#glacial movements

[musicollage]

bvdub — The Art Of Dying Alone. 2010 : Glacial Movements.

[moralesluvr]

okay but, miguel and his wife/spouse with 2/3 kids together, yet he always finds time to make sure the relationship has it's spark (dates, sexy time, quiet time etc)

aw this this is so cute!! | nsfw included.

miguel is the type of husband where the love he has for you doesn’t wane. after all the years you’ve been together, the spark in your relationship is still alive, despite how busy you are with the kids— your lovely three babies— or work. add on their recitals and sports, plus family outings and trips, it almost seems like the two of you shouldn’t be this close due to circumstance. but you are.

miguel will physically go insane if he doesn’t have a date with you once every two weeks at the minimum. he loves seeing his wife get all dolled up for him, flowers in his hand as he escorts you to a nice restaurant. your kids are in the comfort and watching of your mother, and it always makes him happy when the kids beg to stay a couple more nights with their lovely grandparents, because it means he’s got more time with you.

if you’re not on a date, you’re snuggled on the couch together reading a good novel or watching TV. sometimes you’ll have a warm bath with each other and put on comfort pajamas, cuddling and drinking a little wine. miguel likes being close to you like that, and you both usually end up falling asleep, but he doesn’t care as long as he’s with you.

and one thing miguel believes in is that sex is good. sex is great! and he likes doing it with his wife. and although sometimes it seems like you’ll have no time— or the kids are up and rowdy on those friday nights that you want to share, he makes sure you guys share those beautiful moments with each other at least a couple times a week.

you were sitting in your bedroom as your husband peeked out the cracked door, trying to see if your kids were around. the three of them were too engrossed in the TV to possibly move, so your husband tiptoed back into your room and quietly shut the door, a grin on his face as he danced over to you with open arms, “they’re watching TV!”

“oh thank the heavens.” you’d smile as miguel gave you a passionate kiss, a hungry one at that, hands already finding the bottom of your skirt and pulling them down. the glacial air that hits you makes you shiver underneath your husband’s touch, his hands too busy removing all of your clothing with a quiet groan, one only loud enough for you to hear. his movements are swift and you both know that you don’t have enough time to really bask in this moment, so you slide his shorts and boxers down and lay on your back, looking up at him with doe eyes.

“need you, mama.” he would tell you, a strain in his voice like it pained him to not be inside you. and you assume that statement is true by the way he pushes into your slick, head thrown back like it was the first time all over again. he would hold you close and kiss your neck, nipping at the rhythm of his thrusts as your jaw fell slack, trying not to disturb your kids and lead them to curiosity.

although you try, you can’t help the way a moan passes through your lips, and miguel’s demeanor flipped like a light switch. he instantly brought a hand to your mouth, dick rutting into you as your eyes squeezed shut, “shut up, slut. do you want our kids to come in here and see their mama like this? i don’t think so…mm— cariño, you know better.”

you haven’t heard those words in so long, their dirty connotation sending warm tingles down your spine, and you want to moan to express how good he’s making you feel, but his mouth clamped over yours restricts that. his rough thrusts don’t cease— he’s slamming into you over and over again so hard that the bed squeaks underneath the both of your weight.

miguel kisses his teeth, head thrown back as he lets out the prettiest grunt you’ve ever heard in your life. his noise fuels your orgasm, cunt fluttering around his thick cock as you cum, hard. it’s only a matter of seconds before his orgasm follows yours, his hips stuttering, thick ropes of cum filling you to the brim. your mouth opens to say something until you hear a knock,

“mommy! papi! i want to show you something so i’m coming in!”

“NO!”

[kagrenacs]

Long awaited, here is the soil map of Skyrim using the Canadian System of Soil classification. Brief description of my conclusions under the cut:

Chernozem: Whiterun Hold is likely home to the majority of Skyrim’s Chernozems. The majority of biological carbon sequestering in grassland environments are below ground, within the root systems. Organic material- humus, builds up, causing the upper layers of the soil to take on a dark colour. Additionally, Solonetzic soils could be present, peppered throughout the hold if the parent material to the soil is salty enough.

Cryosols are formed in Skyrim’s far North and high alpine regions. The mean annual soil temperature being 0 degrees C, with permafrost conditions. Freeze-thaw cycles lead to permafrost at the soils surface, but also cryoturbation: soil movement arising from frost action.

Additionally in mountainous regions, you would find Regosols. Soils which develop on unstable landforms and have had little time to develop, such as mountain slopes, or river floodplains.

Gleysols occur across the landscape of Skyrim, but primarily in Hjaalmarch. Gleysols are commonly found in depressions or low-lying areas where water saturates the soil continuously, leading to a molted characteristic to the soil.

Organic soils would primarily be found in the water saturated soils of Hjaalmarch. These are wetland soils found in forested areas and are commonly known as peat, muck, bogs or fens.

Borrowing from the USDA soil taxonomy, Inceptisols are light colored soils with moderate alteration, occurring under cool and cold climates. These soils would be found in the Eastmarch caldera.

Luvisols are associated with forested landscapes overlying loamy glacial till, or on clayey lacustrine deposits. Lake Honrich dominates a large portion of the Rift, according to UESP, seemingly draining from the lake. I believe this to be the site of a melted glacier, the lake being meltwater. Clay sediments are associated with lakes because of their deposition, coarser sediments bordering the lake near the shore, and finer particles at the deepest reaches. Additionally, at the end of the Karth river, where sandy deposits would be deposited at Solitude, before the stream looses power further down the river, leaving only clay to be deposited.

Podzols are associated with igneous parent materials, coniferous vegetation and high acidity. Primarily they are found in Falkreath Hold and Southern Eastmarch.

Brunisols are an intermediate stage between Regosols (undeveloped soils), and Podzol or Luvisols. I believe with the unstable, mountainous landscape of the Reach, soils would remain still rather undeveloped. Brunisols would also be interspersed among the Luvisols.

[estellan0vella]

Caught In The Crossfire ❀ includes: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Choso, Toji, Sukuna & Ino (Requested) Masterlist

Satoru Gojo

The argument between your friend and her boyfriend escalates quickly, tension crackling in the air. You step in, trying to calm them both down, but your efforts are met with a sharp slap across your face from her boyfriend. Shock radiates through you, and before you can react, a familiar, overwhelming presence floods the room.

Satoru’s eyes, usually a bright, mischievous blue, are now a glacial storm. "Did you just touch her?" he asks, voice dangerously low. Without waiting for an answer, he steps forward, grabbing the guy by the collar and effortlessly lifting him off the ground. "You don’t get to touch what's mine," he growls, fists clenching.

A flurry of movement follows, Satoru’s usually restrained power unleashed in a terrifying display. The boyfriend is left crumpled and defeated, a mere shadow of his previous bravado. Satoru turns to you, softening instantly as he cups your cheek. "Are you okay, love?" he murmurs, eyes scanning you for any further harm.

Suguru Geto

Your friend’s boyfriend is shouting, his face contorted with anger. You step in between them, pleading for calm, but your words are cut short by a hard slap. Pain blooms across your cheek, and before you can react, Suguru is there, his presence a dark, looming shadow.

He doesn’t speak at first, the silence more menacing than any words could be. "You just made the biggest mistake of your life," he finally says, voice deadly calm. With a flick of his wrist, the boyfriend is thrown backward by an invisible force, crashing into the wall.

Suguru’s curses swirl around the room, dark and malevolent. He strides over to the fallen man, lifting him by the throat with a single hand. "You think you can hurt her and walk away?" he hisses, squeezing until the guy’s face turns purple. He drops him then, letting him fall in a heap. Turning to you, his expression softens, and he pulls you into his arms. "Are you hurt?" he asks gently, brushing his thumb over your stinging cheek.

Kento Nanami

The argument escalates, and you find yourself stepping in to mediate. Your friend’s boyfriend, in his rage, lashes out, striking you hard across the face. The world seems to pause for a moment, and then Nanami is there, his usually composed demeanor cracking.

"You crossed a line," he states simply, eyes cold and furious. In an instant, he’s in front of the guy, delivering a precise, devastating punch that sends him sprawling. The boyfriend tries to get up, but Nanami’s relentless, delivering blow after blow with calculated precision.

When he’s satisfied the threat is neutralized, he turns to you, his expression softening. He gently tilts your chin up, inspecting the damage. "Are you alright?" he asks, voice filled with concern. He pulls you into his embrace, shielding you from any further harm.

Choso Kamo

You step in to defuse the situation between your friend and her boyfriend, but instead of calming down, he lashes out, hitting you. The moment his hand connects with your face, Choso’s eyes darken with fury.

"You hurt her," Choso says, his voice low and dangerous. He moves swiftly, grabbing the guy by the collar and slamming him against the nearest wall. Blood Manipulation surges through his veins, and the boyfriend is lifted off the ground, choking on his own fear.

Choso leans in close, his voice a deadly whisper. "If you ever touch her again, I’ll make sure you regret it." With a final, brutal shove, he releases the guy, who crumples to the floor. Choso turns to you, his expression immediately softening. "Did he hurt you badly?" he asks, gently touching your cheek. His protective embrace surrounds you, making you feel safe.

Toji Fushiguro

The argument turns violent when you try to intervene, resulting in a sharp slap across your face from your friend’s boyfriend. The instant pain radiates through you, Toji’s presence becomes an overwhelming force of rage.

He’s on the guy in seconds, his movements a blur. "You think you can lay a hand on her?" he growls, delivering a punishing blow to the guy’s gut. The boyfriend doubles over in pain, but Toji isn’t finished. He lifts him effortlessly, throwing him across the room like a ragdoll.

Toji stands over the crumpled figure, his eyes glinting with a dangerous light. "Next time, I won’t be so gentle," he warns, before turning to you. His expression softens, and he pulls you into his arms, inspecting your cheek with gentle fingers. "Are you okay, doll?" he asks, his voice a stark contrast to the violence he just unleashed.

Ryomen Sukuna

You intervene in the heated argument, trying to bring peace, but instead, you’re met with a vicious slap. Pain sears through your face, but before you can even react, a chilling laugh fills the room.

Sukuna’s presence is suffocating, his eyes gleaming with murderous intent. "You dared to touch my woman?" he asks, a sinister grin spreading across his face. Without warning, he lunges at the boyfriend, his claws slicing through flesh with terrifying ease.

Blood splatters everywhere, and within moments, the boyfriend is nothing more than a lifeless heap. Sukuna turns to you, his grin softening slightly. "Did he hurt you?" he asks, as if he hadn’t just committed a brutal murder. He cups your cheek gently, his eyes scanning you for any other injuries. "No one hurts what's mine and lives," he whispers, pulling you into a protective embrace.

Ino

You step in to mediate the escalating argument between your friend and her boyfriend, only to be met with a stinging slap. Pain radiates through your cheek, but before you can react, Ino’s calm, composed presence turns icy.

"You’ve made a grave mistake," Ino says, his voice low and dangerous. He moves swiftly, delivering a powerful punch that sends the guy sprawling. The boyfriend tries to get up, but Ino’s relentless, each blow precise and punishing.

When the guy is finally subdued, Ino turns to you, his expression softening. He gently cups your cheek, his eyes scanning for any signs of injury. "Are you hurt?" he asks, his voice tender. He pulls you into a protective embrace, his presence a comforting shield against any further harm.

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Devil's Snare part.3

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Description: Aemond tests his handmaiden's resolve not to fall in love with him and might just be rewarded for his efforts. But rumours surrounding the dismissal of Aemond's previous handmaiden threaten to derail their budding romance.

Previous part

Writer's note: Thank you so so much to everyone who follows this story. Your comments genuinely make my day 🥺. Aware Aemond has been fighting for his life to get Y/N to love him at an absolutely glacial pace...hopefully this will make up for the slow-burn thus far ;) Also I got carried away so there will definitely be a part 4 if everyone still cares for it.

Warnings: female reader, slight mention of blood/injury detail, slight angst, Aemond has some anger issues, mention of Granny Vhagar, potentially ooc Aemond (though I stand by him being a total sweetheart with the person he loves), so long it's not even funny anymore.

Y/N felt a headache coming on, though she could not tell whether it was from contending with her conflicting feelings for Prince Aemond or if she was coming down with an illness.

Of late, the Prince had become bolder and always seemed to be touching her or inhabiting her space in some small way, as if tethered to her by some string she could not see. Although he never crossed the boundaries of what was appropriate and seemed to always be watching for her response. His hand would graze the small of her back as he reached round her to take a book from his shelves or his fingers would brush against hers as she handed him a goblet of wine. Before, he had always sat across from her in his favoured chair when she came to him with questions of what she was reading with Helaena, or he simply asked her to sit and talk with him.  Now he had begun to sit beside her on a chaise, close enough that their arms and thighs pressed together and his knee brushed against hers as he turned towards her to speak.

Only the other day, when the Princess had beckoned him over to look at Y/N's needlepoint on a dress she was mending for Helaena, he had positioned himself right behind her seat, one arm falling upon the arm rest, and leaned over her shoulder close enough for her to feel the reverberation of his chest as he spoke, sending her heart racing. "I am blessed to have a handmaiden that is both pretty and skilled in equal measure, sister." She rarely felt his eye stray from her when they were together in his chambers or Helaena's, and felt his gaze even as they crossed paths in the halls of the Keep during the day.

There were few periods of silence between them as from the moment she entered his chambers, Aemond would be asking her all sorts of questions about herself and about her day. Nothing was too insignificant for he seemed to want to know everything. And so she found herself complaining to him of his brother Aegon's new manservant who had begun to develop airs and graces, ordering the handmaidens about, much to her chagrin. Realising Aemond had been silent for a long time, Y/N began to feel slightly self-conscious she'd been boring him.

"I apologise, my prince. I'm wittering on about nothing."

She turned from him, feigning organising the items on his desk though she had already rearranged them earlier that day. She heard his soft tread approaching her before his hand covered one of hers to stop her movements. "Everything you have to say is important to me." His hand wrapped more fully around her own as he brought their joint hands towards him. Y/N knew she should pull away, that she shouldn't accept such intimate touches from the Prince, but she couldn't bring herself to do so, her own feelings for him having spread like wildfire despite her best intentions. Aemond graced her with a conspiratorial grin, leaning down to chase her eyes as they nervously flitted from him to the tapestries over his shoulder. "Would you like me to dispatch him for you?"

Y/N snorted at his jest and immediately covered her mouth with her free hand, embarassed that the sound had escaped her in front of the Prince. Aemond only chuckled and pulled her hand from her mouth so he had both gripped in between them. "Pease do not try to suppress your laughter around me, little one. I am gladdened to have been the cause of such a sweet sound." Y/N was certain she was blushing furiously at the Prince's attentions. Seeming to sense that his handmaiden was feeling overwhelmed, Aemond gently squeezed her hands before releasing her, only to raise his hand to brush a lock of hair behind her ear. "I hope to see you in the morning, Y/N, before I leave to train. That will be all for this evening." Y/N only nodded at the Prince, slightly dazed by his tender touch as she gazed at his handsome features. She found herself wanting to trace the contours of his face with her hand, to run her fingers along his cheekbone. Aemond's smile only grew in response, prompting Y/N to inwardly shake herself and turn to leave. When she reached the door she chanced a glance back to find him still watching her as if expecting her to turn back to him. His knowing smirk had her quickly flipping back round to exit his chambers.

As the morning sun cast a warm glow upon the Red Keep and its inhabitants began to waken, Aemond awaited the arrival of his lovely handmaiden to see him off before he left for the training yard. He was satisfied with the progress he had made to endear Y/N to him. Since he'd realised she at least harboured some attraction for him, he'd continuously tried to test the waters of her feelings, hoping with time their currents should strengthen into something more substantial, that she would come to reciprocate his love for her. He did not wish to make Y/N uncomfortable, ever aware of her shyness, or for her to feel duty bound to accept his touch. So he analysed her reactions carefully each time he initiated any physical contact with her or paid her compliments. Every time she simply blushed as he purposefully brushed his arm against hers, instead of shifting away from him, a gratified smile would ghost onto his face. Her reactions renewed him with confidence, assuring him that his attentions were not unwanted, his pursuit of her not without hope.

Looking up with a smile as the door to his chambers opened, his face fell as a different handmaiden entered than the one his heart yearned for. A heavy feeling of dread came over him almost immediately. Had something happened to Y/N. Was she unwell? Had she been mysteriously dismissed as his previous handmaiden had been? When the new handmaiden could not provide him with an explanation of Y/N's absence, he stormed from the room in the hopes that his sister Helaena might have knowledge of Y/N's whereabouts.

"Do you know where Y/N is? She did not attend to her duties this morning."

Helaena looked up from the tapestry she was sewing, alarmed by the abruptness of her brother's arrival and the slightly demanding tone of his questioning. "She complained of a headache yesterday and I sent her back to the servant's quarters to rest when she felt well enough to stand. Mayhaps it still ails her."

Aemond felt his chest constrict with worry and his voice came out quieter than he would have liked at his fears having been realised. "She is unwell? Should I go to her, ensure she is comfortable and being cared for?"

Helaena rose to take his hand "Most assuredly not, brother. It would only raise unwanted questions from the household staff and Y/N should be left to rest. Perhaps send her a token of your affectation instead, do you know which flowers she favours?"

Aemond nodded at her suggestion, his sister was wise and he trusted her judgement, though he knew others were quick to ignore her. "Of course, she has expressed a preference for bluebells."

Helaena's eyes glazed over as she considered this and Aemond patiently waited for her to share what she was thinking. "I believe you can find some on the eastern side of the Blackwater. I spotted them while flying overhead with Dreamfyre."

Aemond swiftly raised his sister's hand to his lips.

"Thank you, sister. I will ride out with Vhagar hence."

At the scratchy feel of her throat that had swiftly accompanied her headache, and the nausea that washed over Y/N in Helaena's room, she realised she was in fact ill. Awaking the next morning, she felt even worse than she had the day before, finding it difficult to move her head without pain and she groaned quietly as she rose from her bed to prepare for the day. It took her one attempt to stand to realise she would not be able to work that day, as a wave of dizziness sent the room spinning and she fell ungracefully back onto her bed.

"You look terrible. Are you sick?"

Y/N raised her head just enough to look at her friend Celeste.

"I feel terrible too. Can you ask the matron to find a replacement handmaiden for me today?"

Celeste nodded before grinning at Y/N. "Oh but how will Prince Aemond do without his favourite handmaiden?"

"I don't know what you mean" Y/N rolled her eyes at her friend, causing her to scoff.

"Don't give me that. I've seen the way he looks at you when we pass him in the halls." Y/N blinked in surprise that anyone else had noticed Aemond's regard for her, that it was not just a figment of her wishful thinking.

"How does he look at me?"

"Y/N, he only looks at you. I rarely see him cast his gaze elsewhere."

Y/N suddenly felt grateful for her fever, as she was able to use it as an excuse for her flushed cheeks.

A light tap against the door of her shared room woke Y/N in the late afternoon. Pulling herself up, though her limbs felt heavy as lead, she opened the door to be met by a young squire holding a large bouquet of bluebells.

"Prince Aemond wished these to be delivered to you."

Carefully taking the flowers from the squire and thanking him, she shut the door. Leaning down to smell the fragrant perfume of her flowers, Y/N smiled at the Prince's thoughtfulness and care for her.

Aemond felt sick with worry, he'd not heard any news of Y/N for days and he was beginning to think he'd have to fall back back on his original plan to go down to the servant's quarters and check on Y/N himself. The soft click of his chamber door opening had his head snapping up as it did everytime, just in case it was Y/N. His heart soared at the sight of the very object of his thoughts on the threshold. Aemond strode up to her, taking her smaller hand in both of his, his expression one of gentle concern.

"Have you been very unwell?"

His handmaiden looked somewhat bashful under his steady gaze, but he found he could not look away, even to save her from embarrassment. His eye flitted rapidly over her face to memorise her features oncemore, not having seen her in several days.

"I am well now, I apologise for my absence." Y/N titled her head up to smile softly at him, causing his heart to stutter. "I must thank you for the flowers you sent. They were beautiful and brightened my day."

Aemond squeezed her hand gently in response, his heart gladdened that his gift had been so well received. He leant down to whisper teasingly in her ear.

"I will gladly bring you as many flowers as should please you if you will only smile at me so prettily."

Aemond chuckled at the look of shock on his handmaiden's face, releasing her from his hold and grabbing his sword, giving her a chance to collect herself. "I am headed to meet with Ser Criston, but I hope to continue our conversation later."

Aemond paid no mind to the audience that had gathered as he continued to parry every blow that Ser Criston levelled at him. His concentration was broken, however, when he spotted his handmaiden in his peripheral vision walking through the training yard, basket in hand. He noted that she had stopped to watch and threw himself into the duel with greater fervour, wishing to impress her. In a brief moment of distraction, as he redirected his attention back to Y/N to gauge her reaction to his swordsmanship, Criston's sword nicked his torso. Aemond hissed in pain, looking down to see blood beginning to spread across his tunic, though he did not think it could be deep. Criston lowered his sword immediately, panicked at having actually injured Aemond, who he'd come to see almost like a son. He had expected him to block his blow easily, not having counted on the Prince's distraction.

Y/N ran to Prince Aemond's chambers, tripping over her skirts in her haste. She'd heard of his injury in the training yard and could barely contain her concern as news of it flew about the Keep. She felt a flash of embarrassment as she remembered how she'd stopped to watch Prince Aemond duel with Ser Criston, impressed by his skill as he seemed to dance around his opponent. Though she'd left before he had been injured and needed to confirm for herself that he was not badly harmed. Flinging open the door without knocking, she burst into the room panting for breath. "My Prince, are you..."

The rest of Y/N's words got away from her as her eyes fell upon the Prince in question sitting on the edge of his bed, shirtless. She cast her eyes over the Prince's bandaged chest and torso, looking for his injury, but realised she'd been staring for far longer than was appropriate and quickly looked back up at his face to find him smirking at her. He could not be so gravely injured if he was still able to manage that, Y/N thought, embarassed by her own wandering eyes.

"Come here, Y/N."

Aemond's voice pulled Y/N towards him without her ever realising she'd been moving, although she stopped at a respectable distance away from him.

"Closer Y/N, I will not bite."

Y/N grew immediately suspicious of the mirth in the Prince's good eye and his teasing tone, but she took the final few tentative steps until she was positioned directly in front of him.

Aemond positively grinned up at her. "You are welcome to look."

Y/n's mouth fell open in shock at his meaning and she was certain she must look like a fish with her gawking. The Prince gave her no time to refute his allegation of staring, though in truth she had been. She could not deny even to herself that she found him beautiful.

"It is your fault after all." This startled her. How could he blame her for his injury? She had not swung the sword at him.

"My fault? What can you mean, My Prince?"

"I was merely distracted by your beauty, a stroke of luck for Ser Criston who could not have bested me otherwise."

Y/N took the time to swallow thickly, feeling slightly dizzy.

"You should not say such things, it is inappropriate. You are a Prince and I am a servant girl."

Aemond surveyed her for a moment, his eye trained on her face as he looked up at her.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?"

Y/N knew she should tell Aemond that yes, it did make her uncomfortable, pretend she didn't feel anything for him. That would have been the sensible thing to do. But she could not bring herself to lie anymore. Not when he was looking at her as if she placed the moon and the stars in the sky each night. Rather, as if she were both the moon and the stars for him.

"No."

"Then I do not care."

Aemond snaked a hand around her waist and pulled her towards him so abruptly that their knees knocked together and her hands fell onto his bare shoulders to steady herself. When he received no objection from the lady, Aemond wrapped his other arm around Y/N and pulled her down onto his lap. Tilting his head down, his nose grazing against her collarbone, he spoke against her skin.

"I always want you this close."

The door opened abruptly as the maestor entered the threshold. Y/N rose quickly, practically ripping herself from Aemond's arms, cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the position he'd found her in with the Prince. Head down to avoid seeing the judgement in the maestor's eyes, she sped past him without looking back. Though she still heard Aemond angrily shouting at the maestor for "scaring her" as she strode down the hall and an involuntary smile rose on her face.

Y/N tried to clear her thoughts of Aemond, but the terrible rumour she'd just been made privy to by Helaena's maid sent all of the feelings she'd tried so hard to repress bubbling back up to the surface. She had just begun to give into his pursuit of her only to find out he had pursued his previous handmaiden in the same manner, leaving her with child and dismissed from the household staff, so the rumours went. In hindsight, she'd been foolish to believe the Prince could ever truly care for her, feel anything deeper for her than mere attraction. Perhaps it was the chase itself he valued and she felt an uncharacteristic rage rise within her at such callousness.

Brusquely entering the Prince's chambers, she ignored the way his eyes lit up at the sight of her and the way he rose to greet her from where he'd been reading. She pretended not to notice, side stepping him with a simple "Good evening, My Prince", to begin lighting candles, the light of the day having waned. Aemond caught her wrist, stopping her in her movements, and gently turned her towards him.

"Has something happened? Have I done something to displease you for you to act so distant?" He raised his hand to brush some hair out of her eyes but Y/N recoiled from his touch, side stepping him again.

"I do not wish you to touch me. I have been made aware of your last handmaiden's fate and do not seek to follow her."

Aemond's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, his jaw clenching. "I do not know of what you speak, Y/N."

Y/N heard her own anger and sense of betrayal seeping into her biting retort. "Would you so soon forget her? Did she not bear your child. Was she not promptly dismissed by the Queen for it?"

As her words registered, Aemond's face blazed with indignation and he spoke through gritted teeth.

"You think me such a villain? That I would be capable of such depravity?"

"I do not pretend to know the ways of a Prince."

Aemond's voice was colder than she had ever heard it, though tinged by a note of insecurity. "I never did such a thing. Indeed, I have no idea as to why my mother dismissed the handmaiden, only that it was not of my own doing."

Y/N searched his face for the truth of his denial, but she could not find it within herself to believe the Prince could want her when he could have a noble lady or a princess if he wished. And she could not shake her suspicions as a result.

"It does not make sense for you to have behaved as you have towards me. What possible other reason could you have for pursuing a lowly servant girl?"

"So this is what you think of me? That I am a monster who preys on the hearts of young maidens only to ruin them?"

Y/N startled at the unbridled rage on the Prince's face. When Aemond's fist swung out and connected with the nearby cabinet Y/N shrieked and turned her head to the side, bracing for a blow that never came. A few moments of silence passed before she dared to look up. Aemond was looking at her with his mouth parted in shock as if she had struck him instead. "Did you think I would strike you?" His voice came out softer now, though this did no good to calm her nerves, which were still on high alert. She tried to brush away the tears that were rapidly forming and causing her vision to blur, not wanting to feel any more vulnerable than she already did. At the sight of her tears, Aemond took a step towards her, his arms held out as if to comfort her. "Please don't cry my love, I would never harm you." She took a frantic step away from him, cowering against the wall closest to the door. A look of acute pain fell across Aemond's face and he halted where he stood, arms falling back down to his side. She could see his fingers twitch slightly, as if it was only with a concerted effort that he was able to stay where he stood instead of going to her. Y/N hated the note of hysteria that laced her voice as she breathlessly gasped out her next words. "Can I leave?"

Aemond's head fell and she heard him take a sharp intake of breath before looking back into her eyes. His movements slow and considered, he opened the door for her and stepped aside to let her pass, though she heard a slight tremble in his voice. "I would never keep you here against your will." Y/N judged that he was telling the truth from the sincerity in his eye and all but ran from his chambers.

When Y/N entered his chambers the next morning, Aemond tried to apprehend her to apologise, to ask for her forgiveness. He had felt so hurt, so angry that there was a possibility Y/N should think of him as negatively as others seemed to, when he valued her opinion of him above all others. He'd purposefully made himself a formidable warrior, someone to be feared and respected, in response to the indignities and abuse he faced as a child. But he had never wanted Y/N to be afraid of him. He had only spoken her name before she rushed out "I only came to make my survey of the room and take the empty goblets, My Prince." Aemond was silenced by the trace of panic in her voice, how she should feel so afraid that she flew about the room to complete her duties and be free of him as soon as possible.

The following day Aemond had looked up hopefully at the sound of his door to see another maid entirely enter his chambers. On the third evening, Aemond did not expect to see Y/N, beginning to fear she might never feel comfortable to seek him out again. He resolved that if another day passed he would have to storm down to the servant's quarters to apologise to her if she would not come to him. It had been torture to be without her, so accustomed was he to seeing her everyday, and he felt he could go mad from missing her. Worse still was the knowledge that he had frightened her so severely that she should think he would harm her. The very thought struck horror into his heart and his head fell into his hands.

Y/N felt somewhat cowardly feigning illness so she did not have to see Aemond, another maid stepping in to fulfill her duties instead. But she had learnt the truth of his previous handmaiden's departure from the Princess Helaena, that she had indeed fallen pregnant, but with the child of her sweetheart who she promptly married. And now she felt ashamed at having levelled such awful accusations at the Prince. He had only ever been kind and a gentleman to her, only ever respected her boundaries and made sure she was comfortable with each one of his advances. Surely he would not wish to see her again. And yet she felt she must at least apologise for her part before requesting a new post.

Around the Hour of the Bat, a slight creak of wood alerted Aemond to his chamber door opening. He shot up from his seated position at seeing his beloved standing in the doorframe, her hand gripping the handle as if prepared to bolt at the slightest provocation. He cursed himself at his rapid movements, which had caused Y/N's eyes to widen and her to take a step back away from him. He wished he could pull her to him, hold her and tell her over and over that he would never harm her. But he knew that assuring her of this would require a much more delicate approach. Her name fell from his lips as a reverant whisper "Y/N."

Something in his expression or voice seemed to calm Y/N enough for her to softly close the door behind her and take a few tentative steps forward. Though, with grief in his heart, he noted how she would not meet his eye. Her voice came out so quiet and timid he could hardly bear the evidence of the fear he had wrought in the one person he wished to protect and care for above all else.  "You are not still angry?"

Aemond took one step forward and then another as he watched carefully for any signs of distress, aware she was like to be flighty. He approached until he was close enough to touch her, though he refrained from doing so just yet. "I was wrong to raise my voice at you, and to lash out so that you should think I would strike you. Your misapprehensions were entirely understandable and I bitterly regret being so blinded by anger that should never have been directed at you, the one I love."

Y/N's eyes shot up at his words, her brows pulled together quizzically. "You love me?"

Aemond smiled sadly down at her. "I adore you. I am sorry indeed if I have not expressed this clearly enough."

Gently taking one of her hands in his own he started to pull her towards the chaise in the centre of the room. She followed without complaint but still looked wary of him. Once she was sat, he knelt before her and took both of her hands in his this time. Aemond tried to endow each of his words with weight to express the truth of his love for her as he gazed into her face. "If you can find it in yourself to forgive me Y/N, I will make you a promise now that I will never again raise my voice to you, nor will I ever comport myself in such a brutish manner before you. I would never harm you, my sweet girl" He slowly raised a hand to rest it on her cheek. "You are most precious to me. I wish only to see you happy and safe, for you to let me love you. If you permit it I would make you my Lady Wife. But, if you do not think you can ever feel safe in my presence again and you wish to part from me I will try to bear it."

Aemond feared he had mispoken when Y/N's eyes watered until her head fell forward to rest on his shoulder. His hands rose up slowly to hold her against him, one hand tenderly placed against the back of her head. He waited patiently for Y/N to speak but felt relief roll over him at the thought that she had looked to him for comfort. "I love you, Aemond."

He gripped her to him tighter, feeling that no words could be sweeter to him. He had hoped for so long to hear her say those words, for her to return his love and yet now he still feared he might lose her. Aemond tried not to panic and hold Y/N more steadfastly against him as she pulled back to look at him seriously, seemingly now in control of her emotions, her face level with his. "I want to trust you, to trust in your intentions. I will believe you if you say you love me as I know now that I was wrong about your previous handmaiden. But you must realise I am a servant. Can you really wish to marry me? "

Aemond beamed at Y/N as he realised she did not wish to cast him aside, that he could still acquit himself to her and prove his intentions. Smiling at her, his eye softening, he raised his arms to place them on either side of her. "It is my greatest and most earnest desire that you become my wife. You would no longer be a servant but my Lady" He hesitated for a moment, thinking of how he could put into words his devotion to her. "I wish only to continue in your light." Aemond lightly trailed a hand down her arm, his heart beating erratically as he awaited Y/N's answer. Aemond stilled as she raised her own hand to rest against his cheek, worried that the slightest movement from him would cause her to reconsider her actions. Leaning into her hand he placed his own atop to hold hers in place and briefly closed his eyes in bliss at her touch so willingly given. "Then I will marry you."

Aemond wasted no time in sweeping Y/N back into his arms, letting out a laugh as the pressing weight of her potential rejection lifted, leaving behind only joy in her acceptance of his love. When he felt her gently push against his shoulders he immediately pulled back, concerned he'd somehow misread the situation and only dreamed she had agreed to marry him. His mind quickly quietened at her loving gaze, only to begin racing again as she unexpectedly pressed a chaste peck to his lips. Y/N had hoped to convey her own feelings for Aemond by initiating a kiss, but she immediately felt embarassed at her own inexperience, sure she had not done it correctly. Aemond was only too happy to take control, feeling an overwhelming sense of affection rise in him at her innocent gesture and the bashful look on her face. Smiling at her, he pulled her to him to capture her lips with his. Aemond tightened his hold on her waist as she wrapped her arms around his neck to bring him closer.

If you got this far you're a legend. Thank you so much for reading. I have ideas for at least another part so pls let me know if you want me to continue.

@nanawaffles

@youknownothingjohnwatson

@jjkysnk

@callsigncrushx

@misspinkonmars

@hyacinthesiss

@bitchyfestivalbouquet

@truly-abysmal

@void21

@sapphiresandferrari

@pinkykats-place

@superintenseart

@idonotknowenglish

[feminist-space]

Article by Fortesa Latifi:

"Being the child of an influencer, Vanessa tells me, was the equivalent of having a full-time job—and then some. She remembers late nights in which the family recorded and rerecorded videos until her mother considered them perfect and days when creating content for the blog stretched into her homeschooling time. If she expressed her unease, she was told the family needed her. “It was like after this next campaign, maybe we could have more time to relax. And then it would never happen,” she says. She was around 10 years old when she realized her life was different from that of other children. When she went to other kids’ houses, she was surprised by how they lived. “I felt strange that they didn’t have to work on social media or blog posts, or constantly pose for pictures or videos,” she says. “I realized they didn’t have to worry about their family's financial situation or contribute to it.”

Vanessa, who requested anonymity to speak freely about her family dynamics, says she helped create content for huge companies like Huggies and Hasbro when her mom landed endorsement deals. When she reached puberty and began menstruating, her mother had her do sponsored posts for sanitary pads. “It was so mortifying,” she says. “I just felt like I wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.”

Being part of an influencer family changed everything about her life, Vanessa says. “Sometimes I didn’t know where the separation was between what was real and what was curated for social media.” And her mother’s online presence indelibly warped their relationship. “Being an influencer kid turned my relationship with my mom into more of an employer-employee relationship than a parent-child one,” she says. “Once you cross the line from being family to being coworkers, you can’t really go back.”

...

Khanbalinov has had zero new offers since he took his kids offline. “When we were showing our kids, brands were rolling in left and right—clothing companies, apps, paper towel companies, food brands. They all wanted us to work with them,” he says. “Once we stopped, we reached out to the brands we had lined up and 99 percent of them dropped out because they wanted kids to showcase their products. And I fought back, like, you guys are a paper towel company—why do you need a kid selling your stuff?”

The law has woefully lagged behind the culture here, but there’s signs that policymakers might finally be catching up. In 2023, in addition to Illinois, three other states—New York, Washington State, and New Jersey—proposed bills to protect influencer kids. Contrast that with the flurry of legislative activity in just the first two months of 2024. Seven more states—Maryland, Georgia, Ohio, Missouri, California, Arizona, Minnesota—have introduced similar legislation. Some of the bills are going one step further to protect the privacy of the kids featured in this content. In some states, proposed legislation would include a clause that borrows from a European legal doctrine known as the “right to be forgotten”—it would allow someone who was featured in content when they were a child to request that platforms permanently delete those posts. None of the current legislation introduced, however, would outright bar the practice of featuring minors in monetized content.

...

The movement on this issue was glacial for years, but it finally feels like the ice has thawed. Much of that progress is thanks to activists like Cam Barrett (she/they), a 25-year-old creator (@softscorpio) who uses TikTok to talk about her experience of being overshared in their childhood and adolescence. Barrett doesn’t go by her legal name anymore because of the online history it’s tied to. “I love my legal name,” Barrett tells me. “I just don’t love the digital footprint attached to it.” Last year, Barrett testified in front of the Washington State legislature as a proponent of a bill to protect influencer kids. This year, they testified again—this time, in front of the Maryland legislature.

“As a former content kid myself, I know what it’s like to grow up with a digital footprint I never asked for,” Barrett told the Maryland House of Delegates Economic Matters Committee in February. “As my mom posted to the world my first-ever menstrual cycle, as she posted to the world the intimate details about me being adopted, her platform grew and I had no say in what was posted.” And yet, Cam says her activism has been healing.

For Cam and other influencer children, getting a paycheck won’t give them back what they lost—a normal childhood unobstructed by the cameras pushed into their faces. But it could be the beginning of some version of restitution. “My friends say I’m fighting for little Cam,” she tells me. “It feels very healing because I didn’t have anyone to fight for me as a kid.”"

Read the full article here: https://www.cosmopolitan.com/lifestyle/a60125272/sharenting-parenting-influencer-cost-children/

[embbarnes]

Fugitives.

summary: While you and Bucky flee from captivity in Berlin, Bucky shows his thanks to you for always being by his side.

warnings: SMUT | 18+ Minors DNI | CW!Bucky | Some violence | Bucky is triggered | Non-serious injuries | Light dirty talk | Cunnilingus | Slight nipple play | Swearing

a/n: Um...I did not mean for this to get so long, it just kept coming out. I had a dream about this scenario so I had to write it. Unedited, so ignore any mistakes please. wc: 6.0k

You felt panic surging through your body as you paced back and forth in the empty room they threw you in.

Things were nice. Things were...manageable.

Until Steve showed up and brought a barrage of government men with him, vowing to capture Bucky and you. Steve didn't seem to have ill intentions, but...you nor Bucky could afford to trust anyone. Especially since shortly after Steve broke into your apartment, there were dozens of men trying to take you out. You hadn't prepared for the chase that followed, the sheer panic in his eyes as you both made a break for it and ran off. You leaped from your apartment down to a lower building, suddenly a man in a black suit was now attacking Bucky with the intent to kill.

Everything happened so fast.

You were running, avoiding cars and guns, then you surrendered.

Now you were stuck in this tiny room, left to the unknown.

As you paced restlessly back and forth, the tumultuous thoughts swirling in your mind were abruptly interrupted by an unexpected plunge into darkness, the sound of electricity dying as the low frequency slowly quieted with the loss of power. The sudden absence of light startled you, leaving you momentarily disoriented. Before you gathered your bearings, a cacophony of alarms began to blare, their urgent wails piercing through the silence and hurting your head. Pulsating red lights started to flash intermittently, casting an eerie, crimson glow throughout the space of your confinement.

The combination of blaring alarms and flashing lights created a sense of urgency and you could hear the rapid footsteps of running agents outside the prison you were kept in, chaotic shouting and commands came from them as they continued towards something. The building had a complete shutdown of its electrical systems. The electronic lock securing your door, now devoid of power, had been rendered ineffective. The door that had kept you trapped was now...unlocked.

Immediately, you seized the opportunity to escape and locate Bucky. The door flew open with a resounding crash and you swiftly navigated the narrow hallway, stealthily trailing behind the surge of agents converging on a central location. Your presence didn't go completely unnoticed; a few agents spotted you on your way there. You swiftly incapacitated them with well-placed strikes, your past training came in handy, and with a few sneaky moves Bucky taught you when you were still living as peacefully as you could in Romania.

As you rounded the corner, you found yourself in a more spacious chamber. There, amidst the chaos, stood Bucky - tall and imposing. His movements were fluid and precise as he dodged the batons wielded by the attacking agents. He expertly dispatched his assailants, sending them sprawling across the floor. They weren't a match for him. You wasted no time in making your approach. "Bucky!" Your voice rang out, cutting through the din of the fight as you sprinted towards him, your heart pounding with a mixture of relief that he was okay.

He pivoted in your direction, his glacial blue eyes piercing through you with an unsettling emptiness that seemed to chill the very air around him. His countenance, a mask of stoic indifference, coupled with his rigid posture, caused you to halt abruptly several paces away. The atmosphere grew thick with tension as you observed him, searching for any hint of recognition in those familiar yet distant features.

"Bucky...?" The name escaped your lips in a hushed, tentative whisper, barely audible even in the deafening silence that enveloped you both. As the seconds ticked by without response, you found yourself repeating his name, this time with a noticeable tremor in your voice, uncertainty and a touch of fear coloring your tone. The man before you seemed both intimately familiar and alarmingly foreign, leaving you caught between the urge to approach and the instinct to retreat.

No response.

"...Soldat?"

There, his form straightened slightly, a flicker of recognition passing across his features. His eyes, once vacant, now held a glimmer of awareness. "я готов отвечать," he intoned, the Russian phrase rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. His voice, though devoid of any discernible emotion, carried a weight that seemed to hang in the air between you. He spoke in a low, measured tone, each word carefully enunciated as if reciting a long-memorized script. As he regarded you, his gaze remained steady and unwavering, his passive figure into an attentive, albeit still detached, presence.

Shit. They activated him. How?

Someone here knows more. This just became way more complicated, and dangerous.

"Soldat, we have to go, now," you spoke quickly to him, your gaze fixed upon the soldier's eyes. Despite their vacant expression, a flicker of comprehension seemed to pass through them. His programming, deeply ingrained and unyielding, compelled him to heed commands and execute them without question. You knew he would comply, for that was the very essence of his conditioning. You felt bad for this, making the soldier do the work for Bucky but right now you had no time to bother deactivating the soldier. Right now, he was needed for the sole purpose that he would get you both out of here.

With swift, decisive movements, the soldier's hand clamped around your arm, his grip firm yet not painful. He began to move, his powerful frame easily clearing a path through the agents that stood in your way. As you ascended flight after flight of stairs, you found yourself struggling to match his relentless pace, your feet tripping as he drug you along like a helpless doll at his side. The soldier's unwavering hold on your wrist proved to be your saving grace, effortlessly hauling you upright whenever your footing faltered. Your destination became clear as you continued your ascent, knowing a helicopter sat waiting.

Upon reaching the roof, he swiftly detached the tether from the helicopter and flung open the door with a sense of urgency. He tugged you around and forcefully pushed you inside the aircraft, your body stumbling against the cold metal interior. Seconds later, he adeptly climbed in after you, the confined space of the helicopter suddenly felt even smaller with him next to you, not to mention you’ve never actually been inside one.

"You can fly this thing, right?" you asked, your voice tinged with anxiety. Your eyes darted around the cockpit, frantically searching for any sign of a seatbelt or safety harness to secure yourself. The lack of familiar safety measures only made your growing sense of unease worse.

"Да," Bucky replied tersely, his voice carrying a harsh edge that left no room for further questions. It was clear that the soldier was still firmly in control, his demeanor radiating a cold efficiency. With practiced ease, his hands moved across the control panel, flipping a series of switches in rapid succession. The long rotor blades of the helicopter began to spin, their increasing speed creating a deafening whir that filled the air around you.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest as the helicopter's rotors whirred to life. The chopper lifted off, you felt a mixture of relief and anxiety wash over you at the thought of finally getting away from captivity with him. Your eyes were drawn to the window, where Steve, determined and desperate, made a last-ditch attempt to stop your escape.

The soldier ran at you both, he tried to grab on, anything to keep Bucky here and prevent him from fleeing. His fingers grazed the helicopter's landing skid, missing it by mere inches. You watched, a lump forming in your throat as his face contorted with a mix of frustration and concern. He was shouting something, but you had no idea what he was saying. The image of Steve standing there, looking increasingly small as Bucky skillfully piloted the helicopter away from the base, was the last thing you saw as the base shrunk out of view of the trees.

Bucky piloted the helicopter and carefully monitoring the fuel gauge as it gradually depleted, the carrier wasn’t full when you took off, so you knew it would run out quick. As the last drops of fuel were consumed, he maneuvered the aircraft to a safe landing spot in the heart of the dense, verdant forest, finding just the right spot to sneak a landing to. The thick canopy of trees surrounded you on all sides, creating a sense of isolation and wilderness and covering you from open view if any of the agents had begun to follow.

You took a moment to survey your surroundings, drinking in the lush greenery and the earthy scent of the forest. The rhythmic whirring of the helicopter blades slowly came to a halt, the sudden silence amplifying the natural sounds of the woodland. Once the blades had completely stopped their rotation, Bucky reached over and unlatched the door with a metallic click.

You turned to him to speak, and without warning, he grasped your arm and began to pull you from the confines of the helicopter. "Wait, Bucky," you stuttered, caught off guard by his sudden action. Your protest went unheeded as you found yourself tumbling out of the aircraft, your legs tangling beneath you in a decidedly ungraceful manner.

Fortunately, Bucky's firm grip on your arm remained steady throughout your clumsy exit. His quick reflexes and strong hold prevented you from an embarrassing and potentially painful encounter with the forest floor. Instead of face-planting into the damp, spongy moss that carpeted the ground, you found yourself teetering on the edge of balance, saved only by Bucky's steadying presence. He looked down with a mostly blank, unamused expression.

Still the soldier.

"We need to move. They will follow." He grunted to you, his voice low and strained. His hand found your arm again, tugging you along forcefully after he spoke. The sudden movement caught you off guard, causing you to stumble. However, this time you managed to regain your balance quickly, adjusting your pace to match his long, determined strides from him doing this earlier.

"You don't have to pull so hard, I'm right behind you," you stammered with mild discomfort. You gently worked your arm from his tight grasp, your fingers lightly massaging the skin where his grip had been. Despite the firmness of his hold, you didn't sense any malice or anger from him. He didn't actively mean to hurt you, he never did.

You had lost track of time during your trek through the forest, your feel would occasionally get caught in a sunken hole in the moss and make you stagger a bit. The minutes blended together as you strolled side by side, Bucky somehow never faltering. The once vibrant sky, painted with hues of orange and pink, had gradually faded into darkness. Heavy clouds, like a thick blanket, now obscured the stars and slowly rising moon, you had no light to guide your way through the thicket. The air grew heavy with moisture, and soon, a light drizzle began to fall over you both.

As the gentle shower persisted, you found yourself shivering involuntarily, your body reacting to the sudden drop in temperature. the cold rain didn’t help, and your lack of a coat made your skin bubble with goosebumps. Bucky glanced down at you, taking notice of your discomfort almost immediately. He didn’t say anything, but he shed his red henley and draped the shirt over your shoulders, carefully guiding your arms through the sleeves. The garment engulfed you, its size emphasizing the difference in your builds. The fabric, still warm from his body heat, provided an immediate sense of comfort against the chill.

You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, your body still trembling from the cold despite the additional warmth provided by his shirt. The henley offered a much-needed shield against the relentless, chilly rain that continued to fall. Its fabric felt comforting between your skin and the rain, despite knowing it would probably get wetter within a few minutes. "Thank you..." You murmured softly, your voice barely audible above the patter of raindrops, lifting your gaze to steal a glance at him, noting his stoic expression as you walked side by side.

Bucky remained silent. Instead, he acknowledged your gratitude with a curt, almost impatient grunt. His hand suddenly reached out, grasping your arm firmly but not roughly and gave an insistent tug.

He urged you to quicken your pace, his voice low and insistent. "Train station up ahead," he grumbled, his eyes darting around warily. "I've got some money in my pocket. Should be enough for tickets." As you hurried along, the dense forest gradually thinned out, giving way to the first signs of civilization. Warm, golden light from street lamps pierced through the misty rain, and you could see the outline of buildings rather than the uneven, almost abstract silhouette of the trees.

The transition from the forest floor to urban terrain was abrupt and jarring. Your feet had been accustomed to the soft, springy moss of the woodland for the last few hours, now met the unyielding surface of wet concrete. The sudden change in texture caused you to stumble slightly, your posture jerking upright as you adjusted to the new environment.

The outline of a small train station materialized through the rain as you both walked across the empty lot. As you approached, a ticket booth came into view, a solitary worker visible behind the foggy plexiglass. Bucky took the lead, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a fistful of crumpled euro bills, sliding the money under the narrow opening in the plexiglass. He exchanged only the briefest of words with the booth attendant, making it short and quick.

You boarded the waiting train, your footsteps echoing softly on the metal floor as you made your way through the narrow corridor. Eventually, you reached the car designated for your stay, fumbling briefly with the key before successfully unlocking the door to your cabin. With a gentle push, the door swung open, revealing a compact yet cozy space. Though, with all the anxiety you both felt, there wasn’t much appreciation for it.

Bucky carefully maneuvered himself into the small cabin, he sat on the modest bed nestled against the wall, sinking down onto its surface with a barely audible sigh. You noticed the tension in his shoulders, the slight furrow of his brow. Bucky closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, repeating this process several times. It was a technique you'd seen him use before, every time he would try to regain himself after an episode.

Your gaze remained fixed on him, concern etched across your features. It was obvious that Bucky was still engaged in an internal struggle, fighting to get control over the soldier's mindset that threatened to remain the dominant consciousness. These moments of transition were always challenging for him, the process of the soldier's persona receding leaving him vulnerable and raw.

"You're doing good, Bucky," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper but filled with encouragement. Your words seemed to reach him, and you noticed a slight relaxation in his posture as he continued his measured breathing. "Just like that...he will fall asleep and let you keep control." You hummed warmly, sitting beside him and rubbing his back.

He exhaled one final, deep breath, his chest deflating as the tension slowly ebbed from his body. The train suddenly jerked to life, the ancient gears in the wheels groaning and creaking as they began to turn. With a lurch, the massive iron beast slowly inched forward, gathering momentum. "I'm okay," Bucky finally managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. His throat bobbed visibly as he swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure after the soldier finally relented control and faded into the back of his mind.

"Good," you rasped back, your own voice rough with fatigue and stress. You turned your gaze to the window, but the darkness outside revealed nothing of the world rushing by. Trails of rain ran down the window, the spotted droplets turning into streaks as the train moved. After a moment of contemplation, you shifted in your seat to face Bucky once more. "So... where exactly are we going?" you asked, curiosity and a hint of trepidation coloring your tone.

Bucky's eyes, which had been fixed on some indeterminate point in the distance, finally lifted to meet yours. "France," he replied, his voice low and steady. "Then back here. Then... somewhere else. We have to keep moving, keep them guessing." He paused, "They won't think to look around Germany once they believe we've left the country. We'll use their assumptions against them, stay one step ahead."

"Ah, smart..." You murmured, settling back onto the plush bed. The gentle sway of the train car and the rhythmic clacking of wheels on tracks created a soothing ambiance that prevented that dull ringing from pure silence. From what Bucky had told you, the ride would stretch on for hours, well into the night. You wouldn’t have to get off the train at the stop in France, so this was going to be a long trip.

You decided to make yourself as comfortable as possible for the long haul ahead and began to peel off your rain-soaked garments. The damp fabric clung stubbornly to your skin, requiring some effort to remove. As each piece of clothing came away, you felt instant relief from the clammy sensation that had been plaguing you since the downpour. You were left in nothing but your undergarments, your skin finally able to breathe freely.

Bucky, ever attentive, couldn't help but watch as you undressed. His eyes traced the gentle curves of your form, appreciating the soft planes of exposed flesh. There was a sudden need in his gaze, though he maintained a respectful distance. The sight of you, vulnerable and nearly bare, completely trusting in him, stirred something in his gut. Bucky followed suit, he saw little point in remaining in his waterlogged attire for the duration of the night so he shed his own rain-drenched clothes, revealing his gorgeous physique. His meaty arms and legs, his soft belly, he had been doing so well since HYDRA. He filled out, and he looked so much healthier, building much more mass.

He crawled next to you, his movements slow and deliberate as he positioned himself close by. The two of you lay side by side, your bodies gradually warming up in the confined space. The gentle hum of the train's heater filled the cabin, its warmth seeping into your damp clothes laying on the opposing cushions and caressing your exposed skin. You shifted, nestling against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. His larger frame instinctively curled around you, providing an additional layer of warmth and security. The exhaustion of the day began to settle in your bones, and you allowed your eyelids to flutter closed, savoring a few moments of respite.

He glanced at your arm, noticing with concern the light bruises forming from when he had been grabbing you earlier in his role as the soldier. Bucky tenderly pulled your arm closer to inspect it, a frown taking over his features as he observed the marks of where his hand grasped you many times. His usually bright blue eyes narrowed, now clouded with guilt and remorse for his earlier behavior. In a silent gesture of apology, he softly kissed the bruised area, offering comfort where he could without words as you lay against him. The room enveloped in what was mostly silence, save for the tapping of heavy rain and the rhythm of the tracks. You were so exhausted from the day's events and the emotional toll they had taken on you. Despite everything, you chose to stay by his side, no matter what happens in his life. You were always there with him. You were the one person he could count on more than anyone else.

As your consciousness began to drift away, it suddenly snapped back into focus as you felt Bucky's warm body pressing closer to yours. His calloused hand slowly descended, gently caressing your inner thigh with a tenderness that belied his strength. His thumb traced delicate circles on your skin, sending shivers up your spine. Bucky shifted slightly, propping himself up to gaze directly into your eyes, his own blue orbs filled with a mixture of vulnerability and adoration.

"Doll, I..." he began, his voice husky with emotion, "You mean the world to me. You've been by my side...no matter what. Even with...the winter soldier still hidden in my head. You have stuck with me." As he spoke, his hand continued its gentle exploration, inching closer to your most sensitive area, his touch both comforting and electrifying.

"Bucky..." you breathed, your voice laden with affection and reassurance. "I love you. I'm not going anywhere - not now, not ever." Your hand instinctively reached up to cup his stubbly cheek, your fingers tenderly stroking the rough texture of his skin. Bucky leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he savored the intimacy of the gesture.

"You don't need to thank me for standing by you or for protecting you," you continued, your voice soft but filled with conviction. "It's not a burden or an obligation like you always seem to think…it's a choice I make every day because of how much you mean to me. I may not be able to move mountains or change the world, but I'll always do whatever is within my power to support and love you, Bucky. That's a promise."

His eyes glistened with a hint of moisture, your words resonating with him and making him feel much more emotional. Slowly, he leaned down, closing the distance between you as his lips met yours in a tender kiss. The softness of his slightly damp lips sent a shiver through your body as he moved them against your own eager ones. His body hovered over yours, creating a protective cocoon around you. His thick arms, strong yet aware and careful, formed a gentle cage, holding you close beneath him. The warmth of his presence enveloped you, the cold of the rain and soaked clothes now long gone as you pressed up into his lips in return.

When Bucky pulled back, his eyes met yours, filled with tenderness and longing. "M'gonna show you just how much I love you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "For stickin' by my side through everything... through all of those long nights, through hiding and running..."

His right hand gently cradled your arm, his touch feather-light as he examined the tender flesh he had inadvertently grabbed earlier while in his Winter Soldier mindset. Your skin was sensitive, sporting light bruises from where his hand had held on. Bucky's expression softened further, a hint of regret flickering across his features. “I’m fine, Buck Buck.” You whispered soothingly, not wanting him to feel bad.

He placed soft, reverent kisses along the discolored skin after you spoke, each press of his lips was like a silent apology. His warm breath fanned across your skin in gentle, soothing pants, you could see he was getting worked up.

His body shifted above you again, his fingers delicately hooking into the elastic of your underwear and slowly tugged them down your legs, savoring every inch of newly exposed skin. The fabric whispered against your thighs before he flicked them off onto the floor, not paying any attention to where they went. A shiver of anticipation ran through you as the cool air caressed your now-bare skin. Your breath caught in your throat, a mixture of excitement and vulnerability washing over you after being fully exposed to his gaze. It wasn’t the first time, of course, but that didn’t matter right now.

Bucky held your legs, his touch both firm and tender, wrapping his arms under your hips, lifting you up off the flimsy mattress slightly. The sudden contact made you gasp softly, your body tensing momentarily as the cold metal of his left arm pressed against your warm skin. The contrast was electrifying, sending a jolt of sensation through your body.

"Ah, Bucky..." You hitched, your voice a breathy whisper filled with desire and anticipation. Your fingers gripped the sheets beneath you, your body trembling slightly, feeling his hot breath against your lower abdomen.

His mouth placed open kisses on your belly, a line going across your abdomen as he kissed. His hair draped over his forehead as he dipped down, his stubble scratched your sensitive skin as he lowered farther to your core. You felt yourself quiver, his lips were right there...and the damn soldier was teasing you.

He gently spread you open, taking in everything you had to offer him. You were so beautiful, his hazy eyes glued to your folds and he finally lowered down to you. His tongue licked a slow stripe up from your entrance to your clit, teasingly flicking over it once and making you moan quietly. Your breath hitched as he did it again, his tongue was so warm and the pressure he applied was always perfect.

Bucky always knew what to do, his lips were wrapped around your pretty pearl within seconds and he gave you little nursing suckles. Your body stiffened instantly and your hips moved towards him on their own, chasing that addicting wave of pleasure that continuously shot through your limbs. He sucked so good, his tongue teasingly circling the bud in his mouth while he nursed on your clit. Those strong arms held your hips firm, preventing you from having more and less.

He released your clit, listening to you moan below him and he chuckled, his voice coming out in a teasing whisper. "Shh...we can't let anyone hear you..." You felt his hands trail up your body in a slow rub, squeezing your soft sides before he groped your breasts. He teased your nipples, pinching them and rolling them in his fingertips. The cool metal fingers of his left hand made you gasp, your back arching up off the flimsy mattress.

"Bucky...oh shit..." You huffed and held his wrists while he toyed with your sensitive buds. It was dark in the cabin, but he could tell they were a bit more red than usual, your body responding to him eagerly. "Please..." You lifted your hips to try to encourage him to lick you again, desperate for his lips and tongue on your wet cunt, lapping and sucking you to your climax. You were desperate, needy, you wanted more as he continued to give you enough to tease, but not enough to feel that ecstasy you desired.

"S'good baby...just let me play with you. I'll make you feel good, I promise...just sit still for me." He laid sloppy, open mouthed kisses to your inner thigh, his teeth gently nipping your skin as he lightly suckled with each kiss. His hot breath hit your pussy and you knew he was hovering his mouth there on purpose, just to watch you whine and mewl under his hold. That stupid smile on his face that made your belly tighten, his mischievous glint, he finally relented and let his tongue lap at you again.

He teased your entrance, his tongue pushing in a few times and swirling around, dragging your arousal up and over your throbbing clit. Bucky expertly drew elaborate designs on your little pearl, being urged on by your sweet, delicate sounds of need and pleasure. Your hips desperately chasing his light touches, encouraging him to do more to you. You let out a frustrated huff and your hand tangled in his hair. "Bucky, come on, please..."

Your plea went to his groin, the blood rushing down and making him twitch. "You're so good to me, doll..." he grunted against your folds, taking your clit into his mouth and giving a harsh suckle. You bit your lip hard to stifle your loud cry. "So damn good to me...always by my side. Always makin' sure m'alright..." He laid kisses along your slit, his tongue slithering inside you again, swiping all the way up through your folds. "You taste so good for me...like a drug. I love lickin' you baby...I love suckin' your pretty clit. Such pretty sounds for me, c'mon babydoll, make some noise f'me..."

Your clit was engulfed once more, his lips and tongue giving you intense suckling and swirling. He sucked on your precious bundle of nerves like he were drinking down sweet honey, his tongue cradling your bead as his arms and hands kept you perfectly still for him to work on you. His tongue swirled in gentle circles before he settled it underneath the bud, continuing to nurse on you.

"Bucky...I-I'm close, if you keep doing that..." You rasped and stuttered, your voice coming out with gentle whines emphasizing the pleasure you were feeling. You let out short pants as your orgasm rapidly approached, his tongue working your clit relentlessly, he could feel you were close. The way it twitched on his wet muscle, how you writhed beneath his arms, the erratic breaths coming out of your parted lips.

He kept just as he was, knowing that this is what was getting you there. He didn't change a thing, and you finally reached your peak, chasing it down and pouncing on it until it overwhelmed you. With the sweet arch of your back, he finally allowed you to grind and buck your hips into his mouth. He held your waist as you tugged on his hair and mewled out a little too loudly. His name leaving your mouth in a sweet symphony of beautiful moans, he about humped the mattress below him to satisfy the growing urge from his cock.

After your body relaxed from its rigid state, you laid back down on the mattress and gasped, his tongue continuously and lazily lapping up your mess. "Ah...Bucky..." You gave his hair a gentle tug, overstimulation making your legs shake vigorously. He lifted, his lips glossy and his chin wet from his little feast.

You didn't care, you pulled him close and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips and eagerly pulling him closer to your body. The aftershocks had run completely through you, so your shaking body was growing chilled in the tiny train cabin. His warmth was something your body instinctively sought in the dark room. The tracks were loud as was the rain, you hoped that was enough to muffle your embarrassing outcry of pleasure.

Your face reddened, a deep blush spreading over your cheeks as you thought back to the sounds of your own moans, which seemed to echo in your mind. Bucky, so attentive and extra charming in the moment, just chuckled softly in response, his eyes twinkling with affection. "You're beautiful, doll. So beautiful...did so well for me," he murmured in that endearing tone of his that never failed to make your heart flutter.

Bucky dipped his head down, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your chin and jawline, slowly moving down the side of your neck. He kept himself close to you, his arms creating a warm, secure cocoon around you…despite the usually cold metal arm that you often had wrapped up when you two slept together. He clearly tried shielding you from the chilly air that permeated the train cabin, his warmth a comforting barrier against the cold.

"And you're very handsome, with the prettiest pink lips," you whispered back, your voice soft and full of admiration for the man you loved. Even though you were still rather dazed from your orgasm, you felt a little better than you had moments ago. Your arms were still heavy with blissful exhaustion, but they lazily wrapped around his neck and shoulders. You played absentmindedly with the roots of his hair at the back of his head, twirling the strands gently between your fingers in the way that he liked.

"What happens when we get back to Germany? Where will we go once the train turns around?" You asked in a soft whisper as Bucky laid beside you, cradling you close and more comfortably. He sighed back to you, watching the faint lights out the tiny window of the roomette flicker and dance as the train sped through the night.

"We go somewhere else. Quickly. Maybe Russia," he replied, his voice a gentle murmur that matched the rhythmic clatter of the train's wheels on the tracks. "There are a lot of small, private towns we could go to, hidden away from the world. Places they won't think to look, places where we can blend in and live quietly, away from prying eyes and cameras. Places where we could be at peace. Or, try to be." He mumbled softly, his thumb gently caressing your shoulder as you laid close, feeling the warmth of his body and the reassuring steadiness of his presence.

You gave a soft hum in response to him, feeling the warmth and comfort as you snuggled even closer into his broad, welcoming chest, so warm like a heater. "Well...I guess I have to practice my Russian," you said with a playful chuckle, the sound light and soft. You placed a tender kiss on his sternum, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing before settling in for the night. The drop in hormones after fleeing from the government and Bucky so eagerly eating you out made you feel especially tired. Bucky glanced down at you with a gentle gaze, pulling you a little closer, his lips curving up into a small, affectionate smile.

"I'll teach you, help you refresh," he whispered with a reassuring tone, his voice a calm and soothing presence in the quiet room. "Let's worry about that later...for now, get some sleep. We've got at least eleven more hours," he added, his words a comforting reminder of the time you had together, promising a long, restful night ahead.

"You need sleep too," you insisted, your brow furrowing with concern. You had a strong feeling that he wouldn't allow himself a moment's rest while you were sleeping. "Promise you'll get some sleep," you repeated earnestly, "You can't stay up the entire time and be exhausted when we get back. It's important to take care of yourself too, besides, if you’re sleep deprived you won’t be alert."

"I promise I will," he replied, a gentle chuckle escaping his lips as he tried to reassure you. "I'm just gonna stay up for a little longer. I want to make sure everything is good... that no one is here lookin' for us. Once I know we're safe, I'll get some rest, I swear." His eyes softened as he spoke, trying to ease your worries.

"Hm..." You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious of his promise but he had never lied to you before so...you relented. "Fine. Since you promised." You settled down into his chest and let your heavy eyelids finally close, sleep had been clawing at your consciousness and you were finally allowing yourself to be taken. Bucky was happy you fell asleep, he wanted you to rest. For everything you've done for him, being with him throughout everything, your love and loyalty was something that constantly amazed him. But he couldn't ask for anyone better than you. You were his everything, and he'd continue to love and protect you with every fiber of his being.

Bucky's own eyes grew heavy after staying awake for a while, weighed down by the fatigue of the long journey and the emotional toll of the day’s events. You both gradually succumbed to the comforting embrace of sleep, wrapped together closely with limbs hooked around each other, fitting together snugly like customized puzzle pieces. The rhythmic and soothing sound of the train tracks clicking beneath you provided a steady lullaby, while the rain stormed down incessantly on the roof of the train, creating a calming yet persistent background symphony that replaced your need for white noise that you had always insisted on using.

As the train tirelessly carried you to newfound safety, away from the chaos that lay behind, the world outside blurred into a haze, granting you a temporary break from all the stress the world brought upon you both.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Cover images from Pinterest.

[novlr]

What are some good ways to write about winter?

Winter. is a season of stark contrasts and sensory experiences. It provides the perfect canvas to paint vivid scenes that range from cosy romances to horror-filled stormy nights.

When writing about winter, it’s essential to capture the essence of its chill and the way it can transform the world. Here are some quick tips!

Sights

A blanket of pristine snow covering the landscape

Bare tree branches coated with frost

Delicate snowflakes drifting from the grey sky

Icicles hanging like crystal daggers from rooftops

Colourful clothes stark against the white of snow

Sunlight reflecting off the snow, creating a blinding glare

Animal tracks stamped into the powder

Frozen lakes and puddles

Man-made objects like snowmen and snow angels

Lights shining against dark backdrops

Sounds

Snow muffling and dampening the usual noises

Boots crunching on the frozen ground

People laughing and shouting as they play

Wind howling through barren branches

Ice cracking underfoot or on distant lakes

The silence of a snow-covered world

Shovels scraping against sidewalks

Snowballs hitting their targets with soft thuds

Branches creaking, laden with snow

The rustle of animals keeping warm in burrows

Smells

The fresh, clean scent of snow in the air

Wood smoke curling from chimneys

The earthy aroma of damp wool from coats and gloves

The sharp tang of frost and cold metal

Hot chocolate and marshmallows

Pine needles and the subtle scent of evergreen

Baking spices from holiday treats

The slight ozone smell before a snowstorm

Wet dog from snowball fights with furry friends

Leather and polish from well-worn boots

Activities

Building snow forts and castles

Ice skating on a frozen pond or rink

Snowshoeing through a silent forest

Curling up by the fire with a good book

Skiing and snowboarding down powdery slopes

Brisk walks to enjoy the winter air

Hiking up snowy mountains for panoramic views

Having snowball fights with friends or family

Feeding birds or wildlife braving the cold

Decorating the home with festive lights and ornaments

Character body language

Shivering and huddling for warmth

Rubbing hands together or blowing on them for heat

Shoulders hunched against the biting wind

Slipping and steadying oneself on icy patches

Squinting against the bright snow glare

Snuggling into oversized coats and scarves

Stamping feet to restore circulation

Clapping hands to keep the cold at bay

Arms wrapped around the torso for warmth

Quick, brisk movements to minimise exposure to the cold

Positive descriptions

The serene beauty of a snow-covered meadow at dawn

The invigorating feeling of cold air filling your lungs

The cosiness of a warm blanket on a frosty night

The joy of catching snowflakes on your tongue

The camaraderie of coming together to shovel snow

The nostalgia of winter holidays and traditions

The satisfaction of making the perfect snowball

The wonder of ice patterns on windows

The laughter and excitement of a snow day

The glistening of a frosted evergreen in the sun

Negative descriptions

The biting sting of the wind against exposed skin

The numbness of fingers and toes in the cold

The dreariness of shortened, grey days

The inconvenience of navigating slushy streets

The isolation of a blizzard keeping everyone indoors

The discomfort of wet socks and snow in your boots

The hazard of black ice on sidewalks and roads

The burden of heavy layers and winter gear

The dull ache of a cold that lingers

The gloom that can accompany the lack of sunlight

Helpful adjectives

Biting, chilly, frosty, glacial, icy

Crisp, brisk, sharp, piercing, raw

Fluffy, powdery, crunchy, slick, slippery

Dreary, overcast, bleak, sombre, grey

Cosy, snug, warm, toasty, plush

Twinkling, sparkling, shimmering, glistening

Silent, muffled, still, hushed, quiet

Fresh, clean, invigorating, brisk, bracing

Nostalgic, traditional, joyous, festive, celebratory

Isolating, inconvenient, burdensome, hazardous, gloomy

[musicollage]

Rapoon - Song from the End of the World. 2016 : Glacial Movements.

! enjoy the album ★ donate a coffee !

[ninibeingdelulu]

Am I in love with just a theme ? ✧

Plot: You watch your boyfriend becoming a serial killer…

An eerie hush permeated the modest bedroom save for the scratching of Light's pen etching yet another convicted criminal's name into that innocuous black notebook.

You couldn't tear your gaze away, stomach roiling in uneasy revulsion at how...casually he wielded such monstrous power these days.

Like some self-appointed deity passing judgment with a flick of his wrist.

This merciless, arrogant demigod bore only the barest fleeting resemblance to the brilliant yet tenderhearted boyfriend you once adored.

Since acquiring the Death Note's insidious abilities, your Light had steadily devolved into a twisted shell of his former self, driven by an all-consuming messiah complex.

You barely recognized him anymore - the Light you knew would've recoiled in horror over such wanton slaughter, dismissing the very notion as abhorrent. These days? He didn't so much as blink as person after person perished at his whim, swaths of human lives extinguished with infuriatingly casual indifference.

Swallowing thickly, you finally found your voice. Hesitant, yet brimming with desperation to reach whatever tattered remnants of the man you loved still lurked beneath Kira's pitiless exterior.

"Light?"

When those russet eyes flickered up towards you, glacial and utterly devoid of warmth, the words shriveled in your throat for an agonizing heartbeat.

Plunging onwards with a strained exhale, you barrelled through before your nerve could crumble entirely.

"Why don't you just...pass the notebook off to someone else?" Achingly wistful, you curled your arms across your midsection like a flimsy shield.

"You don't...you don't have to keep doing this yourself. We could go back to how things were before and-"

"Enough." Light cut you off with a curt growl, snapping the Death Note closed with a dull thud that made you flinch.

Abruptly he stood, stalking towards the bed with leonine grace yet stiff, clipped movements radiating frigid menace. Too late, you shrank from his imposing form looming over you now.

Face to face, scarcely inches apart, you could see the fanatical glint smoldering behind those impassive, handsome features.

A shudder slithered down your vertebrae under his unnerving scrutiny.

"I can't let this power slip into anyone else's hands."

The words emerged through gritted teeth, a muscle feathering along Light's taut jawline.

"I was chosen to become the God of this new world, to execute divine justice and establish true order with my own hands. No one else is worthy."

An errant tear slipped from the corner of your eye, tracing a glistening trail down your cheek in the tense standoff's wake. You tried valiantly to fortify your resolve, to not flinch away from the sheer gravity of that unnervingly cold, callous resolution etched into his very marrow.

But it was too much.

"Light, please..."

The words gurgled out in a desperate rasp, thick with anguished pleading and unshed tears.

"I love you, b-but I can't keep watching as you lose every shred of your humanity like this! If you won't give up that thing, then...then I have to go. I can't stay by and watch this anymore!"

At the achingly soft admission spilling through your wobbling lips, Light's expression didn't flicker for a protracted, agonizing heartbeat.

But then his mouth curled into the ghost of a smirk, utterly devoid of genuine mirth - just cruel, calculating self-assurance.

"Go ahead and try," he crooned with scathing disinterest, callused fingers seizing a rough fistful of your hair to forcibly tilt your face up towards his. Tears spilled freely now, sobs raking your trembling frame.

"You don't honestly think I'd let you walk away with everything you know about me still intact, do you?"

The icy finality behind those mocking words washed over you in a suffocating wave, stealing what little tenuous purchase on hope you still possessed.

You sagged, terror-fuelled adrenaline rapidly leaching away into numb hopelessness and misery.

Without ceremony, Light shoved you away with a scoff, leaving you sprawled across the mattress amidst your pitiful puddle of grief.

With a few perfunctory swipes of his sleeve across those chiseled features, he'd already vanished whatever fleeting glimpses of genuine emotion had flickered there just moments ago.

"You'll stay right here, powerless and silent as my humble concubine," the words emerged crisp, cold, and utterly inflexible as he returned to the Death Note splayed open in indifferent expectation.

"Embrace your purpose, devote yourself to watching over the birth of a new utopia...or perish like any other obstacle beneath my heel."

Through a fresh torrent of searing tears, you could only bring yourself to rasp out a pitiful whimper of surrender.

Beaten. Broken.

Any facade of control or dignity had long fled along with the better parts of Light's withering soul.

Beneath the weight of sickening realization settling like a shroud, darkness crept across your vision as the soft scratching of pen against paper resumed.

You were well and truly his hapless pawn now.

[daisystwistedgarden]

a/n: watched sleeping beauty for the first time today and had this idea

you've met him before.

you can feel it coming-- only once, the first time, had you ever been caught off guard. you always find yourself in the same forest clearing. the small chitters of animals accompany the gently sway of the trees. the sky is sunny, but you can never quite see the sun from where you stand. wandering too far into the hazy gray ether on the edge of the open glade led your feet back to the same spot where you found yourself originally.

the birds sing their song. you, too, find yourself humming along. the words are foreign to your mind, but not your tongue, as you utter a tune too familiar to be unknown entirely.

i know you, i walked with you once upon a dream...

you tend to busy yourself with whatever seems most enticing. boredom seldom finds you here, regardless of how many times you open your eyes to find the same tree line sprawled out before you. the animals here do not seem to fear you as they would in the world you know-- instead, they weave between your steps and follow your movements with a grace too easy to be natural. fear seldom finds you here, either.

i know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam...

your voice continues to carry through the trees, no matter how quiet you find your words. neither do they seem to waver when you realize you're not truly alone.

yet I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem...

most days, he joins you in ways that keep him hidden from your sight. a deep baritone voice melds with yours as you recite lyrics you can't quite predict-- a figure's shadow lingers just foggy edge of the glen. vivid green eyes peer from between the leaves of a nearby treetop while you crouch to pluck ripe berries fresh from the bush. you're always careful to watch for the thorns you can't see. on the days you find yourself swept up in some invisible music, captured in an aimless waltz, you feel a presence behind you guiding you through the steps with a poise ingrained in each blade of grass, each pleasant breeze and each leaf clinging to every branch.

the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. the strange baritone is closer now. smooth. too smooth. an icy cold blooms across the side of your neck, glacial in the same way the palms of your hands begin to stiffen from an unfamiliar drop in temperature. you turn to look behind you and catch a glint of silky raven hair and a sallow, sickly flash of skin fading into something dark and tall reaching towards the sky.

you awaken out of breath, heart pounding as you stare into the darkness. your bedsheets feel cold, almost untouched, around your body. the fan in the corner hums its same tune night after night. everything is as it should be.

from the window, you spot a pair of glowing green eyes. swirling, vivid, hypnotizing you to rise from the safety of your bed and march towards the unknown. yet... it's not quite unfamiliar, is it? no, you know those eyes. you've seen them before.

once upon a dream.

[mrs5sn0w]

Serenade of Shadows

I : A Dance of Shadows -> II : Whisper of Deceit -> III : A Symphony of Heartbreak ->IV : Fractured Reflections -> V : Shadows of Allegiance -> VI : Echoes of Decent

Series Masterlist

Young!Coriolanus Snow x Fem!reader

Warnings : Arranged marriage, HEAVY ANGST, unrequited love, friends to enemies, enemies to lovers

Reader's surname : Flare

Time frame: Before, during and after tbosbas

Synopsis : In the events of Panem's political dynamics and the 10th annual Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow and her find themselves entwined. Standing at the brink of an enforced union, 6 years later, their mutual trust unravels amidst a damaging misinterpretation, prompting Coriolanus to believe the wrong. As the glacial barriers guarding his emotions begin to melt, a revelation of profound feelings unfolds, initiating a sprint against time for redemption.

The grand ballroom of the Capitol glittered with opulence, a testament to the excesses of power and control. She, who was adorned in a gown of muted elegance, stood beside Coriolanus Snow, a man whose eyes reflected the iciness of the society that had moulded him.

The festivities, a celebration of their union, felt like a masquerade of emotions, each step a painful reminder of a love lost.

The dance floor beneath them, once a stage for shared dreams, now echoed with the hollow sounds of a fractured connection. Coriolanus, draped in indifference, turned to her with a gaze colder than the winter winds that swept through the Capitol.

"Do remember that our union is a political necessity, not a playground for your emotions." His words, sharp as a blade, cut through the remnants of her optimism, leaving wounds that bled with the anguish of unfulfilled promises.

"Coriolanus, please," she implored, her voice trembling with the weight of unspoken pain.

"Can't we find a way back to what we were?"

A scoff escaped his lips, a venomous edge to his tone.

"What we were is inconsequential. The Capitol demands sacrifices, and sentimentality is the first to go."

The cruelty in his words struck her like a physical blow. She felt a chasm widening between them, a chasm fueled by the Capitol's relentless demands and his willingness to succumb to its frigid embrace.

As the night wore on, the symphony of forced smiles and hollow conversations played on, but in the private moments between the grandeur, she attempted to breach the fortress of Snow's indifference.

“Can't you see that we're sacrificing more than just sentimentality?"

Her voice carried the echoes of a heart desperate to be heard, a heart that still clung to the fragments of a love that once defied the Capitol's constraints.

He turned to her, a sneer playing on his lips. "Love is a weakness, Flare."

The words, like acid, burned through her defences. He calls her by her last name, refusing to call by his.

The balcony, once a refuge for shared dreams, now became the stage for the unraveling of her heart. Tears welled up in her eyes, the anguish of his callousness too much to bear.

"Why are you doing this, Coriolanus?" Her plea hung in the air, desperate for an answer that could stitch together the tattered remains of their connection.

He met her gaze with a steely resolve. “Don't be foolish to ask that question again and again. You know why.”

His indifference, a fortress that seemed impenetrable, shattered the last vestiges of her hope. The balcony, witness to the tender moments of their past, now bore witness to the agonizing dissolution of their bond.

"You're heartless, Coriolanus."

His laughter, cold and devoid of empathy, echoed through the balcony.

"Your sentiments won't change our reality. Accept it or suffer the consequences."

The finality in his words landed like a crushing blow. A love that had once defied the Capitol's chains now lay broken and discarded. The dance through time, a once graceful movement, had devolved into a painful and discordant rhythm, echoing the hollowness of their loveless marriage.

As the grand celebration continued below, she retreated into the shadows of her pain. The ballroom, aglow with the Capitol's decadence, became a theater for the tragic unraveling of their connection.

The night was far from over. The masquerade of their union continued, a relentless dance that forced them to confront the haunting melodies of a loveless marriage. Each step on the dance floor mirrored the jagged edges of their fractured connection.

She was a prisoner of her emotions, sought solace in the shadows. The whispers of the past intertwined with the discordant notes of the present, creating a symphony of heartbreak that reverberated through the ballroom.

Coriolanus, detached and composed, navigated the dance with the finesse of a puppeteer pulling the strings. His eyes, devoid of warmth, scanned the room with the calculated precision of a man who had embraced the callousness demanded by the Capitol.

In the quiet interludes between the grand movements, she attempted one more plea, a desperate hope that some shred of humanity remained within the man who had once been her confidant.

"Coriolanus, can't you see what this is doing to us? We're sacrificing more than just love; we're sacrificing our very souls."

He turned to her, his gaze an icy dagger that pierced through her vulnerability.

"Souls are a small price to pay for power. I suggest you learn to accept it."

The words, a proclamation of the Capitol's ruthless influence, left her breathless. She felt the weight of their union pressing down on her, a heavy burden that threatened to suffocate any lingering traces of hope.

As the grand celebration reached its climax, the dance through time descended into a chaotic frenzy of emotions. The ballroom, once a space of decadent revelry, now became a battleground for the remnants of their connection.

Coriolanus, unmoved by the turmoil within her, continued the dance with an air of indifference. The discordant notes of their fractured love played on, drowning out the music of the Capitol's triumphant fanfare.

In the dimly lit corners of the ballroom, her tears went unnoticed. The pain, too private to be displayed in the spotlight of the Capitol's scrutiny, carved deep trenches in her soul.

As the night drew to a close, she, a mere shadow of the woman she once was, found herself standing alone on the balcony. The Capitol, with its glittering facade, seemed worlds away from the desolation within her heart.

Coriolanus, his duty to the Capitol fulfilled, approached her with the calculated demeanor of a man who had shed the vestiges of sentimentality.

“Whatever it is we had it the past, don’t ever look for it, it won’t ever come back.”

His words, devoid of any flicker of remorse, echoed through the empty spaces of her heart. The dance through time had reached its bitter end, leaving behind the fragments of a connection that had crumbled under the weight of the Capitol's expectations.

With a final glance, Coriolanus Snow, now a stranger draped in the trappings of power, left the balcony, leaving her alone with the haunting melodies of a love extinguished. The Capitol's grandeur faded into the night, and she, standing on the balcony, felt the chill of isolation in the air.

As the Capitol slept, shrouded in the deceptive allure of power, she remained on the balcony, grappling with the ruins of her heart. The night, once a canvas for shared dreams, now stretched before her as an endless expanse of emptiness.

In the aftermath of the celebration, the opulent ballroom now lay silent, a stark contrast to the tumult within herself. The masquerade of their union had unveiled the harsh truth — she was entwined in a loveless marriage, a puppet in the Capitol's grand theater.

Alone in the sprawling bedroom, she found herself on the sofa, a cold and unwelcome piece of furniture that mirrored the frigid atmosphere that had settled between her and Coriolanus Snow. The grand bed, adorned with lavish silks and plush pillows, stood untouched, a stark reminder of the chasm that had grown between them.

Her wedding gown, once a symbol of celebration, now felt like a heavy shroud, constricting her movements as she navigated the unfamiliar space. Moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting an ethereal glow on the elaborate patterns of the carpet, each thread whispering tales of a union strained by the weight of Capitol expectations.

As she stepped into the bathroom, the opulence of Capitol excess confronted her. The glass-encased shower stood like a transparent witness to her vulnerability. She turned on the water, hoping its cascade would wash away the residue of the day's trials.

The door swung open, and Coriolanus Snow entered with a casual nonchalance.

His eyes, indifferent to her modesty, met hers in the reflection of the gleaming mirror. The involuntary shriek that escaped her lips was met with nothing more than an eye roll from him. He faced the mirror, a razor in hand, seemingly oblivious to the invasion of her privacy.

“Excuse me ? Do you mind giving me a bit of privacy ?” she protested, the words barely audible over the rush of water.

Coriolanus, razor against his jaw, spared her a fleeting glance, his response as cutting as the blade against his skin.

"You know, Flare, the Capitol may find your attempts at modesty amusing. But let's be clear, you're not even interesting to look at, even when you're trying."

In haste, she sheathed her body in a robe, a thin shield against the rawness of his indifference. The scent of expensive bath oils mingled with the palpable tension, creating an atmosphere that underscored the compromises demanded by the Capitol's opulent facade.

As the echoes of his cruel words reverberated in the room, she chose silence.

The night, meant to be a culmination of shared dreams and whispered promises, had transformed into a haunting symphony of solitude. The echoes of distant laughter from the Capitol's revelry reached her ears, a stark contrast to the silence within the grand room.

She gazed at the grand bed, its expanse an unspoken testament to the distance between her and the man she had once called a friend.

"You're sleeping at the Sofa" he hissed

As she settled onto the sofa, the cushions felt cold and unforgiving.

She gazed at the grand bed, its expanse an unspoken testament to the distance between her and the man she had once called a friend.

The refusal to share a bed, a symbolic rejection that echoed through the silence, carved a deep wound in her heart.

Tears welled in her eyes as she replayed the events of the wedding night—the vows exchanged without sincerity, the applause that masked the absence of genuine joy, and now, the solitude that defined her first night as Coriolanus Snow's wife.

The sofa offered little comfort, its unyielding surface a reflection of the emotional distance that had grown between them. She slept alone on the sofa, the grand bed bearing witness to the ache of a connection lost.

The first light of dawn painted the Capitol in hues of gold, but for her, it offered no warmth. The reality of her situation loomed larger than the grand structures that adorned the city. She descended from the balcony, her steps heavy with the weight of unshed tears.

Days turned into weeks, and the semblance of a life continued. The Capitol, indifferent to the personal tragedies within its glittering facade, carried on with its relentless demands. She, who was once a beacon of creativity, moved through the motions with a hollow gaze.

Coriolanus Snow, now consumed by the machinations of power, remained a distant figure in her life. The corridors of their grand residence echoed with a profound silence, a testament to the emotional chasm that separated them.

One evening, as the Capitol bathed in the twilight glow, she found herself in the Academy library, a place that once witnessed the blossoming of their connection. The shelves, lined with volumes of forgotten dreams, stood as silent witnesses to the passage of time.

In the quiet solitude of the library, Her fingers traced the spines of familiar books. Memories flooded back — shared laughter, whispered dreams, and the unspoken bond that had defined their youth. She closed her eyes, attempting to capture the fragments of a time when love still flourished.

Weeks turned into months, and the grand wedding, a distant memory, held no solace for her. The corridors of their residence, once filled with shared laughter, now echoed with the hollowness of a connection irreversibly fractured.

As the Capitol skyline glowed with artificial brilliance, she stood on the balcony, a silhouette against the backdrop of a city that demanded everything but love. The echoes of their past laughter lingered, mingling with the distant hum of Capitol life.

Coriolanus Snow approached, his gaze fixed on the sprawling expanse below. The balcony, once witness to their private moments, now served as a stage for the remnants of a connection that refused to be forgotten.

"The Capitol's demands grow more strict, could you stop acting all sad, asking attention from the public ? It’s pathetic, we must play our parts better, give the Capitol what they want so-” he remarked, his voice a detached melody that echoed through the night.

“So you can get more power ?” She scoffed

“What more do you want from the people now that you’re President ?”

A bitter smile played on her lips. "Our parts, Coriolanus, are nothing more than roles in a tragic play. The Capitol demands perfection, but it has no regard for the cost."

His gaze, cold and unyielding, met hers. "Cost is not important when compared to the splendour of power. You knew the rules when you entered this dance, Flare."

The balcony, bathed in the soft glow of Capitol lights, became the theater for a final act. She was weary and disillusioned then locking eyes with Coriolanus Snow — a man she once loved, now a stranger draped in the trappings of power.

"Coriolanus, I once believed in a world beyond the Capitol's expectations. But we are prisoners, dancing to a tune composed by a heartless regime."

His laughter, devoid of warmth, cut through the night. "Prisoners, perhaps, but also architects of our destiny. Embrace the role, or be swept away by the currents of irrelevance."

The question hung in the air, a heavy cloud of unspoken tension settling over the room. Her voice, though calm, carried a subtle edge as she uttered words that dared to touch the forbidden.

"Would it be different if she was the one to marry you?"

Coriolanus Snow, his features frozen in an icy mask, felt the room temperature drop several degrees. The mere mention of Lucy Gray Baird, the elusive victor of the 10th Annual Hunger Games, was like a sharp dagger thrust into the depths of his guarded emotions.

His eyes, usually cool and composed, flared with a sudden anger that he struggled to conceal.

"You dare bring her up?" The words hissed through clenched teeth, each syllable dripping with a venomous disdain that seemed to materialize from the depths of his resentment.

Though she was well aware of the sensitivity of the topic, pressed on with a quiet determination. The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in as the weight of unspoken histories loomed.

"She's the one you cheated the Games for, isn't she? The girl you loved and then conveniently let disappear,"

she continued, her voice unwavering despite the storm brewing in his gaze.

A cruel laugh escaped him, devoid of any genuine mirth.

"You think you know anything about her? About us?"

The tension crackled in the air as he paced, the room feeling suddenly too confined. His anger, a turbulent undercurrent, sought an outlet in biting words.

"Let me make something clear, Flare. Lucy Gray was never meant for someone like you to understand. She was extraordinary, and you…"

He paused, his gaze sweeping over her form with a disdain that cut through the air.

"You're just a pale imitation, desperately clinging to a reality you can't grasp."

Though wounded by his words, she refused to back down.

"And yet, you married me. So, why don't you tell me, Snow ? Would it be different if she was the one standing here in this lavish room, wearing this elaborate dress, playing the part I am assigned ? "

His eyes, stormy and unforgiving, locked onto hers.

"Maybe she would have had the decency not to bring up the past to throw your own indiscretions in your face."

The words hung in the air, an unspoken challenge between them. The room, once a sanctuary, now bore witness to the unraveling of a carefully constructed facade, revealing the cracks beneath the surface of their strained union.

Undeterred by the venom in his words, Seraphina met Snow's stormy gaze with unwavering determination. She fought back, her voice cutting through the charged atmosphere.

"If Lucy Gray was so extraordinary, then why is she not here ? If she really loved you, wouldn't she have stayed ? Or maybe, she vanished because she realized what a heartless, cold creature she had involved herself with."

Her words, a counterattack fueled by the fire of her own pain, struck at the heart of his defenses. Snow's stoic facade wavered for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability surfacing in his icy eyes.

"You want to believe in a love that never wavered, but you're deluding yourself. Lucy Gray saw through you, just as I do now," she declared, her voice steady despite the turmoil within.

The room felt like a battlefield of emotions, each word exchanged a weapon aimed at the other's vulnerabilities. Seraphina pressed on, refusing to let his harsh words break her spirit.

"And here we are, in this grandiose room, in this sham of a marriage. You can't escape the fact that I am your wife, Coriolanus, and no matter how much you resent it, I'm not going to disappear like Lucy Gray."

A bitter smile played on her lips, a mix of defiance and resignation. The Capitol lights outside seemed to dim in comparison to the intensity of their verbal clash. The echoes of their unraveling union reverberated in the silence that followed.

The room, once a symbol of their forced unity, now stood witness to the fractures that no extravagant facade could conceal. She turned away from the balcony, leaving Snow to grapple with the lingering echoes of her words and the stark reality of their entangled fates.

TAGLIST : @randomgurl2326 @rosewine-5

[synnlyrose]

Say It

Levi Ackerman 🩶

{T.W ‼️ LevixReader. A bit of SoftDom Levi. Pussy touching, neck kisses. Light Smut, but smut nonetheless, Levi calls reader "my dear". Naughty words. Read at own risk.// .MDNI.)

Kind of edited--kinda not 🤷🏽‍♀️

😁 did I tag it right this time?? Did I miss anything? Feed back is much appreciated! And thank all you for the likes on my writing! ~Syn~

-------

Rough finger pads didn't always equate rough touches. The sensation of Levi's finger tips ghosting up your thigh was enough to make you shiver. It always amazed you how the harsh and blunt Captain could manage to be so gentle with you.

Your pretty innocent eyes fluttered up into his dark ones. Your hand wandering up his forearm, tracing the small tattoo that was placed in the crook of his elbow. His skin was warm and inviting.

Levi's face moved towards your neck, placing his soft lips against the warm clammy skin. Goosebumps followed in their absence. Levi let his fingers roam closer and closer to the hem of your skirt, he swallowed in your ear before he spoke, his voice a low husky whisper.

"Tell me what you want my dear..." He purred so effortlessly in to your earlobe making you bite your lip in a mixture of awed frustration. His hand encased the edge of your skirt as he pulled it up around your waist, using that same hand to part your thighs. "I need to hear you say it, Y/n..."

Levi's voice alone could make you submit but yet you held your ground. Levi could sense the defiance in your actions and it made him chuckle in a titillating manner as he sucked in a sharp breath, bringing his lips back to your ear lobe. Levi was a patient man and had no quarrels with getting you to stop being so bratty no matter how long it took. He knew it only made you needier in the end and gave him all the excuses in the world to tease you, until you broke.

"Y/n..." He exhaled, letting his lips press against your ear, as his fingers delicately dug into your skin. "You know, acting like a brat has never gone in your favor...I don't know why you constantly try to defy me..." He finished, his breath hot and heavy rolling through your ear drums like liquid hot honey. Leaving behind a slight tickling feeling, making your entire body hum to life.

His racy threat had you whimpering as he got the natural reaction out of you and you glanced up from where his fingers rested on your thigh up to his lips, before his eyes.

Levi had a swaggering little smirk on his face, as he brought his free finger up to tap your lips as he spoke, his smirk pulling into a full on toothsome grin.

"I know you're wet, my dear, I can smell your arousal from here..." Levi continued to tease the touch of filth in his voice didn't go unnoticed as a tremor ripped through you adding even more arousal to your core.

"Use your words..." Levi coached again, digging his nails into your skin as he dragged his fingers upwards towards your pelvic area, using two of his fingers to hold your skirt back, two of his digits, swiping lazily across your pulsating clit.

That one little touch of his fingers had your eyes going wide. You watched his wrist, with focused eyes, you watched it move back and forth devastatingly slow as Levi teased you.

There was something about him that was so...aphrodisiacal. Alluring. Addicting. Maybe it was the way he always remained so calm, even when annoyed? Or how unbroken his movements were when he pleased you? Or how handsome his face was when he was buried deep inside of you? He always remained glacial, yet he couldn't fight back the tiny pants and groans that escaped out of him as he pounded into you. His steamy remarks that kept your toes curling and eyes merely focused on his. His voice always cool yet lewd as he coaxed you into watching his cock slide in and out of you.

Stoic but nasty and he always drove you to the brink of sexual madness, nymphomania. He managed to create a insatiable hunger for him and him only. It drove its way so deep into your core, that your stomach tingled at the mere idea of Levi having his way with you.

"Y/n?" That same cool tone pulled you back to reality as another sharp swipe across your clit had you gasp slightly. Your lips trembled as you finally spoke up, "Please, Levi, take me..." the erogenous desperation in your voice made Levi smirk.

And he did just that~

[bonkled]

"I landed before any of the others. Alone, I have played the role destiny dealt me for a century, and now you come to me and call yourself my leader?"

Kopaka had closed the gap between them with deliberate, glacial movement. He was immense, and stood too close for comfort. The air around Tahu had become even colder, leaving him shivering. Kopaka continued in a voice reedy and dry from lack of use. "I have studied in the greatest libraries on the island. I have walked every Wahi in meditation of the prophecies you irreverently spit and I have come to understand their context. You are no leader to me."

Perhaps it was divine will truly moving through Tahu, or maybe his ego had just been so stroked by prophecies of his own greatness. Either way, Tahu knew he had to make a powerful impression on his stubborn brother.

In an instant, he willed his hands to become superheated and he took hold of Kopaka by the forearms. Tahu had him caught in a savage vice grip that hissed and sputtered on contact.

"I am the will of Mata Nui! I bear his mask and I walk his path with blind devotion!"

"Quiet." Kopaka croaked as he pulled his brother down and sharply brought his knee up toward his chin. To his shock, Tahu drove his face down toward it as he was pulled, causing Kopakas knee to crash against his Kanohi Hau and stomp back down into the snow. Splintering pain shot through his leg as his heel slammed into an inconvenient stone. Tahu had not let go. He was still howling about divine providence and delivering the Matoran from darkness. Obnoxious.

Kopaka manifested a storm of freezing rain around them; bitter cold, cruel sheets that froze in layers upon each other.

Tahu now sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, mumbling unintelligibly, eyes rolling around in their sockets. Without a word or a second glance, Kopaka then turned and strode away into the white.

[cuubism]

Joy

Dreamling | T rating | Retired Dream | on emotional repression

I was thinking about a post, which I cannot find alas, about retired Morpheus struggling to deal with the fact that his actions and emotions don't have universe-wide consequences anymore. Like, he's allowed to just feel things now? And as someone who's also been extremely checked out of their own emotions at various points I can tell you the transition is… not easy. Anyways.

--

Morpheus is out when Hob gets home, or so he assumes. When he steps into the hall, the flat has the utterly still quality of total vacancy, no noise or distant movement. For all that Morpheus is a relatively quiet person, generally speaking, Hob has still become attuned to what his presence feels like, or the lack thereof.

Or so he thought.

For when he reaches the kitchen, Morpheus is there, sitting at the kitchen table, completely still. Hob almost doesn't see him, that's how still he is. Back straight, hands folded on the table, looking down at them as if he's meditating, or working out some complicated problem in his head.

Hob quietly sets down his bag and sits across from him. “Hey... love? You okay?”

He almost whispers it so as not to break the silence. Normally Hob would leave him to his devices if he was in the middle of something, but despite the fact that Morpheus is not given to unnecessary movement, the complete stillness sends something uncomfortable creeping up Hob’s spine. Morpheus hadn't even seemed to hear him come in.

With glacial slowness, Morpheus nods.

“It’s just…” Hob continues, biting his lip. “You’re not moving. At all. I almost didn’t think you were breathing.”

“That is the idea,” Morpheus agrees, still looking at his hands.

"Not breathing?"

"Not moving."

"Can I ask why?"

"I am. Preoccupied. With." His fingers flex against each other on the table as if forcing stillness. "Movement within."

Hob doesn't know what that means. "Can you elaborate?"

"I must make it still," Morpheus says. "I have before. I will."

Which clears up nothing. And Hob is getting the increasing sense that something is wrong but he's floundering as to what.

"Will you come sit on the couch with me?" he finally asks. "You look like you're about to snap in half."

"If it will please you," Morpheus says. Like his own pleasure-or-not in this matter is something he'd prefer not to touch.

"It will," Hob says. Morpheus follows him to the couch, moving like– like he did before. That ethereal creature that considered every step like he was crossing a thinly frozen lake.

So that's what it is.

Morpheus sits down beside him, drawing his knees up to his chest in a movement that, Hob is almost relieved to observe, is very much not like before.

Hob drapes the blanket from the back of the couch over his shoulders. Morpheus flinches, but doesn't push it off. "What's going on, hon?"

"It is..." Morpheus admits, slowly, "loud."

Hob frowns. "In your head? I thought you said it's been quieter since–"

"No." Morpheus presses a hand to his sternum. "Here."

Hob touches his chest, carefully, hand resting beside Morpheus's. All he can hear, or rather feel, is Morpheus's heartbeat, still a new and learning thing. "Your heart?"

"Everything. It... resounds. And drives off reason."

"Okay." Hob rubs his hand up and down over his chest, as if that might soothe him. Hob is aware enough of the feeling of overwhelm, and of Morpheus's particular brand of it, now that he has so little to distract him. "Just give it time and it'll pass, love."

Morpheus shakes his head. "That is not–" his lips press into a distressed line. "Duration is. Not the issue. It is. What will be left. After. Detritus."

Hob's own heart clenches. "Your feelings aren't a storm, love."

"Are they not?"

"You aren't going to make storms in the Dreaming, now," Hob says, though he knows Morpheus knows this.

"I speak not of weather, Hob Gadling," Morpheus growls. "I can– raze minds, I can spin balanced consciousness into euphoria, I can twist it all on its head with no effort and I will–" his fingertips dig into his chest, and Hob thinks that if he were still capable of manifesting claws he'd be drawing blood even through his shirt– "I will make it stop. It will be quiet again, I swear it."

"Only thing you're spinning is yourself," Hob says, gently.

And the thing is, he knows Morpheus knows this. Knowledge isn't the issue. It's sort of like how he never quite believes that Hob will never want to die, no matter how many times Hob tells him. I know that, Hob Gadling, he will say, but Hob can never quite get him to feel it.

"I know that, Hob Gadling," he says, again, now. That same tone. How dare you not believe it. How dare.

"Give me your hand," Hob says.

"Hob–"

Hob takes his hand and pulls it to himself, pressing Morpheus's palm flat to his own chest. Morpheus makes as if to pull away, then surrenders.

"Look," Hob says. "It's not hurting me, is it?"

"No," Morpheus admits, reluctantly, still with that tension through his shoulders.

"What about the room? Is everything shaking into pieces? Is it all going haywire? People rioting in the streets?"

Morpheus shakes his head no.

"See?" Hob says, squeezing his hand. "It's alright."

"I want it quiet," Morpheus says. He no longer sounds frustrated. More defeated. "It should not be... here." He touches his breastbone. "Here." His throat. "Here." His head.

"Where's it supposed to be, then?"

"Gone."

Hob sighs. This will not be an easy fix, not at all. He leans in, awkward though the angle is, and kisses Morpheus's chest, his neck, his temple, then stays, leaning against his shoulder. "I'm sorry, love. I know it's not easy. I happen to like you not gone, though, for what it's worth."

"Me?"

"Uh-huh. You. That's you in there, you know, not some brain-eating amoeba."

He gets a tiny huff of an almost-laugh from Morpheus. "Is it?"

"Yup. The part you weren't allowed to see because everything else was so loud." He rubs Morpheus's chest again, where he keeps saying it's hurting.

Morpheus's mouth opens as if to protest, and Hob adds–

"I'm not going to criticize you for it, okay? I promise I'm not."

Hob gets it. Well. He can't get it, actually, he's never been in charge of the entire dreaming world, but he tries.

"I thought you were supposed to go out today?" he says. "Weren't you getting tea with Rose? What happened with that? You were looking forward to it, I thought."

"I was, yes." He says it as if this is bad somehow. "Looking forward to it, that is. Her company is... enjoyable.”

“Okay? That's good, right?"

But Morpheus shakes his head. "It is too much."

"Too much?" Hob asks. "Were you nervous about it?"

Again, Morpheus shakes his head. “Joyful.”

Hob's heart is actually going to break. He knows this is part of why Morpheus left in the first place. And yet it's still tormenting him, which feels criminally unfair. And the worst part is there's no one to really blame, he knows why Morpheus did it, he can't and won't fault him for it when he was put in such a position.

He asks quietly, “So that joy didn't feel good to you?”

Morpheus shakes his head, biting down hard on his lip, and then, to Hob's horror, bursts into tears.

For all that Morpheus is prone to drama and moping, Hob has never actually seen him cry. He hadn't cried when he’d told Hob of his imprisonment, offering only a hint of scorched anger to indicate how he felt about it, the words, I had not realized what it was to be isolated and embodied until then. It was agonizing, said with the even cadence of the moon in orbit instead of the rawness they deserved. Nor had he cried when he'd shown up on Hob's doorstep and, when greeted with a concerned Hey, Dream, are you okay? – because he certainly didn't look it, drenched to the bone and his cloak absent its swirling inner cosmos – answered merely, You should call me Morpheus, I am no longer Dream of the Endless. The closest Hob had ever seen was the glimmer in his eyes when he'd thought Hob no longer wished to live, all the way back in the 1600s, and even then, his tears had not fallen.

“Oh, darling.” Hob pulls him into his arms, rubbing his back. “It’s alright.”

“It does not feel,” Morpheus continues, voice remarkably steady given the tears streaming down his cheeks, “good. It feels loud. And I am not in control, I am subject to these whims and I am no subject, Hob.”

"Those feelings are part of you. Not subjecting.”

“I don’t want it,” Morpheus insists, with the bitter frustration of a former king, used to shaping the world around him as he wishes. “If they are free I do not know what might come out.”

What comes out are parts of you, Hob thinks, but doesn’t express it again. The raw parts that you think are so awful. “Well, if there’s any feeling to try it with, wouldn’t it be joy? Happiness?”

Morpheus huffs. "Do you think that sorrow and rage are the only feelings with the capacity to destroy? Joy can become hysteria, joy can ruin, I have seen it, I have done it, when I was much, much younger and did not understand my abilities. Strong feelings have power, the very Dreaming is crafted of them. It could not exist out of apathy.”

“Neither could you,” Hob points out, and Morpheus just huffs again, shaking his head.

“I thought that if I relinquished my responsibilities, I would no longer have to worry so about everything outside of myself,” Morpheus says. “And how it entangles with me. Only now. It is still there, but I can do nothing to stop it.”

“But listen, darling.” Hob squeezes his hand. “You’re allowed to be tangled up with everything, now. You’re supposed to be.” He twists their fingers together. “I want you tangled up.”

“I will— without access to my realm I will step wrong, and—”

“And you can fix it,” Hob says. “Promise. No rebuilding a whole universe required.”

Morpheus sniffles, and Hob wipes the tears from his cheeks. “You always kept yourself above it all, didn’t you?”

“It is my responsibility to keep the collective unconscious in balance,” Morpheus says. He hasn’t quite stopped talking about his responsibilities in the present tense — Hob thinks it will be a while before he fully internalizes the lack of that weight. “Not to sway it to my feelings. Historically, when I have involved myself, it has… not gone well.”

“It doesn’t always as a human, either,” Hob says, and Morpheus’s frown deepens. “I mean, we’re all just bumping up against each other, you know? But you’re allowed to have space there, even if it doesn’t always go right.”

“If you mean this to be very comforting, I will have to disappoint you,” says Morpheus, but there’s more humor in it now, and he’s stopped crying. He pushes his head into Hob’s shoulder, and Hob wraps his arms around him tighter, holds him close.

“I wish it could all be immediately easy for you,” Hob says. “I’d do anything to make it so.”

“I did not expect this to be easy,” Morpheus says, voice rumbling into Hob’s chest. “But the challenges have repeatedly come from unforeseen directions.”

Hob kisses the side of his head. “I’m glad you’ve stuck with me anyway.”

“You have been very patient with my… meandering attempts at basic humanity.”

“Always will. I love you.”

It’s another thing he’s struggled to get Morpheus to truly accept, that Hob’s care for him was never contingent on any of his abilities or powers. That Hob won’t be scared away no matter his mistakes, because Hob has faced a lot of terrifying things in his life and the worst is the prospect of losing Morpheus entirely.

This time, Morpheus doesn’t reject it. He just hums and lets Hob pet his hair, lets Hob keep him and quiet him towards ease, which Hob intends to do until Morpheus can find it himself, and then after, too.

And several weeks later, when Morpheus comes home from the park with a colored pencil drawing Jed made for him, smiling and holding it to his chest with real joy in his eyes, Hob shines with pride, and the part of his heart that might have broken just a bit listening to Morpheus cry that day heals over again.

[shares-a-vest]

(ready for some easter/spring-themed nonsense from me this week???)

“Steve!”

Steve merely hums, nosing further into Eddie’s neck.

Eddie taps him on the shoulder whispering, “Oh my god, Steve.”

Steve growls, clearly misinterpreting his tone and tightens his grip on Eddie's hips.

Like yeah, he’s making out with Steve in the middle of the woods out the back of the Harringtons’ house in Loch Nora. They’re on a comfy huge blanket, Eddie straddling Steve’s lap and having a grand old time after a delicious picnic lunch Steve had put together.

But there’s something more pressing at hand.

Eddie rolls his eyes, slides one hand up Steve’s chest (earning a hip thrust) and pushes himself back.

Steve whines, detaching himself from Eddie’s neck with a childish humf.

“Whaaaat!”

The poor thing looks flustered, his right cheek pinking up, hair all tousled, shirt collar askew with a reddening mark Eddie had been working on before he got distracted.

Eddie pinches Steve's cheeks with one hand, creating pouty fish lips as he slowly turns his boyfriend's head in the direction of what has him suddenly uninterested in a make-out session.

A white rabbit hopping about, picking at grass about three feet away.

“Oh, no... Eddie!” Even though he is mumbling through squished-up cheeks, Steve is obviously more than a little annoyed.

“But it’s a rabbit!” Eddie stage-whispers, not tearing his eyes away from the fluffy furball.

At a glacial pace, he frees Steve from his grip, carefully lifting off him with minimum movement. Steve whines again, loud and it spooks the creature enough for it to take a giant leap in the opposite direction before continuing to sniff about.

Eddie pivots on his knees and makes grabby hands at their picnic basket.

“Gimmie those stupid celery sticks,” he commands in a whisper.

“No!” Steve also whispers, crossing his arms.

“Yes!” he insists. “Besides, why would you pack such a noxious weed for me to eat?”

Steve lightly shoves him, picks up the basket and drops it down in front of Eddie with a loud enough thud he whips around to look at the rabbit. Thankfully, it hasn't moved.

Eddie begins crawling towards the rabbit, celery sticks clenched in his hands as Steve huffs and flops back on the plaid blanket, his hair flying forward as he goes down. Eddie moves along, gradually settling down to an army crawl as he ventures closer and holds out a lone stick of celery.

“Come here, little guy,” he coos, wiggling the treat.

The rabbit turns, hops towards him and starts sniffing at the celery. When the creature sticks its head forward for the food, Eddie reaches out a tentative hand for a gentle pat. The rabbit allows it, concentrating on devouring the celery. The distraction emboldens Eddie to sit now, waving a hand back around to give Steve a thumbs up.

Once it’s done eating, the rabbit nuzzles at Eddie’s knee as he continues stroking its back. Ever so gracefully, he loops a hand under the thing to scoop it up. The rabbit goes willingly and Eddie turns back to the picnic, beaming as he scratches behind furry ears.

“Ew, no!” Steve whisper-scoffs, shooting upright. “Don’t pick it up!”

“Oh come on, Stevie. He’s so cute!”

He begins walking back to the blanket when Steve waves his hands in protest.

“Don’t you come back onto this blanket, Eds!," Steve warns, still inexplicably choosing to whisper as he raises a flat palm to stop him. “You’re covered in dirt!”

Eddie eases down, sprinkling dirt (ranging from smaller granules to clumps) from his clothes all over the blanket. Steve whines and begins brushing at the mess, only managing to now smear it on the picnic blanket.

Oh well, one less piece of plaid-something for the Harrington household...