#pulsating-affinity

[qingxin-dream]

lol i pulled neuvillette and all of his voice lines are obviously about his affinity for water. i just KNOW this man loves eating pussy. but he’s a refined gentleman, he would never let such impure thoughts leave his lips. he wouldn’t dare let his impartiality slip in the confines of the public space.

(art credits: @/waternaeng on twitter)

nsfw utc [18+, MDNI].

instead, when he has you behind closed doors and your legs spread on his desk, he’d pride himself in swirling his skillful tongue around your clit until you cum in his mouth again and again. his deep, velvety voice warmed your folds with his shallow breaths, praising you for allowing him to lap up your essence. to taste you in your most raw and beautiful form.

neuvillette’s piercing, iridescent eyes watched you closely, experimenting with the massage of his tongue deep within your cunt. he could go like this for hours if you let him, eager to see your pretty face contort into a blissed out, orgasmic expression that begged for more. each one enraptured him further, urging him to continue sucking and slurping on your juices. in fact, you were in tears after cumming hard once more, to which he quickly attended to—kissing them away and apologizing for losing his composure.

he would have you an utter mess, hopelessly pleading for his cock in a desperate whimper, before you could convince him to give in. not because he enjoys your pained desperation, but because neuvillette was determined to take his sweet time to ravish you properly. after all, your soft moans should be earned and cherished with the attention and care you deserve.

the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you with the inevitable stretch as his girth nestled itself in your drenched hole. grunts of pleasure rumbled in neuvillette’s throat, one of his fangs biting his lower lip harshly. you were inexplicably tight, your spongy walls pulsating around his thick cock excitedly.

who knew a little human like you could have him on the brink of unadulterated ecstasy?

[1800titz]

DOG TEETH | ABO dynamics

alpha/omega au

(Always had an affinity for taking mutts home, you, even if they growled and bit.)

> alpha!Harry, omega!reader, dom/sub undertones, praise & degradation, p in v 8K on patreon

(You remember when he warned you; starting things you couldn’t finish. See it through—)

The sentiment you’ve cradled in the space between your collarbones seeps out in the way your fingers tangle into the wry bed of curls at the nape of his neck. The undomesticated (wild in your spuming bloodstream, riling every nerve ending to kindle in the fire— a twisted paradox) urge to be owned. Claimed. Mated. See it through—

He cradles your wet gasp against the flats of his teeth, the gap between. Your tongue slinks out, lashes fluttering, and you bask in the way he brushes his own against it. 

It’s no jejune delicacy of a first kiss. 

The tentative, eggshell-daintiness of brushing lips— no, it’s all tongue, teeth, sloppy, slick. Your head tipping back with the fingers he snares into the hair at the base of your skull, the fist he wrenches your crown back by. Spit smearing against the corner of your mouth. Humid aphrodisia that settles in the trench of your tummy when he grips you under your jaw, thumb and middle finger denting into the fleshy margins of your hot cheeks. He smears his tongue against yours again.

It’s this— possessive, hungering— a triumph you’ve been chasing from that prepubescent past time. Giving home, in longing, the pooling bliss of your mettle unspooling under the way he pants into your mouth. 

(Nasty, nasty man— the kind you barely know, the kind you shouldn’t let suck on your tongue, never mind in the turbulent window of an incipient heat that’ll make your bones feel like they’re rotting in their sockets.)

“Yeah, that’s it,” you make out the crook of a smile in his words (lewd, coarse), liquified yearning, your eyes half-mast, “Filthy, little omega. Never imagined you’d be such a pretty whore.”

It’s vertiginous. Feral. Makes your world spin on its axis, because this exigency, swallowing you— need, need, need, fuck— is an all consuming rapture (when he sticks his fingers into your mouth— a bunched dyad, middle and forefinger— prying your head back with the heel of his palm still under your aching jaw).

“Sweet, little—“ you vaguely hear over the spindrift of blood in your ears— you don’t even recognize the wanton hum you grant him, tongue out— something that dies on his teeth, gets mottled by a growl (it stems from his chest, reverberates through the palm you still have on him, rocks your fizzing marrow). 

There’s no gentle, callow dubiety (you don’t expect it from him, anyhow) when he pins you, limbs out, on the bed two steps from the front door. Your need— that same, unbroken longing that pulsates in your joints— spills a mist over the aftermath (clothes peeling away, your heart stuttering in its caging, you nipples between his teeth). 

Up until the point where he nestles himself between your thighs, splayed, flat on his abdomen at the foot of the mattress. 

You watch him with a lust-ridden hypervigilance. Like this, with your thighs split, you can smell yourself from the headboard. Your leaking slick. It makes you desperate, gets your face crinkling, forehead scored in ruckles as your hips cant up. 

And Harry plants his hand onto your tummy, under your navel. A monstrous looking thing in sheer heft (cleaned as best as managed, knuckles bruised, split where aged scar tissue was battered back into gashing). The stark size of his hand against your soft underbelly— the way his thumb to his pinky, the shape, sits so perfectly between the verges of your pelvic bone, pressing you flat to the sheets— only makes you squirm more.

“Easy,” Harry purrs. Easy, girl— a luring croon in a dominion-rich tone that makes every atom in your body sing. If the fire rippling across your circuitry wasn’t drawing you into a delirium, surely you’d wear a frown at the smile over his mouth— the mocking. 

Even still, you think, it’d falter at the way he ducks his chin to stipple kisses to your mons, the faint dusting of hair there, eyes flickering up. The electric charge in his soft-spoken echo (instruction, gentle), “Easy, baby.” The, “I’ll take care of you, sweetheart.” His thumb prying you open, eyes winding, that clots your lungs.

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[h5eavenly]

Promise of eternity.

words: 900 | pairing: lee minho x reader | genre: fluff, sweet and soft love what is this?? angie writing smth that isn't angst??

Love comes to you in the most unanticipated moments. It swims through every blood vessel in your essence and paints every particle of you with affection, oozing right from the depths of your heart until you’re half of the person you love. His delights interweave with yours, and you find it in your being to grow the same likeness for it as well. Giving room for appreciation to bloom towards things you never paid attention to before.

It comes to you when you awake in the middle of the night, Minho’s scent between your sheets and his body intermingled with yours.

His body heavy atop yours and yet with a drowsy mind you can only grow to be grateful, for something as trivial as a fleeting moment. To have him this close, to be lucky enough to share proximity with the person you love and to have his soft breaths hitting the side of your face.

Affinity for the reminder that you’re allowed to love him even when he’s fallen into a deeper slumber.

It is forgotten as soon as your eyelids fall back shut yet the warmth of gratitude lingers in the core of your being. It’s almost one with you, nestles deeper through you whenever you look at him. Whether it’s the morning after or weeks later, when a smile as warm is drawn upon his face as he plays with his cats in your living room.

The fondness in your eyes, your own smile dispersing across your lips with no permission from you are all just countless verification of your feelings, a crude unveils of your unyielding longing for him even when he’s next to you.

Like the moon unfurling from behind the fog with intention, albeit not as lucid, it’s there.

Minho calls you dramatic with a teasing smirk each time, you only think you’re a human with too much love to give and he serendipitously happened to stumble into your embrace.

It hits you on a non-particular evening, the sun is setting, and the sky is colored with hues of orange and a soft pink while the two of you lie under a sky painted with white clouds. His head rests on your shoulder and love flows through every part of you, in the iced peach tea you made just for him and the crown of flowers you had placed atop his head. He remains a vision of forever, promises woven with eternity in his thumb as it swipes across the skin of your arm.

“If you could be anything in the world right now, what would you be?” you ask, tilting your head at a cloud that looks awfully similar to Dori.

“Asleep.”

“Answer seriously!” you complain endearingly, pinching at his arm with no intent for hurt to unfold.

“What’s wrong with wanting to be asleep?” he replies, voice laced with amusement “what would you be?” he faces you, his fingers trailing up your arm and your noses almost touch. A breathless giggle tumbling out your lips with no reason other than appreciation to have him this close.

“A bird!” Your cheerfulness colors the cadence of your tone and his smile melts deeper into devoted affection for you.

“Why a bird?”

“Because I could fly to you whenever I want” you answer so easily, paradoxical to how hard his heart starts beating against his ribcage, pulsating with the same love you hold so warmly in your eyes for him.

“You don’t need to fly to me if I’m next to you all the time.” His fingers brush over your brow like the soft strokes of a lovesick’s paintbrush, leaving behind specks of partiality.

“I know but sometimes you need to go away without me, if I’m a bird then I can just follow you.” you close your eyes, smiling with all the love in the world etched onto your lips.

“You’re an idiot.” He whispers, chuckling with depraved desire to hide you in the deepest parts of his heart, then you won’t have to wish to be anything else. he already has you, one with his being.

“But I am your idiot?” you ask, interlocking your fingers with his, soft caresses of affection land atop your cheeks, their beauty unmatched, no sunset could ever compare.

“Always.”

Love came to you unexpectedly, from the moment your eyes locked with Minho for the first time, your souls had touched and there was no way for you to stop it. And you found yourself waking up each day with delirium to turn your head and watch Minho next to you, never too far away and always within reach. Despite your fear of being nothing but a ghost of a touch across his skin, Minho is always there with an unwavering burning for you.

“I love you.” he tells you, like peace has never been this present unless he’s next you and your smile widen.

“I love you too.”

[mysticmellowlove]

Virgin!Yan x Virgin Fem reader where he can’t make her cum. Like he has been praying to god praying to his alter just hoping and wishing for the opportunity to make us feel good to make love to us. And we don’t cum. He’s crying from the pleasure and we lowkey just kinda look like 😐 we’re in missionary so his head is tucked into our neck begging a pleading and crying about how good he feels and how much he loves us. We of course say we love him too but when he finally hits his orgasm and whines very loudly right after he notices something…. We…We didn’t do anything he didn’t feel us clench or hear us moan or grab his hair or- Did he… Not make us cum. He is horrified. But we just pet and kiss him telling him it’s ok. We are a little sore though but we did not cum lol.

warnings; sub yan, bottom reader, top yan, top male, fem reader, accidental orgasm denial, masturbation,

The pleasured sobs of the boy on your chest echoed in your ear as you sighed and let your body relax. The feeling of his cock sliding out of your wet heat made you cringe a little in oversensitivity. Your first time couldn't have possibly been with anyone better. The cutest boy at school, who seemed to have an affinity towards you...

It was just... you didn't actually cum. Sure it felt a little achy at the beginning when he eased himself in slowly, always making sure you were alright and kissing your neck as he breathed heavily. That ache soon turned to an insatiable pleasure as he rocked into you, occasionally slipping out of your cunt with his sloppy thrusts. It felt good, really good but since he was also new at sex there was no way he had the stamina to make you actually climax.

You knew that in order for you to come foreplay was needed but he was so drunk off the mere thought of getting to fuck you that he breezed over everything. You were a little shocked when he stripped himself and his cock was already hard and pulsating. It looked painful, that's about the most you knew. Still, you were eager as well to feel that rush of pleasure so you didn't mind too much.

You should've because as soon as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to orgasm he spurted inside you with a porn-worthy moan and slumped into your chest, hands pawing at your nipples desperately. It was... anticlimactic to say the least.

Soon enough his head peeked up at you through his tears and sweat-covered face only to realise that you looked basically the same as you did before he started. The shock on his face was almost cute if you weren't currently still trying to reach your high.

"You... you didn't..." He trailed off as his lips pouted and wobbled. Was he going to cry or something? Your lips quirked up at the thought as one of your hands tangled into his hair.

"Don't worry about it, you can work on it later..." You trailed off, you were disappointed but the starry-eyed look on his face had its own charm as well. Your free hand slid down between your bodies as your fingers slowly teased your lips, brushing against his softening dick at the same time. He jerked with a whine at the ghost like brush of your nails on his sensitive skin but this wasn't about him.

"You just need to learn how to properly please me huh?" You whispered to him, biting down on his exposed neck as he keened in a high pitched tone. So pathetic and... arousing.

"I'm sorry... I promise I'll do better next time, I promise please!" He rambled on as his eyes screwed shut in stimulation, his hips rubbing up and down your hipbone pathetically. Tears pooled down his face as he babbled, whimpering sentences that barely made sense as you circled your clit and arched your back.

"Don't worry, I'll even offer to train you." You grinned as he nodded feverishly, so intent on making sure you had the pleasure you needed, even though he failed this time. A moan slipped out of your mouth as you plunged your fingers into your already sensitive cunt. The feeling of your fingers in tandem with the already stretched walls made you finally cum with a cry.

His eyes widened as he watched you fall apart under your fingers, your eyes were shut in bliss so you missed the tightening of his jaw.

Next time he would be better, for you.

[getodrools]

YOU COULD FEEL GOJO'S pulse throbbing in his neck when your ankle twisted further up his shoulder. Hooking around for leverage and standing on a single, knobbly leg; tippy toes pressing into the hard floor almost dangle when Gojo hugged you closer.

“I love you... please, Y/n.”

The pads along Gojo's hands are calloused and warm, feeling them wrap tightly at your waist to ground you – to ground down on you too; hammering your cunt full of hard, dense cockmeat, so much in one instant that it left your body falling into elated torpor.

Mustering up the sweetest seraphic voice, “Can we please—” You bump forward; the rush of winding hips working, forces you to slap a clammy hand hard against the doors frame to make an effort in outer equilibrium, “It's–It's really not the time...—”

“I don't care, Y/n-- Sweetheart, you mean so much to me...” Only your head slightly rocks from the rough smacks against your doughy globes, which the man tried to ignore, “... I know things aren't working out right now, but please... Can I at least come in so we could talk?—"

Your boyfriend— or ex-boyfriend now, tried peeking his head through the small gap you allowed, "No!— No. I said it's not the time..." Frazzled, you sucked in a deep breath, trying hard to maintain remarkable equanimity before the despondent man grew more cognizant…

As soon as the infamous, Sator Gojo heard about your relationship becoming rocky — boarding on to a confusing breakup, or at least something along the lines of that… which was enough for Satoru to finally snake himself right between the sweet heat of your legs. Taking this possible once-in-a-lifetime chance to fuck you raw, to finally delve his aching cock inside that pussy he's been lurking over... Now having that chance, Gojo was burying all nth-inches of hard dick meat into you like a damn dog in heat. Even if the chances included the man you're still turbulent with stood right outside your very door, practically begging for another probability to save your love...

“Okok... Alright. Sorry, I just miss you," Your ex frowns — while you try reverting your fucked out faces to a gentle smile, "Can I at least.. have a kiss? One-- just one, please?" You could hear Gojo stifle out a scoff behind you from his pleas.

Yet, the subtle squeeze pinching at your waist tightend, bumping you purposely forward ‘till you stumbled towards the pitiful man! Tightening lips and scrunching your face, you waved a hand around mindlessly trying to swat at Gojo's measily chest as the other clawed at the dry wall...

You lean in — trying to get this over with, you pucker your lips out... and your past love lightens up, quickly mushing tepid lips with yours, and smothering them with the bits of love he still held for you.

Lathering mouth to mouth, Gojo rammed himself balls deep into gummy walls – One, two, and three hard throbs pulsate before his rubbery capped tip burbed up an onslaught of thick, slimy ropes of cum.

Humming into the bygones mouth, you choke.

Not just on the tongue trying to break through the seal of your lips, but flooded with warm goo caught you by surprise! Spongy walls flutter to soak up the whiteness painting along your depths; all sticky and hot batter pooled in like a geyser as Gojo bucked his strong hips...

Filled with a sticky mess while kissing the man you still have an unspoken affinity with... He and Gojo both groan, whilst you tried to swallow all yours down...

<– BACK : PINNED ⊹ ࣪ ˖ NEXT : MORE GOJO –>

[sweetwolfcupcake]

under the skin w/ Neo??? 🥺🥺🥺

Damn, it took me a while, and yet I cannot say that I'm satisfied with it. But, here we go.

From the Prompts

Yandere Neo x Reader, and Reader x OC

Warnings: My poor understanding of the prompt 'Under the skin', forced feeding, impersonation, some changes in the matrix lore, Neo is very morally grey here, yandere behaviour.

The GIFs used here DO NOT belong to me. They belong to the respective owner. Unfortunately, I am unable to remember where I downloaded it from. I understand it takes time and effort to create such pieces and the GIF makers deserve all the credit. So, Kindly excuse me.

Unedited

Something is off about your boyfriend. You can feel it. 

It’s not only the shift in the air around him, and the way he speaks. It is not only the new kind of detachment he sees to have developed for the reality, life and people around him. All except for you. It is not only how he seems to stand a bit taller, and larger when he is around you.

No, these are noticeable but can still be dismissed somehow. 

What you can’t dismiss is the way he feels— his touch, his voice, his presence in general.

You feel it when you look into Ryan’s eyes, you feel it when you kiss him. You feel it when he touches you. No matter if it is only his hand on the small of his back or his fingers delving in and out of your pulsating womanhood. But you feel it. The...fingers feel bigger, the touches bloom from the passion you have not known before.

You feel a certain burn every time his lips mould with yours, like two pieces of puzzles fitting together to make the world make sense. 

It should not make sense, it does not, in fact, make any sense. If you tell anybody that you feel that someone else is under your long-term boyfriend’s skin, they will deem you mad. Why wouldn’t they?

But how come nobody seems to notice this?

Ryan used to be far laid back, never questioned you about your whereabouts, never frowned at your male friends—if anything, he loved spending time with them. Ryan loved to play video games. Ryan never smoked. Ryan’s wardrobe was more colourful and varied. Ryan never had this…aura of superiority around him.

But this Ryan is proactive when it comes to knowing your whereabouts and about your friends. It’s…almost aggressive. You feel the change when his hold on you tightens while you interact with your male friends. You feel the change when he insists that you call him as soon as you reach your workplace and before you leave for home. Not text, but a call, and if you miss, even by a minute, he will be calling you. 

You feel the change in his now apathy for any kind of video games, he speaks of them as if they are some kind of cruel joke on humanity itself. You do not understand most of it, but you know that he has read, and he has read deeply. The Ryan you know would never even bat an eye at philosophical texts. But this ‘Ryan’, possesses texts that are banned, and books you have never seen or heard of before.

This Ryan has an affinity towards greys, whites and blacks. The way he wears black overcoats, and brushes his hair back, he looks tenfold more attractive, but also unlike himself. Ryan’s hair used to be slightly curled, slightly brown. But now it's jet black and straight. His eyes had a certain mirth in them, now they are deep, dark and observant. Like they are piecing into your soul.

This Ryan is calmer. This Ryan speaks in a low, deep, assured tone that feels slightly different. This Ryan holds you tight when you sleep at night and is always awake before you, he notices the change in your breathing pattern, no twitch, no subtle change escapes his notice.

This man is not Ryan, your boyfriend of six years. 

He might look exactly like Ryan, and sound like him too but this is not Ryan. You just know it. You know it in your bones, you feel it. You have known Ryan enough to notice the subtle changes, these are all glaring, neon-red warning signs.

Something is just so off about your boyfriend, it's unnerving. It frightens you how unfamiliar and good he feels when he is buried deep inside you. You see his eyes darken just slightly and the tinge of green in those irises. Ryan’s eyes are brown, a bit lighter shade of brown as opposed to the recent dark brown eyes he seems to have developed out of the blue, but the green? 

You dismissed the first few times as a trick of light but then, you looked into his last night, even with the pleasure-induced high, you peered right into his eyes, and you saw it. The dots of green encircling his iris. Now when you think of it, he might have smirked at you. 

A smirk so unlike Ryan that it gave you a whiplash just before his lips claimed yours, you were pushed past the edge once more and all was blissfully forgotten for a while.

Now, as you drive through the isolated roads, miles away from the city, away from ‘Ryan’, you can think clearly. Your conclusions will sound bizarre but the more you try to rationalise it, the more loopholes you get. They do not make sense. You cannot rationalise it. 

How will people notice anyway? It has been months since Ryan has been to a proper gathering. Your phone rings and you know it is him. The stranger who looks and sounds like your boyfriend.

You have no idea what you are to do, but you do not feel safe in your house anymore. It’s stupid, running away. But you are desperate at this point, you have no idea what you are dealing with.

 Who is it anyway?

You do not want to know, all you want is to be safe and safety means being far, far away from him—the man who pretends to be your boyfriend.

But where is Ryan?

You have no idea but you know that to find out, you need to be alive first. This man terrifies and entices you simultaneously. Disturbing.

Your phone has not stopped ringing and you are doing your best to ignore it while speeding towards…You don’t know where you are headed, but your car needs refuelling and you need to rest somewhere. 

If you were paying attention, you would have noticed the eerily empty highway. But you realise this now, looking at the gas station without a single person, or even being in sight. It is eerie initially, and then utterly unsettling when you realise that not a single car has passed by you on your way, or even the gas station.

“I don’t like this.” You whisper to yourself before quickly moving to refuel your car. The faster, the better. 

Your phone does not stop ringing though. The repeated sound is now hitting a nerve. Hissing curses under your breath, you flip it open.

Of course, the name of your boyfriend pops up. This time, you foolishly cut the call and switch the device off.

You pay more attention to the roads this time and change your mind. No more staying at any motel in the middle of nowhere. You cannot risk that. Instead, you head towards the nearest city or town—anything with civilisation in sight. The highway looks like a scene straight out of some eerie video game.

But how can that be?

Thankfully, you reach a town by the wee hours. There are cars parked, houses, and a few people loitering here and there—even a police car. 

This makes you breathe in relief. Maybe you have been overthinking, maybe it was all your panicked mind playing tricks on you, or some cars passed by you but you never noticed.

With such thoughts, you park your car near a hotel and make your way inside. You sigh in relief at the sight of a sleepy receptionist.

Yes, you must have been thinking too much.

—-----

 The bed is comfortable, the temperature is just right. The room does not smell. And yet you toss and turn. Giving up attempts to lull yourself into sleep, you stare at the ceiling. Here, all you can think of is…Ryan…Or the person with his skin. It’s difficult to decipher because he has Ryan’s birthmark, his teeth, his everything. It is like someone is wearing Ryna’s flesh. But you know that he is not your boyfriend.

Sitting up, you feel a certain unease filling your chest. Your eyes are heavy but your mind is running, thinking too much, too fast to actually fall asleep. Perhaps some fresh air in the room will help you. Getting off the bed, you move towards the window unlock it when you see a figure by your parked car. Dressed in a black overcoat, the figure turns more familiar the longer you stare at it. 

And then he turns. He turns and looks up. He is wearing a pair of black glasses. He looks exactly like Ryan but the way he stares back at you from below before marching in, you know this isn’t him. It can’t be. Ryan never scared you, this man scares you to the point that you scramble to get out of the room, tripping on your way. You head for the elevator, but the digital screen already displays an upward arrow from the ground floor.

Good.

You’re fucked.

You should have made your way downstairs, it’s probably him on his way up. But your brain short-circuits and you find yourself huffing as you climb two stairs at a time, going for the terrace. You realise your mistake after you have already climbed two floors. It’s too late anyway. He is coming after you now. 

You do find your way to the terrace. It should have been closed, but who would bother in this sleepy town?

 You walk towards the edge, trying to find any possible escape route or even a place to hide. The building is not high enough to kill you if you jump, but it is high enough to break your bones and make sure that you become bed-ridden for weeks if you are stupid enough to—

“(Y/N)?”

You freeze but do not turn around immediately. It's Ryan’s voice and you are, for the first time, terrified of his voice. This isn’t the tone, or depth he ever uses. It’s like his voice is subtly changing. 

“What are you even doing here (Y/N)?”

You turn around finally, assessing him with your panicked eyes. His presence has never felt more different—like this isn’t even trying to hide behind your boyfriend’s skin anymore. He simply is keeping a mask as a mockery.

“H–How did you find me?” You press yourself to the railing, trying to remember any exit point other than the entrance to escape.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong? Calm down it's just me. Your Boyfriend, Ryan”

You think you imagine this, but there is a hint of cruel amusement in his tone. 

"No you’re not—you’re not Ryan. Look at you…Where is Ryan?”

‘Ryan’ chuckles “What do you mean, I am Ryan.”

You blink. 

Is that—Is that like–something like a glitching screen you are seeing?

This can’t be real. This isn’t real. It has to be some trick of the light or something. Is this some long nightmare? You wonder while digging your nails into your skin.

Wake up, wake up!

“You’re not Ryan. Where is Ryan?”

You involuntarily push yourself up, sitting on the railing, in a desperate attempt to get away from the advancing man. His unhurried, calculated steps make him seem more foreboding. He seems…Taller.

“What do you mean, look at me (Y/N), I am your lovely boyfriend.”

His voice sounds different now, a deep and delicious but it also makes your stomach twist. You realise how close he is when his voice lowers and she notices the subtle differences.

“You cannot fool me. Not anymore. You’re not Ryan.” Your voice cracks as you blink away the panicked tears gathering in your eyes.

You want to sob out when he smirks. Its cold all over, and chills cascade down your spine.

“Aren’t you smart?”

You heart sinks into your stomach as  ‘Ryan’ nears you. It happens too soon. One moment, you are leaning away, desperate to escape and the next, you are slipping and falling offYour the building.

Your eyes initially screwed shut open as you feel yourself free-falling. And you scream

This is not Ryan. 

This is someone else.

But you get barely a moment to think before you are grabbed roughly and pulled upwards. This…man…flies. Flies?

Fucking flies back to the terrace with you in his grasp. To say you are frozen in fear is an understatement. Because you are wide-eyed with lips parted and shivering and your throat is parched.

You realise that you have never known true fear until this moment. This moment when you are flying. Fucking flying back into the terrace and staring at the man who has finally dropped his mask. This isn’t Ryan, clearly, and the realisation makes you take several steps back. He is a man you have never seen before with an aura of superiority that is both intimidating and magnetic.

He exudes power and the moment he removes the dark glasses to reveal his deep, dark eyes, you know you are done for. They glare at you before he reaches you with a couple of long strides, the air around him is thick—almost buzzing with electricity when you feel his hand grab your arm.

“ WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU, WOMAN? You could have—-” He stops and looks away. 

A cold, calm version of him is sinister, yes. But this…it makes you want to just run and never turn back. 

“Don’t you ever do that again.” He hisses.

This. Is this what it is like to be frightened with just a warning? You do not care if you feel like a child scared of the monster under your bed but you shiver under this looming man’s hold. And in your panicked state, spew out whatever comes in your mind.

“You–you’re not real you can’t be….” Your voice is quivering and the certain gleam in his eyes makes your stomach flip. 

Then he smiles. He has a beautiful smile, but to you it seems cold and sharp. As if he is sharpening his knives.

“Oh, I am very much real, Baby.” The endearment comes as a mockery. Ryan calls you that, and he knows. This man knows what he is doing. “This, however…” He points his forefinger downwards, “This world…Isn’t real, honey. Neither was your stupid little boyfriend. You felt it too, didn’t you? feel How a real human’s touch feels, how the connection feels?”

“Wh–what? Wh–who are you even?” Your voice shakes like your heart. The more he speaks, the more unnerved you feel.

It’s a lie. It’s a lie lie lie

You never felt the strange flutter, the deep longing and sadness with him You always had Ryan so... 

Why do you feel it then?

Like something beautiful is fleeting. It’s sublime even. You are awestruck but cannot comprehend it. You feel in this man’s presence.

But this has to be some trick, this cannot be real. You have been with Ryan. Six years. You have given this relationship six years! How can this be? 

“I am Neo, and you will have all the answers when you wake up.”

He produces what seems like a tiny red pill. It has a glow to it, drawing you in. Your hand almost raises to pick it up, but then rationality slips back in.

Okay, now you know who he is. A psycho. Maybe he wore a mask or something, you don’t know but he does not seem to be in his right mind.

“Y–you fucking crackhead what did you do to Ryan?”

You are probably digging your own grave, you are fucked in the head for finding this man attractive. Noticing how big and warm his hands are. But you do care about Ryan.

His smile fades away and there is something so deliciously dark swirling in his eyes. They flash dangerously and you gulp. You are going to die, aren’t you?

But then, he sighs and looks away, shaking his head as if he had expected it. “Thought this would happen,” he whispers to himself.

You frown and frantically look around. Will anyone come to your rescue if you scre—

The sudden pinch on your nose is painful. But the gasp comes more with the shock of your nose being pinched than the loss of air. Your mouth opens as a reflex, that is all he needs. Ou vaguely see a tiny flash of red before his fingers slide themselves into your mouth. Your teeth come clamping around it in defence. But he simply pinches your nose harder with a chiding ‘tch’. You gag at the feeling of his fingers forcing the pill in. But you cannot keep your teeth clamped for long, you need to breathe after all. As soon as your mouth opens again, though, his fingers retreat. You take a deep breath when he frees your nose. You would just spit the—

Your stomach plummets at the feeling of an empty mouth. You look up to him, holding your neck, wide-eyed as everything begins to appear in waves, the colours outlining, each figure, even him.

“Perfect.”

That is the last thing you hear before the ground below you melts.

****

[ohmenai]

Icelandic Elastic Kinks

On the rugged shores of a lake, nestled between Icelandic mountains that scratch the skies, the cool morning air nips at everything exposed. But there is warmth in the unexpected; there stands Ragnar, an erotic vision from the exotic lands known for its chill. I him through a friend of a friend, a stripper in need of a portfolio to promote his captivating nights.

It was like discovering a raw diamond in a sea of glass. With his intense emerald gaze under the rugged contrast of a blue bandana and his hair dark as the midnight sun, he was eager to be immortalized. In the dim light of dawn, his silhouette is stark against the serene backdrop. Today, he's not just a local dancer, but a deity ensnared in my artistic vision, eager to expand his allure onto the pages of my OhMenFlex collection.

It didn't take much to persuade him to strike a pose for me; he had a kinky affinity for the tight squeeze of elastic bands. So when I promised him a collection of these tantalizing rings, he readily complied, and strutted into the lagoon's embrace standing knee-deep. This bands wrapped tightly around his biceps, wrists, and neck, enhancing the beat of life that pulsates from his veins—a beat that seems to echo through that quiet morning.

But the bands' true masterpiece lay between his legs, where they coiled around his erect cock and saggy balls, squeezing them into an outline of salacious desires. Those bands around his raging hard-on, one on his base, another cradling his shaven nuts, and one crowning his ultra-sensitive glans made him gasp, the sensations undeniable, his meat stick hanging plump, skimming the water's surface. A single dark mole was highlighted on his engorged morcilla, nestled between prominent veins, as if it were a mark left by the Gods to distinguish him from mere mortals, was so damn provocative.

With each click of my camera, Ragnar's arousal became more palpable. The elastic bands had turned his cock into a cylinder of yearning, the head of his member glossy and outrageously sensitive. His shaven balls, seemed to quiver with anticipation, as if aching for release from their blue constraints. The session—though set in nature's lap—became a theatre of carnality, each shot a confession of ardent obsessions whispered into the ear of the world.

Available now at Patreon and Fanvue

[wanderingconstellations]

“Oi,” Wanderer gently slapped you awake, tapping your cheek one - or two times with his palm as he kept you steady by your waist with his other. You had blanked out beside him a few moments ago, stood still in place suddenly in silence as he kept going, before noticing the absence and the lack of breathing he was accustomed to beside him.

“You've been spacing out often, don't tell me the Akademiya finally burned you out.” He teases, his tone intended for banter he was used to with you, but your uncharacteristic, tired smile you showed in response to his words took him by surprise, internally that is, as he attempted to stifle his features.

“C'mon,” He said quietly, stradling you beside him, his left hand pulling you close by the waist, guiding you in your hazy, steps. Your eyes showed a dream-like state, the state where you open someone's eyes while they were asleep, unresponsive yet still somehow present.

“Chiyo said you've been like this for awhile, get your shit together.” He mumbled the last parts of his sentence, hoping you wouldn't hear the usual stubbornness clashing with his hidden affinity for you. “You wouldn't wanna worry her by the time she comes back from Fontaine, right?” He added, his anemo vision pulsates with a faint, lucent glow, a magic circle materializing in a circular motion, a domino, intricate with runic designs as it replaces the specifies the air behind his back, not long after he crouched - grabbing the underside of your knees as he carries you bridal style.

The moment of sudden movement causes you to snap out of your dazed, exhausted state briefly, feeling the breeze against your face and the veil from a familiar hat that blurred your vision.

Simultaneously, the moment you return to your senses, you turned your head to the one who initiated the situation, eyes towards each other, one was clear with bafflement, a state of idle, processing the present moment with squinted eyes, and the other was pure amusement, and maybe a sense of relief.

“Finally,” He mused, holding you close with secure.

“Taking you back to your dorm.”

“Wh—”

Before you could protest, a small orb of supposed gravity had already formed under his footing, his smug smirk widening to your reactions — the moment you secured your hold around his neck, knowing the implications of his sudden tightening grip on you, a forceful gust of wind followed suit, propelling the two of you at a swift pace towards a place that you and him both know well.

“I'll be doing all the work, yeah?” He spoke, his eyes gleaming with a mischief you knew all too well, and you didn't know if he was implying about taking in your work for himself...

or something else entirely.

SQUEALING AND GIGGLING WHATTTTT

ur so sweet Ihsjwkdhwdhs THANK YOU SM<333

[golvio]

Another thing I quite like is that while there are elements of Demon King!Ganondorf that are clearly meant to evoke Demise, upon closer inspection Ganon’s not a 1:1 copy of Demise. In fact, his elemental affiliations are very different from Demise.

For example, the “ruffles” on Ganondorf’s robes are meant to evoke Demise’s scales, but they’re not actually real scales. They’re just the fabric of his robe torn up and glowing after being soaked in Gloom. His actual physical markers that denote both his inhumanity and the nature of his powers are underneath the clothing, on his skin; these peekaboo openings of see-through flesh on his chest showing the Gloom pulsating and churning within him, like his body’s a transparent glass vessel storing the stuff. He looks sodden and wet with Gloom, and his hair moves like he’s eternally underwater.

Demise’s hair is either made of fire or meant to evoke fire with the limited graphical capabilities the Wii possessed. Ganon’s hair, while evoking flame by being red and glowing, isn’t actually on fire. He’s actually got these prehensile tentacles of “hair,” and if you look closely you can see the Gloom pumping through each tendril to move it around like a hydraulic pipe. I also noticed that when Rauru stops Ganon’s heart, his hair stops moving and his body stops glowing, implying that what’s making the Demon King light up is not some “inner fire” but his own lifeblood, pumped through his veins and allowed to seep out of his body by his own heart.

So even though they’re visually similar, elementally the two kings are actually opposites. While Demise is fire and volcanic rock and “superheated things erupting from the earth,” Ganondorf is more like water, blood, maybe some associations with the sea and tides through his affinity for the moon. If Demise’s Upheaval was like a volcanic eruption forcing lava through the earth, then Ganon’s Upheaval was more like a geyser of ultrapressurized and superheated groundwater finally breaking through the layers of rock it was trapped under. If Demise was like the chaos at the beginning of the world when the earth was still a lifeless ball of molten rock, then Ganondorf was like what came after—the rain and the primordial sea, the precambrian explosion of life in the monsters called up by the sacrificial spilling of his own blood, the ancient nonvascular plants and giant fungi of his realm/prison in the Depths that had long since gone extinct on the surface. And after his escape, his Gloom spatters around the depths like a trail of bloodstains leaking from his death-wounds.

They’re superficially similar, but in reality they couldn’t be more different. I think that’s really neat.

[sethz]

This my au between them

In a bustling city where skyscrapers adorned the skyline and bustling streets teemed with life, a young man named (M/N) found himself engulfed in the chaos of the metropolis. (M/N) a passionate yet reserved individual, had a secret—he possessed an unusual gift, an affinity for sorcery that lay dormant within him.

One fateful evening, while navigating the city's labyrinthine streets, (M/N) stumbled upon a peculiar bookstore tucked away in an obscure corner. Curiosity beckoned him inside, and there he encountered Nanami Kento, an enigmatic and experienced sorcerer who served as an advisor to Jujutsu Tech.

"Welcome, young man. I'm Nanami Kento," greeted Nanami with a serene demeanor, his sharp gaze assessing (M/N)

(M/N's) eyes widened in surprise and reverence. "I-I've heard about you! You're quite famous among sorcerers."

Nanami's lips curled slightly. "Fame is a fleeting thing, but dedication and skill endure. What brings you to my humble abode?"

"I... I've been feeling these strange sensations lately. Like an energy pulsating within me," (M/N) onfessed, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Nanami studied (M/N) thoughtfully. "Sit. Let us talk."

And so, their conversations evolved into a mentorship. (M/N) , eager to understand his latent abilities, found solace in Nanami's guidance. As they delved into the intricacies of sorcery, their bond grew stronger, evolving beyond that of a mentor and apprentice.

Days turned into weeks, and (M/N's" control over his abilities improved under Nanami's tutelage. But it wasn't just about honing his skills; it was about the subtle exchanges, the shared moments of laughter, and the mutual respect that formed the foundation of their relationship.

One evening, while practicing spells in the bookstore's backroom, (M/N) stumbled upon an ancient tome. Its pages whispered of prophecies and intertwined destinies. Nanami's sharp eyes caught the book in (M/N) hands.

"That is a tome of great significance, (M/N) It speaks of destinies intertwined by fate," Nanami murmured, his brow furrowing in contemplation.

(M/N's) curiosity piqued. "What does it say about us?"

Nanami's gaze softened. "It speaks of a bond forged through shared trials, of a mentor guiding a protege towards a path unforeseen. It hints at challenges that await, but also the strength gained through unity."

Their journey continued, marked by trials that tested their resolve. Battles against cursed spirits, intricate rituals, and moments of uncertainty strengthened their bond. Through it all, Nanami remained a pillar of guidance, while (M/N) blossomed into a skilled sorcerer in his own right.

As fate weaved its intricate threads, Yuki and Nanami stood side by side, facing challenges that would define their legacy. Their dialogue echoed through the pages of time, a testament to the enduring bond between a mentor and his protege, forged in the crucible of destiny.

And so, their story unfolded—a tale of magic, camaraderie, and the unbreakable bond between a mentor, Nanami Kento, and his protege, (M/N L/N) as they traversed the unpredictable paths laid out by fate.

[ceralmillkandstars]

a beautiful ring (namor x siren!reader)

OH HI. So, I really like mermaids. And I really like Namor. So two plus two equals fish time. This character is written to portray me, a lil redheaded girl- she’s a mermaid, or a siren, somethin, who can turn human again- something magical :) and she loves jewelry. She’s a lil naughty and likes to steal pretty things, a little careless and egotistical at times cuz of all her cool powers. 

I haven’t written in awhile so feedback is always welcome. I hope you all enjoy as much as I did writing this. kith kith. I also dunno how to continue this, so if you have any ideas shoot ya girl a message. 

HEART.

You want that ring.

Peaking above the rocky, jagged surface in the early afternoon while the sun hits your freckled face, you decided right then and there while gazing at that enigma of a man, you want his ring.

You cared less about the fierce glint in his eyes as he stalks back into the water. Could care less about the delicate wings embedded in his skin, his pointed ears, maybe a little about the strong, ancient spear in his hand as his midsection descended into the water.

You wanted that ring, and you were going to get it.

With a drive from the rigid shore and a whip of your glimmering tail, you were off.

Staying low to the sandy seafloor, you flowed with the tide, urging yourself to catch up with this man who did not feel like a man.

He is fast, but you are faster. Born with fins powered by the moon’s force, the water bended to your will as you charged with gentle, calculated laps of your tail.

A beautiful, alluring ring. An ancient, crafted metal band with a beastly, jaguar head. It would look beautiful on your vanity. In your underwater or surface world home, you hadn’t decided yet. 

You hadn’t yet decided which home you preferred more.

You hadn’t decided how to trick this man into getting his ring, either.

You giggle and give a soft roll of your eyes while you monologue, surging towards the man moving, too, with the underwater currents.

As if you needed to contemplate. Your craft was as easy as a child collecting shells along the shore. 

Effortless.

The push and pull of water through your gills transformed into a thrum of energy sending out with the current into his peripheral. 

There is no one here, you are on your way. Your energy, your swaying, invisible lullaby stills the god for a millisecond before continuing his descent through the Atlantic.

Where was he going? You do not care. You want that ring.

Bend to my will, keep on your way while I pry this ring from your finger.

You swim closer to him as the energy continues to pulsate from your very essence, the water vibrating with you as you near his form.

What a beautiful creature, thank you for letting me have this ring. Your unyielding, uncompromised energy halts the neurons firing in his brain, rewiring them not to detect any sense of danger, to continue on his journey while your hand reaches to grab his.

Brutal hands, you sense, swimming with him. Brutal yet soft. With manipulating energy comes sensing tenfold. You cannot help but allow yourself to admire his natural, ruthless beauty. The determined, vicious look on his face. Someone must have wronged him while he was on the shores. Or this affinity for hating it as so causes each mistake made by others to fuel the hatred he feels for her surface. Oh- the innocent tendril of information the moon sends your way caresses your exposed, olive stomach, causing small chills to swim up your spine. The beauty of intuition from being born under the full moon. Your digits grab onto the jaguar-head ring, yanking it off in one swift motion. 

The vibrating energy continues to thrum from all around you while you marvel at the piece of old jewelry, twisting it between your thumb and forefinger. It’s too big to fit even on your thumb, but it will look dazzling, bewitching, on your vanity at the surface in your small, Chicago condo. 

You’re taking your time for someone so eager to go home thirty minutes ago. But who can blame you, when someone’s energy nearly matches yours, melding into your skin, dancing with the flames erupting into your stomach as your stare switches between the ring and a god. 

This so-called god would look very beautiful there too, amongst your silk sheets and soft pink pillows.

Your eyes twinkle- he could find you and lay there sometime. 

Cease those thoughts, the moon minds you. For the serpent god is not kind company above shallow waters.

But I’m so young, you argue. So you indulge yourself, ignoring the sense of the lowering sun. Placing the ring in a small, shell-lined satchel, your fingers graze his palms, reading the lines, his future, his past, his qualities, with wide eyes. 

Your fingers, littered with pearls and gold and seashells wrapped in fine silver and gold, travel up his arms, along his bicep, trailing and tracing the gold emblems across his neck. He continues to strive through the water with fervor, determined to get back to his people, his council.  

What a beautiful, powerful god. 

Puffing out a sigh, you let go of his hands and cast your gaze down from his otherworldly ears. You were far out into the Atlantic now, and you were getting tired. The thrumming, the stilling of his- a god’s mind, was working you harder than it has before, especially at this level of the ocean, where the moon’s power barely reaches. Seaweed snacks and new pearl earrings await you at the border, he cannot distract you any longer.

You slowly distance yourself, gaze burning into his while you slow your meticulous manipulation. 

The vibrations come to a halt at your will, slowly dripping like molasses to give yourself enough time to be far enough away to avoid any retribution. 

You begin your ascent towards the surface once a mass of distance was put between the two of you. Though growing exhausted, you glide through the ocean waters as fast as you can, refusing to look back. You have a feeling this being has a tendency to stay as below the surface as possible, only returning to bring karma.

And you always trust your gut instinct.

No more than a small spec in the vast sea, you continue to dream of the glowing skin, the small wings affixed to his ankles, the large jewelry set across his chest and neck that you are sure will be forever burned into your memories. 

By the gods he would look beautiful on your bed covered in moss and sea gossamar sheets in the pacific- back home.

For a moment, you pause and turn to stare back at the spec, your golden-red hair whisking and flowing around you, framing your freckle-ridden face and tickling a jellyfish. 

“Thank you for the ring,” you whisper into the depths of the ocean, allowing the silken vibrancy to flow deep enough into the depths of the ocean to reach his ears. 

You close your eyes heavily for a moment to regain your strength, the gold smeared across your eyelids causing a bright blink into the bound nothingness.

Turning to swim back towards the shores, you fail to watch out for the fascinating mutant turn up towards the twinkle, down toward his ringless finger, and back toward the small, viper-looking creature with fins melting away towards the orange sky. 

You continue to fail to notice the small spec becoming a lurking shadow as you goggle at the ring, daydreaming about the pearls and fluffy pillows awaiting you back home. Humming to yourself, your eyes simmer and your motions slow as you struggle to stay awake, reminding yourself of the shore and your slip dress that awaits you there just after sunset. 

After all, you got that ring.

There is a cheshire smile along your face as the shore approaches you, the sky an ornate red. You have just fooled a god. 

So you think.

[justforbooks]

The musician Ryuichi Sakamoto, who has died aged 71 of cancer, spent his life as a restless traveller, both personally and musically. “I was born in Japan but I don’t think I’m Japanese,” he said in 1988, two years before he moved to New York. “To be a stranger – I like that attitude. I don’t like nationalities and borders.”

A founder member of Tokyo’s pioneering computer-pop trio Yellow Magic Orchestra, whose work between 1978 and 1984 has proved a lasting influence on hip-hop and electronica, Sakamoto was able to combine his skills as an academically trained musician with an aptitude for electronic music and an ear for countless musical styles. He sustained a lengthy partnership with the British musician David Sylvian after first working with his band Japan on the track Taking Islands in Africa from the album Gentlemen Take Polaroids (1980), following which the duo collaborated on the double A-side Bamboo Houses/Bamboo Music (1982).

In 1983, Sakamoto achieved a peak of commercial visibility by not only writing the soundtrack for Nagisa Oshima’s film Merry Christmas, Mr Lawrence, but also co-starring in it (as Captain Yonoi) with David Bowie. The soundtrack, which won him a Bafta for best film music, contained the Sakamoto/Sylvian composition Forbidden Colours, a vocal version of the film’s main theme, which was a Top 20 hit in Britain.

Soundtrack work became one of the main planks of Sakamoto’s career. He won an Academy Award (along with his fellow composers David Byrne and Cong Su) for his soundtrack to Bernardo Bertolucci’s The Last Emperor (1987), in which he also had an acting role, and worked with the director again on The Sheltering Sky (1990) and Little Buddha (1993).

Sakamoto scored the 1990 film version of The Handmaid’s Tale, Pedro Almodóvar’s Tacones Lejanos (High Heels, 1991), and Brian De Palma’s Snake Eyes (1998) and Femme Fatale (2002). Oliver Stone hired him for the soundtrack to his TV series Wild Palms (1993). Alejandro González Iñárritu used some existing Sakamoto recordings in his 2006 film Babel, then recruited him to write the score for his multiple Oscar-winner The Revenant (2015). For the opening of the 1992 Barcelona Olympics he provided El Mar Mediterrani.

Sakamoto released solo albums regularly between 1978 and 2017, many of them reaching the Top 30 in Japan but not registering on charts elsewhere, as well as six live albums and a string of compilations. However, Sakamoto’s subtle, exploratory music earned him a charismatic reputation that drew international guest stars to his projects.

On B-2 Unit (1980), he collaborated closely with Andy Partridge from XTC, and the electrofunk track Riot in Lagos proved inspirational for the likes of Mantronix and Afrikaa Bambaataa. Thomas Dolby featured on the pulsating Field Work from Illustrated Musical Encyclopedia (1986), the track accompanied by an ingeniously conceived video, while for Neo Geo (1987) Sakamoto enlisted Iggy Pop, Bill Laswell, Bootsy Collins and Sly Dunbar.

Brian Wilson and Robbie Robertson appeared on Beauty (1989), an album that spanned rock, technopop, flamenco and classical Japanese music. Heartbeat (1991), on which Sakamoto tried rap, funk and jazz, and lyrics in French, Japanese and Russian, numbered Youssou N’Dour, Arto Lindsay, Bill Frisell, Sylvian and John Cage among its contributors. In 1993, Sakamoto co-produced Aztec Camera’s album Dreamland.

Born in Tokyo, Ryuichi was the only child of Keiko (nee Shimomura), a hat designer, and Kazuki Sakomoto, a literary editor. While attending the same progressive primary school that once taught Yoko Ono, he was already writing music for the piano with their encouragement.

The American presence in postwar Japan introduced new western influences to the country, and Sakamoto was enraptured by the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. He attended Tokyo’s University of the Arts to study music composition, and felt a strong affinity for the compositions of Claude Debussy, in which he discerned an Asian influence. However, in addition he soaked up the work of contemporary composers such as Cage, Pierre Boulez, Györgi Ligeti and Stockhausen, as well as jazz musicians including John Coltrane and Ornette Coleman.

His early compositions were in an avant-garde vein, while he also performed with free jazz bands and played keyboards with the folk singer Masato Tomobe. He graduated with BA and MA degrees, having studied classical and assorted world and ethnic music, and taken his first steps in electronic music by working with Moog and ARP synthesizers.

He formed Yellow Magic Orchestra in 1978 with Haruomi “Harry” Hosono and Yukihiro Takahashi, whom he had met when they worked together as session musicians. Combining electropop with stylish graphics and costume design, the trio brought wit and warmth to the use of electronics, which contrasted with the studied alienation of European counterparts such as Kraftwerk or Gary Numan.

YMO released eight studio albums during their original lifespan, all of them climbing high in the Japanese charts, and three of them reaching No 1. The group inspired Beatlemania-like hysteria in their homeland. “We were very big, that’s why I hated it,” Sakamoto said. “We were always followed by paparazzi.”

YMO’s albums made little chart impact outside Japan, but their influence was nonetheless widely felt, not least in their innovative use of electronic sequencers, drum machines and sampling. Firecracker, from their 1978 debut album, was itself sampled in Afrika Bambaataa’s Death Mix. In 1980 they had a Top 20 hit in the UK with Computer Game (Theme from the Invaders), which chimed with the craze for the Space Invaders game. Behind the Mask, first conceived for a Seiko wristwatch commercial and then included on their album Solid State Survivor (1979), became a Top 20 UK hit for Eric Clapton; a version by Michael Jackson appeared on the posthumous album Michael (2010).

YMO paused their activities in 1984, though the trio continued to collaborate on each other’s solo work, and they reformed to make the album Technodon (1993). They subsequently reunited several times for recording and live performances, their last shows being for the No Nukes 2012 festival in Chiba, Japan, and the 2012 World Happiness festival in Tokyo.

In his teens in the late 1960s, Sakamoto had been a hippy with leftwing political beliefs – “not 100% Marxist, but kind of” – but he gradually became disillusioned with the failure of political movements to effect significant change. He decided that his music was not the place for social or political messages, observing that “I’ve changed from an avant-garde person to a pop person,” though he would subsequently support causes he felt strongly about.

He campaigned for changes to music copyright law, which he considered outmoded in the internet era, and founded Commmons, a collaborative platform to assist aspiring musicians. He formed a group of musicians called NML (No More Landmines), which featured Brian Eno, Sylvian, Kraftwerk and the other members of YMO, and in 2001 they released the single Zero Landmine.

In 2006 he launched the Stop Rokkasho movement by releasing the track Rokkasho (by a group of musicians dubbed Team 6), in protest at the building of Japan’s Rokkasho nuclear fuel reprocessing plant, and he campaigned to have the Hamaoka nuclear plant shut down to avoid a repeat of the 2011 tsunami disaster at the Fukushima facility. He and Byrne teamed up to record the single Psychedelic Afternoon to aid tsunami survivors.

His solo work continued to explore a huge variety of styles. In 1982 he had ventured into medieval and Renaissance music on the album The End of Asia, a collaboration with the Japanese early music group Danceries. Smoochy (1995) was a detour into easy listening, while Discord (1998) comprised an hour-long orchestral composition.

The album 1996 was a selection of Sakamoto pieces arranged for piano trio featuring the Brazilian cellist Jaques Morelenbaum, and Sakomoto reunited with him and his wife, Paula, a singer, for two albums in celebration of the bossa nova composer Antônio Carlos Jobim, Casa (2001) and A Day in New York (2003). In 1999, his multimedia opera, Life, was performed in Tokyo and Osaka.

Meanwhile, he struck up a fruitful collaboration with Alva Noto (a pseudonym of Carston Nicolai), which resulted in a string of electronica albums including Vrioon (2002) and Insen (2005), culminating in Glass (2018). With the Austrian guitarist and composer Christian Fennesz he recorded Sala Santa Cecilia (2005), Cendre (2007) and Flumina (2011).

In 2014 he was diagnosed with throat cancer, but by the following year was feeling “much much better”. His recovery from illness inspired the creation of his last solo album, Async, hailed as one of 2017’s finest forays into experimental electronica. Its making was documented by Stephen Nomura Schible in the film Coda (2018).

His final album, 12, was recorded during hospital stays in 2021 and 2022, and released in January. In December, he livestreamed a solo piano concert from Tokyo.

Sakamoto was first married to Natsuko, then to the musician Akiko Yano; both marriages ended in divorce. He is survived by his third wife and manager, Norika Sora, and their two children; and a daughter from his first marriage and another daughter from his second.

🔔 Ryuichi Sakamoto, composer, musician and producer, born 17 January 1952; died 28 March 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[breathing-through-the-pages]

___________________________________

Summary: Dean, Sam & Cas's long-established dynamics were going to change as they came across a young, brave but somewhat socially awkward hunter, Emma.

▁ ▂ ▄ ▅ ▆ ▇ █ SPN █ ▇ ▆ ▅ ▄ ▂ ▁

In the pulsating underground world of supernatural hunters, the unknown and paranormal intertwine in a ballet of suspense and horror; a world where whispers of mythical creatures are real, where angels and demons tread the same ground as humankind. The seasoned warriors, Dean and Sam Winchester, alongside the celestial being, Castiel, or 'Cas' as they fondly called him, were stalwarts in this crazy, impossible world. But their long-established dynamics were going to change as they came across a young, brave but somewhat socially awkward hunter.

It was another typical day in their bizarre world for the notorious hunters, Dean, Sam, and Cas. They had seen a fair share of shapeshifters, vampires, ghosts, and all other nasty things that come crawling in the night and tucked away neatly in our childhood nightmares.

A new case was their focus, a series of gruesome murders in a small town on the outskirts of Georgia. The trio arrived at the crime scene, piling out of the renowned Impala. Quickly delving into their fake federal agent personas, they started debriefing the local sheriff, scrutinizing each detail for any tell-tale signs of supernatural involvement. But before they could finish, a hint of gunfire echoed through the calm Georgia air.

From the thick woods on the edge of town, a young woman emerged. She was slight but carried herself with an impressive air of toughness. Her hair was disheveled, her clothes stained with dirt and blood. In one hand, she held a smoking gun; with the other, she dragged a Lycanthrope. With a small but weighted introduction, they discovered the woman’s name: Emma.

This wasn't your typical damsel-in-distress scenario; this was Emma, a young and highly skilled hunter. Emma was beautiful, tough, and quicker than most men twice her size, but also oddly socially awkward. Her bravery was not borne from recklessness, but rather from a deep conviction for the brotherhood of hunters.

Dean watched from a distance as Sam and Cas got acquainted with Emma. Not being able to stop himself, Dean, with his usual bravado hiding concern, remarked, “You hunt solo, kid? It's dangerous out there.”

She shrugged her shoulders dismissively, her eyes showing a hint of determination that the Winchesters knew all too well.

She had a way about her, recklessly brave, but also gentle in her toughness. She was a skilled hunter, yes, but she was also awkward in social situations, often blushing deeply or stuttering in conversations. She was disarming in her vulnerability, and the trio couldn't help but feel protective of her.

Days turned into weeks, and Emma became an integral part of their little band of hunters. But for all her skills, she had a fault. Her bravery often morphed into self-sacrifice. For the days that followed, Emma would tag along, showing the boys her exceptional hunting skills, and her useless social skills. If she wasn't stumbling over words, she was obliviously missing sarcasm.

Dean, the older and more protective of the Winchester siblings, saw a fiery spark in her. Her awkwardly adorable inability to converse in social settings oddly reminded him of his younger self — a lone wolf with the world on his shoulders.

On the other hand, Sam, the more academic-minded and understanding of the two, saw stark similarities between Emma and their late friend, Charlie, another gifted yet socially inept hunter who had also captured their hearts. And Cas, an angel exiled on earth, held a gentle affinity for the young hunter. Her struggle with societal norms mirrored much of his own. These parallelisms drew them to Emma in a fraternal sense.

One night, things had turned disastrous. While tracking down a nest of vengeful spirits, Emma had jumped in front of a possessed car, saving Sam at the very last moment. When the dust settled, they discovered her sprawled on the ground, unconscious and severely injured.

The sight of Emma's unmoving form ignited a surge of protective instinct in each of them. The tender, awkward girl had saved them more times than they could count, and now they were unsure whether they would lose her.

Over the next few days, the trio stayed by her side, nursing her back to health. They took turns staying awake at night, ensuring that nothing could harm her while she was vulnerable. Their dynamic had subtly shifted—no longer was Emma just their partner, but they had unconsciously adopted big brother roles for the young hunter.

As Emma pieced back together, she was met with an unexpected surge of protection from the guys. Dean grew more watchful, often flinching at her every wince. Sam was overbearing in his care, constantly checking her wounds, and fussing around for her betterment. Cas, meanwhile, was an ever-present silent guardian, always nearby.

And so, amongst the chaos, a beautiful bond was formed. They had gone from paternal figures to protectors, all the while holding onto their love for their newfound companion they never knew they needed. Emma, in her profound bravery and captivating awkwardness, had caught the hearts of the Winchester brothers and their angelic ally, creating an unbreakable bond.

Interwoven in their world of mystic monsters and deadly danger, they discovered an unlikely friendship and an unspoken vow: they had each other's backs, always. Emma's jarring entry into their team had shaken up their closely guarded universe, showing them that while they fought the darkness, there existed light and love in their unique family dynamic.

The story of Emma, the awkward fearless hunter, held a mirror to Dean, Sam, and Cas, reminding them of their own beginnings and the protective bonds they had forged on the perilous path they walked together. She became their unifier in the face of adversity, the string that tied them together, making them a team... a family.

For Emma, what started as a way to help others had turned into an incredible journey of strength, camaraderie, and, above all, sacrifice. With Dean, Sam, and Cas by her side, she was ready to face the supernatural world unafraid, her awkward quirks now a badge of honor in their close-knit family. She may have been their protege, but in their hearts, they knew, Emma was their savior too. Thus, the saga of Supernatural continued, now with an extra sense of fraternity, love, and a promise to stand by each other, always.

▁ ▂ ▄ ▅ ▆ ▇ █ SPN █ ▇ ▆ ▅ ▄ ▂ ▁

[freakshit99]

As a successful member of society with a stable unflinching psyche and limitless drive, natural affinity for finance and domination, you have been selected, no, you have been effortlessly guided by divine (biological) trauma towards this moment. The gates of destiny fling open, and once again you're left standing on pulsating nothingness. A strobing headache of the soul.

[auburniivenus]

[ hug ] sender pulling receiver into a tight embrace

In   the   immediate   aftermath   of   the   CATACLYSMIC   fray   with   the   Quincy   monarch,   the   very   soil   exhibits   the   indelible   scars   of   apocalyptic   furor,   a   still-life   of   drudgery   and   despair   painted   on   a   vast   canvas.   The   spectacle   of   ruin   is   grotesque,   with   the   terrain   violently   ruptured,   blackened,   disfigured   by   the   savagery.   Atmosphere,   now   a   noxious   mélange   of   smoke,   dust,   and   the   pungent   scent   of   life's   essence   spilled   in   copiousness,   hangs   leaden   with   an   unspeakable   weight   of   sorrow.   Amid   this   scenario   of   depletion,   those   survivors—whether   blessed   or   condemned   to   persist   in   respiring—traverse   the   debris-strewn   expanse.

Like   specters,   they   move   eerily   among   ruins,   obscured   by   war's   detritus,   as   they   undertake   an   almost   mythic   endeavor   to   rescue   the   injured   from   earth’s   ominous   embrace   while   searching   for   faint   echoes   of   life   amongst   devastation.   Air   is   polluted   with   a   cacophony   born   of   mourning—a   downpour   of   tears,   aching   cries   that   rend   air   and   soul   alike,   and   the   throat-rending   lamentations   evocative   of   the   forsaken.   These   survivors   bear   countenances   veiled   in   blood   and   soot;   they   are   personifications   of   fatigue   and   mourning—spirits   fissured   as   profoundly   as   the FRACTURED   weapons   scattered   about   their   feet.

Amid   such   shadowed   despondency   emerges   a   singular   moment   inundated   with   gentle   radiance.   As   Ichigo   encompasses   Orihime   within   his   protective   arms,   she   relinquishes   herself   to   the   comfort   found   within   his   hold.   His   arms   form   bulwarks   of   fortitude   around   her,   safeguard   from   the   harsh   vestiges   of   reality.   The   resilient   rhythm   of   his   heart   beats   against   her—a   drum   heralding   life’s   persistence,   echoing   his   silent   vow   to   shelter   her.

Within   Kurosaki's   cradle,   she   is   entangled   by   an   emotional   torrent—a   sonorous   harmony   composed   of   warmth   and   an   indelible   affinity   for   him.   The   solace   of   his   hold   acts   as   sunbeams   that   cleave   through   despair;   his   encirclement   stands   akin   to   a   bastion   amidst   turmoil;   wrapped   in   his   aura   pulsating   with   devotion—the   sensation   is   reminiscent   of   a   journey’s   end   after   navigating   night’s   darkest   courses.   Her   countenance,   which   once   bore   despair’s   shadow,   now   blossoms   with   renewal   as   the   first   break   of   dawn   caresses   a   bud.   Her   breathing   transforms   from   gasps   tainted   by   pain   into   a   peaceful   cadence—a   counterpart   to   the   surrounding   disarray.   Her   physique   instinctively   yearns   for   proximity   to   him—the   primal   need   for   solace—and   her   fingers   grasp   him   in   a   mute   entreaty   for   reassurance.   Achingly   close   now,   her   lips   want   his—craving   not   words   but   a   joining   that   would   forge   their   spirits’   bond   silently   and   utterly.   “It   is   over,   isn’t   it?   We   have   finally   reached   closure.” @orangeshinigami

  YOU ARE MY GREATEST ADVENTURE.

[nymfaia-archive]

you're running a fever. (for alta)

concern for others / accepting / @dragonlancer

Thanalan, of all the regions she visited upon her first foray into Eorzea, was her least favorite. She called the Immortal Flames her home; she had shared many a dance with the Bull and many bites of laughter with the Sultana. It's people had not been her issue.

It was the climate. It was pleasant on days she adventured, warm and dry, the sun friendly in how it darkened her skin and lightened her hair. But on days she was not a traveler but a healer, when her aether affinity shone it's brightest, when she was reminded of why Azim was the dawn father -

it was her least favorite, by a margin wider than the gaping maw ripping apart the Steppe.

She knew she had wiped her face paint clear from her features a bell or two ago. The clay pigment was hardy when dry but smeared when wet again, sweat beading down her face and pooling the uneven crevices of her collarbone. The sky was the same color as her soul stone, the pulsating tower not far from the horizon, smoke fluttering into the sky.

Alta felt as if she were roasting alive. Her mana was white-hot under her skin; her regeneration spells like candles against her flesh, shields sparking and licking at the sky. Her sandals left uneven footsteps in the upturned earth as Lunar Bahamut roared, the sound nigh enough to send her reeling.

Estinien needn't speak for his suspicion to be heard, steel meeting ceruleum blue, the pull of his brows telling her much and more: You aren't well.

He always was right, she thought with no small trace of bitterness. His observations were few and far between, a card he only played when withholding it could threaten the outcome. Many and more had taken his quiet as ignorance.

Many and more had believed the same of her, too. Mayhaps it was their similarities that bred their camaraderie. He spoke not to demean but to warn. If he could look at her and size up her condition from sight alone, she knew she was sorely out of sorts.

But they were too close to the end for her to simply tap out now - nor could she. The Alliance - Tiamat - they had turned to her, once more, for aid. For succor.

(When wouldn't they, a small part of her whispered. She had scarcely recovered the broken pieces of herself from the First, putting herself back together as light aether seeped from her pores like one sweating out an infection, and had just tested the waters of existing when Aymeric came to her cottage in the Firmament.

When wouldn't they?)

It would be a problem for another time - another bell - when this beast had been felled and all was, momentarily, well. "Go."

The only one who could strike a meaningful blow against the wyrm was Estinien. A spell lilted up her cane, mana's heat making her stomach lurch and her mouth to taste like old gil coins, the fire settling around the dragoon's armor.

She dug her feet into the sand, squinting through the sunrays as man and wyrm met, his lance glittering -

She wished she had gotten to see him in action again, the ease and grace of a man trained to ride the winds. Bahamut's corpse met the sand a blink after she did, knees buckling and giving way, the soft ground barely making note of her collapse.

When she awoke, the sound of an airship loud in her auricles and her sweat near freezing her, it was to her teeth chattering and to the selfsame dragoon looming over her form.

Try not to fall asleep in battle again, he had teased once. And yet she had, and he had ferried her away a second time. Night had fallen and the breeze whipping through the open airship body was enough for the Warrior of Light to shiver, her skin clammy and clothes damp with cooling sweat.

A sound, half-word and half-groan, bubbled from her mouth, something not in Common and barely in Xaelic, before she bumped her forehead against the breastplate of his armor.

"Yes," she finally mumbled. And then, dumbly: "...thanks."