they can be."

"Who taught you?"

"Myself."

"Oh, self taught."

"No school would take me. Y-You've seen me. I-I'm a disgrace."

Walking over to Mizu, I raised my hand and placed it against her cheek. Moving her head back a bit, I found her blue eyes.

"Mizu, you're not."

"W-Why do this to me?"

"Do what?"

"Tell me something I am not when I am."

"It were those who claimed you as something you're not. They were telling you you're an onyro, a demon, a dog, whatever they wanted to call you. That is something you're not, Mizu. You're simply a person who is just trying to get by in this world."

"I-I," she reached up and grabbed my hand, nuzzling into my palm. "I-I never really thought about it that way."

"Because you were taught not to show who you really were. Not to be you, Mizu. You had to put a mask on your face and because of it, you hid away and that's really the only thing you know."

Tears streamed down her face as she squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Removing my hand, she let go of it.

"Leave me."

"Mizu, d-did I say something wrong?"

"Just leave," she snarled at me. "And quit pretending you know me."

She walked off and continued to train. That was interesting, but it made her all the more complex.

"I see you're still not gone," I said, sitting down and putting a bowl in front of her.

"And you still haven't given me a nickname," Mizu said, raising the bowl to her lips.

"I haven't thought of a good one."

"Well, my name means water. Shouldn't that mean something?"

"It does, I am trying to find a way to tie that in. But nothing is coming."

"Just call me ocean because I come and go like it."

"Then it would be rain."

"What was your nickname? If your parents gave you one."

"They gave me the nickname of koi."

"Koi? Like a koi fish?"

"Yep. I loved swimming, just like the koi fish. And I had perseverance, especially when it came to learning medicinal soups and what was edible and what wasn't."

"And here I thought you'd poison me," Mizu joked.

"Ha-ha," I said dryly.

"You're actually quite good at it," she said.

"Good at what?"

"Taking care of people. And well, everything you've done for me lately."

"Oh. T-Thank you."

"Didn't think I'd compliment you?"

"N-No, but I just don't see you complimenting someone."

"Really? Why's that?"

"Cold like ice."

"Oh," she sighed.

"But once warm, the ice melts away, leaving water in its place. You're resilient, Mizu. Like water itself."

"A-About the other day," Mizu said.

"Yeah?"

"I-I'm sorry. I-I shouldn't have said that to you."

"Well, for someone to say those kinds of things, someone had to be in similar shoes. I was in similar shoes like you. Having to hide who I truly was and then when it came out, I was scolded for it. Seen as a monster. Seen as something anything other than human."

"It must have been hard, having your entire family turn their backs on you when you needed them most."

"It was," I said, picking up my chopsticks and grabbing the noodles. "But like my nickname, I pushed through. I found a way to overcome it and was able to thrive. Now, I find myself in a better place than before. And while I thought it couldn't get any better, you came along."

Mizu picked up her head, "W-What did I do?"

"Gave me another reason to stay here."

"You wanted to leave?"

"I did. I took some jobs from the nearby town and saved up enough money to move into said town. People tried to offer me their homes, but I wanted to earn a house by myself and work there."

"Why haven't you yet?"

"Well, someone by the name of Mizu came to my door the day I was getting ready to pack my things."

Mizu turned away, avoiding my gaze.

"M-My apologies. I-I should have left earlier."

"I enjoy your company, Mizu. I'm glad you stayed for as long as you did. And besides, I think you're all healed up. So you also needed to stay to heal."

"Do you have everything?" I asked Mizu as I straightened out the cloak on her shoulders.

"Yes, I have everything," she said.

I handed her her tinted glasses and she held off putting them on yet. I also handed her a different kind of scarf.

"What's this for?" she asked, taking it.

"A more fashionable scarf to wrap around your neck."

"Why?"

"I don't think you like having whatever you have around your neck. Besides, it'll also keep you warm."

Mizu removed what was around her neck and replaced it with what I had given her.

"I-It is warm," she said, her eyes widening with surprise. "W-What is it?"

"Part of a blanket I had when I was a kid."

"W-Why do something like that?"

"It'll provide you warmth and comfort. And it'll remind you of me."

"I can't thank you enough, Y/N," Mizu said.

"You don't need to. J-Just promise me one thing."

"I-I'll try to."

I reached over and grabbed her hands, holding them gently in mine.

"Promise me you'll come back alive. I don't care if it's in pieces to where I have to stitch you up again," I poked at her abdomen, earning a chuckle from her. Reaching up, I placed my hand against her cheek, caressing the skin. "Just please come back to me."

"I-I'll try to, Y/N."

"Thank you."

"I-I think I might have found a way to thank you."

"How's that?"

Leaning towards me, she placed her lips lightly to the corner of my mouth, pressing a quick kiss. Pulling away, her cheeks flushed. Smiling, I leaned towards her and pressed a light and quick kiss to her lips. When I pulled away, her eyes were wide and her mouth open slightly. Her cheeks went from pink to a deep shade of red. I giggled, seeing her flustered like that. She put her glasses on and tipped her Kasa down over her eyes.

"G-Goodbye, Y/N."

She walked down the path of my house and turned to the left, heading to the nearest city.

"Goodbye, my water lily."

~Mizu's POV~

Walking down the familiar path, I reached up and grabbed onto the scarf, feeling the silk material. A smile crawled over my face when I finally reached the turn that led to her house. Turning, my heart sank into my stomach and my knees got heavy. Rushing towards the house, the once vibrant paint was weathered away and there were boards where the windows used to be. Ivy was growing and grass was overtaking the stone path.

"Y-Y/N!" I called, rushing towards the backside of the house. "Y-Y/N!"

I ran towards the front and let out a silent cry as tears slid down my face.

"N-No. I-I haven't been gone for that long."

Walking close to the door, there was a board covering it so I couldn't even really open it. Stepping closer, there was a little piece of paper sticking out from underneath one of the boards. Grabbing it, I pulled out a letter with my name on it. Opening it with trembling hands, I read the first two words and was immediately running towards that town. I should have known. She mentioned she wanted to move there. I didn't think she'd move that quickly. As I was running there, I was reading the note. Reaching the town, I walked through some crowds of people and before I knew it, I was standing in front of her house. Her new house. There was a bell hanging by the door. Raising my hand, I grabbed the red sting at the end and rang it, a jingle erupting into the air.

"Coming!" her voice called from the inside.

Taking in a deep breath, I let it out and the door opened up.

"M-Mizu?"

"I-I'm b--"

Her arms were thrown around me and she was hugging me tightly.

"I thought you were dead."

Lifting my arms, I wrapped them around her, hugging her tightly.

"I missed you, too."

Pulling away, she cupped my face in her hands. Pulling me towards her, our lips met lightly and I let out a small hum. Oh to be with her after a long time of fighting. Pulling away, she smiled at me.

"My water lily," she breathed out.

Reaching up, I grabbed her hand.

"I don't think koi suits you."

"Oh? Then what should you call me?"

"Mine," I said huskily.

Her eyes blinked a few times and her face turned a bright shade of red. Smirking, I pushed her into the house and closed the door.

"Payback for when I left."

She chuckled, tears forming in her eyes as I reached up and removed my glasses.

"I missed those eyes. I missed you, Mizu."

"I missed you, too, Y/N."

[usuratongaychi]

A Good Night’s End..

- OroJira/JiraOro smut fic.. tags and other stuff listed below the cut.

cross posted to ao3 @ https://archiveofourown.org/works/62245699

• Tags: Light Bondage, Overstimulation, Premature Ejaculation, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dom/sub Undertones, Top Orochimaru (Naruto), Bottom Jiraiya (Naruto), Birthday Sex, Not Beta Read, Crying, Nipple Play, Anal Sex, Frottage

______________________________________________

Jiraiya tugged at his wrist restraints curiously, pulling the thick fabric taught from the wooden bedpost. Of course with a Sannin’s strength he could easily break free, but he’d rather not destroy the bed frame.

Wonder how long hes had these in the closet. He’s never let me tie him like this..

Three more restraints fastened him to the soft bed, one cuffing his wrist, two more binding his ankles and rendering him helpless. He watched the pale man at the footboard slip off his grey robes and thin black undergarments, revealing a ghostly, elegant body; smooth pale skin committed to Jiraiya’s memory..trailing down his blushing chest.. angular hips leading to his already hard sex, the vision sending heat straight to his own.. Jiraiya had seen Orochimaru naked before, more times than he knew about maybe, but how such a fragile man managed to knock him on his ass each time they sparred never registered with him.

“..and you’re sure you’re alright with this? Jiraiya?”

Orochimaru spoke innocently, as if he didn’t have a naked man bound to his bed

The sage swallowed thickly and nodded, ignoring the blood pulsing in his ears. Anything the man had uttered after disrobing was lost on him, eyes transfixed on bare skin, illuminated by the sole moonlight through open curtains.. It was a miracle he could manage that small reaction, given how most of his blood pooled at his lap by now. He had surprisingly little shame given his current situation…, exposed, tied…only growing more aroused at the forced vulnerability... he wouldn’t mind if Orochimaru tied him again..

What’d he say…something about toys, being a toy, being used… if that was the case, it was alright with him.

Orochimaru scoffed at his blatant entrancement, crawling upon the bed and perching between his tanned thighs, caressing experimentally. Jiraiya rolled his head back in appreciation, humming as cold fingers scaled his muscled legs, grazing the base of his cock before retreating.

“You’re already so warm, I haven’t done much yet..”

Some light teasing at the bar, rubbing his thigh under the table as the waiter brought out free drinks…soft whispers on the drunken walk home; how Orochimaru proposed he’d take his gift..

“Not my fault I-“ Jiraiya choked as a slender hand gripped his cock, cutting off his remaining thoughts.

The snake leaned over him possessively, silken hair framing his thin face as he drank in Jiraiya’s reaction, granting a few languid strokes sparking pleasure up the larger man’s spine before removing his hand from the half-hard cock before him, cooing as he writhed for more.

“Fucking hell- you’re gonna be a tease the whole night??” Jiraiya spat, struggling to still his hips as he bucked against nothing, digging his heels into the mattress. His straining cock grazing Orochimaru’s cool body, smearing precum on his stomach.

“I get to make the rules, mmh? If you’re unhappy..I could always leave you like this…untouched..” he trailed off, tone laced with condescension. “Besides, you wouldn’t deny me on my birthday, right..?” he pouted.

If it weren’t for the sage’s (already wavering) resolve, he’d flip him over with no regard for the restraints, ravage his teammate’s lithe body til they collapsed. Instead he settled back, submitting to his demands. It was his day after all, and Orochimaru had so thoroughly indulged Jiraiya on his own birthday.. spent bent over their kitchen counter til his eyeliner ran and his legs went numb, knuckles raw from gripping the ledge..

Only right to return the favor..

“No, you can do what you want, love..” he admitted, relaxing in his ties, his display of submission earning a soft kiss ..

a few more in kind before Orochimaru slid his tongue inside, probing Jiraiya’s mouth hungrily

fuckk

by now, Jiraiya would already have the snake sannin in his arms, back pressed into the mattress as he whined for more.. he strained up to reach him in futile effort causing Orochimaru to lean back, sitting flush against the larger man’s eager hips, rolling his own in time as his hands roamed the expanse of Jiraiya’s broad chest; tracing the raised scar tissue covering the bulk of it, before catching on his nipples. He rolled them between his index and thumb as Jiraiya swore, moaning into his open mouth as he tensed and strained.

If I touch here…

Jiraiya responds, wincing as Orochimaru pinched and tugged, testing his limits.

“Didn’t know you liked it like this..you never let me-“

Jiraiya interrupted, keening desperately as his legs trembled beneath him. A pearly..hot substance splashing the snake’s stomach.

“Too much- can’t-..”

gods..he’s already..

Orochimaru glanced down, finding the spot where their cocks met littered with cum as his captive desperately writhed and mewled below.

He gazes up, meeting Jiraiya’s closed eyes and knit brows, weathered face flushed red with shame and hot pleasure.

Didn’t know a shameless perv could get embarrassed..

he came just from rubbing against each other..? or was his chest really that sensitive.. Orochimaru filed that thought away for another occasion, lifting his hips to grant Jiraiya’s overstimulated cock some relief..for now.

Returning to his mouth, Orochimaru started out again, slow and gentle. Tracing Jiraiya’s parted lips with his slender tongue before dipping inside. Cradling his face with one hand, the other caressing his jaw as he teased, the pair panting in tandem ..

After a few minutes, Jiraiya rolled his hips again, renewed cock begging for friction.

“Don’t come again without my permission, next time I wont be so lenient..” Orochimaru threatened, grabbing at his thick white hair, tilting his head to force eye contact.

Jiraiya nodded weakly, still dazed from the early release.

Orochimaru trailed hot sloppy kisses down his jaw and neck, decidedly avoiding his nipples as he laved his muscled chest.. holding Jiraiya’s hips firm with some uncanny strength he saved for missions.

Jiraiya struggled as Orochimaru’s slender hand pumped his swollen cock, clenching his jaw to stifle moans.

He’s spilled so much already…

Orochimaru settled on his elbows.. his face between the sage’s legs, slacking his jaw as his serpent tongue lapped up leftover cum from Jiraiya’s drooling, throbbing cock. Joining his skilled fingers his tongue covered where his hand couldn’t manage. They continued like this, Orochimaru earning low, needy moans from his lover as he struggled to keep quiet.

Orochimaru watched his reactions hungrily, drinking in every noise, every movement the sannin made. His brows knitted together in a mix of pleasure-pain.

He’s more handsome beneath me..

So responsive when I take control..

Despite best efforts, the sage choked out a plea, panting and groaning

pleasepleaseplease

as Orochimaru lavished his still oversensitive cock, coiling his tongue around the impressive length.

Fuckkk, if he keeps squeezing with his tongue i might come again..

Orochimaru seized the opportunity to reach and press two pale fingers to Jiraiya’s parted lips. The other eagerly obeyed, sucking and drooling on his fingers, whining at the loss when they retreated.

Using spit soaked fingers, the serpent collected Jiraiya’s earlier load from his taught abdomen, pressing two cum-slicked digits at his untouched entrance.

“Thats…, you’re gonna…use my cum as lube..?” Jiraiya panted, taken back by the lewd display. He glared down at the sannin, pupils blown wide with lust..

I must be rubbing off on him..

Jiraiya recalled using a similar move, when they’d ran out of oil on a rather long mission where they spent consecutive nights..distracting eachother..

Orochimaru grinned, amber eyes glimmering with mischief as he teased his tight entrance, pressing insistently til it gave way for him. Jiraiya let out a choked sob, throwing back his head as curled fingers, dragged along his walls till they hit a sweet spot.

The combined attention on his aching cock and prostate drove Jiraiya mad. Struggling to remain still, he dug his nails into the bed, arching as Orochimaru’s fingers pistoned into his tight ass. His straining and writhing against his restraints rocked the old bed frame, threatening to send them both hurtling toward the floor. Orochimaru paid it no mind, playing the sage with his fingers like a lewd instrument.

“Cmon..I can’t take much more..just let me come..” He groaned hoarsely, throat raw from choking back his cries.

Instead of answering, Orochimaru retracted his tongue, sinking his warm wet mouth around Jiraiya’s aching cock, sucking as it twitched and pulsed pre in his mouth. The sage struggled to hold off as the snake returned his gaze, relaxing his throat and enveloping him in tight heat..

He slid Jiraiya’s thick cock deeper, moaning as it dragged against his wet throat, concentrating to not gag. He practiced a few more times, taking in as much as he could before coming up for air, til he could stay down without issue. His throat muscles rippled and squeezed around the invading cock buried inside.

fucking cruel beast.. you want to punish me…?

Jiraiya sneered to himself, his mind blanking as Orochimaru continued mercilessly assaulting his senses, pistoning his fingers as he sucked greedily. There was absolutely no chance the sadist would allow him relief before his body gave out.

It wasn’t long before he came again, abs tensing as he spilled himself down Orochimaru’s waiting throat.

He pulled off slowly, releasing Jiraiya’s softening cock with a wet ‘pop’, wiping his cum-ruined mouth with the back of his hand. In any other circumstance, Jiraiya would have teased him to hell, but he didn’t look much better himself..

“Fuck, you did that on purpose you sick bitch..”

“Maybe.”

He rolled back on his heels, inspecting the damage done;

Jiraiya sprawled on his back, face red, wet with drool and sweat as his chest heaved with each shattered breath. His stomach and cock covered in spit and cum. Hips twitching, thighs spasming, restraints frayed from his wild thrashing.

completely and utterly debased, from grinding and a blowjob..

impressive

The pooling heat in Orochimaru’s groin made itself apparent.. his neglected, pale pink length throbbing with need.

He crawled forward, pressing his angular hips flush against Jiraiya’s ass before the latter could object. filling his used hole and letting a low hiss escape as he settled inside.

Jiraiya choked, jerking unsuccessfully against the ropes to cover his mouth, opting to bite his own tongue. A series of uncomfortable grunts followed as he steeled against the bed, the invasion of Orochimaru’s cock threatening to split his rigid body in half.

“Too…much..” he sputtered, eyes barely open..

“Shhh, you can take it, right?” Orochimaru cooed, voice hoarse from throating cock ..

Jiraiya choked and whimpered as Orochimaru smoothed his thumb over his lower lip, pressing into his mouth. He took the offer and sucked greedily, earning a sadistic grin from the serpent.

Orochimaru stilled inside, giving him a chance to adjust before gently rocking his hips, cock prodding Jiraiya’s sensitive walls as he used him for his own pleasure. Each thrust earned a needy mewl or pained groan as the sage adjusted to the intrusion..

Jiraiya couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on the receiving end, evident in the salty tears pooling at his lower lids. Still, he wouldn’t dream of asking to him to stop, focusing on orochimaru’s moans instead. His mind slipped further away as the searing pain gave way to a pleasurable ache, matching the persistent throbbing of his cock.

Orochimaru lost patience, mindlessly rutting into Jiraiya’s ass

tightt, so tight..

he buried his face in Jiraiyas neck, muffling his own cries by sucking at his jaw as they chased an approaching high. He clutched the sages hips, forcing him to meet his thrusts til he begged..

Please..I wanna come..

As much as Orochimaru loved torturing him, the vice grip of his entrance had the serpent on a knife’s edge; struggling not to fill him up before they both had their release.

Orochimaru slammed against him, over and over as he worked the sage’s cock with his free hand, the other occupied teasing his chest.

Come for me..with me..

Orochimaru strained, hips aching as his stamina wavered. His thrusts erratic and jerky as they both reached their peak. desperate moans forced aloud as they shuddered, Jiraiya filling with warm wet heat as his third orgasm wrecked him. The serpent slowed his pace, fucking the sannin through his peak til he gave out, falling limp against Jiraiya’s chest.

After a few moments, he pulled out, moving to undo the tedious restraints rubbing Jiraiya’s wrists raw.

fuckk, we’re filthy

and whose fault is that?

Jiraiya sat up, completely soiled in his own load. He spotted his reflection in the mirror, hair somehow messier than before with love bites littering his neck. He considered asking Tsunade to heal them, but the thought of explaining their origin made him shake the idea from his head.

Nothing she hadn’t seen before though..

The pair cleaned up, returning to their equally fucked-out bed and deciding they’d fix it the next day, opting to cuddle on the couch til the sun came up.

Jiraiya whispered a final “Happy Birthday”, met only with silence, the snake fast asleep in his arms. Undeterred, he leaned into the bend of his neck, pressing ‘goodnight’ kisses to his soft skin..

[vamp0rivm]

GOLDEN TOUCH

shitty drabble abt massaging ellie’s back, fluff, still mdni just because 🫤

“Babe?” Ellie rasps out, clearing her throat in an attempt to sound more relaxed.

A groan escapes your lips as you exhale to which she reaches her calloused hand out to wake your half-closed eyelids with a caress of her thumb,

“Hm? That a ‘yes’, babe? Promise I'll go right to sleep after.”

She peppers your forehead with gentle kisses, pulling back to watch your eyes flutter open before you take hold of her shoulders and guide her to turn onto her other side. She follows your movements willingly, a small smile gracing her lips as a sigh passes through.

You push the hem of her shirt up, leaving the fabric scrunched just above her tantalizing shoulder blades and instinctively, you run your fingers along her skin - the freckled small of her back.

It vibrates against your palm when Ellie produces a guttural noise as you apply pressure.

“Yeah, perfect, babe... Right there,” she says, the relief evident in her voice. She closes her eyes to block out anything that distracts her from the feeling, and melts into your palms as you work out the sore spot on her back.

“Just keep it going for a few minutes, yeah?”

And you hum in compliance, you wouldn’t stop. God, she works all day, never looks after herself. It makes your heart ache to think of how her arms must sting constantly with the pain that lingers from over-exerting herself every day. There’s nothing you want more than to lay her down and take it all away.

And there’s a sliver of joy hidden in a shaded crook of your heart because she’s tired - because she’d only ever come to you for comfort…

For now, you do what you can, with care and affection, glancing at her face intermittently to see if she seems more relaxed. It’s working; she visibly sinks into your embrace as you run your hands up and down the expanse of her back.

“Yeah, that's... that’s it, babe… Perfect,” she sighs, muttering a quiet,

“You can stop whenever you feel like it.”

Her tense, angular body seems to melt into the mattress she’s curled up on, as you knead out the bindings of her labour with your golden touch, watching her come undone before you.

In response to a sigh which tells you she’s falling asleep, you give her the space she usually craves, yet as soon as you pull away from Ellie's back and turn over, she lets out a soft groan and turns to eye you over her shoulder.

“Still hurts?”

"Yeah... still hurts," Ellie murmurs, turning to face forward again as your hands find their way to her skin once more, though her words are dripping with insincerity, "Still hurts so much..."

And you don’t mind; you love that she loves your touch indescribably. So you keep going, unwinding the stress coiled around her like a seamstress to a spindle, until your arms begin to ache and, then, you stop your hands in their tracks.

You press soft kisses like the flutter of butterfly wings upon her skin, before wrapping your arms around her lean waist and throwing a leg over her with your cheek pressed against the warmth of her back.

“Thank you, baby,”

she says, her voice a rasping murmur, a ripple of vibrations against your face, drowning out into the rhythm of her heartbeat pulsing through her being. She can hear yours as well; feel your careful, gentle breaths feathering her back. Almost feels like you’re sharing a heart…

Drunk on fatigue, Ellie turns so the tip of your nose brushes against her bare chest, allowing herself to shamelessly be desperate for your touch.

She wraps an arm over your waist, wanting to engulf your body with her own, wrap around you and hold you in the safety of her rib cage for eternity.

You welcome her greedy love, leaning into her hold, wanting her to take you in just as much.

“Night, babe, I love you,”

“Love you too, Els, night.”

[lacebvnny]

- Bound to you, among the flames -

Aemond Targaryen x Female!reader

Summary: Set after Storm's End. You are to marry prince Aemond Targaryen -the killer of your beloved friend Lucerys-, in the old Valyrian way.

Rating: +13, arranged marriage

A/n: Okay, I was pretty unsure to post this one. Keep in mind English is not my first language. Enjoy! Feedback will be appreciated 🥺

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

Her feet sank in the softness of the damp sand, and the sound of the waves crashing on the shore tore her attention away from the speech of the monk standing next to her and her husband.

/Hen lantoti ānogar/

No, he wasn't her husband yet. This wasn't a customary wedding, at least not in westerosi tradition. Perhaps that's why the dowager queen let her dissaproval be known and refused her attendance that morning, forcing the solitude and the intimacy in the ceremony to stand out in the vast coast where Aemond decided it would be held.

She cursed him in her mind when the heaviness of her eyelids made the restlessness she had the night before become more evident, as the prince instructed her days prior that she should be present before the break of dawn.

There was a chill in the cold, morning brisk that made her skin shiver, and the flames coming from the fire holders surrounding them weren't enough to warm her.

/Va syndroti vāedroma/

Y/n felt ridiculous, out of place even, when she saw herself wearing the ornamented headpiece and the silky, oversized robe meant for her to use that morning. It wasn't at all what she expected, not in the least close to the frugality of the dress she would be wearing in the evening at the sept.

Isn't this meant to be used only by pure blooded valyrians?, she wondered, but she was well aware that wouldn't be a fact Aemond would let in into his obtuse, stubborn mind.

She even imagined how Aegon the conqueror and his sisters would turn in their graves if they saw them tanting the millennial ritual by binding a Targaryen with a puny westerosi. Hell, even Aegon -the drunkard- laughed his ass off when he received the news of his younger brother being wed to her in the old fashion.

/Mēro perzot gīhoti/

He wore the same muted robe as she did, but this time a heavily decorated eyepatch adorned his angular face, besides the relaxed smirk he had from the second he spotted her moments before she stood next to him.

It was unfair, she thought, how the dressing fitted so well on him, as much as she hated to admit.

The ancient outfit was meant to combine with his valyrian, regal features, and the statuesque demeanor he showed made her feel like a fragile and simple peasant, as if he was a prince who came from the Old Valyria to be bound with her for eternity.

/Elēdroma iārza sīr/

Y/n spotted the pink wine tint on their shoulders and immediately reasoned how it blended together with the warm sky above them, the same as the creamy soft color on the ends of the robe, just like the sand where they stood.

Oh, so this is why he chose the sunrise...

/Izulī ampā perzī/

The lady felt her legs quivering when the monk handed the prince a small knife, but then she recalled how the main point of the ceremony centered around joining their blood together.

Aemond turned to face her, with a reassuring look on his only eye, as if he knew he frightened her by holding the small, glassy weapon. He closed the distance between them and raised her chin with his cold digits as he lifted the dagger near her face.

Hearing him mutter a soft look at me, y/n felt a sharp sting on her bottom lip, which made her eyes water as the cold material left a fresh wound where it slid down.

The Targaryen traced her pillowy lips with his thumb, collecting blood to draw a small figure on her forehead with it.

She didn't understand what it meant, and y/n wished, if he was so adamant on being wed to her, that he could at least had the consideration of taking his time to explain to her the vows the priest spoke in that rich language of theirs, and the blood sigils they were supposed to mark on each other.

/Prūmī lanti sēteksi/

Before she could ponder on the strange words, Aemond grabbed her hand giving her the knife with a determined look on his face, expecting her to do the same to him.

She stepped closer to him and, much to her dismay, her trembling hands dropped the knife to the ground. Y/n felt her face burning with shame and heard a small chuckle coming from the prince standing in front of her.

Asshole, prick, jerk, accursed kinslayer. A whole cascade of insults towards him crescented in her mind.

Clenching her teeth with anger she crouched, swiftly picking up the instrument while holding her headpiece in place to prevent it from falling. She didn't need to embarrass herself any longer that morning.

/Hen jeny māzīlarion/

Y/n held the dagger tightly and she stood on her tiptoes so she could allow herself to reach the towering valyrian, finding balance gripping his upper arm and finally giving him the small cut on his lip.

Aemond had to lower his face for her to draw the bloody symbol on him, and she prayed in her mind she drew the correct figure as she remembered it was.

Once his hand reached hers to take the knife, the knot on her throat tightened almost constrictingly as she observed Aemond giving himself a long slash, feeling immediate nausea when she saw the sanguine fluid pooling on the palm of his hand.

She was certain Aemond probably knew she wouldn't have the courage to cut herself, and proved right when he extended her arm by the wrist firmly to prevent her from pulling it back.

Without warning, the icy steel bit her and y/n flinched in pain, choking a small whimper as Aemond put their hands together intertwining their fingers, almost as if he tried to comfort her.

Her blood mixed with his when her palm rested between his long calloused digits, dripping through the small spaces allowing them to be joined together in this old rite the prince insisted so much to carry out.

The seeping crimson liquid gave his usually cold skin an odd warmth, almost nostalgically so.

/Qēlossa ozūndesi/

The priest approached them continuing his chanting, offering her a wooden cup to drink from. Y/n inspected the small runes carved on it before putting it to her lips and taking some slows sips of what appeared to be spiced wine, with her tongue starting to burn fiercely.

It seemed Aemond wasn't bothered by the fiery sensation after his turn to drink from the cup, his usual calm facade remained intact.

/Syndroro ōñō jēdo/

His feet took a step closer to her, as she tried avoiding the intense stare from his one eye while he slowly leaned down to caress her cheek.

The soft stroke became a strong grip on her jaw, and the prince began closing the distance between them, placing his lips on hers, need and want emanating from the rythm of his breathing.

Much to y/n's surprise, the kiss was soft, slow, maybe too passionate for a religious ceremony as his mouth found hers with boiling desperation, forcing the hotness under her skin rush to her cheeks in seconds.

One of his hands kept her in place while the other found rest in her shoulder, gently tugging at her robe as if he couldn't wait to free her from it.

Nevertheless, y/n had no other choice but to return the kiss, closing her eyes and imagining the one kissing her was the sweet prince who spent his afternoons on the library with her reading about history, and not the murderer who plotted her dear friend's death.

/Ry kīvia mazvestraksi/

She heard Aemond groan softly in frustration when he pulled away, as if he had to refrain himself from claiming her mouth how he truly wanted.

When the priest finished his vows, they both stared at each other while the fires cracked vigorously before being put out.

Y/n was too well aware Aemond could see the fear and rejection in her eyes, unlike him, whose gaze was so ardent it made her shrink into a tight knot of nervousness.

- Our blood is bound together now, Rūs.- he expressed, a hint of excitement blossoming on his voice,- ... I will finally make you mine tonight.

The soft burr from his tone and the lascivous threat almost made her spun on her heels to run away.

- I won't allow you in my bed!- she replied with irritation.

Aemond only chuckled, wearing his usual stance with his arms behind his back.

-Hm... I will be your lord husband once the high septon anoint us with the Seven's blessings, so...- the prince dangerously leans over her, revelling on her anxious state.

I think I'll have the right to do as I want with you.

[the-virgoperspective]

Part 1

Hello all! I just wanted to share what I have been learning while reading up on composite charts. The composite chart is a very interesting and helpful tool to show one what a relationship looks like with themselves and another person. The composite chart is casted by using the midpoint of each planet from each individual natal chart and creating a completely new chart for the individuals as one. This method can apply for just two people or multiple people. For a better understanding of midpoints in astrology, please click here.

In this post, I will be using the writings of Robert Hand, from his novel “Planets in Composite: Analyzing Human Relations” to explain the meaning and significance of each house in the composite chart. Please always keep in mind that this is only one vital step to reading an entire composite chart and should not be seriously considered without viewing everything as a whole. This is just one piece. Enjoy!

The Composite 1H

The first house of the composite chart is one of the angular houses, which gives greater significance to any planet that is in it. Beyond that, however, the first house is the persona of a relationship and indicates the kind of impression it will make on its surroundings and how it will be viewed by others. It tells to what extent a couple will be regarded as a unit in their own right rather than as two separate individuals. The first house resembles the tenth somewhat, but there is an important difference, in that the tenth represents the reality of what the relationship is to the outer world. The first house describes the impression the relationship gives rather than what it really is. A strong first house can be an indication of a relationship that is all show and no substance. The tenth more clearly indicates substance, at least from the standpoint of social significance. Nevertheless, a strong first house is usually a sign of a significant relationship that will have a great impact on the lives of those involved.

The Composite 2H

The second house of the composite chart refers to values-what the two people value, and their relationship to what is valued. This can operate on two different planes. The second house can indicate the role that value-systems play in forming the relationship, that is, to what extent people come together because they value similar things or ideas. If the second house contains difficult aspects, particularly ones involving Pluto and Mars, disagreements over values may be a major source of conflict within the relationship. Similarly, positive aspects indicate that the couple has compatible values, which helps to bind the relationship together.

On another plane, clearly related to the first, the composite second house refers to whatever finances and property there may be in the relationship.

The Composite 3H

The composite third house has essentially the same meanings as the third house in a conventional birth chart: communication, mind, routine day-to-day environment, and relatives. In the composite chart the communications aspect is especially important. If the people in a relationship cannot communicate, they are in real trouble. Very often in a close personal relationship, each partner expects the other to understand them on some deep, intuitive level that does not involve words. When the couple discovers that this deep understanding does not exist, they are most upset and hurt. An afflicted third house usually indicates lack of communication in some way. This should be watched for.

A relationship with a strong third house usually comes about because of mental affinity. The two people are fond of talking with each other and exchanging ideas. Their only real problem arises in a close personal relationship, for mental exchange may become a substitute for a much-needed deep emotional exchange. Otherwise, a third-house relationship is perfectly fine.

The Composite 4H

The fourth house represents more than the home, especially in the composite chart. Many relationships have nothing that could be called a home, and yet the fourth house remains important.

First of all, it is one of the angular houses, which gives it added significance. But more fundamentally, the fourth house indicates the basic roots of a relationship-both literally, in geographic terms, and figuratively, in terms of mental and emotional background. The fourth house signifies the innermost depths of a relationship, which may be so far within as to be invisible at the surface.

The fourth house should be checked to see if there is an underlying compatibility between two people. Do they have compatible backgrounds in the senses just described, and are their basic emotional and psychological characteristics compatible?

A composite chart with a strong fourth house usually indicates that the two people share their innermost lives and that they probably share their actual place of residence.

The Composite 5H

The fifth house in the composite chart has many of the same meanings that it has in a conventional chart-love affairs, children (where this is appropriate), creativity, self-expression, and so forth. The interpretation of self-expression, however, is especially critical in a composite chart.

The composite fifth house represents, first of all, to what extent the relationship provides a setting for the individuals to be themselves in the most genuine and honest way possible. The fifth house signifies the ability of the individuals to be real in each other’s presence, which is not always easy. And being real should not be an effort. An ideal relationship allows each person to be real and to feel that it is easy to do so. When the fifth house operates smoothly, it is easy to enjoy oneself with the other without feeling that something unnatural is expected. A badly aspected fifth house, on the other hand, indicates the opposite.

In a fifth house relationship a couple is not together to form a team or partnership, but because they enjoy being themselves in each other’s company and because they enjoy each other. For this reason, this is the house of love affairs and of friendships (which are also ruled by the eleventh house). The staying power needed for a marriage or other long-term partnership may not be provided by a purely fifth-house relationship.

The Composite 6H

The composite sixth house can signify real obstacles to a satisfactory personal relationship. Somewhat like the sixth house of a conventional horoscope, it refers to the duties and responsibilities that the relationship must fulfill. Of course, all relationships have obligations, and in most cases they are not likely to be harmful. Duties become a problem only when they are the major element of a relationship, with no room for necessary self-expression as ruled by the fifth house. In a business relationship this is not a great problem; there are tasks to be done and obligations to be met. Only if the circumstances call for work to be done does a strong sixth house become an advantage. To make good use of these energies requires that the two people approach even a personal relationship from a strong sense of personal duty.

Health, the other traditional meaning of the sixth house, seems to have little relevance to a composite chart, except as it may indicate a business or professional relationship relating to health.

part 2

 red divider by @cafekitsune   image + support banner by @roseschoices 

[our-trans-youth-experience]

teenage trans guy here with a burning question (btw crazy ive never seen a blog like this before. you are doing wonders)

what should i resort to for binding if :

a) i have rib damage and breathing problems due to my inexperience binding and lack of research

b) have tried transtape with terrible results

c) physically cant bind with sports bras due to previously mentioned lung issues

i cant afford top surgery. im not even out to my family as a trans man, and i know i dont have to bind to be able to pass but its getting increasingly harder to be in public and pass as a man. thanks for your help if you end up responding to this 🏳️‍⚧️

Hey there dude, welcome and thanks for your support. I try and get through all of my asks, but I am doing full-time school at the same time too, so sorry for any delay in responding. Since you seem to have not seen many of these style of blogs, I'd recommend @our-transgender-experiences @our-transmasculine-experience @our-trans-punk-experience and @our-queer-experience .

This is a difficult ask and first let me take a moment to warn people against unsafe binding because of this.

Now for my advice to you - don't double down on the bad binding practices - no duct tape I REPEAT NO DUCT TAPE - I suggest trying to create an overall boxier, angular less curvy silhouette - this can be done by working out, particularly chest and other upper body exercises - or by layering clothes that have structured fronts (tshirts with large laminated design panels, utility vests, jackets with big chest pockets) Also, I wouldn't completely write trans tape off, it's a skill you can get better at with a little practice :)

[proustian-dream]

As is well-known, female dis-ease in capitalism is often expressed not in an assertion of the 'natural' against the artificial, but in the anti-organic protest of eating disorders and self-cutting. It's hard not to see this -as I.T. following Zizek does- as part of the 'obsession' with 'realistic reference', an attempt to strip away all signs and rituals so as to reach the unadorned thing-in-itself. Goth is in many ways an attempt to make good this symbolic deficit in postmodern culture: dressing up as re-ritualization, a recovery of the surface of the body as the site for scarification and decoration (which is to say, a rejection of the idea that the body is merely the container or envelope for interiority). Take Goth footwear. With their flagrant anti-organicic angularity, their disdain for the utilitarian criteria of comfort or functionality, Goth shoes and boots bend, bind, twist and extend the body. Clothing recovers its cybernetic and symbolic role as a hyperbolic supplement to the body, as what which destroys the illusion of organic unity and proportion.

Mark Fisher, "For your unpleasure: the hauter-couture of goth", k-punk

[caninescreations]

Take Thy Form From Off My Door

Summary:

Every night, after the pawn shop is locked up, Filbrick counts the till by himself. Every night, he makes sure the "closed" side of the sign is clearly displayed in the front window. Despite this, every night, there's a visitor.

Read Me On AO3!

The doorknob to the first floor of Pines Pawns rattles. There's the once, twice, three times of a hand checking to see whether or not it's locked. Filbrick Pines, a stout man in his mid-forties, finds his lip twitching as he counts out the register and tallies up the day's expenses and earnings. He doesn't bother looking up.

Knock-knock.

He piles the ones and binds every twenty gathered with a rubber-band, placing them aside.

Knock-knock.

Then the fives, sorted and counted and gathered into their own bundles. These go faster. The tens, even more so.

Knock-knock.

The twenty-dollar bills, he doesn't even bother with. There's only two, and they go right back into the register. Most of the money does, in fact, to keep it balanced at one-hundred dollars as he always has. When there's a few dollars in spare change re-loaded in the drawer, he takes the day's surplus and slides it all into an envelope to put in the safe upstairs. Tomorrow is Friday, which means he'll have to find time in the day to drop off a deposit to the bank before the weekend.

The tension does not leave his shoulders as he lifts his head from his work. The lights are still on, the front windows cut posters of pitch-black in the wall. Like this, anyone standing even remotely close to the shop would be illuminated, even if the street and the buildings are too far away. The glass-block window in the door is solid with the night, each little square its own perfectly-angular little picture.

Knock-knock.

He needs to wrap it up in here, and quickly. Filbrick had once considered closing up shop before sundown, but this far north would have his door locked and lights out before four in the afternoon for four months out of the year, and he just can't cut income like that. Not with New Jersey winters, not with the age of this building. So he endures with a stiff upper lip.

Knock-knock. Knock-knock.

He closes the register, makes sure it's locked. Tucks the money inside his suit jacket and makes a round of the glass cases to make sure they're locked, too. His gut refuses to let him approach the door, but he overrules the decision and forces his feet to carry him, unwaveringly, to check the deadbolt.

He just needs to check the deadbolt, and then he can go upstairs.

"Pa?"

Filbrick breathes in, staring through the front door's window. Staring at the slush-covered steps immediately in front of it, the way his shadow cuts down to the street through the warm light pouring out from behind him. His hand feels stuck to the latch, the knuckles of his fingers unyielding.

"Pa, it's cold out. I- can I come inside?"

Just twitch the latch. Check it, that's all he has to do, and then he can finish his day.

"I know I haven't- I know I don't have the money back. But I've been out here so long- I can't..."

There's a pause, a muffled sniffle. Filbrick swallows thickly and doesn't blink, not once.

"One night, I promise, that's all I need, and then I'll be outta your hair. I'm not a leech. I don't need much, just- just one night somewhere warm. You don't even need t' gimme a bed, I can take the couch, o-or the floor, even! I got a blanket in my car a-and I can use my jacket as a pillow-"

It sounds the same whether he's behind the register or two inches away from the wood, which doesn't move under his hands. A hot coal burns in his chest, charring his ribcage from the inside until the space is hollowed-out and empty and his lungs are gone. He grits his teeth and stares a hole into the vacant stoop, as if to materialize the presence with mere willpower.

"Just- can I come home yet? I'll be good. I promise I'll be good. Pa? Are you there?"

Knock-knock knock.

Filbrick can't bring himself to speak.

"Please."

He clenches his fist and checks the deadbolt, which had remained locked since he closed shop to balance the till. With a deep, measured breath, he turns on his heel and marches away, towards the back of the shop, to the stairs where his wife and his grandchild are waiting, to where he'll eat supper with his family and put away the money and try to sleep while the thing that isn't at the front door knocks over and over and over and over and over and-

He freezes. There's no sound, not even filtering down through the ceiling from upstairs. It shouldn't stop, not until the sun rises again tomorrow morning, or unless there's someone actually outside.

Filbrick grips the handle of the door to the upstairs apartment, hating the fact that he can't bring himself to turn around. He's stuck there, standing and glaring holes into the chipped and discolored paint like he's some kind of pansy. Something behind him squeaks slowly open, the sound of metal-on-metal.

"Uh, Pa?" Shermie's voice drifts in. "You alright there?"

He feels the tension bleed slowly from his shoulders, and lets out the air he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. Filbrick returns to the front door slowly, evenly, eyes on the face of his eldest son behind the glass.

"What's the matter with you, you tryna give me a heart attack?" He grunts. "Where's your key?"

Shermie doesn't roll his eyes, but Filbrick can sense the same energy in his tone of voice. "With my doting wife, who won't be joining us because she has a late shift tonight. Which I told you this morning. We really should have an extra copy."

Filbrick grumbles, "And pay for a spare that's just gonna get lost or stolen and let some stranger waltz in? Not unless you 'n her move in and start payin' rent. My house-"

Shermie finishes with a sigh, "Your rules. I got it, I got it. Now lemme in, huh? I'm freezing my tuchus off out here, and my fingers aren't far behind." His son lifts the mail flap again, sticks a couple fingers through the slot, and wiggles them for emphasis. Filbrick, whose hand still sits unmoving on the lock, feels the last little bit of dread leave him and opens the door.

"Then don't leave your gloves at home, you ignoramus. And hustle home faster next time, huh? A minute or two later and you'd've been stuck out there till your wife came around."

"Consider me warned." His son walks past him, shivering as a cold wind follows him inside and stomping his shoes on the floor to work out the chill. Filbrick all but slams the door shut, twisting the lock and turning his back as quick as he dares. When Shermie has politely deposited the slush on his boot on the mat rather than the hardwood, he ascends to the flat upstairs. "Yeesh, I might have to change my name to Pine-scicle if this weather keeps up."

Filbrick follows behind, hitting the lights on his way out.

As he closes the first-floor door to the stairs, he ignores how the knocking starts up again.

[weirdestbooks]

The Shot Heard Around the World Chapter 55

Purple Heart (Wattpad | Ao3)

Table of Contents | Prev | Next

August 7, 1782

My dear country, the United States of America,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, and I hope the negotiations with your father are going well. I look forward to seeing the results of your efforts, and I hope that you are remembering to take the time for yourself and to help build relationships with more than just your father.

Things in your land have been peaceful since you have traveled to France, and I am confident that they will stay that way. The British have retreated from the Southern cities and are drawing back, and there has been little fighting. It seems certain now that both sides are waiting for the results of the treaty, and that we all know the war is coming to an end.

Additionally, in more recent news, General Washington has established some new military badges earlier today and is prepared to begin awarding them to men who deserve them. I'm sure you know this by now, with all your politics and discussions, but everyone here is certain of your victory and ascension. General Washington also wants to award you a medal as well, although I am not sure if you will accept the medal, as I know your role in the war was just you doing your duty as our nation, but he sees it as a way to show straight within the country and show that you served an important role within the country's war of independence.

These medals are not going to be given to higher-ranking soldiers, however, but to regular soldiers who fought bravely in the war. As General Washington had explained, "the road to glory in a patriot army and a free country is thus open to all." These medals are not to repeat the pomp of the kingdoms, but to honor the people in our new nation who fought for you and your life as a country. All soldiers will be eligible for military honors.

There are three badges. Two are Honorary Badges of Distinction, and the third is a Badge of Military Merit.

The badge of distinction is to be given to veteran non-commissioned officers and soldiers who have served more than three years with bravery, fidelity, and good conduct. If a recipient has served more than six years, they will receive two badges, as the badge is a narrow piece of angular white cloth that will be fixed to the left arm on the uniform.

The Badge of Military Merit is for those who have performed a meritorious action in combat, as a way to reward virtuous ambition. This badge appears as a purple heart made of cloth or silk, with an edge of narrow lace or binding, worn over the left breast. This is the badge that General Washington believes you deserve, as your role makes you a commissioned officer.

I know that it is perhaps unconventional to create and reward military badges without the approval of the nation that is rewarding them, but General Washington has assured me that you would approve of it. He sends his fondest regards and wishes you the best of luck.

Your obedient servant and aide-de-camp,

Lucas Miller

• ───────────────── •

September 26, 1782

There were many things that marked a country as a country. Recognition was only a piece of the puzzle, albeit the most important piece.

United States knew that well. Even when he had been a colony, he had been witness to the pomp and tradition of his father's country—been a part of those traditions and ceremonies, serving loyally in the role that he had been made for.

But his father's traditions could no longer be his. And another important thing that sets a country apart is its holidays and traditions, its ceremonies and its honors.

United States already knew that the day of his independence was going to be a holiday, as they had already been celebrating it, and he had already had to refute several claims that July 4 was now his birthday.

But…military honors were another important aspect of being a country, especially when one was established through a war. And now…United States had medals to give to the men that had served him, who had protected and fought for him.

"Isn't that exciting? It's not only a sign of our independence, but another way to legitimize and honor the service of our soldiers, especially since they have been called rebels by most other nations. Now they will have to be recognized as soldiers, even if they aren't officers. It's amazing!" Massachusetts said, excitement in his voice. United States' children had been so much happier since they had arrived in France to begin the discussions of peace terms.

It was nice.

"Will you accept their offer to take the Military Merit medal?" James asked. United States frowned.

"I don't know. It doesn't feel right, it just feels like what Father did—decorating himself in badges and medals and hiding all…all the other things underneath a fancy façade. I don't…I didn't earn it the way my people have. They deserve to have the medals, not me," United States said, before signing, setting the letter on the table, "I don't want to be a fancy kingdom. I want to be me."

"You're still you if you're honored for being able to fight against your father," James said. Virginia made a noise of agreement.

"Especially since you violated your place in the world, the role you had been made for. You—we were meant to be obedient little things, serving Grandfather's whims. And…we're not anymore. That's…you're a country, I'm a country in a confederation, and now we have the ability to plot out our own course," Virginia said. "I feel that's pretty worthy of honor."

"Maybe," United States said before standing up and preparing for the day's negotiations, grateful that his children and brother were willing to act as counsel for his silly worries. "Although I would prefer you all got one. You have contributed so much to the fight, and I wouldn't have been able to do half of what they think I did, because it was you all."

And there lay the main problem.

United States would always receive the credit for what they did. No one would ever be able to know them the way he did.

And that made United States unfathomably sad.

"Maybe you can think on it more," Massachusetts offered. United States let out a small laugh.

"I definitely am."

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Astronomers Detect Missing Ingredient in Cooking Up Stars

Harvard & Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics astronomers are part of a team of researchers that have identified a key element in the formation of stars

The missing ingredient for cooking up stars has been spotted for the first time by astronomers. Much like a pressure cooker has a weight on top of its lid to keep the pressure in, merging galaxies may need magnetic fields to create the ideal conditions for star formation.

Previously, the existence of such magnetic fields had only been theoretical.

Now, an international team, including researchers from the Center for Astrophysics | Harvard & Smithsonian (CfA), has announced evidence of magnetic fields associated with a disk of gas and dust a few hundred light-years across deep inside a system of two merging galaxies known as Arp 220.

Arp 220 is one of the brightest objects beyond our Milky Way in infrared light. Astronomers think it is the result of a merger between two spiral galaxies full of gas, which has triggered great bursts of star formation.

Astronomers think disks of gas and dust could be the key to making the centers of interacting galaxies like Arp 220 just right for cooking lots of hydrogen gas into young stars. Magnetic fields may be able to stop intense bursts of star formation in the cores of merging galaxies from effectively ‘boiling over’ when the heat is turned up too high.

“This is the first time we’ve found evidence of magnetic fields in the core of a merger,” said David Clements of Imperial College, United Kingdom who led the study, “but this discovery is just a starting point. We now need better models, and to see what's happening in other galaxy mergers.”

Researchers used the Submillimeter Array (SMA) on Maunakea in Hawaii to probe deep inside Arp 220. Located near the summit of Maunakea on the Big Island of Hawaii, the SMA is one of the flagship observatories of the Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory, which is part of the CfA, and consists of eight radio dishes working together as one telescope.

To form a lot of stars in a short period of time, a large amount of gas needs to squeeze together.  As the heat from young stars builds, the gas gets dispersed, thereby inhibiting more stars from forming.

“To stop this happening, you need to add something to hold it all together – a magnetic field in a galaxy, or the lid and weight of a pressure cooker,” added Clement.

Astronomers have long been looking for the magic ingredient that makes some galaxies form stars more efficiently than is normal. One of the issues about galaxy mergers is that they can form stars very quickly, in what is known as a starburst. This means they're behaving differently to other star forming galaxies in terms of the relationship between star formation rate and the mass of stars in the galaxy – they seem to be turning gas into stars more efficiently than non-starburst galaxies. Astronomers are baffled as to why this happens.

One possibility is that magnetic fields could act as an extra ‘binding force’ that holds the star forming gas together for longer, resisting the tendency for the gas to expand and dissipate as it is heated by young, hot stars, or by supernovae as massive stars die.

Theoretical models have previously suggested this, but the new observations are the first to show that magnetic fields are present in the case of at least one galaxy.

“Another effect of the magnetic field is that it slows down the rotation of gas in the disks of merging galaxies. This allows the force of gravity to take over, pulling the sluggish gas inward to fuel starbursts,” said Qizhou Zhang of the CfA, a co-author of the study. “The SMA has been one of the leading telescopes for high angular resolution observations of magnetic fields in molecular clouds in the Milky Way. It's great to see that this study breaks new ground by measuring magnetic fields in merging galaxies.”

The next step for the research team will be to search for magnetic fields in other ultraluminous infrared galaxies. With their result, and further observations, the researchers hope the role of magnetic fields in some of the most luminous galaxies in the local universe will become much clearer.

IMAGE: This image of Arp 220 was taken by NASA’s Hubble Space Telescope. Arp 220 is the aftermath of a collision between two spiral galaxies. It is the brightest of the three galactic mergers closest to Earth, about 250 million light-years away. Astronomers studied Arp 220 with the Submillimeter Array (SMA) to determine the role magnetic fields play in the formation of stars. Credit: NASA/ESA/STScI/HST