#otherwise it's just positing in a void

[petricorah]

Having icons on the dashboard increases community. I don't take the time to read every username, but with a quick glance, I know who posted something. It means I can associate what they posted with them. Otherwise it's just Stuff. (It's also fun to see the icons. It's a unique personalization that makes people happy, and their prominence makes tumblr unique.) It doesn't take up space. Why take that away?

it's honestly alarming that they're making this shift to depersonalize and disintegrate community.

part of me feels like this is the progression they want:

can't tell who posts -> don't care who posts -> no connection to who is on your dash -> FYP/algorithm

and it's horrible that they seem to be taking such a beloved website and sending it in these directions. probably overreacting but it's sad and frustrating to watch it go

anyway. it's a good reminder to reblog the posts you love, because that's how the website can keep functioning like it does

[sysig]

*You’re starting to feel very sleepy... (Patreon)

[earthtooz]

x : MORE :*+ﾟ

in which: rin's not happy with your decision to sleep on the couch.

warnings: cliché lol, 1.1k, hurt/comfort, gn!reader, unedited + ooc!rin towards the end, a lot of metaphors but hey one cliché leads to another.

a/n: this is practice for me to a) get back into writing and b) remind u guys that i am still writing luls, enjoy!! reblogs r vv appreciated, but this quality is actually so ass.

“are you sure you want to sleep out here tonight?” rin’s voice asks from the hallway entrance, slight concern laced in his tone as he watches your backside set up on the couch, fidgeting with the pillows and blankets.

“yeah, i’m positive,” you answer, not turning around to look at him; something rin frowns at. 

“oh…” he mutters, leaning awkwardly on the wall as he scours his brain to try and find something to say. “really?”

“yes, really.”

“won’t you be uncomfortable?”

“i’ll be fine. it’s not that bad here.”

“if you’re sure.”

silence cuts the conversation with a cold knife, leaving the two of you in the suffocating quiet, one that stops rin from instigating further conversation despite how badly he wanted to continue. because if he shuts up then that means he has to leave, but he doesn’t want to leave you alone. he wants you to come to bed so the two of you can sleep peacefully together and not (what feels like) eons apart where he can’t hold you.

“are you going to go to bed? it’s getting late,” you ask, no hint of hostility at all in your tone as you shuffle under the covers, disappearing from rin’s view completely. 

he bites the inside of his cheek, disheartened at your eagerness to see him go. “oh, right. goodnight.”

he lingers for a second longer, waiting for a ‘goodnight’ back, or even better, an ‘i love you’, but neither comes and rin feels his chest contract. 

rin didn’t mean for the argument to escalate, he didn’t mean to sharpen his words and pierce you with them, he didn’t mean to hurt you to the point that you didn’t want to sleep beside him.

as he slowly makes his way to your shared bedroom, your absence on your side of the bed hits him even harder. it’s cold. it’s empty. it’s void. rin loathes it.

you’re not faring much better, replaying the argument in your head over and over again as the small, coffee table lamp illuminates the room with a warm yellow. each replay of the memory just twists the knife further and causes a new batch of tears to wet your eyes. 

you hate this. you hate feeling weary around rin, you hate feeling like you need to walk on egg shells around him from now on, you hate feeling like he doesn’t value you the same way you do with him, you hate these new revelations coming to your brain as you reflect on your relationship-

“you’re still awake?” a voice comes from the hallway.

leaning up onto your elbows, you blink in shock at the new figure making itself known. thanks to the lamp, you can see rin from where he stands, and you can see the confusion in his eyes.

“uh… yeah,” you say.

“why are you still up?”

“i was thinking. why are you still up?”

“i…” rin hesitates for a second, “i wanted to check up on you.”

your heart flutters at his shy confession. “i’m fine, thank you.”

“you sure?”

“yeah.”

“why, are you not fine?”

no, he’s not. he wants you to come back to bed, he wants you to reassure him that the two of you will still be okay, he wants you.

“no,” lies rin. “i’m okay.”

the soccer player regrets his words instantly. 

“that’s good. i’m gonna sleep now and you should too, you have a big day tomorrow.”

but rin can’t sleep. not without you beside him because otherwise, the bed is too vacant and too chilly and reminds him of the life he used to live too much.

and he’s scared that he’ll have to go back to living like that if you’re not there beside him, petrified that you’ll leave in the middle of the night because you’ve realised that he doesn’t deserve someone as good as you. 

instead of confessing that, the dark-haired merely sighs, the words lodging themselves in his throat. “okay. i’m off.”

you reach over to turn off the lamp, engulfing the room in darkness with a single click. “goodnight, rin.”

“i love you,” rin confesses, but it’s too quiet and too breathy for you to hear, so there’s no response. he hopes you know.

so, he retreats back into the barren wasteland that is your shared bedroom. he misses you. he reaches over to your side in hopes of being to feel some remnants of comfort.

30 minutes later, rin wakes again after weaving in and out of consciousness and he’s sick of it. it’s 1:10am and he only has five hours until he needs to get up. decisively, he throws the cover off of him and makes his way to the living room, intent on this trip being his last one. 

it’s dark in the living room and rin can’t find it in him to turn on a light and disturb your slumber, so after adjusting to the dark and mindlessly patting around, he eventually threads his arms underneath you. he lifts you up so effortlessly, driven by determination and love as he walks to familiar path back to your shared bedroom.

he settles you down gently and the last thing rin remembers before drifting off is the warming feeling of content as he pulls you into his arms. 

the following morning, you rouse to the sound of a blaring alarm; the one rin always uses because otherwise gentle alarms won’t coax him successfully. your lover shuffles beside you, shutting the clock off with a groan before wrapping an arm around you again, pulling you into his warmth.

wait.

you raise yourself up onto your elbows, dazed and confused. weren’t you meant to be on the couch?

“don’t go,” rin murmurs, snaking his arm up to wrap your shoulders instead, gently guiding you down to the mattress, “sleep.”

“how did i get here?” you ask and rin stiffens before pulling you in to his chest. “rin, i’m being serious.”

“you were always here.”

“don’t lie to me.”

“i’m not lying, so let’s sleep.”

you’re sick of his shit. “itoshi rin, i swear to-”

“i carried you back here, now shut up. i only have 10 minutes before i have to get up and get ready.” 

“i think i’ll go back to the couch, actually,” you say jokingly.

“not funny.”

“i think it’s plenty funny.”

he frowns, wrapping himself around you even tighter. you don’t hug him back, but you’re here and that’s all that matters to rin. you didn’t leave like he thought you would. 

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, “for last night. i didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“it’s okay, rin, we can talk about it later.” 

“we’re okay right?” 

“of course.”

“you… you won’t leave. right?”

“i would never. why would you think i would?” 

“just being stupid, i guess.”

“better you than me.”

he huffs, letting the conversation die to silence.

you speak up again, “i love you.” 

rin feels a weight lift off his shoulders. he can breathe again.

“i love you more.” 

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[multiverse-of-souls]

Moral alignment test

True Neutral

True Neutral people believe in the ultimate balance of forces, and they refuse to see actions as either good or evil. True Neutral individuals do their best to avoid siding too strongly with any one force, whether that force is good or evil, lawful or chaotic. For this reason, True Neutral personalities sometimes find themselves drawn into rather peculiar alliances, friendships, and life paths. To a great extent, they side with the underdog, sometimes even changing sides as the previous loser becomes the winner. Such people often see good, evil, chaos, and laws as simply prejudices that lead to dangerous extremes. Like the Taoist masters of ancient China, they tend to believe that the universe functions best when the light and the dark, the yin and the yang, are in balance.

--

Neutral Good

People who are Neutral Good are guided by their conscience and typically act altruistically, with only secondary regard for whether their actions are lawful or in line with cultural expectations or traditions. Neutral Good individuals have no problems with what is lawful as such, and nor are they rebels by nature, but they believe in furthering kindness and good deeds through whatever means seem necessary to them. If fostering good means supporting an organized society, then that is what must be done. If good can only come about through the overthrow of the existing social order, then so be it. For many who are Neutral Good, insistence on either lawfulness or rebellion is seen as detriments to or distractions from the greater goal of promoting true kindness in the world.

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Vash the Stampede x reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] I turned this thirst into a fic. [ SYNOPSIS ] Vash starts emitting sexy pheromones that leave you desperate for his cock. [ WORD COUNT ] 2.5k [ CONTENT ] Canon AU, porn without plot, dubcon, vaginal sex, rough sex, size kink, mild dumbification, plantfucking, body horror/weird plant biology, oral sex (m receiving), vaginal fingering, nipple play, Vash has a biting kink, self objectification (does that even make sense?), knotting, creampie, cockwarming.

It was just past midnight. The moons were looming high in the sky, illuminating the desolate land surrounding the town you and Vash had taken refuge in. Your face was pressed against the window, gazing out into the sandy void.

“You see the sky tonight?” you asked.

Vash didn’t bother responding. You turned around and saw his dejected form.

“You’re lookin’ more wistful than usual.”

He was sprawled out on the bed, leaving you little to no room. The lodge you were holed up in only had a single room vacant and of course there was but one measly bed. It was a good enough sized one though; it could definitely provide comfort for you and the gangly mess of a man you called a travel companion.

Vash merely sighed in response to your question and stared up at the ceiling.

His gaze was flat, not a hint of sparkle to his blue-green eyes. His sweet face was held hostage by a delightfully adorable pout. Thoughts of biting down on his bottom lip swirled around you, leaving you flustered and throbbing. You hoped whatever was troubling him wasn’t too serious because otherwise your current state would be disrespectful.

“What’s wrong?” you prodded, taking a seat on the bed. You tried to sound as dry as humanly possible.

He turned his head towards you and gave you the weakest, most pathetic smile. A smile that inspired no faith in what it sought to imply.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he answered sweetly.

You glared at him. “Fine. I—Well… I guess I’m going to sleep.” You paused awkwardly. “Goodnight.”

Vash scooted over, granting you space on the mattress. You crawled into place, not bothering to cover yourself with the musty bedding. It smelled too much like sand.

You rolled onto your side, your back facing Vash. You held yourself in a fetal position in hopes it would keep you warm. In a perfect world you’d just snuggle up next to him and leech off the heat his body seemed to radiate. But you didn’t live in a perfect world; you lived in a sandy, inhospitable land.

“Are you cold?” he asked. Such a perceptive one he was.

“A little,” you lied.

“Get under the blankets then,” he suggested.

“No. They smell like sand and… I don’t know, like, armpit sweat.”

He let out a tiny laugh. “I can’t argue with you there.”

You wriggled your shoulders in discomfort. You wanted to curl up next to Vash like a kitten, but with his current mood it just didn’t seem feasible. The last thing you wanted to do was annoy him so you would have to bear the drafty room on your own. It would only be for a night; you could handle it.

However after about five minutes of shivering in painful silence, you turned over and faced Vash. He was on his side, facing you. His eyes were shut, his dark lashes catching the moonlight streaming through the windows.

You gently nudged him. “Hey.”

He briefly frowned, but stayed asleep.

You nudged him once more, this time much harder.

“Vash!”

His eyes shot open and he jerked back.

“Ouch! Why are you being so aggressive?”

“I have a question,” you said, giving him puppy dog eyes.

“Ask away.”

“Can we spoon, or snuggle, or something?”

“Uh—”

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine. I know you… are like… You’ve got something on your mind and I don’t wanna—”

The radiant grin he gave you calmed your nerves. He pulled you into his embrace, wrapping his arms around you. Your face was buried into his neck. He smelled like freshly washed linens, undercut by a strange earthy, honey-like scent, a creamy florescent. The chills that cursed your body melted away in his presence.

“Thank you,” you muttered, voice muffled by Vash’s sweet skin.

You inhaled deeply and pressed your body up against his. He felt tense, like his muscles were frozen in place.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” you asked.

“It’s stupid,” he whined.

“I don’t care.”

He paused and took a few slow breaths, preparing himself for the question he was about to pose.

“I really like you and—”

“You wanna fuck me, huh?” you asked, your face adorned with a cat-like grin. You had never been so forward before, but something seemed to possess you.

“Of course I do.” He groaned. “But I can’t because… it’s complicated. And intense.”

“Is that supposed to be a deterrent?”

He rolled onto his back and hid his face behind his hands.

“It’s just different, alright?”

You crawled on top of him, unable to help yourself. His aura was whipping you into a frenzy, the lovely scent emanating from his skin growing stronger and luring you in.

“I like different,” you purred.

He gulped. “I should tell you—”

You didn’t let him speak.“I don’t care what happens.”

Vash blushed. “Let me finish.”

You groaned but relented. “Fine. But be quick.”

“I haven’t, uh, you know… in a while. And when that happens my body produces these pheromones that are supposed to attract a mate.”

“A mate?” you asked, voice wavering. You liked Vash and wanted to fuck him, but mate implied somewhat of a large commitment.

“No! Not a mate! It, well, it makes people want to—”

“Fuck you?” you asked, biting down on your upper lip.

He nodded. “And they kinda… drive me crazy too.” He tacked on a nervous laugh. “Sometimes I can’t control myself which isn’t fair because, well, whoever is… uh… they do whatever I want them to.”

Your cunt was growing wetter by the second.

“So that’s why I want you to use me so bad.”

His eyes were wide, almost sparkling. His cheeks were rosy and the scent emanating from him grew stronger.

You felt as if the room was enveloped in a sensuous haze that seeped into your skin, flowing through your veins. It was consuming you, eating away at your thoughts, leaving behind visions of Vash tossing your legs over your shoulders and driving his cock into your weeping cunt. Your body was growing warmer, almost unbearably so. Every inch of you ached for him. You would know no peace until his body was lording over yours and filling you up with his cum.

“I just.” He averted your lingering gaze. “It’s embarrassing. I hate getting like that. When I do all I can think about is pinning someone down and fucking them until they can’t see straight.”

“That sounds amazing,” you said dreamily. 

Your manner of speaking was much more provocative than it usually was. Your tongue seemed to linger on the letters, leaving each one coated in a honey-like tone. There was almost a hint of a tumultuous moan when you said “aammmaaaaaziiingg.”

Vash looked uncomfortable, but willing. His hands were gripping the sheets as if he was holding on for dear life.

“I know you want me,” you teased, rocking your hips against his. “I’m not lying when I say you can do whatever you want to me. You need it. I know you do.” You cupped his face in your gentle hands. “Let me help you. It’s what I’m here for.”

He laughed. “It’s not, but…”

“Hush,” you said, grabbing a hold of his cock.

It was swollen, begging for release.

You lowered yourself down and pulled down the soft, worn cotton pants he liked to sleep in. His cock sprung up, standing completely upright. The tip was engorged and pink. You rubbed it with the pad of your thumb and watched as Vash winced. His brows knitted together in ecstatic agony.

A few thick veins snaked around his shaft. You ghosted your fingers over them and reveled in his desperate whines. You looked up at him with starved eyes, darkened by your devotion and desire. You ran your tongue along the underside of his shaft. You grabbed ahold of his cock and stroked it while you rolled your tongue against the tip, savoring the sweet taste of his precum.

He let out a low groan as you pumped his leaky cock. He placed his hand on the back of your head and gently pushed down. You dropped your hand and decided to let your mouth do the work.

Vash eased your head further down, until the entirety of his length filled your mouth. Spit was trickling from the corners of your mouth and tears crept out from the corners of your eyes. He began to thrust, sending the tip of his cock into the back of your throat. You were steadfast and breathed through your nose, fighting your gag reflex.

“Your mouth fe—feels so good,” he stammered.

You placed your hands on his muscled thighs to push yourself off of his cock, but you felt what appeared to be downy feathers sprouting from his skin. It threw you off for a moment before you remembered what you wanted to say.

“Wait until you feel my pussy,” you bragged.

His eyes almost seemed to glow. He gave you a boyish smile before pushing you onto your back with a swiftness that left you in awe. His hands wandered down your body, pawing at your clothes, desperately trying to take them off. Your body felt electric as he undressed you. Each time his warm, slender fingers grazed your skin your body pulsed with delight. 

He kissed your neck before letting his sharp canines graze your tender skin. You hummed in delight, and laced your fingers through his silky hair. He rutted up against your body, the tip of his cock teasing your clit. You whimpered every time it made contact.

He left a trail of kisses down your neck and chest, stopping at your breast. He flicked his tongue against your nipple. He sucked on it, holding it between his soft lips. You relished in the sound of him lapping away. You held onto his shoulders, feeling spiny quills erupting from his scapulae.

“Vash,” you whimpered. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t respond. The quills from his back grew longer and denser. You pricked your finger on one of the sharp tips. You winced in pain and moved your hand down to the small of his back. You watched as the spiny quills became more feather-like. They were pale and iridescent and they left you transfixed. They were so beautiful. They soon covered his back and made their way down his arms. You ran your hand down the length of them. They were soft and sleek, like nothing you had ever experienced before.

“So pretty,” you muttered.

Vash lifted his head from your breast.

“Hm?”

A cluster of eyes has formed in the middle of his forehead. It disturbed you briefly, but the feeling of his cock throbbing against your thigh was enough to make you forget about it.

“Nothing, nothing,” you said, stroking his cheek.

You kissed him, pushing your tongue past his teeth. He held you close and you felt like your body was melting into his. You wanted to become a part of him. He slid his fingers into your cunt, spreading apart your folds. You groaned in frustration. His fingers weren’t enough. You needed his cock.

“Please just fuck me,” you whined, breaking the kiss.

He looked up at you with all of his dazed eyes and wordlessly nodded. He slowly guided his cock inside you. You gasped as your cunt stretched around it. You buried your face into his neck, hoping to mute your cries of pleasure. His thrusts were gentle and deliberate. You could feel that he was holding back.

“Is it too much?” he asked, planting a kiss on your forehead.

You shook your head. “More.”

He gave you a concerned look. “More?”

“Yeah. Fuck me like I’m a whore.”

Vash nearly choked on his own spit.

“C’mon,” you purred. “You know you want to.”

“I can’t. It’ll be too much.”

“My body can take it.”

He frowned. “I could really hurt you.”

“I like it when it hurts,” you said, tightening your cunt around his cock. You kissed him again and held his bottom lip between your teeth. “I’m your toy. You can do whatever you want to me.”

Vash looked at you, holding your gaze, clearly weighing his options. Once he made up his mind an impish grin made its way across his face and he lifted your legs over his shoulders.

His thrusts were significantly more intense than they were previously. He drove his cock into your cunt with a fervor you had never experienced. His cocktip pushed up against your cervix, sending a sharp sensation to your core. You became a panting, moaning mess. You were falling apart at the seams, your body as limp as a doll’s. Vash was able to manipulate your body with ease, essentially folding you in half, leaving your knees close to your face.

You looked up at him as his wings spread out, nearly engulfing you. It was hard to believe this was the same Vash you wandered the desert with. You never would have thought the doughnut eating dork could be so feral. You knew he wasn’t a human, but his true nature being so alien never occurred to you.

As he fucked your limp body into the mattress, you felt your orgasm begin to bloom in your stomach. Your breathing became labored and all you could think about was coming all over his cock.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he growled.

“Uh-huh,” you moaned.

He picked up the pace, his thrusts growing more and more frantic. The room was filled with a symphony of his grunts and whimpers. You were lost in his presence, completely enamored and consumed by it. Your vision blurred and you saw nothing but white as you came. A deluge of fluids dripped from your cunt and coated his cock. You felt like you had ascended to heaven, leaving No Man’s Land in the dust.

Vash continued to thrust as his cock swelled inside you. Spurts of his slippery cum filled your cunt. He exhaled deeply and allowed your legs to fall to the side and laid down on top of you. The two of you tried to catch your breath and let the rapture you were entangled in fade away.

“I’m sorry,” he said bashfully, lifting himself up.

His cock was still buried inside you.

“Why…” You struggled to find your words. “Why are you… sorry?”

“Because! I didn’t want you to ever see me like this. I look like a freak.”

You ran your hand along his wings and made an effort to make eye contact with the cluster of ones on his forehead.

“I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“You’re just saying that because you're high off my pheromones,” he scoffed.

You giggled. “Maybe. But you’re still very pretty.”

You rubbed the short feathers that had sprouted along the apples of his cheeks. He sighed in relief and nuzzled his face into your neck. His cock continued to throb inside you and likely would for a while. You didn’t mind though. Laying under Vash, shielded by his wings from the harsh world outside, was all you could want in such a harsh and unforgiving world.

[bookofbonbon]

love lost - aemond targaryen.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader.

warnings: mentions of rape.

summary: you are forced to see Aemond after six long years much to your dismay after finding out you are still to be wed to him.

word count: 2200+

a/n: reader is adopted by Rhaenyra and Daemon. I personally couldn't force myself to write such direct incest lol.

gif credit: @useraelin (X)

An incessant ringing sounds in your ears, a mild throbbing in the back of your head signalling the start of an oncoming headache as your mother Rhaenyra reaffirms what you had most hoped no longer stood.

“No, no, no,” you mumble in your seat, shaking your head in denial and pushing your palms into your eyes.

“I thought-,” you cut yourself off, leaning back in your chair and pinching at the bridge of your nose. “I thought when we left King’s Landing that my betrothal to Aemond Targaryen would be null and void.”

“Now, why would you think that?” Daemon raises a barely visible brow at you.

“Because it’s been six years!” you argue, fixing your sharp gaze on your parents.

“Six long years since we’ve left King’s Landing and not once was there mention of my betrothal to him. One would naturally assume that it ceases to exist especially when another was put forward. Albeit he is not longer but, that's not the point. Now, suddenly because we have to go back, I’m to find out that I am still to be wed to that halfwit.”

“That halfwit is to be your husband,” Daemon mocks.

Your cheeks burn in anger, but you say nothing to him, knowing it would get you nowhere. Instead, you intentionally turn your now softened gaze to Rhaenyra in the hopes of garnering some sympathy from her for she knew what it was once like to be in your position.

“Mother, please,” you plead but, your gaze hardens just as quickly as it softened when she’s blocked from your view by Daemon.

“That’s enough. You like your siblings will do your duty to this family. So be it if that duty means marrying Aemond Targaryen then that is your duty and that is the end of this conversation.”

-

You sigh heavily into your drink, eyes downcast and watching the amber liquid slosh against the glass of your cup as you swivel it around in your grip. The false niceties for the sake of your adoptive…. Grandfather? Uncle? You weren’t sure what to call him since your mother married Daemon but, the false niceties had taken its toll and you simply couldn’t feign friendliness any longer as you sat beside your betrothed who’d been ignoring you all night.

“Is there a problem?” Aemond bites out, head turning to finally acknowledge you.

“Yes,” you sigh dramatically into your drink for what you think to be the hundredth time that night.

Swivelling the cup one last time, you drain it of its remaining liquid then place it on the table, laying your hand flat at its base and looking back at Aemond. You narrow your eyes at him, briefly mimicking the look of annoyance on his face which is met with a scowl. While he scowls at you, you take the time to study his features, observing all the way in which his face had changed since the last time you saw him in Driftmark.

Your relationship with Aemond hadn’t always been like this. There was a time when the prospect of being married to one another was all the two of you had wanted. Of course, things had changed when you had steadfastly stood by your brothers (and at the time, cousins) the night Aemond lost his eye. Perhaps you were to blame for the downfall of the relationship between you two - many did say you should've stood by him. But then you remembered his promise.

“You are the problem,” you groan.

You probably wouldn’t be so bold if you hadn’t been steadily becoming more wine drunk with little to no filter standing between your thoughts and your mouth and if Aemond wasn’t irritated with you before, you were certain he was now. What was otherwise a handsome face marred by the ugly twist of his mouth. If looks could kill…

He says nothing right away, his face relaxing back into the cool expression he seemed to always wear nowadays, and you steel yourself for whatever insult he’s sure to throw at you but, it doesn’t come.

Your… conversation interrupted by a hand being placed over your own on the table, and you sober immediately, skin crawling at the older Targaryen boy. You had made it a point to avoid him the entire night, well aware of his indecencies. But, as Helaena danced with your younger brother, Aegon had you cornered between himself and Aemond and if Aemond’s behaviour towards you tonight was anything to go by, he would be of no help.

“Y/N,” Aegon practically coos at you, and it takes everything for you to stop yourself from vomiting all the wine you had drunk, on him.

“Aegon,” you speak with a clipped tone.

Instead of being deterred by your lack of response, Aegon takes it upon himself to drag his chair closer to you. You don’t realise you were moving too until your chair knocks into Aemond’s, your own knee knocking into his thigh. If Aegon could sense your revulsion, he didn’t show it. Although you were sure the depraved boy was likely finding joy in it.

“It’s been so long. Had I known you would blossom into such a beautiful young thing who enjoyed indulging in the cup as much as I did, I might have asked that your hand be given to me instead of young Aemond’s here,” he caresses your hand between both of his.

“Although I hear my brother is in the business of making people who are not him in your life disappear,” he chuckles, eyes flickering to Aemond.

“And if you were not my brother, I would make you disappear too,” Aemond grins. “Now remove your hands from Y/N or I will remove them from you.”

You groan in disgust, standing abruptly in your chair. Perhaps you should've been grateful for Aemond's defence but, it only served as a reminder of what he had done in the past. The sound of the chair’s scrapes are lost amongst the noise, everyone else too engrossed in their own doings to know what was happening at your end of the table and, you use it to your advantage to sit yourself amongst your younger siblings.

“Seven hells,” you exhale loudly, slumping in your new seat.

“Not having fun, sister?” Luke asks, filling your cup for you.

You nod in gratitude, taking the cup in hand, “oh brother, you have no idea.”

Leaning closer to him, you speak low enough for only your siblings to hear, “let’s just say I would give an eye to be anywhere else but here.”

Laughter erupts amongst you all, catching the eye of Aegon and briefly Aemond but, the night carries on. Everything fine for a few more moments until all hell broke loose with Aemond’s final tribute.

-

The quiet of the Red Keep during the night is a stark contrast to its bustling nature throughout the day. The only sounds being the echo of your shoes on the stone pavements as you navigate the secret passageways back to your room. The long walk much needed to clear your thoughts after the turn supper had taken and then the argument with your mother and Daemon that followed.

While you thought the obvious outcome would be to call off your betrothal to Aemond after the insults flung at your brothers, your mother thought otherwise with the seeming resurgence of her friendship with Alicent.

The heavy door creaks on its hinges and closes with a dull thud as you try but fail to be quiet, hoping that no one in your family would hear it from their rooms. But that becomes the furthest thing from your mind when Aemond Targaryen is sitting in front of the fireplace of your room.

“I do believe you have a fireplace in your own rooms,” you quip.

Crossing the room to the large bed, you finger at the night gown laid out by your handmaidens – all of them now gone to bed due to the late hour.

“It’s dangerous enough as it is to be wondering the grounds of the Red Keep during the hour of the owl and yet you also insist on doing it alone,” he scolds from where he sits, gaze fixed intensely on the flames and ignoring your earlier comment.

You breathe a short laugh.

“and yet,” you mock. “I wasn’t alone, was I?”

Turning to face him, he’s already looking back at you as your fingers close around the end of the bedframe.

“Mmm… someone has to look out for you.”

“Is that what you call it?” you narrow your eyes at him, fingers now tapping irritably against the wooden frame.

“If you have something to say… say it,” Aemond taunts.

You open your mouth ready to fire back but, hesitate. In your sober state, you were able to actually hold a conversation but, you didn’t hold the same bravado you did earlier in the evening and quite frankly you just wanted to sleep. You roll your eyes, turning your back on him and sweeping your hair over your shoulder.

“Help me undress, my handmaidens have gone to bed,” you call him over.

You wait patiently, tension thickening as he gets closer, each step heavy and purposeful. When his fingers brush at the hair at the base of your neck, goosebumps spread across your skin.

“You anger with me is misplaced,” Aemond mutters gruffly.

He begins to undo the back of your dress, trying to focus on being careful in undoing the intricate design that holds it together and not your exposed skin.

“I hardly think so after what you did at supper earlier tonight.”

“Tonight?” he tuts, his hand pausing to graze the partially exposed skin of your back. “Tonight, is not why you’re angry with me.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his touch. You want to protest but, have no energy to. It would be a losing fight anyway because he’s right, it wasn’t why you were angry with him but, saying it out loud made you feel silly. When you don’t respond, Aemond continues.

“Between the two of us, if anyone should be holding onto anger and grudges it should be me. You did lie about what happened that night Luke took my eye,” he reminds you.

“I made amends for that,” you defend.

“I know. Sapphires. Which I’ve grown quite fond of.”

Sapphires indeed, ones you had sent him in various shapes and sizes in place of his eye. An apology without apologising.

Turning to face him, you place a hand on his chest, the other reaching for his eyepatch. You don’t worry about your dress or dignity, knowing that he hadn’t undone enough of it for it to fall.

You wait for him to pull away from your touch, but he doesn’t. You allow your hand to gently touch the leather eye patch, waiting a beat before finally removing it.  The scar might’ve been hideous on any other face and, it is hideous but, it doesn’t do anything to take away from his appearance. He certainly doesn’t look the beast that so, many claim.

“I loved him truly,” you drop your hands to your side. “the last one that you took from me. He made me happy.”

“Your happiness with him was fleeting,” he utters, eyes trained on you as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His hand trails down to your cheek, caressing softly before it continues its journey along your jawline and finally resting at the base of your neck.

“So, you can stop feigning anger with me.”

“How did we get here?” you mumble, searching his eyes.

The tension suffocates the two of you. Aemond’s breath fanning across your lips and, you don’t even know when he got so close. His lips ghost yours and you involuntarily lean into him but, you're held back by his hand that has snaked its way from the front of your neck to the back.

“We loved one another once. We will learn to love one another again,” and with that Aemond closes the distance between your lips.

The kiss is desperate but tender and, he holds you to him like he will never let you go.

For all that he has done, promises that he made to ensure that you would not be happy after undeniably going against him, he still carries a torch for you – his love is not lost and when you kiss him back with as much urgency and fervour, he knows your love for him is not either.

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2022. All rights reserved.

[flowerandblood]

Formula for perfection 

[ Michael • Gavey x painter student! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, fingering, sexual tension, angst, smut, humiliation, swearing, brat taming ]

[ description: After what happened between them, Michael decides, albeit reluctantly, to fulfil his promise. He tries by his own efforts to recreate what he felt then, to understand what made him experience such pleasure, however, when he tries to satisfy himself something is missing in his equation. But what? Sexual tension, angst, domination and humiliation kink, bitchy, ironic Michael. ]

Part 1 − Equation without solution

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

It seemed to him that after everything that had happened between them his brain had stopped working, slowed down only to handle his basic vital functions like breathing, but apart from that he felt a void in his mind.

She told him she would stay with him for the night if she could sleep in his shirt and he felt his cock pulsate hard in his sweatpants at the thought. He just gave it to her and watched as she buttoned it up with her back turned to him so that he couldn't see anything.

There was something exciting to him about fucking her without seeing her naked body, that even though he had come inside her a moment ago she was still a mystery to him, an unsolved equation.

He turned off his lamp when she lay down next to him, his bed was single and thus cramped, there was no way their bodies wouldn't touch at their slightest movement, however it didn't seem to bother her.

He turned away from her and she snuggled her body against his back to fall asleep in that position. He couldn't sleep for a long time, thinking and analysing what had happened between them, coming to the conclusion that she had planned it, that she had only done it in order for him to help her, knowing that he would not agree otherwise.

Helping her was not in his interest, he had his classes and theses to write, however, he was a man of his word and figured that since he had taken on this task, he would do to her what he had promised.

He hadn't opened his eyes in the morning when he heard her slowly get out of bed and begin to dress, pretending with a pounding heart that he was asleep, and only opened them when he heard her leave.

He breathed a deep sigh of relief then, feeling strangely excited and anxious at the same time in her presence, unable to decide what he thought of her.

He decided not to bother himself with it.

The next day, at her request, he came to her class. She ran up to him with a thick album in her hand, inside the pages had coloured markers which she had to stick on beforehand. They stood at the side of the classroom so as not to disturb other people who were just painting a model.

"Look. I'd like you to examine all these portraits and decide whether you see any correlations in them other than the golden ratio and the Fibonacci spiral. It is basic that with a portrait the golden division lines are on the eyes and mouth, and with a bust on the head and shoulders, however, this is not enough for me."

She said lightly, looking at him with great excitement, and he sighed heavily, not feeling like doing it at all, seeing no point in it.

"What if I don't find anything like this?" He muttered indifferently, looking through the book she had given him without much concentration. The girl shrugged her shoulders.

"Nothing. Just try."

Even though he decided right away that he would move on from what had happened between them and not dwell on it, he couldn't forget the feeling she evoked in him when he was deep inside her, when she apologised to him, when she looked at him with that innocent, pleading gaze.

A pleasant shiver ran through him at that memory and he licked his lower lip involuntarily, letting out a loud breath.

He had never before come fucking himself with his own hand while watching any porn as hard as he had with her then.

He recognised, however, that it wasn't a matter of her as a person just her behaviour and what she said.

Thus he imagined this scene again and again as he satisfied himself, only with the body of another woman, the kind he liked to see in films. This brought poor results and only aroused his frustration.

Something was missing, but he had no idea what.

He replayed in his head again and again that night, what she had done, what she had said, the way she had kissed him, the way her hands had roamed his body, what he had felt and why. He had no idea what he was supposed to do to evoke the same reaction in himself again, to feel it again.

He thought perhaps it was the result of surprise, the excitement of the unfamiliar and unknown that made him perceive everything so wonderfully strongly, and now that he knew it had no effect.

Discouraged, he began flipping through the album she had given him, looking at the paintings page by page, bored. Suddenly he stopped and went back a few pages earlier.

The positions of the figures in both paintings formed an isosceles triangle.

He took a notebook and wrote it down, drawing a schematic next to it.

He was intrigued to notice in the various paintings that the people portrayed were inscribed in various geometric figures, usually triangles or regular shapes, delineating the entire composition, on whose lines were the most important points of the work.

He was shocked at how something that looked so chaotic and haphazard could be so well thought out, arranged with such great precision.

When he showed her the result of his work the next day she began to squeal with delight, making him not know what to do with this reaction.

"Thank you! Now it all makes sense!" She exclaimed cheerfully and threw herself around his neck as if it was the most joyous day of her life.

She let go of him, looking at him with those big eyes, and he grunted, correcting his glasses with his pointing finger when he felt them slip off his nose.

"Are you going to use that?" He asked out of the blue, wondering if his work would have any results, or if he was doing all this for nothing, just to satisfy her curiosity.

"Yes, now I know why something didn't seem right in my portrait. I chose a composition where her arms are too close together, and I have to position her so that her figure forms an equilateral triangle! Would you like to see the end result?" She asked him lightly, and he muttered under his breath and nodded, looking around the room without much interest.

"How can I repay you?" She asked softly, and he looked at her surprised, wondering if she had already forgotten what they had done.

"I have already received my payment." He said with a mocking smirk, however this did not seem to discourage her at all.

"True." She said with a smile, turning away from him as if nothing had happened, going back to her easel and sitting down on her chair beside it, putting his notes aside and glancing at them, marking with a pencil how she should change the composition without paying attention to him.

He felt that he had made a mistake in his calculations as soon as he looked at her bare thighs sticking out from under her girlishly light dress, pleasantly framing her waist and breasts, his manhood pulsed painfully hard.

They were completely alone in the room.

He bit his lower lip, feeling that he should move from his place and just leave, that he was standing in front of her like an idiot, but the thought that she might have wanted more made his heart pound hard in his chest, the pulsing blood rushing quickly to his lower abdomen.

Why did she take him off balance so easily?

"What is you problem?" He asked annoyed, feeling that he had to understand what she was talking about, that it wouldn't give him peace if he just left her alone now.

What did she want?

Why was she so fucking unpredictable?

She looked at him surprised as if she had completely forgotten his presence and blinked, her face perfectly calm and gentle.

"What?" She asked and he rolled his eyes, frustrated, correcting his glasses again with an impatient gesture.

"What do you fucking want? Hm? Do you like playing with boys?" He asked with the grimace of amusement characteristic of him in moments when he felt insecure and needed to quickly regain control of the situation.

She looked at him in disbelief and completely froze in half-motion.

"I'm not playing with you. I never wanted you to feel this way." She muttered with some kind of embarrassment and fear that she might have hurt him, although that wasn't the point at all.

After all, he felt absolutely nothing for her.

"So what did you want? Fuck strange, desperate guys?" He laughed in disbelief and she moved uncomfortably in her seat.

"No, just you." She said softly causing him to completely freeze, some type of error entered his brain and his thought processes stopped completely.

He pressed his lips together, glancing down at her thighs again, thinking about what was between them, that he felt like pressing her against the wall, turning her to face towards it, and fucking her from behind.

He swallowed loudly when he saw her gaze drop to the bulge in his trousers and turned away, wanting to leave the room immediately, terrified, but her voice stopped him.

"Do you want me to come to you again? To help you with your problem. A favour for a favour." She asked lightly drawing further, not even bestowing a glance on him. He looked at her over his shoulder, shocked, wondering if she was really proposing what he was thinking about.

He stood stunned for a moment simply staring at her, not believing that he was completely hard, that if he could he would have thrown himself at her and ripped off her fucking panties.

"To fuck?" He choked out without thinking and she burst out laughing, glancing at him with amusement.

"Yes."

He couldn't believe he'd agreed, afterwards he completely panicked and walked out, leaving her alone, wondering what he'd actually done.

What if someone finds out? If he gets kicked out of university?

On the other hand, Kyle was constantly visited by girls who moaned so loudly that he could hear them in his room. However, he was rich, he could afford to be so thoughtless.

He could not.

He had been restless all evening, fearing what would happen, whether she would laugh at him, whether she would be disappointed in him when she saw how little he understood and could do when it came to female fulfilment.

He shuddered when she knocked on his room door. He stood up, opened it for her and simply let her in. She stepped inside with a confident stride as if she had been in his place many times before.

She sighed heavily, as if tired after a long day, pulled off her shoes and threw herself onto his bed, laying down on her stomach, snuggling into his pillow.

He stared at her for a moment, again feeling the same emptiness in his mind as before, glancing down at her thighs and the part of her buttocks that was visible from under her dress. He licked his lower lip, feeling a throbbing in his trousers at the thought that he could approach her, that he could touch her.

He moved with a slow, uncertain step towards his bed, her eyes closed, her face gentle and calm, as if she trusted him completely although he didn't understand for what reason.

After all, he could hurt her, take advantage of her, how could she be so reckless?

He sighed quietly under his breath in surrender, pulling off his glasses and putting them down on the desk. He sat down slowly beside her with a loud creak of his bed, his large hand went to her soft thigh and rose higher, tentatively squeezing her firm buttock.

"− so pretty −" He hummed more to himself than to her and she murmured with some kind of contentment, he felt her buck her hips up so that they came out to meet his warm hand.

"− do you visit many boys like this? −" He asked with amusement, slipping his fingers under the material of her panties, squeezing her flesh in his hand, massaging her in a circular motion, a shudder ran through her body every time he came anywhere near the heat between her thighs.

"− only you −" She mumbled, and he swallowed hard, feeling squeeze in his heart at her words, running his fingertips over her hot entrance, gathering her wetness that slowly began to flow out of her, feeling her body shudder each time he rubbed against her clit again.

"− why? −" He asked drily, applying pressure to the point hidden between her folds, he heard her gasp loudly for air, surprised and thought with amusement that she enjoyed it.

"− I − I don't know −" She babbled with increasing difficulty as he finally discovered what pressure from his fingers and where made her quiver, his movements accompanied by the louder and louder click of her moisture, her hips pushing against his hand, trying to find a stronger source of friction.

"− are you no longer able to put together a meaningful sentences? − all you need is for someone to tease your pussy a little and you can't concentrate? −" He asked amused, sliding the tip of his middle finger into her, her body arching, a loud, surprised, innocent moan escaping her lips.

"− I'm sorry −" She mumbled in embarrassment, and he felt her words in his cock, all swollen and throbbing, felt the whole situation turning him on more and more.

"− yeah? − and that's why you're leaking like a slutty little thing? −" He sneered and slid his finger deeper between her tight, hot, rough walls, pulsing hungrily against him.

"− please − a little higher −" She whimpered, and he licked his lower lip, changing the point of pressure, suddenly feeling a rough spot between her muscles, which when he touched her whole body went through a shiver, her lips parted wide.

"− yes, please, there, please −" She cried out loudly clenching her fingers on his pillow, moving her hips to the rhythm of his hand, feeling his heart pounding hard, watching enthralled as her wetness dripped and slicked with every movement of his finger.

"− so fucking wet from rubbing her cunt − that's what you came here for, right? − do you like someone to watch while you lie spread open like a little slut? −" He hissed, a sudden loud, pathetic moan escaping from her throat, her moisture beginning to spill out of her, her walls clenching tightly on his finger.

He rose from his seat and knelt behind her, unbuttoning his trousers quickly, feeling that he couldn't resist any longer, that he wanted to feel her.

"− lift your hips up and slide your panties down − now −" He commanded coolly breathing loudly and she immediately obeyed his instruction.

He lowered his boxers and his swollen, throbbing cock slapped against her buttocks. She whimpered, feeling it, squirming beneath him. He grabbed her thighs and spread them apart in front of himself like a book.

"− shut the fuck up − are you in such a hurry? − so desperate to feel my cock? − fucking slut −" He growled and forced his way inside her in one sure, brutal thrust, immediately imposing a fast, aggressive pace on her, she pressed her cheek against his pillow and cried out loudly, her lips parted wide in surprise at how intense the sensation was.

"− oh fuck −" She whined, moaning and quivering, her walls clenching against him giving him a resistance he didn't seem to mind though, panting loudly along with her as he held her firmly by her waist, slapping his thighs against her bare sticky buttocks with each thrust.

"− you have no fucking shame − do you want me to fucking fill you? − hm? − a bit of cum wouldn't hurt this tight little pussy, would it? −" He hissed out between intense, fast, deep stabs of his hips, feeling that he was on the edge, that this was what he needed, what he wanted, her moisture running down her thighs.

"− Michael − oh God − yes −" She mewled in ecstasy as her body was finally shaken by her orgasm, her face expressing pure delight, her walls were clenching down on him making him just give up.

"− fuck − shit-shit-shit −" He babbled with his eyes closed and his lips parted, panting heavily as he finally cum inside her, his warm semen filling her core. Their bodies moved for another moment with the loud, sticky click of her juices, his hands stroking her buttocks.

It was fucking mind-blowing.

He looked at their joined bodies and just breathed, concentrating only on the pleasure and relief he felt, only on the fact that he wanted to do this with her as often as possible.

There was no other option.

"Wanna be my girlfriend?"

_____

@at-a-rax-ia @daemonskelitsos @@alphard-hydraes-blog @travelingmypassion @valeskafics

[scudslut]

18+, mdni

s4!daryl x fem!reader

a/n: this is such a random drabbleish thing, idk. i just have so many feelings about s4 daryl and how angsty but all consuming it would be to be with him at that point, like my fucking god i’ll explode.

sex is all it was — initially.

he didn’t even remember how it started if he was honest; one day finding himself thrusting all his burdens and frustrations into your supple, welcoming body.

it was an escape for the both of you, nothing more. somewhere to get lost for the lingering moments between life and death. leaving as soon as it was done and hardly speaking otherwise, if at all.

he wasn’t blind though. he knew it was more for you… something deeper than just an outlet for anger. solemn eyes tracking him around the prison searching for any sign of reciprocity. And he wasn’t void either. he felt the strings each time you were under him, or against him, whispering his name like a bedtime prayer to bind you two.

but there was a wall within him. one he built so tall and long ago he didn’t even remember the workings of. but any wall has its cracks and weakened points, and he found you knew them all somehow. had them mapped and jotted in your memory, poking them till they crumbled so he worked overtime fortifying. leaving you in the shadows for weeks at a time, with nothing but a glance towards you at most.

he couldn’t care — couldn’t let himself. there was too much on the line for not only him, but you. He didn’t want him for you, that wasn’t how it should be, but it seemed that the harder he pushed you away, the greater the fall was. finding you and slamming you against the nearest counter to be consumed by you. pent up so badly it honestly felt like he’d black out within the passion, the only thing keeping him lucid being the chants you sang softly. the eyes you gave him as he unloaded everything into you.

the longer it went on the worse it got, finding himself noticing the smaller details about you. the way sweat would build across the high points of your cheeks, glowing radiantly and flushed as he thrust slower. the way your hair would fall so perfectly around your shoulders and catch the light seeping in through the windows. and most of all, the way your voice lured him closer like the works of a siren, tone so soft and sultry as you praised him, his hands began to sweat.

he would turn you around, hoping the distant position would keep you unattached, or more so, him unattached. only to later begin tracing his eyes across your profile, over your jaw and neck while you gasped with closed eyes, eyelashes thick and wet from pleasured tears.

he was fucked, and he knew it. ran from it for so long he forgot what direction he was going and somehow circled back. and you were there as always, understanding him so fluently it was useless to hide. giving yourself to him so completely and vulnerably he had no choice but to give up.

he’d whimper as the new feelings washed over him, letting you soothe and pleasure him however you wanted, finally feeling the overwhelming understanding that all you wanted to do was take his pain and absorb it yourself. feel it for him so he could see he wasn’t alone. you’d keep him, and he’d keep you.

you wouldn’t push him. emotional exhaustion was prevalent in you both and finally a night was spent together, close but distant, open arms but lingering remnants of closed-off barricades. it wasn’t simple for him, or you for that matter. it was a new map being drawn and completely new territory he’d never dipped a toe in before.

and the next time it wasn’t uncontrollable passion against any counters. it was shaky fingers unbuttoning his vest while he tried to control his breathing. eyes darting all over your body, unsure but starving and trying to trust. slow and deliberate hands would take him in, all of him, gentle and curious, learning him in a way no one had before. a way he’d never let anyone one.

he never felt like he had been lost until he was with you. you saw him. accepted him without even batting an eye like it was the most natural and obvious thing to do. years he had shut every ounce of sympathy and companionship away, scarred from all the bad he had seen people do, it was jarring to realize there were people who simply loved to love, that you loved him just because he was him. and he knew now he wouldn’t go back. he wouldn’t shut you out anymore because he loved you just the same.

he would always circle back to you.

[eternally-frozen]

Peek-a-boo i.

Unreliable synopsis: How many masks can you stack on one face?

Author note: I return with nothing but a self-indulgent post that might or might not be connected to an old fic <3 On another note, send me an ask containing your interest for a drabble event if you want to see one

Warning: Dottore. Kidnap mention. Bro is a bit weird but it's okay, I love him. No beta because I will cry. Author is insane and the writing might be too

The room pulses with an eerie silence, broken only by the faint hum of fluorescent lights flickering overhead. Crimson eyes, glossy and void of light, gaze through you. Two pale blue strands hang on either side of his face, one slightly longer than the other. The ends of which curl like an untamable wave. His shoulders are tense, and he seems absent while his body is present. 

The man in front of you is zoning out again. 

You’re unsure what goes on in the mind of your captor, but these moments are the ones you fear most. You never quite know which side of him appears when he wakes up from his stupor. 

Silence takes over the room. You don’t move, you don’t breathe. In this moment you are merely a spectator—the very thing he used to be in your life before he decided to take a more direct approach in the current experiment.

‘Dottore’ clutches the wooden frame of the chair in front of him. His knuckles turn white at the strength he uses but his expression remains blank and devoid of any emotion. 

And then as, quickly as it came, the moment passed. 

The eyebrows that were previously relaxed are pushed into an unforgiving frown. His lips are pursed, and he takes but a mere second to regain his awareness. 

“You.” he spits out.

It was reported to be the coldest winter in the past two decades when you first arrived in Snezhnaya. The first nights in the previously abandoned mansion had been insufferable. The walls are too thin, the sheets too light, and the doors too loose. Cold air creeps up from every corner, forcing you back into the arms of the person you despise most. 

“I thought you were exaggerating when you told me about the eternal winters of Snezhnaya.” You wrap your second blanket closer to your body. The side of your body is pressed against the decrepit sofa in a desperate attempt to cover your back from the air.

In direct contrast to you, Zandik sits comfortably with his legs crossed on the sofa across from you. He is wearing a chunky, cable-knit sweater in a deep navy blue colour. The crisp, white button-up shirt underneath compliments the otherwise darker colour. The collar is neatly pressed and peeks out from the sweater. 

Paired with the sweater, he wears a pair of slim-fitted trousers in a dark shade of grey. These, too, are neatly pressed and fall just above his polished black shoes. 

He had dressed this way on the rainier days in Sumeru. It sparks a sense of nostalgia when you look at him now. The outfit is a nearly identical replica of the clothes he wore during your first interactions in the Akademiya. The only thing that falls short is the incertitude and cold look on his face. 

He shifts in his position on the sofa, uncrossing his legs, and then crossing them again. He scoffs at your attempt at a conversation opener. “Surely you can’t expect to blame me for your lack of knowledge regarding the environmental habitats of Snezhnaya.”

“Part of you is to blame. I don’t recall you ever giving me the time to research it. Nor did you warn me about your decision to kidnap me.”

He is silent after that. 

The truth should hurt. Given the way he acted during the last days of being at the Akademiya and the way he carried himself during your travels, you expected asperity—anything but silence.

A shiver falls over you again, and you curl yourself up tighter. 

Your eyes fall upon the Zandik in front of you. It might be wishful thinking, but a spark of recognition, a small light, seems to have returned in his eyes. He feels less distant. Sure, he is far from the boy you first met, but you can’t deny that he seems softer.

It’s strange how abruptly he can change. Like the moon, he goes through phases where he comes off to be unwhole. Often, you don’t doubt he’s lost part of himself. In what? You’re not sure. But as soon as it comes, it passes, and he seems whole again. 

The tips of his fingers trace the fabric of the decaying sofa. His touch caressing what must be a mixture of dust and loose threads with the filling underneath being the sole foundation that keeps it from collapsing. 

You wonder how he came into possession of this large mansion, and why he had left it in the first place. You wonder why and how he ended up in the Akademiya. 

“I’m going to the library.” He says. 

Zandik stands up from the couch. The wall he had built between you and him stands as tall as he does. It towers over both of you, and you’re unsure whether this barrier protects or fails you. 

For the first time since he decided to sit in your company, his eyes find yours. There is a sense of urgency behind his next words. “Don’t follow me.”

You nod. The idea of following him has landed you in this situation. You long learnt that curiosity is what makes or breaks a man, and you’re not ready to gamble your life again to learn the secrets that Zandik hides.

Oblivion is bliss.

His footsteps echo through the bare room. Most of the furniture remains covered by linen cloths and aged by a layer of dust and untold history.

‘The library’. 

Oh, how you long to read.

To have the company of words instead of a man you've grown to despise.

[hastyprovocateur]

Mizu, Akemi, Brothels & Bedrooms

Mizu and Akemi's approach to sex (so far) has been very inverse. For Mizu, sex is intimate, almost sacred to the point of inaccessibility. Her pretending to be a man has compelled her far from intimacy in order to protect herself and her secret. On the rare occasion when she does engage in physical relations during her shortlived marriage, she engages in it furtively. She's shy, sweet and submissive. She has very little to no experience and while she enjoys it, she doesn't appear to demand to be in a position of authority while it ensues. She's happy to let go of the reins and allow herself to put in a safe space. Her voice pitches and she doesn't fight to maintain any composure.

Mizu isn't exactly averse to sex. After losing mama and killing Mikio, Mizu just closed herself to the possibility of intimacy. She doesn't intend to romantically engage with anyone or be as intimate with anyone as revenge has become her priority. She now dismisses sex, considering it an act that is void of art or tact. Base. Something that decentres the spirit. Dare I say, she sees it as a facade after Mikio. An act that misguides the participants to consider their bond deeper than it really is. It is parallel to Akemi's first time, where both her and Taigen seem to be proccupied with other concerns, quickly distancing from each other after an act that most would consider to be a paramount of bonding between lovers.

Regardless, Mizu's resolutions haven't killed her intrigue for "peculiarities" as evident in her stint at Madam Kaji's where she (despite her dismissive facade) peers into the windows of pleasure, exploring sutras, bondage and threesomes. With the masculine avatar she's donned on her path of revenge, even if Mizu's resolve grows shaky, she's restricted by the complications that should arise if she goes down the path of any intimacy. Giving her more walls to break through and more walls for any potential lovers to break through as well to get to her tender breast.

In terms of general pleasure, Mizu is shown to be extemely physical and playful. She gets riled over armed combat, her face flush and full of love. To whoever she feels safe and happy with, she gives her all. Whether in bed or otherwise, she'll surrender her body and her sword. Aside from fighting, Mizu is passionate about different forms of art, especially sword making and other creative arts like music. You can call her... cutely nerdy (?) in the sense of her keen understanding of iron work, different fighting techniques, blade strikes, all of which she knows by heart. It can be imagined that a sure way to catch her whims would be to spark conversations about artistry in general.

Akemi, on the other hand, intends all her sexual overtures to have a fixed purpose. She's written as a character who prepares intensely for her ambitions. We see her revising a written speech before arguing her bit to her father, switching to appeasing to his fatherly side by playing the "naive daughter" to get him to agree with her and Taigen's engagement. In ep 4 we see her curating an impish, adulant image of an innocuous sex worker before making Mizu's acquaintance, intending to lower her guard enough to subdue her and bring her to Taigen. She finally goes on imbibe the perfect subservient, loving wife to finesse Takayoshi and thereby solidify her say among other exponents in the Shogun's family.

Her mind is like a self gearing machine in terms of playing pieces to give herself a fighting chance. Sex is a part of this rematch. With sex as a means, it's arguable if she genuinely feels pleasure in the process but she ensures that she's able to pleasure her partners to an end that serves her. With men, it's always about massaging their ego. With Taigen, Akemi initiates sex to be able to coax him into focusing on her and saving their engagement instead of letting him fixate on his recent loss of his hair and honour. In the brothel, she regales Watari, a man who's never won a fair fight, and has become impotent due to his weight, by appealing to his poetic side and using it to flatter him to ejaculation. With Takayoshi, a man subdued by his mother for his stutter and meek ways, Akemi admits to finding his speech impediment endearing, apologising profusely to resume her submissive position as his wife and proceeds to consummate their marriage while encouraging him to recite poetry.

Like Mizu, Akemi's curious about sex in itself and went against her teacher's wishes to explore erotic literature. She's well versed with sexually coloured poetry and easily weaves sex into conversation, using it to talk her partners to orgasm. She has a varied understanding of poetry, an art she uses as a weapon to flatter men, citing Shōtetsu, Minamoto no Shigeyuki and her favorite, Ono no Komachi. A waka poetess writing chiefly in matters of melancholy and passionate love. She's also skilled in all manner of art that are intrinsically ornate but are notorious for being feminine or are used to entertain men such as poetry, koto playing, dancing and calligraphy. An average man would deem such arts lowly but he doesn't consider that such arts can be used to easily lower his guard to his very vanquish without him ever doubting that there was even a ploy in the first place. Akemi wields these talents to her advantage. Sex and fine arts are only a few of the weapons in her arsenal.

Strangely enough, it's not exactly touched upon what Akemi actually finds desirable outside of what she must do to get her way. It can be guessed that she'd be disarmed by anyone who lasers through her simpering girly act, someone who can be valiant and honourable, someone who doesn't weigh virtue and strength through the prejudice of gender, someone who's able to value her in all her intricacies instead of pushing her to be a proper wife or improper whore.

Likewise, I can imagine Mizu wanting the same degree of acceptance. Someone who nurtures her feminine side without alienating her masculinity. Someone who doesn't demonise her appearance or consider her an anomalous product of two races. Her ideal type hasn't been detailed but her bar was really low. She didn't care about Mikio's age or social status or wealth. Akemi was also shown to having a narrow criteria for marriage, preferring Taigen solely because marrying him meant staying in Kyoto, near home. For both Taigen and Mikio, they benefitted from the unhinged cruelty other men could afford, appearing decent by comparison because they did the bare minimum of asking for consent.

It is still very nascent as to what Akemi and Mizu truly desire. Mainly because there hasn't been much room for individual desires. Akemi was already "past her prime" and evading marriage was no option as it was a decision sealed in stone by a girl's father the moment she hit puberty. For a time where women had little say in who they married, managing to get engaged to Taigen was a feat in itself. Her attempts to escape the arranged marriage with the Shogun's son was rendered fruitless by Taigen, Seki and in great part, Mizu. Akemi finally embraced her new married life, making peace with fighting within her means instead of trying to run away from them. This leaves a lot of room for what she'd eventually want for herself in the future. We know a part of her wished to leave with/without Taigen to live on a farm in Kokura but she's still too early in her journey of knowing exactly what she wants but she's constantly figuring things out.

Similarly, Mizu didn't have a say in her former marriage either but she was ready for the obligations it would impose on her, aware that she'd be compelled to conceal a part of her that men wouldn't welcome in their wives. Her masculine side that is capable of fighting like a samurai. Her sword of a soul. With her sworn revenge, aversion to all forms of intimacy and commitment to playing the part of a man, Mizu has become a vessel for all the ill will, prejudice and poor decisions men imposed on her. She doesn't have the liberty to bare herself and engage in fulfilling her desire as she's discovered to like it but the more characters she interacts with, we as audiences can observe seismic shifts in her perception of herself through the people she meets. These experiences serve as guiding lines for developing future desire. Of independent choice.

[sickuma]

ORPHIC (2) — A Simon Riley fic.

❱ This is the last part of HIRAETH ! I don't want to drag it any longer than this. It's so much fun writing this and exploring more words to add to my vocab! Everyone's been nice (except when they give me their therapy bills) I love you guys srsly, You make writing so much more fun <3

I should have gotten this done HOURS ago, but I had to do stuff and just finished working out T-T but hey, writing block isn't killing me rn.

ꜝ？This fic may contain heavy topics such as death, depression and melt-downs, if any of those are not to your liking. Please do so exit the fic. Angst warning!

➴ SYNOPSIS — Ghost mourns of what's lost; reminiscing of the memories, apologizing, begging for you to hear his desperation for your presence as he sat Infront of your tombstone.

QUERENCIA — (n.) A place from which a one's strength is drawn, where one feels at home; the place where you are your most authentic self.

“Relationships in the military,”

He spoke, pausing to stare at your eyes. Searching for hesitance,

“They tend to be tragic.”

“But we’ll be together, no?”

“look , kid, it's not as easy as it sounds—”

“Do you feel the same way?”

You cut him off, not giving him the chance to speak. Catching ‘the’ simon ghost riley off guard, “Yes.” he breathes out.

“Then I don't see the problem, lieutenant, I love you, you love me. That's what barney said.”

He stares at the void, remembering yet again another memory he kept special in his heart. He wondered if you had not pursued him at that exact moment. Would he still feel the raw pain that plagued his heart now? Would it still hurt all the same?

If you hadn't stubbornly shown him how determined and real your love for him was, would he still be in this position, dreading every day that comes knowing the person he needs the most was taken from him.

throwing his gear onto the side. Making his way back to his quarters without giving anyone a second glance,

Ever since you've been gone, the base has been awfully tense. The rest understood his situation, trying their best to be there for him, all while attending to their own duties. The past few weeks had been the hardest, They could tell Ghost had been on edge.

He’d only speak to them if it's necessary, otherwise he’d be kept to himself. As if the past had repeated itself, there appeared a gap between his friends and him. He was mourning, and he plans to keep mourning,

If that means having you on his mind,

Then he’ll mourn forever.

“Ghost?”

Price’s eyes widened at the sight of Ghost, 

It’s the first month since you've passed away and the rest of the team planned to pay you a visit to show respect and also let you know how missed you are, not just by them, but also by Ghost who seemed to have shut his whole world out.

He saw how Ghost shown a tough facade when he would hear him call for her,

At night, when everyone slept, Ghost cried and wept for you to come back. Begging aimlessly for your return,

Begging endlessly to feel your arms around him again.

Price didn't expect him to be joining them. He hadn't been. The team visited your resting place a couple of times before, he’d invite him but he’ll make up reasons not to go. Price figured he still hasn't accepted that's where your body lays,

The ride to their destination felt almost eerie, the tension leading the hour long drive. Nobody dared to speak, not a single word.

Ghost’s mind resides elsewhere, watching the scenery they drove past. Chest heaving up and down as he struggles to fathom that he’d finally visit you, 

No—he was more occupied with thinking about how it’s only been a month.

It felt longer than that. It felt longer than his training days. He felt more exhausted, more agitated, and more angry. He resents every breathing thing he comes across to,

He knew it sounded cruel, but why do they deserve to live and you don't? You have been the kindest, and yet you were taken first. He couldn't understand,

As a soldier he’d lost multiple comrades, having to face funerals—visit the cemetery, and deal with death itself. Though yours felt unreal,

It felt as if his bones were crushed. He knew how pathetic it seemed, clinging onto someone who's never coming back, but he'd rather cling onto the past if it means having to hold you close to his heart forever, where you belonged.

、 

Everyone got out of the car,

Everyone but him.

Price sighed, not planning to pry. If his breath felt shallow just by being here, he could only imagine what Ghost felt at this moment, considering it was his first time to ever be here.

A few minutes passed, and the three sat quietly at first until soap had cracked a dad joke, lifting the atmosphere just a little bit. They spoke as if you were there, sitting with them, price would constantly glace at Ghost, who sat quietly in the car. He wondered what ran through his mind.

“We should give him his own time to talk to [name].” Price groaned as he stretched when he stood up, the two following closely behind him. “He needs this.”

Ghosts' eyes caught them approaching. He felt his stomach sink. He knew he planned to wait until they finished before he took his turn as he expected himself to break down and shed tears. He didn't want them to see that. And yet he still felt his heart beat faster when they came back,

Price threw him a small smile, a smile of empathy.

As if that's his cue, he jumped out of the car. Taking slow strides towards ‘your’ direction. He never thought he could ever despise a cemetery so much in his life,

The only thing he could think of was the way you laid down there, away from his grasp.

No matter how slow he walks, he soon finds himself in front of ‘you’, oh well—a stone that only proved to him that you're gone. “Have you been waiting?”

He couldn't believe it,

He was talking to a mere stone.

But he’ll take what he can get.

“Wake up.” he stared down with an expressionless face, “enough laziness, [name]. Get up from there.”

“You can have all of the shirts you want from me, you can pluck my eyebrows, do it, you can get a puppy. Anything you want just— just wake up.”

His voice betrayed him the more he spoke, 

The longer he looked at the stone, the way he kept reading the credentials written on it, the more it felt real. Every passing second is just another evidence of your disappearance,

“You always call me mean,”

He swallowed,

“Yet you're the one who left first.” his cold gaze softened, the more he looked at the ground. Under the ground where your body laid.

Where the body of his lover slept eternally.

“How do I find you now? Now that I'm stuck here?”

He recollects his promise, the promise to reunite in your next life. It all pierced through him. He’s a soldier, yet he finds himself worrying about the most ridiculous thing. What if you'd reincarnate before he passed?

What if you leave him behind again,

What if this time you find someone else to love?

What will he be then?

“Remember when you'd go on tangents about how fascinating reincarnation and universes are? I believe you now, okay? So— so wait for me.”

He sat down, quietly enjoying the breeze. He couldn't deny the pain of the piercing ache that developed in his chest. It never really went away. He would simply distract himself.

“I find it hard to sleep again, love.”

“The bed feels colder without you in it. Do i sound cheesy? Do not make fun of me. I want to be honest. Maybe doing that would lessen the overbearing hurt in my chest. It’s just—it’s only been a month since youre gone and im already a fucking mess. I mean, look at me,”

He chuckled,

“I look rough, dont i?” he sighed, “would you still find my eyes pretty even when i tire them out by crying?”

He looked away, observing the serenity of the cemetery. He wondered how many souls wandered around, and if yours were one, and if you stood close to him.

“I feel—just terrible. When I woke up, I thought I'd finally lose it, well I did. I caused price trouble, you'd have scolded me. I really did it this time, pushing everyone away as if you'd come back to tell me off. That's not ever happening, and that's what hurts the most.” 

He spoke slowly, yet he felt out of breath.

“It feels suffocating—you know? To live without you.”

“I don't know why I woke up, I wished I didn't. Maybe then I'd be with you.”

“It’s scary, [name], so scary.” he whispered, the rasp of his voice sounding more evident. “I have no certainty if we’ll see each other again; and I need nothing more than to hold—to feel you again. To hear your voice, to take in your scent. If I have to give everything up for that, I will.”

“Anything just to have you back to me.”

He stared at the words engraved on the tomb,

“but if i have to wait decades or centuries—i will—without hesitance, without a blink, i will. For you, I'll keep being patient.”

“That's how worthy you are [name]. So wait for me please, no matter how long it takes for me to find you again, please wait.”

He spoke lowly, but certainly, no matter where you are, he hoped you'd recognize him, hoping you’d recognize his eyes you loved so much,

“Even if it means i'll have to die again and again, i’ll keep searching for you until we’re back home until i can hear your voice call my name again.”

“Wait for me, [name].”

Hoping you’d recognize your Simon.

、 

Somewhere along the memories,

、 

Somewhere along the universe,

、 

Somewhere along life and death,

、 

Somewhere along—

、 

“Simon.”

“Pardon?” he looked at you, puzzled expression written all over his face. “Whatd you just say?”

“My simon.”

We're home.

[sexydreamgirl]

I need to say something to you all that may come harshly, but I say it out of love.

A lot of you would be living your dream lives already or have even succeeded at the I AM state months ago if you had just logged off of Tumblr and abandoned all other loa resources.

I really really hate, loathe and despise the obsession with “the void”. Nobody hates it more than me. I’m its number one hater. 

You guys have over complicated something that wasn’t complicated in the first place.

These are Neville's instructions about how to do it:

You say silently but feelingly, "I AM." Do not condition this awareness but continue declaring quietly, "I AM — I AM." Simply feel that you are faceless and formless and continue doing so until you feel yourself floating.

Mind you, people haven’t even experienced the floating feeling or any other symptoms and still succeeded. You guys take mental note of what worked for another anon and hope that this will finally be it and that’s the problem You read success story after success story and send follow up questions about how long it took them to “get in”, which affirmations they used, what position they laid in, which exact meditation they listened to, what the temperature of the room was and whatever other irrelevant matters. You go from blog to blog in search of validation, wondering if you did it right by laying facedown rather than in a starfish position, if the affirmation you used is okay and if swallowing was the reason why you failed. That’s why you’ve continued to struggle, you keep entertaining the idea that you’re doing it wrong because you’re not doing it exactly like someone else and that has been the downfall for a lot of you. What should have been the takeaway? Different things work for different people, but what if I reminded told you that you are… God? As in, THE GOD, who gets to decide (assume) and so shall be? The God who can assume that snapping their fingers will instantly turn them into pure consciousness. Yet here you all are, folding like H&M sweaters accepting this (“failure”) to be your state of consciousness and hoping that this new exact procedure will finally help you succeed when all it has ever taken was to… assume otherwise.

The reason you’ve failed is because you’re conscious of that. How many times should I remind you all that consciousness is the only reality? That all it takes to finally see and experience the change is for you to shift your state of consciousness?

​​In order to rise to the level that you are not now expressing, you must completely drop the consciousness with which you are now identified. Until your present consciousness is dropped you will not be able to rise to another level.

Here is a list of all of the new additions that have been introduced/overcomplicated it:

Having to relax

Clearing your mind

Laying down

Staying still

Not swallowing (...?!?!)

Doing it before going to bed/at night

Using any kinds of waves (alpha/epsilon/theta)/subliminals

Affirming anything aside from I AM [I am pure consciousness/faceless and formless/the void/nothing]

Doing 3 day-3 week challenges……

inducing sleep paralysis

void concept………………

Affirm mindlessly throughout the day that it’s easy to do

I know people who’ve succeeded despite moving, while in class, while standing up in the shower yet day in and day out I continue to see people beg for the specifics. If any of these procedures worked for you and you manifested your dream life, congratulations! but none of these deviations are necessary. All they do is cultivate new assumptions within you guys that in order to become pure consciousness you need to clear your mind, stay completely still, take deep breaths, lay in x position, count to x, affirm «…» countlessly, etc.

I would also like to add, there is no need for void oriented blogs or extensive informational posts regarding this subject. You guys are only making it worse on yourselves. Blogs that are committed to answer void questions and reblog void success stories do more harm than good because they further condone the fascination with it and harvest more assumptions about how to do it. 

Not only that, you guys obsess over methods and challenges wayyyyyyyy too much and your attention is specifically consumed by them when your focus should be targeted towards having it in the 4D. When you are fixated by the need for it to be present in the 3D as soon as possible, you are missing the point of the law of assumption.

It is not about wanting nor getting, it is about embodying and accepting that it is already yours now. Claim it in imagination and it’ll inevitably crystallize within your tangible reality. As within, so without. 

There is no shame in wanting to try it out, there is shame in the pedestalization of it. The I AM state is not the answer to all of your problems. I understand the need for instant results, I know people who were dealing with difficult circumstances and wanted an immediate remedy so the I AM state became the goal when it shouldn’t be the goal, it’s only the means to get you to the goal, but obsessing over whether you’re doing it correctly isn’t going to help you, it’ll only impose stress and frustration upon you and will further push you in a hole of desperation and the cycle will perpetuate. 

It only worsens when people literally put their lives on hold. You could have manifested your dream life within a week by entertaining a completely new state of consciousness (though gentle reminder that time shouldn’t be a point of focus in general either but I digress), but your attention is entirely consumed by the I AM state and you’re participating in three day challenges “waiting” until your mind is completely marinated in affirmations about how quick and easy it is… why? Stop waiting for your desires, they are yours NOW.

The reason why methods and challenges work in the first place is because you have given them permission to be the conditions that will be required in order to bring your desire in the 3D. If you assumed clapping three times would add $500,000 to your bank account that’s precisely what would happen and all that is asked of you is to shift your state of consciousness. Methods and challenges do not grant your desires, they are only training wheels that’ll aid you to live in the end and feel the wish fulfilled, which is meant to be the goal.

To see that you guys go to me and other blogs BEGGING us to manifest that you wake up in the void tells me that you guys truly don’t see yourselves as the architects of your reality. 

Please adjust your self concept and stop surrendering to other people, it’s absolutely shameful. You are GOD, please start acting (and thinking) as such. Stop seeing yourself as a failure and start seeing yourself as the person who’s in control of every facet of their reality. because you are. The 3D is malleable at your command. That is what the law states. Please STAND UP.

You want to succeed at the I AM state? Okay, apply the basis of the law. How would you feel if you knew that becoming pure consciousness was as easy as breathing? That all it took was for you to relax and dwell on I AM? How easy it is for you to do whenever you feel like it? Sustain that state and you will not fail.

I genuinely pity and condemn the damage the fixation on the I AM state has caused in the community as a whole as well as on you guys individually. This is helping no one and I am tired of seeing the chokehold it has put a lot of you in. if you feel called out by this post then I strongly encourage you to reconsider what you plan to do from this point on. Leave « the void » alone, learn about the law and apply. Please, please, please give « the void » a rest. Not for my sake, but for yours. The pen (your imagination) is always in your hand and it's simply waiting to be used. You are all infinitely greater than you think you are. Stop putting your lives on hold and neglecting the inalienable power within you over the I AM state.

You have my love and you have my support. I wish each and every one of you nothing less than all of your desires materialized. I am here for you to help you however I can when it comes to clarification regarding the law of assumption, but I'm never going to partake in this fascination with the I AM state and further exacerbate it.

That is all.

[luvtak]

here, there, and everywhere ✦ lee felix

✦ pairing felix x gn!reader

✦ genre/tw angst, fluff, hurt-comfort, jealousy, a little bit of tears lol, two people so in love it's disgusting and perfect, pet names galore, kissing, obnoxious attempts at being poetic, being in love is complicated and sad and also simple and wonderful!

✦ w/c 1234

✦ a/n ginger write something other than hurt-comfort challenge failed. i wrote half of this with no motivation three weeks ago and the rest in an hour, i hope you like it LMAO! reader and felix were written as the same couple from baby i'm yours, but you don't need to have read it to understand this at all!! as always named after one of my favorite songs, its so easy to write for felix, he really is a love song come to life<33

masterlist

Sometimes you wonder if Felix know’s how precious he is; sweet and soft-hearted; void of any ill intent or toxicity, a boy oozing love. 

He’s a wonderful son, a charming brother, and an even better friend–syrupy sweet and unbelievably likable to anyone who comes into contact with him, and most of the time that's a blessing, but it can also be a curse. 

Of course he’s stunning and lovely, and rationally you know you shouldn’t be upset. That girl at the restaurant meant nothing by looking at him, meant nothing by smiling and definitely was not hitting on him when she asked if you were his partner. At least that’s what he says, vehemently denying and believing that this stranger had no ill-intent, but you know better. From the minute she blinked her pretty eyes at him, you knew she was flirting, and nothing could convince you otherwise. Not your boyfriend's warmth pressing into yours or the moonlit smiles he sent your way, nothing. 

You can tell it’s making him sad, this quiet, jealous version of you. You wish you could stop it just to ease his concern, but the green poison is sitting deep in your belly, and you’re positive if you open your mouth nothing good will come from it. 

He’s so lovely and you hate that other people can tell. Your love has always been so private, so deep and true it could only be described as intimate. Sometimes, you forget that he exists outside of his place next to you, forget that other people can see him and fawn over his heaven made features. 

“I love you, you know.” His voice is shaky, nerves surrounding his every move. You hate to hurt him; hate second guessing every word he says and every glance he’s given to pretty waitresses, but sometimes quiet love is harsh. Sometimes the intimacy of love behind closed doors creates gaps for someone to pass through, and on nights where your trust ebbs, you really wish your love was loud. 

You wish you could show it to others, tell anyone who could be listening how much you loved him, but you can’t. Maybe at first it was his job, but slowly, over time you had to learn that loving Felix had to be tender–his heart had to be held like a flower, too tight and you’ll crush the petals. It’s why it feels so wrong to be jealous, he would never do anything to hurt you; physically and emotionally, he would keep you safe. 

When you arrived home, sulky and pouting and praying to any god who would listen to you, please, please take these thoughts away, Felix looked at you and knew it was time to intervene. Pressing you close to his heart and rubbing slow circles on your back. 

“I know, I love you too.” 

“No, I mean it, baby. I love you.” He enunciates the words, emphasizing his point with three kisses on your brow. You relish in his affection, it comes so easy to him… for Felix love is simple, it’s blowing out candles and mornings spent sharing heat, buying warm gloves and letting you hog the covers. Felix was made to love, grew up cherished and treasured and now he treats his people the same. 

Mostly, he was made to love you as quietly or as loudly as you wanted him too–he could be your sun, scorching and bright and all encompassing, or he could be your moon: big and beautiful and comforting.

You know he loves you, and hearing him say it doesn’t release the green monster from your belly, but it does remind you how lucky you are that this star boy chose you. 

Your shaky arms tighten around his torso and the fast beat of his heart releases the tears waiting at your waterline. Something about his honest truth breaking and mending your heart all at once. 

“I’m sorry, Lixie, I wish I could love you as good as you love me… you’re everything, maybe if you were less I could talk about it more, but it’s true I love you so much.” The tears are fast now, racing down your cheeks like raindrops on a window, and you think he’s crying too. All ten of his fingers are clutching at you, holding onto you for dear life and you don’t think he’ll ever let go… god please don’t let him ever let go. 

“I’m not going anywhere, my love, I promised a forever didn’t I?” you could never forget the memory, his pinky wrapped around yours and crossing his heart that he’d stay. He’s an earnest boy, as honest as they make them, and he’s never broken a pinky swear.

In many ways it makes you sad that one pretty girl made you feel like this, you can be insecure and unsure of many things, but never of him. It wasn’t the flirting or her twinkly eyes, it was her confidence in appreciating him: outloud and undeniable. Even after loving him so deeply for so long, you’ve found it difficult to scream it from the rooftops. Instead, you pack his lunch and make sure his hot cocoa won’t burn his tongue, you kiss him three times for luck, and you're always the first to praise him. No, you could never yell it out, but you’ve wished for him everyday and if he thinks it’s enough then it is. 

“Don’t worry about random girls, honey, my love isn’t fragile.” He says it with a fluorescent smile, so beautiful and so him that little by little it calms the wasps in your brain.

“I’m sorry, I was being silly. You’re just too pretty, I’m sick of other people being able to see you.” Through his tears, the star studded boy laughs–a big, body shaking laugh that takes you with it. Giggles through kisses and teeth clashing, too tight hugs that steal all the air out of your lungs and passing it back to him. 

This is love, quiet or loud, this is it–sharing breath and smiles and knowing he’s yours. 

You used to think people couldn’t belong to each other, but Felix’s heart is tied right to yours–chambers interlaced and arteries working together to keep you alive. Every bit of you is caged up with him, locked in tight together; dead-bolted and keys thrown away. You care for him quietly, but everything about your heart is loud–beating for him, faster and faster each day you share together. 

Releasing you from his hold and looking right into your heart-shaped eyes, he tells you not to be sorry; you’re too pretty to be sorry, baby and you know he’s making it better–Another kiss cure to mend the broken day. Soft smooches pressed all over your laughing face and down the side of your neck, a million ways to say thank you. 

When he releases you, he’ll be as bright as the sun–he’ll nurse your heart back to health and tuck you in tight under the covers. Humming sweet songs and hoping you have sweet dreams, three kisses goodnight for each year you’ve spent together. 

Tomorrow, he’ll tease and joke and love you endlessly, his devotion is as blaring as yours is hushed; changing your life with a wave of his hand and reminding you everyday that to love is to make magic–wishing on every constellation atop his nose that forever comes quick.

© luvtak

[monsterblogging]

So, it finally clicked that while the average person does in fact broadly comprehend that people are neither good nor evil - they're good and bad, and have free will - they also can't understand why some people would fully commit themselves to completely awful causes or to being a terrible person throughout their entire lives. They can't really picture how this works, because they can't imagine themselves choosing to die on a hill of Being A Terrible Person.

This void in their comprehension is where the myth of the Ontologically Evil Person is very likely to come and settle in sooner or later, because it seems to finally provide an answer that makes sense of otherwise senseless cruelty and violence. Agonizing questions like "Why would my boyfriend spend so much energy on making me feel like shit and breaking me down?" "Why would this historical figure decided to kill all of these people?" and "Why would this guy go start a cult and murder everyone?" are finally given an answer, and the formerly-bewildered person finally has some peace of mind.

Because of this, the myth of the Ontologically Evil Person is incredibly hard to get out of people's minds once it takes root. For one thing, bad ideas are like bad habits; it doesn't really work to tell people to Just Stop With Them, because without something else to take its place? They're going to fall back on it.

And if somebody's been traumatized from abuse? The last thing they want to hear is that they're basically dehumanizing their abuser and that's not cool, because it feels to them like the other person is taking their abuser's side and telling them to get fucked. Even if this not what's happening, the survivor's brain is currently operating on fight/flight/fawn/freeze mode, and a brain operating fight/flight/freeze/fawn mode is keyed to making snap decisions to try and remove you from the danger as soon as possible, which means categorizing everything into black and white. This person couldn't care less about the history of eugenics right now; literally all they care about is being safe.

"Okay, so if the Ontologically Evil Person doesn't exist, how the hell do you explain those fuckers over there?" some of you are probably asking.

Here's the deal. Literally every human being alive can and will do terrible things if they're sufficiently scared and desperate. They're in no position to appreciate that nearly all asshole behavior can be explained by a lack of critical social and self-management skills, or by a lack of access to self-improvement (including being too traumatized to trust means of self-improvement).

People who are scared, insecure, and under high levels of stress will often cling to anything that makes them feel better, because they want to feel safe and secure and not in psychological and/or physical agony. (Stress does an absolute number on your body, too.)

Being reliant on a shitty behavior, belief system, or product for some measure of feeling secure and safe is how you get people saying things like "If I didn't act mean, everyone would just walk all over me!" or "I was really depressed before I found this, so if I gave it up I'm going to get depressed again, and I might hurt myself." (And there might be some truth to this one! This might indeed happen if they give it up cold turkey, and without finding an alternative!) It's how you get people conducting """scientific""" studies to """prove""" that their bigotry is totally justified and not at all irrational. ("Well of course these people are genetically inferior, they wouldn't be poor and disease-ridden if they weren't... what do you mean, systemic inequality and uneven healthcare access? No that's obviously fake and made up by More Bad People.")

People also act in unhealthy ways to deal with personal insecurities implanted by parents or society. You have people out there whose parents drummed it into their heads that second place was for worthless losers, or that no one would love them if they didn't look or act a certain way. You have people who absorbed the idea that acknowledging the basic humanity of shitty people means that they have to forgive them and personally help them get better and just suffer through the abuse in the meantime.

This is how people choose to die on the hill of Being A Terrible Person. They weren't ontologically evil. They were scared, and they thought they saw a fortress on the top of that hill that would keep them (and perhaps also their loved ones) safe.

[lovelybucky1]

Join Me (Darth Vader x Reader)

warnings: dark themes, gender neutral! reader, unburnt vader (still wears the suit), violence, weapons, mentions of death, corruption, manipulation, sexual tension, 18+ minors dni

masterlist

This is humiliating. A Jedi, a warrior of your status, should not be sprawled across the floor in front of your sworn enemy. The two stormtroopers that brought you to Darth Vader’s chamber stand above you, looking down at where you landed when they threw you. You’re not sure how Vader’s forces managed to capture you so quickly. You have a feeling your fate will be similar to those of the remaining Jedi that have attempted to face Lord Vader: a cruel and brutal death.

Nevertheless, you lay on your stomach, hands cuffed with force-blocking bonds behind your back, and your legs rest uselessly behind you. You strain your neck to keep your head up, not wanting to give your captors to see you in such a state of defeat.

The Dark Lord looms over you from this high-backed throne. The room is dark with a fully black interior, but somehow his suit stands out from the void that seemingly engulfs you.

“Leave us,” Vader commands the storm troopers, his modulated voice bone chilling in the otherwise silent room. The stormtroopers turn and walk out of the chamber, their boots clicking loudly on the smooth tile floor.

As soon as you heard the heavy doors shut, the reality of your situation set in. You’re alone without a weapon or the use of the force with the most brutal Sith lord in the galaxy. You were helpless, and the only thing you can do is pray Vader will be merciful and kill you quickly.

“Your thoughts are loud, Jedi,” he says, sitting motionless on his throne.

You stare back into the black voids of his helmet’s eyes. You know the mask must be to hide some hideous deformity, but even the slightest bit of expression in the dark lord’s face would bring you some comfort.

You refuse to speak to him, but it clearly doesn’t matter since he can hear your thoughts, despite you trying to keep your walls up.

“I can feel your fear.”

Your brows furrow as you continue to look up at him from your position on the ground. You don’t mean to make your fear so obvious, but you can’t help it. You’re at the mercy of a monster who has killed many of your fellow Jedi, wiped out planets, and has disrupted peace in the entire galaxy.

“But it is not just fear, is it, Jedi?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you spit without thinking, immediately regretting your choice of words.

“Hatred,” he says plainly.

This time you stay silent. You don’t feel hatred. Are you angry with Darth Vader for ruining the lives of you and your friends? Yes. Are you angry at the empire for oppressing beings across the galaxy? Of course. Do you resent this war and wish you could live a regular life? Sure, everyone does. Do you wish the Jedi order wasn’t so restrictive? Occasionally. But none of what you feel is hate.

“You’re wrong,” you hiss.

“You don’t hate me?” Vader has the audacity to ask.

“Hate is not the Jedi way,” you respond.

Silently, Vader rises from his throne and descends the stairs. His black boots echo throughout the chamber as Vader approaches you. The feeling of dread grows even colder in your stomach, and you begin to shake as he nears.

Vader stops an arm’s length in front of you, and from your position, all you can see is the top of his heavy boots and the thick material of his pants. Outside of your vision, Vader reaches for you. He bends to bury his gloved hand in your hair and tugs, pulling you up from the ground. You yelp at the grip on your hair, and you scramble to get your knees underneath you to take some of the tension off of your scalp.

Now you kneel before Darth Vader, and he has just proved that it requires little effort to move you. You look up at him with newfound anger that stems from the humiliation of being manhandled. Your eyes are glassy with tears, not from emotion, but as an involuntary response from the pulling of your hair.

“Cowardice is not the Jedi way, either,” Vader says.

His hand is still tight in your hair, though there is much less pain. You shake your head, trying to get him to let go, but his hold is unwavering.

“I’m not a coward,” you hiss. You wish you could access the force; you would throw this sick bastard across the room and- no, that’s not the Jedi way.

“Yet you tremble before me.”

You narrow your eyes as you look at him, feeling intimidated by the lack of emotion but you keep your gaze steady.

“I don’t hate, Vader.”

The dark helmet tilts to the side, just barely. That is the only sign of emotion, of life, that he has given this whole time.

“No?” he asks. “Even after everyone you hold dear perished at the hands of my army? Can your heart remain pure after suffering so much loss? Pain leads to anger, and anger leads to hate. I feel more pain in you than any of your fellow soldiers combined.”

You wish desperately that you were able to grasp the force to block Vader from your mind, but without it, every aspect of your mind is exposed to him.

“There’s no part of you that wants revenge? To kill me after you heard the symphony of your fellow younglings screaming? To destroy the empire for all of the pain it’s brought you?”

Fresh tears now stream down your face, this time from the painful memories Vader is forcing you to relive. You want to break free from these cuffs, you want to fight back, but you’re trapped. You do the only thing you can think to do to show your defiance, even as you weep on your knees. You tilt your chin up as much as you can and spit, landing it on the cheek of Vader’s helmet.

It feels as if time froze as soon as the wad of spit made contact. Vader stood completely still, not even breathing for unnaturally long, as you were forced to stay just as still as he was.

Slowly, Vader reaches up with his free hand and grasps the underside of his helmet. Your spit has run down the front of the mask and his gloves glisten as he pushes up the helmet. Vader slowly reveals the face underneath, and to your surprise, he is not hideous. In fact, he’s handsome.

Behind the emotionless helmet, Vader is a young man with chestnut hair, smooth skin save for a scar over his eye, and piercing bronze eyes. Your breath catches in your throat as you look at the Sith lord, suddenly feeling conflicting emotions as the face of evil was just humanized.

Vader drops his helmet on the tile floor next to you, and the loud bang echoes through the chamber, making you flinch.

“You’re surprised,” Vader says, now in a non-altered voice. His voice is smooth, completely unlike his deep, robotic voice you knew.

“This is not what I was expecting,” you say, voice sounding weak to your own ears.

“My appearance?” he asks.

“Your mercy.”

Vader raises his eyebrows. “You will not get mercy from me.”

“You haven’t killed me yet,” you respond.

You’re not sure why you’re speaking to him this way. He is the same man who killed millions, some of those your brothers in arms, and many more innocent lives. He is the same ruthless, evil monster as he was with the mask on, yet he seems much less intimidating like this.

“I have no use for a Jedi corpse. I want you alive.”

Your brows furrow as you look up at him, tears slowly stopping.

“Alive for what?”

“You have great power, little one,” he says, gaze intense.

Vader releases his grip on your hair, but remains close. The features of his suit feel out of place without the helmet. The control panel lead you to believe he was more machine than man, but from what you can see, Vader is just as human as you are.

“I was like you once,” Vader says, speaking again after your lack of response.

“We are nothing alike,” you bite.

“Ambitious, emotional, powerful… All things the Jedi order attempts to train out of their young, but a certain few, like you and I, knew better. You didn’t let them crush your spirit and turn you into a docile, supposed peacekeeper like the rest of them.”

Vader started off calm, but as he continued denouncing the Jedi teachings, his tone became more bitter and resentful.

“I have no complaints about my teachings,” you say, lifting your chin in defiance.

“You never had thoughts that your master told you were inappropriate? Things that felt perfectly natural, but somehow were wrong?” This time, Vader’s question is not rhetorical.

“I mean… I guess.”

“And weren’t you just a little bit angry that your feelings were dismissed so quickly without even an ounce of explanation as to why?”

“Because emotions and attachments aren’t the Jedi way.”

“But you were a child. No child can put aside their emotions for some ‘greater good’ that they have never seen nor could begin to understand.”

Vader pauses his sermon to crouch down, now meeting you at your eye level. His gaze is heavy, and you don’t want to show weakness by looking away, but you find it difficult to hold his eyes.

“I lived a life of pain, just as you have. I was born a slave, and only freed to be taken in by the Jedi, where my bonds were even tighter. I led thousands of men to their death in an unwinnable war, my mother was murdered by savage creatures, and my only love died as a result of the Jedi’s foolish restrictions.”

You swallow the thick lump in your throat so you can attempt to speak. Vader being vulnerable with you like this makes you feel uncomfortable, like you need to jump up and run as far as possible. He is a monster, not a grieving man. He’s not like you.

“You’re tired of hurting, aren’t you?” he asks.

You don’t want to respond, you don’t want to give him what he desires, but you can’t help yourself. The pain is suffocating and you desperately wish to escape it.

“Yes,” you confess breathily.

Vader looks at you for a moment. He doesn’t smile thankfully, because you would find that even more unnerving. No, he looks at you with pity like you’re a hurt animal.

“I can make your pain go away.” You perk up at that. You know he must be lying, the Sith are known for their silver tongues that tell you exactly what you want to hear, but the idea of a life free from suffering intrigues you. “I can help you access great power that will rid you of anguish.”

Vader shifts so he is kneeling in front of you, mirroring your position save for the cuffs holding your hands. He places his gloved hands on your shoulders and holds them tightly. You lean into the strong, warm touch, feeling conflicted as you regard his offer.

“I was like you once, little one. Broken, scared, forced into weakness by the Jedi. But then I was shown a new path; one of great power and purpose. Now I hurt no more.”

This all feels too good to be true. You want to believe what Vader says is true, that he can take away your pain and make you as powerful as you have always wanted to be, but your master’s voice rings in the back of your mind. Don’t give into temptation. The Sith lie, manipulate, and go to great lengths to corrupt the light. Evil is stronger than good, but great power leads you down a path of destruction.

“I will not hear these lies any longer, Vader,” you say, finally regaining your compassion.

Vader blinks for a moment, seemingly surprised at your change of tone.

“I tell nothing but the truth. I can save you.”

“I am loyal to the Jedi order.”

Vader sighs, jaw tensing, and he rises to his feet, again looming over you.

“I was being merciful as you requested, and gave you some semblance of a choice, but you will join me.”

“I would rather die than join you!” you yell.

Vader’s chin tilts just slightly. He uses the force to bring the remote that controls your cuffs to him, then unlocks them. You look up at him, confused and hesitant when your bonds fall away.

“You would die for your precious order?” he asks.

“Without question,” you say firmly as you rise to your feet, kicking the cuffs aside.

Vader reaches down to his hip and pushes his cape back, revealing two lightsabers. One is yours, and the other must be his. He tosses your lightsaber to you and you catch it with ease, immediately activating the blade and holding it between you and the Sith lord.

He activates his own lightsaber, the red blade illuminating his face and mixing with the blue of yours, casting a mix of purple light through the dark room.

“What are you waiting for, Jedi?” he asks.

Without further hesitations, you run towards Vader and swing your lightsaber at his torso, but he blocks it with ease. You take a few more swings, each from different angles, but they all are deflected. Surprisingly, Vader does not take any offensive maneuvers and only blocks each of your attacks. You move forward and slowly back Vader against the wall, almost cornering him, and you find yourself growing increasingly frustrated with his lack of engagement in the battle.

“Fight back, you coward!” you yell as you being your saber slashing down.

“Is that truly what you want?” Vader asks, pushing against your lightsaber with his.

“Unlike you,” you grunt, “I don’t take pleasure in an opponent who does not attempt to fight.”

There is a ghost of a smirk on Vader’s lips as he pushes you off of him with his saber. You stumble back, but quickly regain your footing and advance on him again. This time, however, Vader attacks. A whirlwind of red light swings around your head, and you instinctively block his attempted jab.

Vader’s fighting style is fast, acrobatic, and unlike anything you’ve faced in training or battle. His slices come quick, and combined with the distractions of his jumps and spins, it makes it difficult to battle him.

You swing your saber at his neck, but he ducks his head just in time to dodge getting his head cut off. While Vader is low to the ground, he sweeps his saber at your ankles, but you managed to jump, kicking him in the shoulder in the process.

He stumbles back and fails to catch himself. He sits on the ground, legs sprawled in front of him as you run towards him. He is surprisingly skilled at fight from the ground, but he doesn’t expect a kick to the hand instead of a stab with your saber. His lightsaber falls from his hand and clatters across the floor. Before he could get to it, you pick it up.

Now with two sabers and a defenseless Vader, you have the upper hand. He moves to stand, but you trap his head between crossed blades while he’s on his knees. You pause, staring down at the Sith lord as your chest heaves with exertion. Vader does not look afraid, nor angry. He looks pleased.

“You want to kill me,” Vader speaks, showing no signs of the battle that just occurred.

“I sure would like to,” you say between panting breaths.

“Then do it.” You’re shocked. You have the most feared man in the galaxy on his knees in a compromising position, and he’s telling you to kill him. “Kill me, Jedi. I feel your anger, your pain, your hatred. Succumb to your desires; kill me and free the galaxy.”

Your hand twitch. You want to kill Vader, but you cannot bring yourself to do it. You’re frozen in place, paralyzed by the morality that was ingrained into you as a child.

“Kill me!” Vader shouts.

You don’t notice that you’re crying until hot tears drip down amd absorb into the front of your robe. You hate that you’re showing such weakness in front of Vader, but you can’t help yourself.

“You’re weak,” Vader says as he rises to his feet, unfazed by the weapons at his neck. “You’re a coward. A pathetic excuse for a soldier.”

Vader wrenches both sabers out of your hands and throws yours across the room. He stalks towards you, lightsaber at his side while he insults you. You walk backwards as he comes closer, not wanting to let him near to kill you.

“You didn’t even have the strength to do what you knew needed to be done. You could have saved the galaxy, but you were too scared to take a life,” Vader seeths.

You take another step back, but instead of your foot landing on the tile, you trip on Vader’s discarded helmet, rolling your ankle and falling to the floor. You cry out in pain and attempt to get up, but you cannot find the strength as Vader steps closer.

His boot kicks his helmet out of the way with a loud bang what makes you whimper in fear. Your palms scrabble against the floor to slide back, making you look even more pathetic than you surely already do. To your horror, directly behind you is the chamber wall. You have no where to go, no weapon, barely any strength, and Vader has the high ground.

“Look at you, helpless little Jedi,” Vader muses. “Why don’t you call on the force to help you? Or is it not strong enough to beat me?”

Your blood feels ice cold in your veins as Vader stares down at you. You know you should attempt to fight, to die honorary, but you don’t want to suffer.

“Just kill me,” you choke out.

“I told you, I have no use for your corpse. You will join me.”

“I won’t,” you say, voice weak.

With an aggravated grunt, Vader throws his lightsaber across the room, then grips the collar of your robe with both hands to haul you to your feet. He presses your back against the wall and you flinch, preparing for him to hit you. Instead, he places both palms on either side of your head. For a moment, nothing happens. You are just about to aks him what he’s doing to you when you’re hit with a flood of euphoria.

A hot, almost burning sensation fills your body and warms the ice in your veins. Your limbs go limp and you would have collapsed to the floor if Vader wasn’t holding you. A small moan leaves your lips as you feel a sense of newfound strength in your body, something that you have never felt in all of your years training with the force.

“What-” you trail off, finding it difficult to construct a sentence in this state.

“Do you feel the power, little one?” Vader says, voice low since he is so close.

“Yes,” you gasp.

“All of this could be yours. You could feel this all the time. You will never hurt again.”

You want it. This pleasure, this fullness, this contentment you haven’t felt since you were young. In this moment, all reason escapes you as you bask in the warms that Vader is providing.

Then, in a flash, everything is cold once again. Vader lets go of you and you side down the wall in a crumple. You whimper as you try to move, but you’re weak and tired once again.

“Please,” you croak, looking up at Vader.

“That’s the power of the dark side. Too bad you’re too devoted to your code to reach your full potential,” Vader says before turning on his toe, cape swishing through the air as he walks away from you.

You can’t let him leave. You had a taste of what you’ve always wanted and you can’t deny it any longer. You want to be powerful, free, and maybe for the first time in a long time, happy.

“Wait!” Vader pauses mid-step but does not turn to face you. “I… I want it.”

Anxiety builds inside you as Vader remains motionless. Just as you’re about to plead with him, he turns around.

“What do you want?”

“Power,” you whisper like it’s a shameful secret.

Vader begins to walk towards you, the same stalking action, yet you feel less scared this time.

“Will you abandon your affilation with the Jedi?” he asks.

You hesitate to answer. You know it’s wrong, you took a vow, but you had spent your life doing selfless acts. Maybe it’s time to be selfish for once.

“Yes.”

Vader grins. It’s not a kind smile, far from it. It’s sharp, predatory, and makes your skin crawl.

“You shall be my apprentice,” Vader says, extending a hand to help you from the ground. When you reach your feet, Vader holds you close by your waist. It’s almost intimate, the distance between your faces, but you feel as if it’s more of a display of dominance than anything. “I will train you to use the dark side, and I’ll help you break all of those habits the Jedi ingrained in you.”

“I want to feel it again,” you confess.

“And you will, little one, in due time. I can only give you so much; it is your duty to harness it yourself.”

You sigh and nod your head. “I understand… master.”

It feels foreign in your mouth, to call someone else, a Sith lord, master, but the word makes Vader grin again.

“The dark side will give you great strength. It may be frightening at first, to unlock your full potential, but I guarantee you will become just as powerful as I. Together, we will rule the galaxy.”

Your heart skips at that. Thinking that the entire galaxy would be yours to do what you please with, the power that would come with that. It was every shameful dream come true.

“I vow to follow you, Master Vader. I want to learn to be as powerful as you.”

Vader’s grip on your waist tightens and he tugs you just a bit closer. Your chest is pressed against the hard, cold metal of the panel on his chest, and you feel so small in his embrace.

“Why don’t we start with our first lesson,” Vader suggests.

“What is it?” you ask curiously, eager to get even a taste of that heat once again.

“I want you to learn to indulge in all of those desires you have spent your life denying,” he says, voice low and gravely. You furrow your brows, confused. “I sense your lust, little one. I do not think it shameful; Sith must access their passion.”

You nod in understanding, but remain still, uncertain what to do.

“Allow me to show you,” Vader says.

His hands press your body against his and he leans his head down. His eyes are closed and his lips move to cover yours. You whimper in surprise, but you allow yourself to stay pliant. He kisses you, gently at first, but it quickly turns heated. His tongue presses against the seam of your lips and you part them to allow him access. He devours you, kissing you like he’s claiming you as his own and in a way, he is.

You two finally part after what feels like an eternity. You’re breathless, but Vader seams unfazed, except for his eyes, which are more black than amber now. His lips shine with spit, and you’re certain yours look the same.

“I sense great potential in you, my apprentice,” Vader says with a sharp grin.

In the back of your mind, you’re ashamed that you succumbed to the dark, allowed yourself to be corrupted. But at the same time, Lord Vader can show you things you weren’t even permitted to dream of with the Jedi.

“Thank you, Master. I will not disappoint you.”

And with that, your fate was sealed. A former Jedi turned apprentice to the face of evil in the galaxy.

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[azzandra]

Really nice pleasant dream I had last night: it featured one of those evil entities that get sealed away with magic in the backstory of generic fantasy novels. Just a kind of featureless, stormy cloud monster that used to terrorize the populace before getting sealed into a pocket dimension by heroes.

Now, at first the ancient sealed evil is really pissed at this. The pocket dimension is basically a black night overhead, and black sand underfoot. It isn't dark, exactly, because there seems to be light where the monster floats around, but there is literally just nothing in every direction, so it might as well be a void.

Except the monster still leaves footsteps on the sand. Now, if the monster turns one way or the other and loses sight of the footsteps, they disappear by the time it looks back. But that is pretty much all there is in this void.

So the monster sits down one day, reaches out a claw from its otherwise formless cloud body, and draws a single straight line in the sand.

It realizes then that it has created something.

Now, a single line is not impressive, but for a creature that only ever spent its time destroying things, this is its very first act of creation, so it's a monumental accomplishment. What it created isn't as significant as the fact that it created anything at all. It deliberately made that line in the sand, and it was something that would not exist without the monster willing it and acting to make it happen. This is the domain of gods. It's boggling that humans have had this ability from the start.

It adds another line. And another. It arranges the lines and its next epiphany is that patterns can be thus created. It sits in one place, turning slowly as it draws in the sand around it, and by the time it returns to the position it has started, the sand is newly erased and it can draw in it anew. Sometimes, it creates something that it likes so much, that it sits and stares for a very long time, knowing that the creation is impermanent and will disappear when it turns around. It likes the shapes, and sometimes its creations turn out more pleasing than it imagined them before creation.

A long time passes. Centuries? Millennia? The ancient evil does not notice.

This could have been a long, torturous eternity for it, but it went by incredibly fast.

One day, it happens. Some uppity mortals make the ill-advised decision to release this ancient evil upon the world. The pocket dimension wavers, and a rip of bright yellow light appears in the air, showing the monster how to escape its prison.

The ancient evil does not hesitate. It bolts right through this opening. It bolts past figures in black robes, gathered in a circle for the ritual that released it. It bolts past the heavy wooden doors, slamming them open so suddenly that the heroes coming too late to stop the ritual are startled.

It whizzes through the air without stopping, and heads directly to an art supply store.