#the range of emotions in my body is vast

[kyetalksshit]

things i have cried about today: (in order)

- frustration/overwhelm at work (&feeling like i was doing everything by myself)

- the gut punch of the car I was gonna buy finally being ready and AT MY HOUSE, and then finding out that I still can't have it yet because my roommate needs it while his car is in the shop

- a misunderstanding with a friend due to (and related to) my previously stated upset

- my cat rushing to cuddle me while I cry

- asking a friend for financial help who previously offered (and the worry over her putting herself out when she's also struggling)

- the fact that my parents simply won't help because I may not be able to pay them back soon, "just business" "you're not mad at me right" "just get a loan"

- my cat rushing to cuddle me while I cry

- my friend asking me about my bills and sending me money unprompted?????? (this made me actually sob)

- my cat rushing to cuddle me and purr in my ear while I cry

- the way my friends are constantly helping me without my asking and shushing me when I tell them they don't have to, vs the way my parents look down their noses at me and go on another cross country trip instead

- revisiting each of these points as I write them in this post

[bogkeep]

being in aroace education mode has me all fired up...... one thing i talk about a lot when given the opportunity is Deconstructing How We Think About Relationships - in short, if we put all of our relationships with other people into a pie chart the 'romantic partner' slice is likely to be a very small slice but gets a disproportionate amount of Relationship Infrastructure compared to other categories, such as vocabulary, rituals, attention and narrative scaffolding - entire systems such as dating / finding "the one" / break-ups / the relationship escalator, etc. on the flipside, 'friend' is such a vast category consisting of a plethora of different relationship, all ranging from Friendly Acquantaince to Extremely Close Childhood Friend You Share Everything With, but we have a lot less language and structure for how we think about these relationships even though many of them can be deeply important and intense to us.

the line between romance and friendship is really blurry, maybe even non-existent, but it feels like the way we think about these categories is that Romantic Partner is this one very specific, formalised box of a category, while Friend is a vast and vague landscape where anything can happen - and it's on this free real estate we have built structures like Queerplatonic Partner. the concept has probably existed since forever, along with many other different types of relationships throughout time and cultures, but it's our current attempt at having a Word for it.

are you with me so far? i want to write a blog post about Deconstructing Intimacy.

just putting a CW here that i'm going to say the word sex a lot and touch on the topic of sexual trauma.

one of the very thorny things about This Whole Topic is that sex and sexuality is extremely political. we just do not live in a world where there's any neutral ground to stand on regarding sex. every demographic comes with a lot of assumptions and expectations and moral judgement tied to sexuality. some demographics are desexualised, some are hypersexualised, some are Both At Once, and in addition to that there's lots of stigma, moralizing, pathologizing, and lawmaking. just a whole mess.

so all of That makes it kind of impossible to fully Dethrone Sex. and by dethroning sex i mean stripping it of the baggage it's accumulated in our cultures. Sex Is A Thing You Can Do With Your Body (And Your Mind?). this does not have to make it any less or more meaningful to you than what it already is. what each person considers intimate is very individual. many people find hugging completely inconsequential and will hug anyone at any time, and for some people a hug is A Lot. For some people, sex is a very fun and casual activity, and for others it's Sacred and carries a lot of meaning and a very close bond. sex is intimate - it requires trust and vulnerability.

it is not the only way to achieve trust and closeness, nor the only thing that requires it.

whenever i take the bus somewhere, i trust the bus driver to take me there safely. i put my literal life in a stranger's hands, but it's a very casual affair i don't think about too much. it's not an act of intimacy, just someone doing their job.

i think the way we talk about sexual assault as the evillest most horribly irredeemably worse-than-death thing, and sexual trauma as a unique kind of trauma amongst traumas, is... indicative. and please do not get me wrong, SA is a horrible thing in every way. it's a violation of trust, vulnerability and personal space. it's an abuse of power. those are the things that make it so horrific - but it's not unique.

an abuse of power, a violation of trust and vulnerability, can happen in so many different forms. emotional abuse, non-sexual violence, medical abuse, et cetera - i don't think it's possible to place trauma into a hierarchy from least to most bad. trauma can be incredibly complex and it's different for everyone. if one day the bus driver on a whim decided to drive off a cliff, i think that would severely fuck up my ability to trust other people to drive me around. if i trusted someone with my innermost thoughts that i have never shared with anyone else, and they used them to be cruel to me, that would severely impede my ability to connect with others.

i just... don't think it does anyone any favours to separate sexual trauma from all other trauma - making it seem like sexual trauma is The Worst Trauma Possible You Can Never Heal From, and on the flipside, make it seem like Well Your Non-Sexual Trauma Cannot Possibly Be That Bad.

TRAUMA TOPIC ASIDE, i think the concept of intimacy has a tendency to get flattened into just the one kind. there are many, Many ways for people to be intimate, many activities that require some form of mutual vulnerability or physical contact, but it seems like we're just very used to placing Acts of Intimacy into the Sexual category. kind of like a venn diagram where the two circles are Sexual Intimacy and Non-sexual Intimacy that are largely overlapping. but what if, instead, it's more that Intimacy is a really big circle, and sex is just one of the circles within it?

the way i think this slots into the whole Relationship Infrastructure thing is that We Like To Categorize Things. if we see two people being very intimate in a way that's not explicitly sexual, it's tempting to think ah yes they are in love AND they're having sex, OBVIOUSLY, because they are clearly capable of having that level of trust and vulnerability together. but what if they're not? does that devalue their relationship? does it make them any less close? these are very chewy questions to ask even without bringing shipping discourse into it, and i would prefer Not To because sexuality is political and there is no right answer.

another way this flattening can be frustrating is all the times non-sexual intimacy is treated as Sexual By Proxy. let's say, for example, you're telling a story, and all forms of intimacy within that story get read as metaphors for sex, despite your actual intentions. there's nothing wrong with using metaphors for sex, especially since Sex Is Political and sometimes we gotta be clever about the storytelling - but it can get very messy if people read sexuality between characters who don't have that, especially characters between which it would be very problematic to portray that. we gotta be able to tell stories about all kinds of close relationships, and surely it should be possible without bringing freud into it at every turn.

intimacy is context-dependent, i would say. a moment of vulnerability can be platonic or romantic or sexual or maybe something else depending on a situation and all the factors involved. human connection is an boundless spectrum, not just a couple boxes.

did any of this make sense? they're just my Thoughts, i'm not a scholar on this i just

[daniswoso]

If only I could hold you.

Lionesses x Teen!Reader

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death of a family member, comfort, Lionesses team being sweethearts, Loss, death, mourning, grief.

Summary: In which Reader loses her sister and crumbles, but thankfully the girls are there to pick her up.

*******

You burst into tears when you got the call.

Your sister was gone.

You remember being sat around in your’s and Lj’s shared room at camp when your phone rang out around the empty space, having been at camp for the last few days, taking you away from your sister. The only family you had left.

You picked up, confused at the sight of your sister’s caller ID, then even more confused at the fact it wasn’t her voice.

Then you felt your throat get scratchy and dry, painfully so, your eyes watering, your jaw dropping and your jaw clenching.

“We’re sorry, Miss Y/L/N.” The doctor said.

You didn’t respond, instead going to the hospital to say goodbye.

Your sister had been sick for a while, you knew she would pass soon, but you hoped it wouldn’t be before your first major tournament with the National team.

You didn’t know what to expect when you arrived. But you didn’t expect to see her lay on a table like a slab of meat, sheets covering her body.

That’s when the dam broke, you collapsed into a fit of sobs by your sisters bed, clutching her lifeless hand while you sobbed into her chest.

The once familiar body now felt foreign. Stiff. She was cold and rigid, her lips parted slightly and eyes shut. She was your sister, but she wasn’t the same. She had lost her spark.

You buried your head into her chest, sobbing and mumbling about anything and everything to her, begging her to wake up. You tried to seek out her familiar scent, warm and welcoming only to be met with the cold stench of death that seemed to permanently linger in hospitals.

You stayed like that, begging and begging her to wake up under your breath and praying to whatever God above that this was all just some sick and twisted dream until a doctor told you she needed to be taken to the morgue so she could await cremation.

Somewhere in between the sobs and cries, you called Lucy, desperate for a warm, familiar feeling in a time of such uncertainty and despair.

You stayed curled up by your sisters belongings on the once occupied hospital bed. You stared at a picture of the both of you, the tears falling again as your run your thumb over her face.

The room was no longer lively, filled with your sisters presence, now empty and dark. The sky outside had settled into a vast grey, something you felt was fitting considering the awful occasion.

That’s when Lucy, followed by every other single member of the Lionesses came piling into the room. You turned and all your emotions surged to the surface as you practically fling yourself into the older woman, seeking solace in her embrace.

“Hey, hey, we got ya. We’re not going anywhere.” Lucy soothed, and for a moment you allowed yourself to believe it could be okay.

And maybe it would.

******

A/N: sorry for the angst, felt like it lol. english is not my first language! please correct my grammar or spelling in places i’ve missed it.

[old-school-butch]

Age identity

I have found that racial identity is highly political concept that many people hesitate to argue around when they are making argument about gender identity. I’ve made more progress using age as a foundational argument and thought I'd share some of the parallels that can be made.

I begin with the request that my birth certificate should be amended to reflect my trans-age and not chrono-age. My reasons:

I have extreme dysphoria about growing old. It gives me panic attacks, it creates a morbid obsession about my impending mortality and I need emotional relief. I might kill myself if my aging continues. Many, many studies demonstrate that suicide rates jump in middle age. Age dysphoria a significant mental health risk. Discrimination against older people in the workforce is also systemic and significant. It hurts my employment prospects to force me to continue conforming to an oppressive and arbitrary system of temporal measurement.

I’m not alone in my views. Our movement has been ignored in order to exploit our oppression. Rates of age dysphoria among the chrono-elderly are near universal and increase with chrono-age. The vast market of botox, anti-aging creams, surgeries and other treatments are witness to the pain and suffering of age dysphoria, but we are forced to bear the costs out of our own pockets, harming every trans-age person and creating barriers to those unable to access age-euphoric treatment. It’s time that we recognize ageism and age dysphoria as the next important social movement, and you should be on the right side of history.

The mere existence of adult babies is not a fetish, but part of age identity has existed for centuries. It is a severe form of age dysphoria that is accommodated only during the extremes of chrono-age (the very young and very old), but diaper-wearing may be a source of age-euphoria at any chrono-age. Other trans-aged people might feel more comfortable in a post-toddler range, and there’s no reason to prevent them from enrolling in elementary schools or competing in those sports teams. Again, once we acknowledge that ‘age identity’ is an arbitrary measurement, you will agree that some chrono-aged 8 year olds can run faster than trans-aged 8 year olds and therefore there’s no conclusive evidence that so-called ‘adults’ differ in any systemic way from ‘children’ and that age-identity is more of a spectrum than scientific reality.

Age identity is a culturally determined construct, where in reality one day merges into the next with no clear universal progression or timeline for development. Progeria, ‘old souls’ and emotional ‘immaturity’ co-exist without regard to commonly-held age identities. Widely held beliefs like  ‘middle-age’ persist even through it’s impossible to identity without knowing your ultimate time of death. Even my doctor says I have the heart of a 30 year old . In fact, I’m more fit than many people younger than me. I’m healthier than I was at 45 now that I’ve fully recovered from cancer. Why can’t I return to the age of 39, which I feel best expresses how I feel on the inside? Sports competitions grouped by chrono-age should be inclusive of the trans-aged since there is no clear definition of the impact of age-identity on the human body.

Additionally, it should be obvious that ‘age of consent’ laws are discriminatory and not inclusive of trans-aged individuals. They should be repealed.

I’d also like to point out that trans-aged people do not all skew in a reductive temporal direction. There are many chrono-young but trans-aged people who feel they would be treated more in line with their age identity that is older than their chrono-years would imply. Again, workplace discrimination, dating discrimination and even fundamental civic rights are denied to many trans-aged individuals.

As a tiny ask, I would like to be referred to as ‘young miss’ in my interactions. That’s how I was addressed when I was chrono-young and I’d like to return to those happier days. I might kill myself if this request is ignored, so please check your age-privileged attitudes. Once age dysphoria is fully acknowledged, hate speech against the trans-aged will constitute a hate crime.

[deepperplexity]

Prompt: 14. A Light In The Night [A4]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!Reader

POV: Second, Reader

Setting: Delaford Estate

Continuation of: Prompt 1. Chimney Soot, 5. Grave Of Snow, & 9. Missing Star

A/N: TWO THINGS OF IMPORTANCE TODAY! One) This is the final part of the Brandon fic! First wrap-up of Rickmas2023! ���😍👏 Two) IT'S FRIKKIN SMUT TIME DARLINGS! 🔥🔥🔥 Oh, and this is a longer part too, hope you'll enjoy it (just don't ask how my fingers are feeling after this weeks writing shenanigans so far - gosh, I've written so much 😂)🤭😘

Tags/TW’s: Selfdoubt, Adoration, Love, Embracing, Slight Hints At Classism, Feeling New (positive, natural) Emotions & Sensations, Nicknames, Kissing, Confessions of Desire, Respecting Another's Wishes, Gifting Ones Virginity, Sweet Loving, Caring Partner, Penetrative Sex, Future Marriage Implied.

Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name

Word Count: 4.3k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

It had been four days since his confession, and to be perfectly frank, you had yet to fully absorb it. As if the spirits of Christmas had snapped their fingers, all your wishes seemed to be coming true in the span of a mere two weeks. Two weeks ago, you had entered the Delaford Estate in desperate need of employment — or just a roof over your head, and a hot meal would have tied you over for a blessed moment — and now you were dressed in finery, drinking tea in a beautiful parlour with the sweetest hound by your feet on order from its master, the man who had you beyond infatuated, to stay by your side.

It was strange, so very odd, to be seated in such splendour when you only knew how to be the person to serve such people. You had never taken notice of how the rich ladies held their teacups, or how they sat with their legs, or even how they held conversations. You had always been too busy making sure you barely existed in their presence. To serve the tea, remove the empty plates, to not make a sound or be noticed. Now, you were the one to be noticed, the one who was supposed to be able to do things in a fine and proper manner.

Not that any of that mattered to the man who only yesterday had asked for your hand in marriage. For you to be his wife, his partner, to be by his side through the rest of his life. You hadn’t grasped that the ring around your finger, with several diamonds lining the golden band in a delicate fashion, was truly proof of a reality that was becoming yours. Not a dream, not a wish, not a hope — just reality. Your reality.

You sat the teacup down, a slight clinking rang out in the big room as your unsteady hand released it. “Oh, Samson, what am I doing here?” you asked the hound who whined and rested his big head with floppy ears atop your legs. And, then, he entered. Your fiancé, the man who made your blood sing and your thoughts turn bright. He walked with a commanding grace that was gentle and decisive at the same time.

He smiled so sweetly towards you, instantly finding you in the vast room. The thoughts of not fitting in, not being in the right place, not being worthy of the life you had just begun flitted away the moment he held you in his arms. Standing before the fireplace, surrounded by Christmas decorations, all derogatory thoughts of yourself went away. It had nothing to do with anything but him.

“Y/n,” he said softly. “Colonel,” you replied, as was proper. But, he shook his head and gently placed his warm fingers under your chin, tilting your head ever so slightly. “Christopher,” he stated. “Christopher…” His name rolled out of your mouth in a mere breath of a whisper. The word too important, too beautiful, too much of a gift for you to speak any louder.

Your body tingled, warmth spread in places within you that had never warmed before. Your legs were unsteady while you felt an inexplicable need to clench your thighs together as something pooled and unfurled in the most sacred of places. “My sweet, something the matter?” he asked as he placed the back of his fingers on your burning cheek. “You appear flustered, are you fairing?” The concern in his voice was too sweet, too caring — your senses were overwhelmed by him. “I’m fairing, Christopher,” you said but your voice didn’t quite reach the tone you had thought it would. There was something strangely quiet about it, your throat suddenly a little bit thick as you tried to swallow past the fluttering tingle going from your lips all the way down to your very toes.

“My star,” he hummed while his fingers travelled along your jaw until his hand slipped over your shoulder and down your arm until his hand could grasp yours, raise it up, and plant a gentle kiss atop your knuckles. You were becoming hotter by the moment, everywhere he touched you felt as if it burned, despite the fabric separating his skin from yours mostly.

Outside, darkness crept in despite the white snow. He'd been away most of the day, attending to business in town as he’d said at breakfast. How can I possibly miss you so dearly every moment you’re not with me after such a short time? “I cannot wait to have you as my wife,” he said and kissed your hand once more, harder and more ardently than before. Your thighs clenched together at the intense contact. Samson barked a low rumble and walked out of the room with the pitter-patter of his claws against the shiny flooring. “And I you as my husband, Christopher.” Saying his name was such a blessing, he was a blessing.

“My sweet,” he hummed. “You are making it difficult to be a gentleman.” “What do you mean?” you asked, feeling as if the room turned hotter with each passing second in his proximity. He squeezed your hand. “You are too beautiful, too wonderful. It is the most difficult challenge to stay away.” “Then do not,” you exhaled, still not fully grasping why he needed to stay away at all. “My star, you ask too much of me. If I do not stay away, how could I possibly refrain from ravaging you before you hold my name? How can I remain a gentleman when all my desires are within my grasp?”

Your breath hitched, the warmth within becoming a fire as his eyes held yours with nothing but honesty and love within them. You were pressed against one another, neither of you able to separate your bodies while your fingers were entwined on either side of you, your hands firmly held by each other.

“Are you not an honest man?” you asked. “I endeavour to be.” “And are you not a respectable man?” “I believe I am. To the best of my capabilities.” “And with that being said, are you one to keep your word?” “Always,” he affirmed, his eyes taking on a more serious shine. “Then, can we not believe in your honest promise to marry me, as a respectable man who endeavours to go through life in a manner befitting to your beliefs, darling?” you asked, feeling brave and empowered by the way he viewed you most dearly. “You have me at a loss for words. How can I dispute such words when they ring of truth and cater to my selfish want for you?” he nearly purred in that gravely voice of his. “I am yours.” “As I am yours .”

He took a step back, breathing in deep — as if he were desperate for air — and released one of your hands while beginning to turn toward the door. Yet, he did not move, did not tug or pull, not even a step was taken as he watched you with his head turned. He waited for you, and your body could not spare another second to a life where you did not know him intimately.

You squeezed his hand and moved forward. That was the cataclysm, the release of you both and the acceptance of trust between you both. He would keep his word and make you his wife, you would stay with him forever, and in your loving trust, there was freedom from propriety. There was freedom from restraint. Freedom within the warmth which radiated from the both of you, for each other.

The door locked. You were a pining mess for the man before you — with his stiff shoulders and harder breathing stealing your focus. He moved in swiftly, not wasting a second to cup your warm face with his gentle hands. “I will ask one more time,” he said while his eyes flicked between yours. “Are you certain you wish for this to happen?” “I want nothing else,” you said with finality in your breathy voice. “My star, my sweet,” he murmured before his thin lips clashed against yours with a deep groan slipping from his mouth and into yours. It was bliss. It was heaven. It was everything.

Your hands grabbed his wrists, holding onto him while the world fell away. Your body burned for him, your nerves tingling and tensing within you while your core softened as his tongue darted out to tease the seam of your lips. You parted them, allowing him access as your tongue met his and they danced in harmony. A moan slipped from the depths of your chest as he pressed himself against you, and you damned your clothes for existing.

His hands slipped from your face, travelling down your shoulders until he could grasp your waist and hold you even tighter while your own hands rested atop his wide shoulders. You could feel every motion of him, every tensing muscle, every effort he exerted to control himself as his fingers found the lacing at your back and began to tug.

You were nervous, uncertain of what to do or what you even felt. All the emotions and sensations he created within you were new, uncharted waters you were fearful of drowning in without him there to guide you through the waves. “I’ve never,” you whispered against his lips, spilling the truth of your innocence. “I would have expected nothing less from such a wonder as you, yet I am surprised no young man has come to steal your purity. I am lucky, blessed to have your trust in this honour,” he said and there was something about him not putting a value on your purity as a possession but as something for you to gift that had you melting in his arms.

A flurry seemed to spring to life, hands tugged at buttons and strings, moved fabrics and undid lacing until you were both naked in the dark room. You were grateful to the dark for shielding your bare body, yet at the same time… you wished to witness all of him, in all his glory.

Your hands travelled along the curve of his waist, feeling the warm skin bared for you while his front was pressed against yours. The slight softness to his stomach paired with the strength of his arms had you thinking of warm cuddles during foggy mornings, of safety and gentle caresses. Then the hardness of his cock pressed against your pelvis the knot between your legs seemed to tie itself up further.

“I wish to see you, my sweet,” he said as he backed away, leaving you standing by the edge of the bed in the dim darkness. The sound of a match being struck rang out over your panted breaths and a little flame flickered to life beside you while the chill of the separation made your nipples peak. A small candle next to the bed spread its golden glow impressively. Yet, your eyes instantly snagged to the man blowing out the match.

His body was far from what you had imagined you would ever be attracted to. His chest was dusted with soft-looking hair forming a trail down his pale stomach your eyes followed almost dutifully until they reached his cock. You had never seen such a sight before, yet it made your mouth water and your insides churn. Your body knew what it wanted, what it wished for, and he was all of it.

“Beautiful,” came his voice in a rumble. You looked up, finding his eyes studying your face intently while your cheeks felt as if they would burn up. You wondered how on earth he would fit within you, if it were going to hurt or if he would be gentle. He will… He will be gentle with me , you thought and he stepped up and kissed you most softly despite the desperation you could feel from him.

He laid you down, guiding you to the middle of the bed while he placed himself between your legs, all the while keeping your lips connected. You felt his weight atop you increase and you parted your legs further hesitantly. The gracing of his cock against your warm clit sent a jolt through you, it was a foreign sensation — yet it felt good.

You moaned as he groaned when he settled himself. You wished to be closer, feel him everywhere and connect within him in a manner your body was by now pleading for. The ache in your core, the pulsing of your inner walls nearly painful as there was merely a palpable emptiness within you.

“My sweet,” he hummed as his lips traced your jaw, a hand gliding down your side until he grasped your thigh gently, the warmth of his hand searingly wonderful. “Christopher,” you panted while your hands glided over his shoulders and up towards his neck as he sank lower, kissing your throat. “I shall be gentle, in all things I ever do with you,” he declared as you began to tense from the need coursing within you. “Please,” you whispered, not fully understanding the sensations bombarding you but knowing they were all from him. “I need to make you ready,” he said against your upper chest. “The first time, it may hurt but I shall do everything to make it pleasurable, my star.”

His lips latched around your nipple and his tongue circled it heavenly. You were a moaning mess as his mouth gently coaxed the warmth burning within you to reach new heights. Your legs tightened around him as his hand travelled down the inside of your thigh before his fingers found your slick opening. You jolted at the sudden touch, alarm bells going off in your head of how intimate it was, how wrongly good it felt to be touched down there — by him.

“My sweet,” he hummed after releasing your nipple. “Look at me.” You did so, tilting your head only to find him nearly framed by your legs, his head right below your heaving chest and those sweet eyes solely focused on you. “Christopher,” you whispered while his finger toyed with the little nub sending pleasurable jolts through you each and every time. “P-please,” you moaned as his eyes lit up with a warm sort of wonder as he watched you take the pleasure he offered. “I need you soft, pliable, soaked, my sweet. I will not harm you deliberately, take the pleasure I’m offering,” he said as he slowly rose, keeping eye contact with you at all times while his slick finger lowered and found your opening.

You panted, your hands grasping at the covers beneath you, while he leaned over you, supporting his weight on one hand while the other stayed at your core. “All the pleasure,” he affirmed as he sank a digit into you. Slowly, gently, carefully stretching you open for him. You moaned and panted, your head pushed into the pillow as you took in the foreign sensation of having something inside you. “My sweet,” he whispered before kissing your exposed neck, still working his finger in and out of you most gently, softly, nearly caressing your insides.

His thumb found its way to your aching clit, stroking it in slow circles while his finger kept up its even pace — it felt as if you’d go mad with the pleasurable torture. “Please, Christopher,” you moaned and he replied with a deep hum of a groan before capturing your lips with his own while he adjusted himself to hover above you — still keeping up the attentions he lavished your core with. “Soon, my sweet star, soon.” He upped the pace a tad, hardening the circling of your clit with that wide thumb of his while his tongue delved in to dance with yours. Your hands found his shoulders, caressing and gripping in intervals while your body seemed to seamlessly shift beneath him. Your legs widened further, your back arched ever so slightly, all while your nerves seemed to tighten and burn with something you weren’t sure you could handle.

You moaned into his mouth, he laid more weight atop you — forcing his hand to rest fully against your core while keeping up the pleasurable touch. The heavy breathing of you both filled the room, your moans swallowed by him as his groans were captured by your mouth. A mixture of bliss and tension within your body.

“You are most delicate. Most beautiful, wonderful,” he said as your mouths parted. Your eyes fluttered open only to find him looking at you with the most devastating look of want and desire. His features were those of someone starved of what they wished for and who was now able to consume that very desire wholly. “My love,” you whispered while his finger plunged a bit harder into you, the golden glow of the candle showing nothing but perfection above you. “My star, my missing star,” he groaned before pulling out his finger to an incoherent plea of yours. You felt deprived, empty without him inside you.

He licked his finger clean with a hum so deep you could feel it in your own toes. He’s tasting me, you thought with a mixture of horror and bewildering want. Your insides clenched around nothing and you could have sworn madness crept in as he took away that touch.

“Delicious,” he said, his eyes never leaving yours. “Delicious, and mine to worship ardently.” He moved higher above you, his hand dipping back down between you both. “Christopher?” you asked as he rose a bit higher by straightening his arm. Your eyes fell down only to see him stroking his bulging cock with the very hand he had just pleasured you with. The tip of his cock, it was covered in glistening pre-cum, he swirled his finger over it twice before pushing down — aligning himself to you while you watched with trepidation and yearning.

“I shall be most gentle, my sweet,” he said quietly, the gravelly voice like music to your soul with its hints of desperation and care. “Look at me, only me,” he said and you did. Your eyes shifted from his cock between your legs to those mesmerising eyes of his while he leaned forward ever so slightly.

You felt the tip of him, and before you had a chance to adjust to the idea of his entirety being able to fit within you he pushed forward with a gentle thrust. He groaned while your eyes fluttered at the sudden sensation which wasn't quite comfortable. “You are doing so well, my star. So well,” he praised while he kissed your forehead before doing the same to each of your cheeks while pushing further in. You moaned with a scrunching of your nose and eyebrows, your body fighting the intrusion. “Relax for me, my sweet. Relax, and grant me access,” he whispered in a near purr while laying half atop you, supported by his knees and arms. And, you did. You relaxed under his gentle words, his pleading for you to let him in.

He moaned, a most heavenly sound, as he pushed the last bit of himself in as your insides stretched and softened to accommodate him. The pinches and twangs of pain were not nearly as bad as you had imagined and over far more swiftly than you would have thought. In the lack of pain, there was only pleasure to be found. His warm body, his thick cock filling you completely while his warm breath danced across your neck and shoulder before his lips kissed the pulse point below your ear most gently.

Christopher began to move, each thrust slickened by you coating him with your want. Your body tensed and curled beneath him as he gently claimed all of you and there would never be another man you wished to know you in such a manner. You were only for him, as you hoped and wished that you would be the only one for him from that day onward.

As he upped the pace, his breathing turned ragged and harsh while you witnessed the restraint he held himself with. He was being so gentle with you, each thrust fast but caring, each plunge into your core a caress of the most loving kind. You wanted all of him, your moaning of his name all you could manage as he took your innocence with a devotion unlike any you could have ever imagined being worthy of.

“Please,” you whispered as he kissed your shoulder. “Please, I feel-, feel-, haaa—” “My sweet,” he panted. “You are mine to worship,” he continued while his hand stroked its way down to your joining. You cried out as his finger found your clit and began to stroke it most deliciously while he managed to keep thrusting into you. The sensations were overwhelming, but oh so good. “That’s it,” he said while your legs tensed and an overwhelming need for something terrifyingly powerful began to take over. “I — oh — I need-, haaa—” you moaned as he kept up the motion, the thrusting, the caresses and kisses and sounds which had you on the edge of something your body desperately sought. It was beyond a want, far more a need than anything else and it came from him — from what he was doing to you.

“Let go,” he groaned while his tempo stuttered, as if he were on the edge as well. As if he were right there with you, feeling something inexplicably wonderfully tight. “No, no, no I—” “Let go, let it go, darling,” he said in a barely coherent voice while moans spilt from between those thin lips you wished to kiss for an eternity.

His thumb pushed harder, sending a jolt of ecstasy through your entire body, making you cry out his name in a strained garble while every muscle in your body began to tremble as pleasure filled each part of you. He groaned and stilled, a pulsing from you and him mixing within you as warmth spurted into you while you were lost to the unfathomable pleasure he offered you, his finger gently slowed to ease you out of the mind-numbing sensations that took such control of your body it felt as if you had been possessed by him.

“Beautiful… Wonderful… My sweet star,” he said as he half-laid on you while you both caught your breaths. The pounding of his heart reached your own and it felt for a moment as if they were beating in tune with each other. “That was… amazing,” you exhaled as his hooked nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck. “You, are amazing.” “I believe this was your work, my love,” you confessed sheepishly even if your voice didn’t have the strength to take on a tone. “I shall endeavour to please and pleasure you always.” The way he spoke with such sincerity, such gentle love with no hint of anything but honesty. It made your toes curl just as he moved — a gasp slipping from you as he pulled out.

He did not even spare a second before he had moved over to the side of the room, stark naked in the golden candlelight, and you had just enough time to worry about rejection before he turned back with the softest of smiles and a damp cloth in his hand. “Let us take care of you,” he said. “If you will allow me?” “I…” But you nodded, feeling drained in a blissful manner yet aware enough to understand he wished to clean you which made you nervous — no matter how strange that was after what you had just done with him, it felt so incredibly intimate to have him wash you with a cloth down there.

After a few minutes, you were both clean and cuddled up under the thick covers in the bed you had woken up in after having been nearly buried alive in snow two weeks ago. That he had brought you to his bed that very night had had you in a fit at first, but now… well, now you looked back on it as the first declaration of his intentions with you.

“A light in the night,” he hummed while you lay on his chest with his arm wrapped securely around you, his warm finger playing a circle game on your hip. “Darling?” you asked quietly while you watched the grey hair on his chest shimmer in the candlelight. “You, my star… You are a light in the perpetual darkness of night my life has been for far too many years. Your smile alone could brighten my day more than the sun.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your body tensing outwardly while softening inwardly at his sweet words spoken in that perfect voice of his. He kissed the top of your head while you wondered if you were truly blessed with a Christmas miracle in the shape of him. “When spring comes, I shall wed you before all and declare my love for anyone and everyone to hear. My missing star, my sweet Y/n… How I have searched and longed for you.” “And I you, Christopher, my love. My Christmas miracle.”

He gently leaned your head back with his fingers beneath your chin before leaning forward to capture your lips in the most gentle of kisses. A sweet caress of lips in pure need to connect. “I love you,” he said, his eyes not leaving yours while you drew a hitched breath at the sincerity — at feeling just like he did. “And I love you,” you whispered while tears brimmed your eyes and he gently kissed your forehead with a soft smile of his own. “Christmas miracle indeed,” he whispered against your skin and you held on tighter to him while the single candle flame flickered beside you…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Oh gosh, that was that for our wonderfully sweet Colonel for this Rickmas fic - I hope you've enjoyed it darlings 🥰👏❤ I think they'll have a beautiful wedding in the spring, with lots of love and smiles all around, don't you? 🥰

Q: If you were to have a winter wedding, what would be the most important wintery-item/part of it? 😊 A: I think for me it would have to be snow - I feel like you can't really have a winter wedding if there's no beautifully sparkling white snow ❄❄❄

TAGLIST: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @leah1243 @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @sunnylikesfrogs @mamawolfsmith16 @dianilaws @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @sunset90 @mamawolfsmith87 @snowblossomreads @ladykardasi @a-queen-and-her-throne @eternal-silvertongued-prince @lyrixsnape @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @daddythanatos @sunset90

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[Dec:2023]

[justporo]

A Night of Song and Laughter (Part 16)

In which Astarion and Tav do enjoy each other's company very closely indeed but Tav has the upper hand for once and lives out the moment to its full potential.

The middle of the day is a fine time to just drop a dirty little chapter full of smut, don't you think? (At least here it's the middle of the day, good timezones to you)

This felt actually a lot more naughty and intimate than the first real smut chapter in this - at least while writing. But I'll let you be the judge of that...

Two songs for this: Kiss Me You Animal - Burn the Ballroom and Shirt - SZA

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You) Warnings: Explicit content

You were riding Astarion languidly in your ginormous bed, chasing the third high of the night. You had taken him up on his words to make you think about other things and other things just happened to be straddling him and slowly driving him into madness. Another sudden change in mood that was by now probably fueled by more than just a tinge of hysteria from the seemingly unending night.

When you had expressed to him that you were inclined to go for yet another round after you had laid down on your bed with your towels still covering you up, his lips had curled into the most lewd and seductive smile: “I see, you might be taking on yet another one of my qualities accordingly: an insatiable need to devour you over and over. Your wish be my command, my love!” You had been immediately charmed by his words and his admission about his carnal and desperate needs for you, but you still had grabbed his hands which had immediately started to eagerly wander again. A thought had crossed your mind that you needed to voice: “I… Astarion… When you say stuff like that last part… I – just want to make sure that you know that I would never want you to do this were it not what you wanted as well. I mean, even if you wanted to turn your back on sex altogether because you’re done with it, that would be fine for me too, because being with you and loving you is the most important part and…” Astarion put a finger on your lips to softly silence you: “Love, you are rambling again.” He dragged you onto his body, so he was on his back and you were laying on your stomach on top of him – your towel holding on for dear life.

“Since you are worried about me, which, really, I cannot express how much I appreciate, my heart - ”, Astarion continued and let his hand drag through your hair, almost making you purr in approval “- I will have you know, that I am never getting on my back again if I do not deliberately choose to do so. And,” – he grabbed your fingers that had begun to tap an idle tune on his chest and kissed them “as far as I am concerned my hunger for you might be greater than you might yet realize.” The looks he threw you went from playful lust to sincere love in a heartbeat. “I’ve never had something like this, it might be almost as new to me as it might be to you. But” – his gaze turned hungry again – “if I were to unleash the full vastness of my needs and feelings for you, I fear I might actually break you or scare you off for good.” The sparkle in his eyes saying that let delicious shivers run down your spine – others might’ve been scared by a confession like this but considering the range of thoughts and emotions about this man that kept consuming your every waking thought… you’d probably just made the perfect pair.

You smirked at him and simply hummed contentedly now reassured that you were on the same page. “Now”, Astarion said raising his voice and giving you a light slap on your butt “be a good girl and sit on my lap!” You happily obeyed and basked in the admiring looks he threw you, when you sat up and slowly unraveled your towel to reveal your naked form beneath it.

Then you went to take his towel off from around his hips and immediately discovered that he must’ve enjoyed the view so far and was more than prepared for you to fulfill your needs.

So, there you were: sitting on his lap, grinding against him, his dick hitting deep inside you every time you lifted up your hips, simply to let them slam down again, while he kept desperately moaning and cheering you on with praise. He had his legs propped up to help you aid to get the most traction out of every single roll of your hips that he was holding onto, his thumbs lazily rubbing circles on your pelvic bones. The silk sheets were messily bunched up all around you and a sheen of sweat made your skin glisten in the light of the oil lamps on your nightstands.

You were ecstatic. His words of admiration and naughty praise in a deep and husky voice, while he was interrupted by his own moans and his voice kept breaking while worshipping you, turned you positively feral and made you feel powerful. Just knowing what power you held over this ethereal man that must’ve seen almost everything already but still seemed to lose his mind at you gleefully crying out his name. It took you to newly known heights; you’d never felt this good in your life.

You slowly picked up the pace and started moaning louder while you lifted your arms over your head and dragged your hair up while throwing your head back and arching your spine – very well aware that it would draw Astarion’s attention to your chest. “Gods, your breasts look amazing when you’re moving like that, love”, Astarion wasted no time to say and silently gasp in admiration.

You smiled mischievously at him, still toying with your hair and moved harder to give him more of the desired movement. “Gods”, he moaned and arched his head back with a hiss from the sensation of you coming down hard around him and enjoying the view of your jigging boobs that felt deliciously heavy with lust.

While the attention was on them you let your hair fall down again and moved your hands to squeeze your breasts, making yourself moan with the sensation and sending electric jolts down between your legs when you started to twist one of your hardened peaks.

Astarion lifted one of his hands and gave you a slap on your behind which made you gasp and clench your core which then made him gasp in return and arch his back. He looked almost completely out of it by now, his tone almost pleading, when he said: “You’re a goddess.” "Then keep worshipping me!"

You kept squeezing your breasts with one hand while you let your other hand wander down your body, over your stomach, then deeper, over your clit, but only remaining there shortly before letting it wander onto Astarion’s body. You noticed the markings on your arm glowing and pulsating slightly but kept focusing on the vampire’s prone body beneath you.

You hungrily drank in the shapes, lines and angles of his body. The muscles of his abdomen tensed under your gentle caress. You took him and his body in while you lazily kept rolling your hips to ride him: his well-toned upper body, his arms just as muscular, holding you firmly, those sinful long and elegant fingers on your hips and most of all: his beautiful face with its sharp red eyes that watched you eagerly and hungrily.

Astarion bucked his hips, making you gasp as much from the sudden movement as from the delicious friction it created. Seemingly you had gotten too lost in his features and slowed down too much for his liking, so he had opted to show you who was actually in charge. “Come, love, giddyup.” Excuse him? You clenched your core and earned a desperate moan from Astarion in response – just as you thought.

“Touch yourself for me, darling”, he demanded sinfully with a deep tone. You clenched around him again, ripping yet another groan from his lips. But you still obeyed and picked up the pace again, letting your hand wander from his body to yours again and this time remaining on your clit, starting to add to your own pleasure while you kept working your boobs with the other hand.

Things started to really move quickly from there on out. You could feel your orgasm coming up on the horizon being fully aware that after two very successful rounds already this one would really bring down the house around you. Astarion felt it too, his body almost painfully tensed and his hands on your hips motivating you to go more aggressively.

“Harder, my love, come on, destroy me”, he requested pleadingly but with just the right amount of authority in his voice that you couldn’t resist.

You rode him harder while his fingers pressed pleasantly painfully into your hips. There was no more space for chit-chat, only for heavy breathing and moaning and the sound of your two bodies coming together again and again. You held his gaze while you kept touching yourself and could see that he was trying desperately to hold on and not get lost before you did.

But you wouldn’t give him this pleasure this time. You moved yet harder and faster, arching your back and clenching around his hardness inside you while you could feel yourself starting to get lost.

But Astarion went over the edge first, his eyes rolling back into his skull while he moaned helplessly with opened lips that bared his fangs. Your own orgasm had you closing your eyes and throwing your head back while searing hot white light exploded inside you and made you cry out Astarion’s name again - loudly.

You rode out the waves and kept moving your hips lazily until you heard the vampire wince slightly. “Love… Please, stop?”, he said and coughed suspiciously. But you weren’t over enjoying having the upper hand for once. You rolled your hips again and giggled. Astarion winced again and made to lift you off of him, but you quickly did it yourself and moved out of his reach.

“Come back here, you disobedient woman”, Astarion shouted after you teasingly angry with furrowed brows, but you were already out the door.

You quickly walked downstairs – butt naked of course – and grabbed another bottle of wine from the kitchen and two goblets to drink it from.

When you returned to the bedroom, Astarion was still laying there in the middle of the bed where you had left him. He had one arm over his face, his breath still a tad faster than normal. You stood in the doorframe for a moment just taking in the gloriousness of this moment and this man. Then you tiptoed back in while casually offering: “You wanted me to destroy you.”

Astarion lifted his arm and only opened one eye to look at you: “Oh, consider me thoroughly destroyed, my love, a job well done.” You smirked at him, then put down the bottle and goblets on the nightstand next to your side of the bed. Astarion sat up again and leaned back on his hands watching you.

“What I did not want was you being such an insolent little thing in this precious moment of my weakness”, he spoke slowly and the grabbed you quickly from where you were just relaxedly standing next to the bed. He hauled you over it and made you kneel on the bed while on all fours and positioned himself over and behind you. He leaned on his one hand placing it next to yours and let his other wander slowly from your breasts, down your stomach in which lust already started to coil again, to the sensitive spot between your legs and finally down your thigh, causing you to shiver.

Astarion leaned over to one of your pointy ears and silently whispered: “And I’ll make you answer for your crimes, my pet.”

Tags: @daedriclys @angelofthorr @starved-kitten

[weemssapphic]

Everybody Lost Somebody

Brienne of Tarth x reader

Summary: Brienne falls in the Battle of Winterfell - her partner is left to deal with her death

Words: ~2k | ao3 link in title

Content/warnings: Major Character Death, angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of canon-typical blood/violence, cremation, perhaps a vague mention of suicidal thoughts

A/N: I am actually so sorry for this one - I don't know why my brain tortured me with this. This should go without saying but please only read this if you're up for it <3

Loosely based on the song 'Everybody Lost Somebody' by Bleachers. Here's a link to their Tiny Desk Concert which starts with a particularly nice version of the song!

I'm standing here in the cold and I gotta get myself back home soon Looking like everybody Knowing everybody lost somebody

A biting chill whipped through your hair, cutting your cheeks, nipping at your nose. You found yourself looking out over the vast darkness, a barren landscape blanketed with snow. The silence was eerie - almost peaceful, were it not for the almost painful twisting of every organ in your body, the hollow pit in your stomach. They would be here soon. But, for now, the landscape was completely still, not giving away any signs of what was to come.

“Love?” The voice was low, familiar, comforting. It rang out into the silence, ricocheting off the inside of your skull, as if your mind were subconsciously trying to cling to it - the tone, the pet name, the person behind the voice.

You turned, your eyes meeting the deep blues of your partner’s. Eyes the color of the waters surrounding Tarth, a bright sapphire that shone with emotion out here in the light of a singular torch.

“Brienne,” you breathed, the tremor in your voice betraying you.

“It’s almost time. You need to go.”

You nodded. You wanted to speak but you couldn’t - a lump had risen in your throat the moment your eyes had locked with hers. Brienne watched you stoically, hands clasped behind her back, head bowed slightly as she held your gaze. The only sign of emotion was a watery sheen over her irises and the barely visible trembling of her chin.

The silence between the two of you was deafening. An entire conversation held only in stares and the shuffling of feet. I love you. I love you too. Come back to me, survive this. I’ll try. 

You broke first, lunging forward and wrapping your arms around the knight as you crashed into her - she stumbled back from the sheer force. The cold metal of her armor was a far cry from the soft, comforting warmth her body usually provided you, but it would have to do - there would surely be more time to hold each other, when all was said and done. After a moment, Brienne’s arms wound around you, crushing in the ferocity with which she hugged you close. Feeling her lips against your hair, you pulled your head back far enough to gaze up into her eyes - you needed those lips on your own, one last time before the battle.

Brienne’s lips were cold but her tongue was warm as it slid into your mouth, dancing with yours - coordinated, practiced, familiar. You kissed until all the air had left your lungs, and then some.

“Please.” You didn’t know how else to verbalize the thoughts swirling in your brain, but Brienne understood. She always did.

She stepped back, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles before looking out over Winterfell, nodding at the various figures taking their places for the start of the impending battle. You offered her a watery smile, which she returned with impossibly sad eyes. Then you turned your back to her and headed down to the crypts to wait out the fighting.

~~~

Every minute of waiting feels like hours. White Walkers manage to make their way into the crypts - terrifying as it is, at least fending them off gives you something to do other than sit and wait and think and worry. You feel you've done enough of that in one night to last a lifetime.

Then it’s over and you storm out of the crypts, shoving roughly past every single person in sight. In any other situation you might feel bad, might be more polite, but your ears are ringing and you feel that, if you don’t keep in motion, if you don't keep running, you may collapse on the spot.

“Have you seen Brienne?” You pull roughly at Sam’s shoulder, spinning him around to face you. He simply shrugs, and you push him aside to ask the next person, your eyes scanning the courtyard for any sign of the tall knight. 

Surely you’d recognize her immediately - you would catch sight of short, messy blonde tresses towering over the crowd and your frantic heart rate would slow. She would turn and her eyes would find yours and she’d smile with relief, and you would smile back, and then you’d run to her and she would catch you, winding strong arms around you. You’d coo about how much you love her as you’d check her for wounds, and she would assure you that she’s fine and you needn’t fuss. 

But as you crane your head this way and that, you find no towering woman in sight. Perhaps she’s gone back to the crypts to search for you and you’ve just missed each other - perhaps she’s crouching in the thick of the crowd to tend to someone’s injuries - perhaps -

“My lady.” The voice is familiar, but it is not Brienne’s. You whirl around.

“Have you seen Brienne?”

Podrick shuffles his feet - he seems unable to meet your gaze. Instead, he jerks his head towards the castle wall and begins to walk in that direction. You follow him, your heart thumping wildly against your rib cage - you think it may burst at any second. Just a few moments - a few moments and then you’ll see Brienne and then it will all be -

He stops in his tracks, dropping his eyes to the ground. You furrow your brows as you follow his gaze.

A piercing scream rings out through the night air - it sounds so muffled to you, so far away. The only indication that it is yours is the scratching sensation you feel in your throat. You feel your lungs constrict and your stomach twist, and you drop to your knees.

It can’t be. Brienne is the fiercest warrior you’ve ever known. She’d just become the first woman to be knighted - she isn’t one to be defeated, not by anyone or anything. You’d been worried for her, of course, but you hadn’t really thought anything could happen to her - you feel silly for this now. No one is immune to death. Not even Brienne of Tarth, apparently.

Her body is covered in blood and sweat and dirt - you don’t care, you scoop her up in your arms as best you can, pulling her into your lap. Your fingers find her pulse point, desperately clinging onto the last shred of hope you can conjure up - the hope dies out quickly when you don’t find a pulse.

“Brienne? Darling?” you whisper at her, your voice hoarse with tears, as if you think hearing your voice will suddenly cause her to draw a breath and open her eyes and tell you she’s fine. Your fingertips trace over her lips, her jaw, her cheekbone - all freezing to the touch. There’s a lock of hair hanging into her eyes, it must be bothering her you think, still not fully grasping the reality of the situation - you brush the hair back, imagining the way she would blush and shoot you a grateful smile.

But she doesn’t, of course. And then it hits you all at once that she never will again.

Around you, everyone else is already starting to clean up, carrying off the corpses of everyone who fell in battle. You don’t move an inch - not even at the insistence of Jon, or Sansa, or even Podrick. You spend the night in the freezing cold, cradling Brienne’s body in your arms and stroking her hair, telling her everything you thought you still had a lifetime to say as your tears drip onto her scuffed up armor.

~~~

By the time dawn breaks, the clean-up of Winterfell is nearly complete - though not for any effort on your part. You know you aren’t the only one who has lost someone, far from it, but you physically can’t move. Not when the only person you’ve ever loved, the woman you saw yourself spending forever with, is lying cold and bloody and lifeless in your arms. 

“I’ll protect you forever,” you whispered, gazing into Brienne’s eyes with love and affection laid bare on your face. Her face broke out into a wide grin and she snuggled closer on the bed, until your faces were mere inches apart.

“Will you now?” she asked, her tone teasing and light. She ran a hand along your bicep, giving it a gentle squeeze. Mirth was evident in her gaze - you were quite a bit smaller than she was, and your frame was clearly not one of a knight or a warrior. She wasn’t even certain you’d ever held a sword, aside from assisting her with polishing Oathkeeper.

“I will,” you said resolutely. “No one will ever touch you, they’ll have to get through me first.” You beamed at her and she beamed back, a low chuckle escaping her lips.

“I don’t doubt it.” Then her lips pressed into yours, plush and tender - you could feel her lips curl up into a smile against your own, and you brought your hands to her face, one hand cupping her cheek while the other threaded itself into soft, blonde tresses.

You should’ve been there. Maybe you could’ve warned her someone was coming, been vigilant for her as she’d fought off the White Walkers. The rational part of your brain knew you wouldn’t have survived in the sea of attackers, but that part of your brain was currently nowhere to be found. You should’ve protected her, just as you’d promised.

There’s a hand on your shoulder again - no one has come near you in hours, but now there’s a crowd beginning to gather just outside the gates of Winterfell. The voice that speaks in your ear belongs to Podrick.

You wonder how he can be so calm, so composed - he’d known Brienne well, admired her, been a friend and a confidant to her. Perhaps he’s trying to stay strong for your benefit.

“We have to take her, there’s going to be a funeral,” he says. You shrug his hand away. 

“I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure you can-” Podrick’s protests die in his throat as you stand on wobbly knees, pulling Brienne up with you. She’s heavy, especially still wearing her armor, but you know this is the last thing you can do for her, the last time you can hold her. So you gather every ounce of strength your broken body has to offer you, and you carry Brienne out to the gathering crowd, ignoring the pitying looks thrown your way. 

There’s an empty spot reserved for her on one of the funeral pyres and Podrick helps you lift her up and lie her down.

Jon is giving a speech now, or so you assume. His voice sounds so far away, despite booming out into the barren landscape, that you can’t make out individual words. Podrick hands you a flaming torch and takes a step back as Jon, Sansa, Tormund, Daenerys, Sam, Arya all step forward, each taking their place next to a different pyre.

Your eyes flicker down to Brienne again as you light the pyre she’s lying on. One last glance, before the flames that are sparking around her engulf her completely. Her pale skin, almost blue from the cold - a cut across her cheekbone that’s new, she must’ve gotten that during the battle. Cracked lips, purple bruises along her jaw. That cute little scar above her lip, her blonde eyelashes. Her eyes are closed, so gently as if she were sleeping, her usually soft hair matted with dirt and sweat, just a touch of blood near her ear. She looks almost peaceful.

Everybody lost somebody - so why does it feel like you’re the only being eaten alive by grief, the only one seconds away from leaping into the flames for the chance to see your love again, even if in the afterlife? As if he could read your thoughts, Podrick’s hand finds your shoulder again. This time, you don’t shrug it off - you allow him to pull you back towards the crowd.

Smoke billows up from the pyres, turning black, quickly filling the air until it’s all anyone can see - smoke blanketing the silent, snowy landscape.

I know that I'm lost Lost in a world without you

x

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[shootingstarpilot]

Do you have any recommendations for fics where Qui-Gon is a good master/dad to Obi-Wan?

Oh, boy, do I!

Author-wise, I really cannot recommend @the-last-kenobi enough. Definitely the best source for some good master/dad Qui-Gon- they were actually the first SW author I started following! You can find their works here.

The vast majority of the works in my bookmarks under the Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi relationship tag have Qui-Gon being a good master/dad to Obi-Wan, so if you'd like, you can browse those here. Some of my absolute all-time favorites are listed below, but I love everything in my bookmarks!

The Melida/Daan Probation series by @trysomecats has some really good sweet interactions between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon as they try to rebuild their relationship.

Memory's Betrayal by @maychorian gets me every time. A oneshot with amnesia and Qui-Gon realizing he has the opportunity to do better.

The Recovery series by @firondoiel, @happygiraffe, @luvvewan, and @sanerontheinside is a masterpiece of long-term recovery from a severe injury- both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon survive Naboo, but Obi-Wan is left severely injured by Darth Maul. An achingly tender read.

I thought I fought this war alone by @stonefreeak, I just-- man, I have no words. It's a oneshot. Go read it. You won't regret it.

the massive machinery of hope by Kilbothtwins (I don't know if they have a Tumblr account) is an absolutely magnificent series- at the end of the war with the Empire, Obi-Wan wakes up in his twelve-year-old body and decides to be an utter BAMF about it. Qui-Gon is not 100% sure what's going on, but he trusts his Padawan and is enjoying himself immensely.

Invitation by @antheiasilva is one of my FAVORITES-- during an awkward Lineage dinner, Obi-Wan finds out that Qui-Gon had a shitty Padawanship and rallies magnificently in his defense. Sweet, well-written, and provides a wonderful glimpse of the budding Negotiator.

Patrilineal by @markwatnae is an absolute delight- with bonus Codywan! General Jinn is dispatched to join the 212th, and Cody can't quite figure out the relationship between him and his General.

I can't imagine that you haven't heard of the Mission Report series by @smilebackwards yet, but just in case, I'll add it here! A brilliantly done series that gets me every time-- Qui-Gon survives Naboo and finally manages to start repairing his Padawan's shredded self-esteem. No lie, this makes me so emotional every time- they care so much about each other and I would die for them both.

Oh, my gosh, and also everything by @deniigi. My favorites are:

Owl Dad Qui-Gon in pines and needles (the follow-up to take flight is equally good, but only mentions Qui-Gon in passing).

poisoned chalice is EXCELLENT for post-Melida/Daan Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon trying desperately to cope.

skipping stones has some fantastic lineage feelings-- Feemor is going absolutely feral over his new Padawan brother. There is a lot of bonding and I am having a lot of Feelings.

And to round it off- sunshine_lollipops_and (also do not know their tumblr) has been putting out some top-notch good dad!Qui-Gon content lately! Learning Curve is, quite frankly, an adorable mission fic, and Tales from Teatime is a series of oneshots that range from hilariously funny antics to heart-wrenching hurt/comfort- all of it equally well-written!

Feel free to add your own recommendations-- I'm sure I'll end up reblogging with more additions soon enough, but I wanted to get this out today!

[dykeyaoi]

I love love thinking about auras and psychics-- to what extent do we think they're hereditary? it seems common knowledge to little Mob that Ritsu will someday get powers too. when he does, the Kageyamas' colors are almost the same, they just emphasize different ones. their textures are different but I think that's all personality-based. we can look at Teru and Toichiro for some pretty potent examples of that.

I want to believe that color can change short- or long-term depending on what happens in your life because if you look at Claw, the VAST majority of those guys have red and/or purple in theirs, which are apparently the Evil Colors. but what my brain does with Serizawa and maybe the show does too is make him a LOT more purple-- the Less Evil color-- after he starts working at S&S. Ritsu's aura typically has more blue in it than Mob's, but if he's really stressed out, more purple seeps in. because he knows his brother would be powerful enough to handle the situation? because he wants to protect Shige? Shou's aura is much more red when he's with his dad during the Confession Arc than when he's emotionally fighting him in the Seventh Division & physically fighting him in World Domination. when a character's REALLY emotional, the range of their color expands-- see: Mob 100 % (adds green and red), Shou fighting Toichiro with his charge bomb (goes much heavier on and a little farther to the yellow side than usual), Ritsu 100% (adds red and green). so if color is circumstantial as well as familial, it'd make sense that texture is solely personality-based.

but how are psychics themselves inherited? do Mom & Dad Kageyama have latent abilities? is Teru's family super strong? it wouldn't make a ton of sense for him to think he's so special if his parent(s) were as powerful as he was. why the hell is Mob SO cracked when Ritsu is the weakest of the main four kids (though this could be an issue with the fact that he hasn't had his powers available for very long)? why was Shige able to reach ???% even before suppressing his emotions? Mogami and Teru and Mob, probably Shou too, have been able to use their powers since birth. what determines whether you can do that, or have to have them awakened?

Teru is infamous for his tendency to pick up psychic techniques like pebbles from a creek. he makes the air whips and telekinetic explosion his own after only seeing each once. but he never seems to get the hang of Shimazaki's teleportation. some ESPers like the Awakening Lab kids can only use one or two techniques because they're not super powerful, but Minegishi & Matsuo don't exactly seem to have any aces up their sleeves either. is that by choice? are their powers simply of another category that no one (except Mob and spirits) can figure them out?

we've only ever seen Shige and Toichiro share their powers with non-ESPers. my guess is that you have to be insanely strong to do that, with enough psychics to spare that your own body/mind don't even care that they're missing. what I'm interested in is the fact that Mob didn't do it on purpose, and that he seemingly gave EVERYTHING to Reigen. that part has to be more trust than anything, right? I have so many questions but it's the most fun thing in the world to speculate.

[kuuchuuburanko]

Ok so a bit ago I was writing up some headcanons for Gremmjamin here based on some prompts. Some of which were based around things relating physical stats (ie. speed, endurance, stealth, running, jumping, dance, etc.) and I wrote,

Gremmy does not have a true physical form! His body is a construct, a creation of his imagination, as Gremmy is in fact a brain in a jar. And because he can so easily construct any form or physical version of himself as he sees fit, his physical capacity can vary drastically based on that. He could create the peak physical body, perfectly strong, fast, agile, any mix of those attributes to varying degrees. And so, it ranges based on what he desires at the moment. So In the stats such as running, jumping, swimming etc. those are set as a range. But there are limitations as well. You cannot imagine a learned skill. Or at least not to a proficient level. Vague understanding will only get you so far. For example, dancing is a learned skill. An art form, something that takes being taught, practice, study and experience to accomplish. It’s a performance and one cannot simply execute the movements either. It requires flare, emotion, etc. for it to be any good. Now if I were to tell you, for example, ‘imagine doing merengue’ and you had no idea what it was or what it looked like, how could you imagine it? Not well probably. It’s vague, it’s a guess, it’s hardly there. The same applies to Gremmy. One’s imagination can only go so far as your current knowledge. You have to know things to begin with to expand on them. I can know, generally speaking, what ‘dance’ is. As a performance art, as a concept, but if I don’t watch dancing, or learn the basics of it, how it’s constructed, how it goes with music etc. I’d be hard pressed to imagine or do a dance that’s any good, even with my imagination. Gremmy’s imagination only goes as far as that knowledge or lived experiences. And considering he’s been stuck in a box for much of his (sentient) life he hasn’t had much in the way of experiences outside of his head. (This is also why I believe his fight with Kenpachi was so simple. His imagined constructs of water and lava and guns and meteor all feel very simple and plain, especially considering the extent of his ability. In this context, imagination =/= creativity)

I am also drawing my reasoning from the novels (which aren't canon or whatever but I need my crumbs so they are canon TO ME) So...writing up that last headcanon post got me thinking… Gremmy's powers are vastly over-powered, even by bleach standards. A broad stroke of 'anything he imagines becomes reality'. Even his fellow quincy feared and were weary of him. He was considered one of the most powerful in their ranks. (There's even speculation/strong hints giving credence that Gremmy was actually an aspect of the Soul King like Pernida) But, from what was displayed in his battle with Kenpachi, the scope of that imagination seemed limited. Simple like entombed in water, floods of lava, shot into space, meteorite etc. For someone who could theoretically do and/or create anything, his methods remained very simple. Gremmy is obviously capable of creating more complex and intricate figments, seeing as he constructed live, sentient entities. I think that must have taken longer for him though, more thought and time.

In battle it's probably easier to stay simple. But I can't help but think that he was sheltered in a prison away from much social contact for more than the reason of 'he's destructive and volatile'. Imagination is limited by creativity. You can only imagine more vast possibilities if you are creative. And creativity is limited by your environment and current knowledge. If a child grew up in a home of only neutral colors, their thoughts and imagined things would be in only neutral colors. But there are more colors than grey and beige. Yhwach isn't stupid. I think he knew that Gremmy's abilities needed to be locked down at a certain point, so he purposefully sheltered him from the outside world. He made sure Gremmy only knew about grey and beige so he could be limited to only creating grey and beige things. If he knew about the entire color spectrum so to speak, he would have developed into being enormously more powerful than he was.

He's also still a kid. He's basically the gifted kid in class who stopped doing the assignments because they were too easy and he got bored. In the novels he wasn't entirely anti-social. He got along fine with Liltotto and even had a nice conversation with her when he was released from his prison. He doesn't like Yhwach and nobody treats him as a person or without fear/disdain except for Liltotto and so he felt grateful to her for that. So he's this kid with these nearly godlike abilities, and from his perspective he can do anything but that 'anything' is also not the whole picture either. He only started feeling true joy, excitement etc. when he was challenged in the battle with kenpachi, because suddenly life wasn't boring, dull and lonely. Suddenly, the world opens up to him, suddenly things are new and there's an infinite amount of possibilities. He beefs it of course, but I still think that he was basically nerfed by Yhwach so he couldn't find things like say... art, literature, cinema, anything in the human world for that matter lmao. Maybe if he had more shit to do, things to learn, time to experiment he wouldn't have been nearly as homicidal because now there's interest in life and challenges to be had.

I also think that if he were to have most of his powers stripped and was forced to build back up said power (like... say, if there was a little splat of his grey matter somewhere after his brain jar was collected and inevitably experimented on, that the little splat was able to grow and grow and grow and eventually grow enough that it could escape and hide to grow more and eventually he can materialize his body again so he decides to just chill on earth for a bit), he'd have to use what little power he has to be more detail oriented and creative with what he's able to 'imagine'. He'd just have a much better time if not everything was literally at his fingertips. Let him play minecraft and learn organically. But that's an au post for another time lol

[thesalemwitchtries]

Dreaming of a Grave: Prologue

Word Count: 780

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Named! Fem! Enhanced! Reader

Warnings: depersonalization (vague), use of she/they pronouns (not really a warning, but just so you know), probably wrong tech speak (my dad is a software engineer and my mom has 4 degrees in CS, ranging from network security to a double masters in machine learning and robotics, so obviously my teenage rebellion was to be an arts major)

Masterlist

Thank you for reading, I hope you see a very cute animal soon :)

Charlotte called it Syncing: taking an imaginary leash off of her consciousness and allowing it to float away, dissolving from physical sensation, from her emotion and identity, she became it, more than Charlotte and less than human. 

There was no real feeling to it at all. She was, then it was, and together they were, no pause or breath between states, but Syncing seemed like the closest anyone could come to knowing what death felt like. The body stayed behind, just enough electricity to keep the meat fresh and responsive, cardio-vascular systems operating at a typical resting capacity. 

The soul though, transformed, ascended into Cyberspace and stretched itself wide and far, the way they were meant to be. 

World Wide Web was a shockingly apt name to come from people who couldn’t see this dimension the way that they could. Beams of light flashed the binary patterns of ones and zeros, altogether making up the vastness of human existence as it could be known so far.

Governments, banks, every old lady posting photos of their grandchildren on Facebook, it all was there, tangled together through pathways like wires, data connections forming junctions in a large spider's web. 

For the most part, Charlie experienced the Cyberspace as a place beyond both tangibility and sense, there wasn’t anything to see or hear unless they traveled to a connection that represented a camera or microphone in the Real world. Instead they operated through feeling, a superior knowing that they had always had within the Cyberspace. 

In the Real, it took Charlie years to learn code, here they wove it together like Arachne, no doubt or struggle, chains of code and subroutines molded exactly as they wished. They were the sole inhabitant and queen of an entire universe, this dimension of information, where they could create and do without limit. 

It was here, a place of life beyond breath, that they had found it. 

Charlotte had wanted a copy of some schematics, so she Synced and they began to search through data connections of the inventor, routing the plans away to her own meticulously guarded network to study back in the Real. Just as they were about to De-sync, they found it— a data connection that felt wrong. 

Hastily tied and weak, like it didn’t belong and was ready to disappear without a trace at a moment’s notice. 

Wires, strands, and connections often reflected the way that they were created outside of the Cyberspace, viruses and bugs had a particular way that they were knotted and attached to the main web, and this wire was a classic Shadow. Shadows were fairly common, almost every system had a few things locked further away from the Main Web than usual. They required caution though, as many belonged to the Law, and others to people operating Illegally.

Creating a subroutine to follow the strand of information to its other possible connections, they found it was something illegal, leading to various husks and shells— empty connections that were meant to fool anyone searching. That would work for others, accessing the Cyberspace from the Real, but they couldn’t be fooled, not here. 

More subroutines spun from their fingers, traveling down the strands and across numerous connections, dipping through security feeds and into microphones. They found empty offices, an upscale apartment, warehouses with people all in rows, a group of women screaming by the docks. 

While they couldn’t feel or sense while Synced, the part of them that was her identified what was as close to a sinking sensation as could exist outside of the Real. This was bad, evil, rotten. This Shadow was just one fragile part of a larger section of the Web, one that twisted and decayed, spreading flesh-viruses across the Real. 

Charlotte had to stay hidden, couldn’t let others notice that she was here, that they could do so much. Still, they could do so much, they could help, and so they must help. They refused to be like others that they had known, who looked at her with pity and remorse and yet never helped.

They would do something, just a little at first, and then keep an eye on things. 

Searching through the Shadow they dissolved the extra subroutines, coming across the perfect piece of bait. One file, loosely tethered but linked to all of the wrongness built here. They made a copy, innocuous, and tacked it to an email from one of the flesh-viruses to an account that was unconnected to all the wrongness. The date and time were modified, all traces of their tampering erased, and they De-synced, returning to the weary body.

The next morning, Karen Page checked her email, and opened the attached file labeled ‘Pension_Master’.

[bettercostume]

happy ao3 is down but we are dealing, here's some neymessi star wars au

Being assigned a padawan had been a surprise, especially since the high council preferred to pretend Leo didn’t exist outside of high-casualty battle situations. 

“I’m Ney,” the boy said.The shape of the man he would be was clear in his body already. Taller than Leo and confident, tight curls just so, brown skin a clean contrast against the crisp white robes of an initiate. 

“Uh, Leo,” Leo said. 

“Wizard,” Ney said, flashing a grin. Leo looked away.

He muscled through the padawan braid, Ney kneeling on the hard stone. The temple rang with the presence of force-sensitives, high ceiling gathering clouds of excitement and fear. The whole place was as Leo remembered it, a mixture of vast and abrupt, the long ramp up through the columns lending a familiar ache to his calves as they climbed. The ceremony was exactly the same as his own had been. His hands shook, fumbling the thread.

This was the point, really, to tie you into generations of jedi that came before, but Leo had been alone for years and being back among the temple crowds, the bright hope in the force, was unbearable. The clean arch of Neymar’s neck, bent under Leo’s hands, seemed obscene. 

Leo felt a headache building. Neymar, for his part, seemed unbothered by the surge of raw, unchecked emotions.  He must be barely sensitive, Leo thought, watching Neymar wink at a Togrutan girl and then stick his hand out to her master to shake. It was a blessing. They had many long months of meditation and rock levitation in front of them; if they were lucky, Neymar would escape out from under his master's reputation and be placed somewhere safe and far away from the frontlines. He made Master Ploo laugh and Leo thought, maybe he’d do well in the archives. It made no sense to have been assigned to Leo, who was considered a war criminal on several planets. Maybe it was a punishment. He was bad at discerning that sort of thing until the blow landed.

“So now what?” 

Leo looked around their shared quarters, sparse and worn at the edges, the dusty gray of ground-down stone. He had a single bag that looked as tired as the rest of him, patched at one end with the durafiber that the clones used for their base wear. Neymar had a brightly woven carry-all that practically glowed in comparison. 

Better to get it over with quickly. 

“Follow me,” Leo said. 

The halls were still full but the excitement had died somewhat, fading into the bright, low hum that Leo remembered from his youth as the very fabric of the jedi order. It lifted his spirits somewhat. He had kept his own force signature tamped down from the moment he landed on Coruscant, and was doing the jedi equivalent of tiptoeing through the halls with a blindfold and earplugs in--still, he saw some of the more senior jedi stiffen as he approached and herd their charges away, felt a spike of fear break through his shields.

“So you grew up here?”

Leo started, and then realized Ney was of course speaking to him.

“Yes. From age 8,” he said. 

“Wow,” Ney whistled. “That’s mad young.”

“My creche mates joined at 3 or four,” Leo said. “I was considered old.” 

“So what does that make me, at 17?”

“Ancient,” Leo said. Neymar laughed. 

“Hey, late bloomer,” Ney said. “Or at least, that’s what Master Be’Karr said when she recruited me.”

Neymar paused to peer into an arch as they passed, where a gaggle of youth were sitting in silence several feet off the floor. He waved to one, and then jogged back into step with Leo.

“I thought she was gonna be my Master, actually,” Ney said. “You know she stayed with my parents during the siege?”

“I didn’t,” Leo said. Be’Karr had already been a Knight when he’d been in the temple. She was hard to miss with the horns and the tattoos. All the padawans gossiped about her: she liked fast speeders, she practiced blind bareknuckle boxing, she had killed someone on one of the slave trading outposts in Huttese space. She came over for drinks with Dinho once, contained and cool in contrast to his contagious, building energy, throwing back shots with just the hint of a smile, the peep of a yellow fang. He’d watched her leave, tucked behind a wall in his pajamas, as secret as any stolen glance could be when you lived with force-sensitives. She’d deftly put her wrap-shoes on without losing her balance despite the litres of unsynthesized Jaddan grain alcohol she had put away over the course of the evening. The wink she’d sent his way just before the door closed had stuck with him, the potency of it unblemished so many years later.  

Leo must be quite the disappointment in comparison.

“Yeah, she and the 601 stayed in the cliffs with us. She helped repair our balcony when it was all over,” Neymar said, distilling a 3-month offensive into an inconvenience the size of a seasonal dust storm. “You know what she said before she left?”

“What?” Leo asked, duitifully. 

“She said she’d sensed me across the planet and wasn’t about to leave without me.”

Leo tried to imagine saying the same thing to Neymar and failed.

“You joined because of her?”

“Nah,” Neymar said. “I joined because of my sister.”

“Is she…” 

“She’s alive. But we’re—our planet is kind of a mess,” Neymar said. “We’re a moon for what used to be a prison planet, you know. Nobody knows we exist.” 

Leo looked over at him as they walked. Neymar strode with his chest forward and an ease in his limbs that belied combat experience. He really still seemed so young.

“Is this your first time offworld?”

“Yeah,” Neymar said. “So far it’s good, but we’ll see. But yeah, do you know why Master Be’Karr like, turned me down?”

He said it lightly, but Leo felt the disappointment. 

“We don’t decide,” Leo said. “The council matches each padawan with a jedi they believe can teach them the most.”

Neymar thought this over as they continued onward, winding up to the drop-off over the practice ground. Leo felt his emotions settle with alarming quickness into something fond and warm. When he looked at the young man, Neymar was smiling at him. It was genuine. "Then you must be who I need the most," Neymar said. The cannibalization of the phrase, reversed and more intimate, made Leo stumble. "You must be even better than Master Be'Karr."

"I have the most experience on the front," Leo said, mumbling. "That's all."

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter 8: Charming? Katsu charms a 'Prince,' acquires a maid, and tries to steal her letter back from Mitsuhide.

Mitsuhide x OC; Hideyoshi x MC (Mai)

Mitsuhide x OC; Hideyoshi x MC (Mai)

All Chapters Archived on Ao3 

Logline - With Mai, Hideyoshi, and Aki missing, Mitsuhide and Katsuko reluctantly team up. Disguised as a merchant and his concubine, can they outsmart the man known as the God of Deceit?

Breathe.

Breathe.

If I didn’t get myself under control, this charade was going to have an immediate expiration date.

My hand spasmed on Mitsuhide’s arm, and he spared a quick look at me – as sensitive to physical cues as he was, he had to be aware that my heart was galloping. “Kaya! If you are about to be ill, please do not soil my clothing!”

Shojumaru looked equally appalled.

“This sorry creature is not yet accustomed to rich food or vast quantities of sake.” Mitsu-Kyubei made a little shooing motion. “Go stand by the door. If you are sick, aim for the street.”

The accusation of a hangover was harsh, and of course, untrue, but I suppose it would be a reasonable excuse to Tadayo and Shojumaru. It was also probably Mitsuhide’s way of getting me out of the situation without breaking character. Nor would I argue with an escape route. I relocated to the doorway and took in gulps of fresh dock air. In other words, it kind of stunk of fish.

But at least the ocean breeze was strong. Closing my eyes, I mentally placed myself in the mountains, imagining a clean swath of snow, a fresh trail, and the feeling of being on a snowboard, slaloming down a steep hill. The sea air was mountain air, and I could control each turn with only a slight recentering of my body. Here, I could achieve peac-

“Princess, are you ill?”

A concerned voice pulled me out of my daydream, and I opened my eyes…

Oh shit.

Yoshimoto?

The shock of seeing a familiar face – a person who had only met me as the courier Katsu - did as much to push away the panic as the fresh air. “Thank you for asking, sir. I was simply enjoying the breeze.”

He turned his fine-boned face in the direction of the wind, letting it ruffle his hair.  He didn’t appear to be convinced about the breeze, but, it also didn’t appear that he had connected ‘Kaya’ with ‘Katsu’.

Ok. He doesn’t recognize me.

Or he’s smart enough not to blow my cover.

“It is a sad state of affairs when a lovely young lady would rather look at a dirty street than at silks and brocades.” He waved his hand elegantly (even my tiny acquaintance with him had been enough to learn that Yoshimoto did everything elegantly) toward the interior of the warehouse. “I’ve heard that Shojumaru is able to acquire the best imported fabric in the city… but is that not the case?”

“My opinion wasn’t required, and as I am new to this city, I wanted to take in the scenery.” Not a great cover story, as there wasn’t much scenery, but a simple village girl like Kaya would find Sakai new and exciting.

“Kaya!” Mitsu-Kyubei strolled over and put a possessive hand on my arm. “Making friends so quickly?” He turned to Yoshimoto and once again flashed that feral smile. “My new toy hasn’t yet learned that what is mine stays mine until it breaks.” Without another word, he steered me back to the main conversation, leaving Yoshimoto to stare at our backs.

Well. That was rude. But… that was likely the point. If Mitsuhide and Yoshimoto had ever met before (and they probably had done so) then Mitsuhide would probably want to put as much physical and emotional real estate between himself and Yoshimoto as possible. For that matter, I would be wise to get out of range as well. While I, or rather ‘Katsu’, had only met Yoshimoto twice, our second meeting had been somewhat recently, when I ran into him and my ninja pal Sasuke on my courier route.

It’s too bad I was currently in disguise, because it would be nice to be able to send Sasuke a message. Then again, Yoshimoto, in those bright silks and even brighter beauty, was as conspicuous as a K-pop idol in a shopping mall. If I wanted to find him later, I’m sure I could.

That was for later. Apparently for now, my task was to stand by, and pretend to be interested while Mitsuhide picked out Kaya’s wardrobe for the coming days.

Since Shojumaru was only the middleman here and not a fabric dealer, the process of choosing materials involved a lot of opening crates to determine what colors and patterns were contained inside.  Still, Mitsu-Kyubei proclaimed himself satisfied with the fabrics and before long a pile of pastel silks lay before him. So very… insipid.

Maybe Mitsuhide was trying to smother my rebellion in color theory.

“Also… this one.” He gestured to a beautiful turquoise silk with a faint dye pattern of blue, green, and aquamarine butterflies. For the first time that morning, I didn’t have to pretend I liked the fabric… I loved it.

Ok, that one I will happily wea-

“Hm, yes, this will do nicely for a new haori coat for myself,” Mitsuhide continued.

“If you were mine,” a seductive voice whispered into my ear, as Mitsuhide made arrangements for the fabrics to be sent directly to the seamstress, “I would have you dressed in jewel tones. I am of course, staying at the honjin should you wish to discuss it further.”

I knew that suggestive proposition had come from Yoshimoto, but by the time I turned my head, he had glided to the other side of the room to examine a recently opened crate. He glanced back over his shoulder at me, and a tiny smile curled at the corners of his mouth.

I don’t want to be anyone’s!

“Come along, Kaya.” With a final nod to Shojumaru and Tadayo, Mitsuhide guided me out of the warehouse. Once we were outside, he did that now-familiar single eyebrow raise… oh, ok, this was a double eyebrow. “What happened back there?” Mitsuhide’s physicality was still in the evil-Kyubei persona, but his voice had reverted to that familiar teasing register. As we were still technically in public, but out of hearing range, both made sense.

In the last moment, I decided I’d be better off pretending ignorance of Yoshimoto’s identity. “Some high caste Prince on the hunt for a new concubine.”

“That, my dear brat, I could see for myself.” He patted my arm. It was almost a paternal gesture, and one that was over so quickly that I thought I had imagined it. “I was referring to the moment that you nearly fainted. Is anything wrong?”

He was probably worried that I would mess things up before we’d even started. And though I was a reluctant partner in this, I was determined to see it through. This stupid weakness of mine would not ruin things. “Nothing to worry about. I’m just hungry.” As if to help add to the verisimilitude of something that wasn’t even a lie (exactly), my stomach growled.

Despite the well-timed protest from my insides, Mitsuhide looked like he didn’t believe me. But all he said was, “Kyubei stocked the kitchen in the machiya before he left for Azuchi. I imagine you’ll be able to find something to placate the oni currently residing in your belly.”

By the end of the day, I not only had a new wardrobe in progress, but I also had a personal maid (Mitsuhide had come to the inescapable conclusion that dealing with my hair was not ever going to part of my skill set). He’d managed to locate a local girl, Sho, who was happy to work days only, then return to her mother’s, as apparently she was helping to care for her younger siblings.

Sho happened to be one of the most beautiful creatures I had ever seen, with big green eyes, perfect skin, and shiny dark hair. If she was an advertisement for her own services, then I was probably in the right hands. Unfortunately, she was a bit on the young side, and very much inclined to chatter all day about nothing. Maybe it was her age, or maybe there was truly not much there.

By the time she had left for the evening, after promising to return the following morning with all kinds of Sengoku era hair tools (normally I would worry about what exactly was included in the Sengoku hair tool set – but they could hardly make my hair look worse), I was exhausted by her enthusiasm. “Where did she come from again?” I asked Mitsuhide as he gestured to a pot of stew that he’d thrown together.

Literally. Thrown. Together.

“Please, partake. I could hear your stomach demanding food even over Sho’s monologue.” He handed me an empty bowl. “As for the maid, I had her direction from Shojumaru. Apparently one of her siblings works for him.”

“Shojumaru suggested her? Couldn’t that mean she’s a spy?” Surely Mitsuhide had considered that possibility. “And, seriously, if you are going to fill your house with spies, why not hire a cook too? Because you… can’t.” I looked down at the pot of…  fruits, vegetables, a mystery meat that I really didn’t want to examine the provenance of too closely and wondered why and how he’d been inspired to toss it all into one dish then season it with fish sauce and what smelled like curry.

Completely oblivious to the taste, Mitsuhide was chowing down with gusto. “Dear me, are you questioning my cooking skills?”

“It wasn’t a question; it was a statement of fact.” No wonder Sho had run out of here so quickly. She’d probably been afraid that we would feed her.

“You are more than welcome to take over the cooking.” He gestured toward the firepit. “As for Sho… of course she’s a spy, although an unwitting one. But as long as we feed her the information we want Shojumaru to have, then we’re ahead of him.”

“I hope the information tastes better than this.” I dumped the remainder of my dinner in his bowl and got up to forage. I wasn’t much of a cook myself, but since he obviously had no taste buds, I had no choice. Whatever I cooked wouldn’t have much imagination, but it would be edible. “You’ve determined that Shojumaru is involved in this somehow?”

Hm, I could manage a quick soup with the veggies and these leftover noodles.

“I have determined nothing – but it’s prudent to view every person as dangerous until proven otherwise.” He looked at his bowl and threw in a few pieces of dried fruit (that I had assumed was to be his dessert, but maybe not). He turned the question back on me. “You seem convinced of his guilt. Any particular reason?”

Thrilled that he’d asked my opinion, I said, “No reason besides the fact that he’s too aggressively pleasant.”

“As logic, that lacks a bit of evidence, but I’ll let that go.” Mitsuhide then spoiled the tiny bit of good feeling I had toward him by announcing that he was going out. “Can you be trusted to actually stay put, or shall I chain you to the wall?”

Of course, he couldn’t trust me, but on this occasion, my plans for the night required that I stay in. Not that I could let him know that. “If you’re worried, take me with you.”

He flipped from teasing to authorative – which I now understood meant he wasn’t in the mood to banter over rules. “Do not leave this building. I will know and it will not go well for you.”

“I have every intention of staying in.” If I gave him my patented ‘I’m innocent and naïve’ look, he’d probably become suspicious, but I did add, “I promise.”

“If you get bored, might I suggest that you clean up the cooking area? We don’t want bugs.” And with that, he was gone.

Briefly I considered ignoring that suggestion. But I happened to agree that bugs were not welcome, and so I put my maid training to good use, cleaned up the dishes, washed out the pot, and banked the coals on the brazier. Besides, if he were planning to come back and check on me, he would see that I was cleaning the kitchen like a good little Cinderella.

Once the dishes were clean, the floor was washed, and all the food was put away… and more importantly the coast was clear, I set about my true goal for the evening: finding Aki’s letter.

It was not, unfortunately, in Mitsuhide’s desk – which was both unlocked and relatively empty of anything interesting beyond a few padlocks.

Huh, perhaps that chained to the wall threat was real.

Nor could I find a lockbox of any sort in the office. Which meant, he was either keeping the letter on his person, or in the bedroom.

Hopefully, the latter.

He hadn’t said how long he would be away, and the consequences of getting caught in his room would likely be humiliating, and potentially painful. Yes. Painful. I pushed away the memory of Mitsuhide telling me that he used pleasure as punishment.

But. It was my letter and it might even have a clue of sorts.

As with the office, Mitsuhide’s bedroom was scrupulously neat – I would need to be extremely careful not to disturb a thing, and to put everything back exactly where I had found it. A faint smell of that cinnamon and sandalwood incense and a fainter odor of sake clung to the edges of the room – I could see a half-empty bottle of it sitting on a shelf.

Also on the shelf… a puzzle box, and a fairly large one at that. Large enough to easily contain my letter. These boxes were just beginning to make their way into the country, but they wouldn’t become common for at least another century (at which point, some of the best puzzle box craftsmen would be domestic). But being from another century myself, I knew what it was, and more importantly, how to open them.

I sat down on the floor (less likely to crease the bedding on his futon) and experimented until I managed press the series of levers and disks in the correct order. The hidden drawer slid open, revealing my letter, and, underneath that -  a tobacco pipe and a lock of reddish-brown hair. Hm. I idly wondered whose hair that was. Who was important enough to him that he would save a bit of their hair in a keepsake box? Did Mitsuhide have a lost love?

Not that it matters.

Or that I care.

Of course, the hair could belong to anyone he had felt close to – a relative, even.

But this was not the time to be distracted. I left the personal items in the drawer and turned my attention to Aki’s letter. He’d written it in code – a special cipher that he and I had devised together. On one hand, this was good, because I doubted it would be one that would be easy for Mitsuhide to break. On the other hand, I was going to have to waste time decoding it.

My very dear child-

Are you surprised by the greeting? I’m afraid you are in for a few more surprises, for… and I hate to begin a letter with the very cliched ‘if you are reading this something has happened to me.’ However, that must be the case. I am sorry to be telling this to you in a letter, but I could never find the courage to tell you in person. In another timeline, my young acquaintance Mister Mikumo once said that you deserve your Cloud City moment.

Mikumo? Who is Mikumo? I momentarily pondered that before the implications of “Cloud City” hit me.

The Empire Strikes Back.

Vader to Luke Skywalker… “No. I am your father.”

Was Aki hinting that he was -- But that… wasn’t possible. I had been born nearly 450 years from now and Aki was of this era.

Except, Aki just alluded to a movie that had been made in the twentieth century.

Aki was not native to this time either… or if he was, he’d visited modern Japan at some point. During which time, he apparently been involved with my mother.

I wish I could give you the details, but even now there is the possibility that someone else may find and eventually decode this correspondence.

Thanks, Mitsuhide.

I’ll simply say that Francisco and I traveled here together.

Francisco? Really? The man couldn’t get from one end of Sakai to the other, and yet he’d managed to time travel 450 years into the past?

If you want to know the story of how your mother and I met and fell in love, ask him, for he was witness to all much of it. Should you decide that you want to make you way back to modern Japan (and… you may not wish to do so after you finish reading this), find Mister Mikumo – who you know as the ninja Sarutobi Sasuke. Sasuke also travelled here, separate from myself, and can help you.

Why Sasuke and not Francisco? Francisco has travelled as an observer of events, but he lacks the understanding of how to make the journey on his own. Additionally, for private reasons, he prefers to settle here permanently. If you elect to return home, the information below will help you in setting up a new life, or resuming your old one. Consider it your trust fund.

The “information below” appared to be a bank account number and password.

However, just as Francisco has his reasons, I am requesting that you stay here. There is an important mission, a vital one that –

Outside, a horse whinnied.

Mitsuhide was back.

Shit…. Shit… I shuttered the lantern – hopefully he hadn’t looked up to this window. Luckily the moon was full and provided enough light for me to carefully replace the letter and put the box back exactly where I had found it.

I’d considered keeping the letter, but – I didn’t want Mitsuhide to realize I had found his super secret squirrel hiding place, reclaim the letter, and force me to find it again. No. I would just have to sneak back in at some point to read the rest.

After a quick eyeball of the room to make certain nothing was out of place, I slipped into the corridor…

…Just as Mitsuhide appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Dear me. Has a naughtly little thief been lurking in my chambers?”

The third thing I hate about Mitsuhide – his timing.

@selenacosmic @bestbryn @mllorei @tele86 @lyds323 @akitsuneswife

[giacomettislament]

Could I req Cater, Vil, and Trey using their unique magic during sex? (Like Cater's clones) Sorry if that isn't super specific ww

woman of venice ii

“control me more, darling.”

trey. cater. vil.

content warning(s): explicit content, brief mention of torture (not used within the actual smut), gangbang

—To feel is to be human. Humans were unique due to the vast range of their emotions, their senses, and their ability to react accordingly to these phenomena. It was no wonder that stripping someone of their senses entirely was one of the most cruel yet effective forms of torture, because at its very core, it stripped its victim of their thoughts: their humanity.

You wonder if that is what Trey’s goal is, tampering with all of your senses. Ever since he whispered “Doodle Suit” and left you in this drunken trance, your body can only register him and all the things he’s doing to you. Your vision blurs, your mouth runs sweet, and your skin is so, so much more sensitive than it should be to his every touch.

His fingers ghost over your thighs, and you nearly scream at the sensation. He watches you with eyes blown open wide with lust, almost like he doesn’t recognize that he’s the one who’s manipulating your body.

“T-Trey…! Please…,” you plead, bucking your hips against nothing. He stays silent, continuing to massage the soft flesh of your legs with his big hands, and he observes the way your sex drools and keens for attention as if you were the one that put him under a spell instead.

He traces your heat with a curious finger, and your body shudders with shock. It isn’t fair of him to do this to you, to make you want him so much more than you should because of that stupid spell of his, and all you can think about in your sex-crazed mind is how good it would feel for him to spear you on his cock, to grind down on his girthy shaft and feel his balls lewdly rubbing against the curve of your body, to willingly surrender yourself—body, soul, and conscious—to him.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? I never knew I could do this to you… Never thought I could be so powerful.” He savors the way you crumble beneath him, any morsel of pride thrown out the window. It makes some greedy, hungry monster inside his chest purr with ecstasy knowing that he single-handedly tore you down in such a humiliating manner. “Stay strong, sugar plum. If you’re going crazy over me just teasing you, how in the world do you expect to take my cock fully?”

That you don’t know. All you care, through your half-lidded eyes, is that you want it, and you want it now. But Trey seems to think otherwise, and your brain desperately clings to the final strains of logic that wisp around in your mind, slowly falling deeper and deeper into that torturous spell of his.

—”Fuck, you look so cute…”

You can barely think. Your skin’s sticky and heavy with all the bodies pressed against you, and your mind feels even more fogged and dizzy. Cater sits a bit away, his fist wrapped around his swollen cock as he jerks himself off. His clones ravage your body, each one whining and trying to get your attention on them.

“S-So tight…! Cay-kun’s gonna cum!”

“Does this feel good? Do you like it when lots of Cay-kuns show you love?”

“C-Cumming…!”

Your hole burns with how much his cock has rutted into you. The moment one clone finishes inside you, another takes its place. Your hands keep jerking off the ones who aren’t fuck you, and each of them glower with jealousy at one another for taking up your attention.

The real Cater continues to edge himself. His balls twitch and clench up—seeing you being overwhelmed turns him on like nothing else! You look so weak and cute, your brains all fucked out and body overrun by all of his clones! His stomach coils and twists with heat. He wishes he could watch you being fucked out like this forever, but Cater knows perfectly well that he can only last for so long using his unique magic so strenuously like this.

And the greedy boy knows that he would never, ever let another man see you in such a state. He loves being denied, being held off from touching you the way he loves most, but he only takes it because in some twisted logic, it’s still him having sex with you. Albeit his clones, but it’s not another guy you’re running off too.

Cater flicks his fingers over the head of his cock, shuddering at the pleasure running up his body. He stares at you, his lovestruck eyes blown open wide with lust. He must look so pathetic to you, panting like a dog as he masturbates to the sight of you being overtaken by himself.

“Cay-kun’s making you feel good, right?” He asks. His voice is laced with a kind of needy desperation. You can’t even answer him, too focused on surviving for the moment, and he giggles brokenly to himself. “I’ll make you feel so good! Do you like it when lots of men give you attention like this? Don’t worry then! All the Cays here will give you as much attention as you want!”

—You can’t move your body. Your limbs are locked in place, and Vil hovers over you. The sheer amount of cum that leaks down your thighs from how much he’s used your body to pleasure himself seems almost impossible, but you should know better than to doubt the ambitious man he is. He grits his teeth as he grinds into you again, his grimoire ditched off to the side as he digs his nails into your hips.

“Hah… My idiotic darling,” he whispers. “Did you really take me to be a kind, patient man? Useless fools like you are good for nothing but taking care of my dick.”

His magic is overpowering, just like who he is. It’s that damn curse of his that keeps you in place, leaving your gut swirling and turning in on itself whenever the thick head of his cock punches your sweet spot deep in you. It would be so easy to cry and beg for mercy normally, but Vil needs to let off steam. And if cursing you with his unique magic to satisfy himself is what it takes, you’re more than happy to take the brunt of his wrath.

His thrusts are rhythmic but rough, leaving you slumped over his bed as he brings his hips down against yours again and again. His cock won’t stop stretching your abused hole out, and whenever Vil switches positions to fuck into you at a new angle, the pressure coiling up inside of you becomes unbearable.

It’s absolutely unfair how good he feels, even when he’s reduced your body to nothing more than a sex toy for him to use. Your grip on reality is fading, and you can easily see how you’d get hooked onto something as dangerous as this.

But being his sex doll wouldn’t be such a bad thing now, would it? You’re sure the man holding onto your body for dear life would treat you so sweetly. He’d take care of you so long as you’re willing to depend on him and put your life in his hands. It would be so easy to just let go…

x

[stellerssong]

WKFJSA your WIP Wednesday post is an absolute delight to read, thank you 😂😂😂 can I hear a bit more about #6 and perhaps persuade you to share a snippet if I ask very very nicely?

i'm glad to hear it! the thing i have really missed about being on tumblr is being fucking sillygoofy about my own fic. you have to be an adult in the comments, y'know, and there's only so much room in an author's note for Japes and Goofs when you have to make time to outline non-tag warnings and link song attributions and thank your prompter and/or beta and flash an In Tonight's Performance The Role Of X Will Be Played By card as necessary and—

anyway.

#6 was indeed begun in my evernote drafts while waiting for the Fall Out Boy concert to begin and slowly sinking under a dose of unprescribed downers. i think maybe Pat Stump and Pete Wentz are not good at writing, like, "music"—many of those melodic lines are 100% reliant on "i have the range, stamina, and lack of understanding of what constitutes healthful singing of 23-year-old Patrick Stump" in order to function—but some of their word salad lyrics do make great titles, and except to dream sweet of me was kind of a banger from first principles. but then i was like "oh maybe this is my chance to drop while you're orbiting, might i? a potential fic title i've been holding in reserve for a few years now." but THEN i was like "in the spirit of continuing to tick boxes on my nonexistent List Of Languages I've Used For A Fic Title, and also in the spirit of what actually happens in the fic, why not trína chéile, le chéile, claochlaithe?" vote now on your phones!

okay but what is the fic actually ABOUT. right. what the fic is actually ABOUT is, i believe @tickldpnk8 commented on suffer that hurt that they wanted to see Lucienne tell Dream about her "pleasant" "conversation" with Desire, and to know how that would go. for my part, i didn't want to end revisionsverse without at least one more tender moment between Dream and Luce, because as much as i joke about this being the "Dream talks to all the women in his life au," the Danny/Luce relationship is really the heart of the thing. i also wanted there to be some reciprocity for Luce's courage in suffer that hurt (and during the years of Morpheus' captivity).

something that i think is not super important to fandom at large, but which is very important to ME, is the acknowledgement of female characters of color's emotional labor—not just "wow! you are so girlboss and yass kween and Greta Gerwig Barbie, just like we always knew you were!" but like, "you were brave and strong and i know you didn't really have a choice, but it matters that you endured, let me help you hold that for a while. i see you and i love you." it's the seeing that matters the most to me. not the assumption that She's Always Got It In Her, not the unbroken fortitude, but the acknowledgement of the person underneath. and like, Luce has seen the person underneath all of Dream's competing positionalities so much in this series—has helped shape that person for the reader in a lot of very real ways—so i wanted to get Dream looking back at her, through his own eyes, and showing us the person he loves.

"okay but i'm asking what HAPPENS in the fic. what is the PLOT" THEY CUDDLE IN BED WHILE DREAM CASUALLY HAS A SERIES OF VIVID HALLUCINATIONS. THIS IS A NORMAL DATE NIGHT FOR THEM.

“Where are you now, love?” You are drifting weightless and silent through the soft-edged dreams of a floating cnidarian, the constant pulse-pulse-pulse of your meandering path through space the only defining line between your body, your mind, and the vast careless collective of the open ocean— —and you are stalking along at the side of one of the lesser nightmares as it pursues a child through an alien, twilit forest, tasting fear-sweat smeared over the flat violet plane of a teardrop-shaped leaf, marking the depth of footprints in the leaf-litter, listening for panting breath and for the impact of a small body against the ground as your quarry stumbles for the final time— —and you are stone, molten and white-hot, the burning heart at the core of a newly formed planet which dreams of cooling rains and columns of cloud and the first trembling breath of a living thing that might one day tread the ground of you, the world of you— “I am here with you.” “Well, I know that’s not true,” Lucienne says with a sleepy chuckle. “Or not entirely, anyway.”

[chattingwiththelightkeeper]

Tactile Temptations

Within the dynamic landscape of BDSM, touch emerges as a multifaceted tool, capable of weaving intricate connections and eliciting profound emotions. From the tender caresses that ignite intimacy to the intense sensations of impact play, the spectrum of tactile experiences in BDSM is vast and transformative. Together we will explore and delve into the depths of touch within BDSM, examining how different sensations evoke varying emotional and psychological responses for both dominants and submissives.

At the heart of BDSM lies a deep appreciation for touch in all its forms. For many, the journey begins with tender caresses and gentle strokes that ignite the senses and foster intimacy. These soft touches serve as the foundation upon which trust and vulnerability are built, laying the groundwork for more intense interactions.

As the dynamics evolve, so too does the nature of touch. From silk scarves to leather restraints, implements offer a diverse array of tactile experiences. Each material, from the smoothness of satin to the roughness of rope, imbues the interaction with its unique texture and sensation. The juxtaposition of soft and hard, smooth and rough, heightens the sensory experience, deepening the connection between partners.

Another aspect of the tactile spectrum is impact play, a dynamic exploration of sensation and control. From the sting of a hand to the thud of a paddle, impact implements elicit a range of physical and emotional responses. For some, the intensity of impact play serves as a release, allowing them to escape the confines of their mind and embrace the primal sensations of the body.

But impact play is not solely the domain of the submissive. For dominants, the act of delivering controlled strikes can be equally cathartic, providing a release of pent-up energy and emotion. In the rhythmic exchange of give and take, dominants find a sense of empowerment and mastery, while submissives revel in the surrender of control.

At its core, the lifestyle is about more than just physical sensation, it is about the profound emotional and psychological connection forged between partners. Through the power of touch, dominants and submissives alike find solace, validation, and catharsis.

For submissives, the act of relinquishing control can be liberating, providing an opportunity to escape the burdens of everyday life and surrender to the consensual guidance of a trusted dominant. In the tender embrace of a caring dominant, submissives find acceptance and affirmation, allowing them to explore their deepest desires and vulnerabilities without fear of judgment.

Likewise, for dominants, the act of guiding and nurturing a submissive can be profoundly fulfilling. Through touch, dominants express their care and affection, providing a safe space for their submissive to explore and grow. In the exchange of power and trust, both partners find a sense of fulfillment and purpose, enriching their bond and deepening their connection.

In the intricate dance of BDSM, touch serves as both a means of communication and a gateway to transformation. From the gentlest of caresses to the most intense of impacts, the power of touch in BDSM is boundless, offering a pathway to intimacy, catharsis, and self-discovery. By embracing the full spectrum of tactile sensations, dominants and submissives alike can unlock the full potential of their desires and forge connections that transcend the physical realm.

If you enjoyed this, I invite you to give my podcast a listen ’Chatting With The Lightkeeper,’ a top 25% most-followed podcasts on Spotify but available on all the major podcasting apps and follow my socials for more exclusive content: Instagram, Facebook, Bluesky, and X (formerly Twitter) for a deeper dive into the wonderful world of D/S.

As with all of my thoughts, please see this disclaimer.

©TLK2024