#“this is only a mere fraction of my power”

[his-tamine]

Having a sneeze kink is diabolical

And I am a villain 🙏🏽

[draconic-desire]

hiiiii ive been brainrotting abt sunday and his triple face god thing abababah thinking abt him handcuffing reader and interrogating them with the truth thing he does to aventurine ARGHH omg questioning abt who they were with cos hes jealousssss AUGH you dont have to write anything off of this i just hope this inspires you ily

oh you have read my MIND. I’m currently in the middle of writing a fic with dr ratio interrogating reader like he did with mx. stellaron…but now imagining that with sunday?? wow.

i’m totally normal about this man. i swear.

Yan!Sunday x Gn!Reader

Fingers drum on the table, the only break in the suffocating silence engulfing the room.

“I’ll ask you one. Last. Time.” Sunday punctuates each word with another tap of his finger, and you gasp as you feel the Harmony sink its influence another inch further into your skull.

Despite the futility, despite knowing you’ve been trying the same thing over and over again for the past half an hour, you pull at your restraints. The metal chain of the handcuffs skitters along the table, the sound like nails on a chalkboard, but it does not budge from its steel attachment. You’re firmly and inescapably chained to the table in Sunday’s office, with said perpetrator sitting opposite.

He appears calm, but you’ve learned to notice the slight twitch of his eye, the falter in his normal smirk. His patience is one wrong answer away from shattering.

At your silence, he leans back in his chair, shaking his head. His golden gaze is chastising, almost disappointed. “Angel, you know I don’t want to hurt you. Just tell me who you were with.”

You only glare at him in response. Bullshit. You’ve lost count of the amount of times he’s forced truths out of you or affections upon you through the Harmony. The psychedelic pest in your brain is almost the norm by now, a poison he has slowly been feeding you.

Oh, Triple Faced-Soul, please sear their tongue and palms with a hot iron, so that they will not be able to fabricate lies and make false vows.

Those words are branded into the flesh of your brain, your soul. And tonight, if you tell him what he wants, even more blood will be spilled.

Sunday’s jealously is as calculating as he is. It’s a knife poised at the right angle to spear you, to pin you with accusations that you can’t talk your way out of.

Like in this instance, where he has deluded himself into thinking you are trying to leave him. He’s finally let you out of Dewlight Pavilion (you’ve learned that trying to escape the dreamscape is pointless, so you’ll take your freedoms when you can), and this is the first reaction you’re met with? Being dragged to his office as soon as you returned and invaded, prodded, and violated by the Harmony?

The pressure around your temples tightens another fraction, and you cannot stop the pained cry that escapes you. Rainbow streaks cloud your vision and practically pull the words from your mouth. “I was with friends! We were at the Dreamjolt Hosterly for a couple drinks, that’s it!”

Sunday merely hums as he stands and pads towards you, taking a position at your back. You’re unable to turn around to face him, but you can feel the weight of his presence, the promise of his power, as he wraps a hand around the back of your neck.

His breath tickles the shell of your ear as he leans in and whispers, “Liar.”

One word chills your blood to ice. “I’m not!”

The grip around your neck tightens in tandem with the pressure in your head. “Do you really think you can evade me, (Y/n)? My gales are perched in every region of Penacony, and THEY are by my side. THEY see all, hear all, know all.”

As if on cue, the Harmony rips through your consciousness, and it takes all your willpower not to pass out. Exhausted, you involuntarily lean back into Sunday’s hand, which seems to please him. “Now, tell me the name of the man who dared to touch what is mine.”

Clenching your eyes shut, you shake your head. You’re out of breath and stumbling along your words. “He was just being friendly, and he was drunk, we all were, and all he did was kiss my cheek; it was a dare, and I swear to you, Sunday, we’re just friends—”

“(Y/n),” Sunday interrupts. “His name.”

The finality in the Family head’s words sends your heart plummeting. You feel your resolve slip as the Harmony tightens its grip and goes in for the kill. You speak the name aloud, barely a whisper, and know that you’ve just delivered the man’s fate.

In your half-conscious state, you barely register Sunday removing your cuffs and scooping you into his arms. He tucks you into his chest bridal-style, his wings fluttering across your face. “You did well, my angel.”

“Please,” you breathe, your voice wobbly with tears, even as you feel the Harmony retreat from your senses—for now. “Don’t hurt him.”

Sunday merely leans his head down to place a kiss along your temple. “Enough of that,” he scolds. “The only man you should be thinking about is me. After all, it is an angel’s duty to obey their god without question.”

And Sunday is, if anything, a vengeful god.

For that night was the last that you ever saw your friend. Death in dreams was your only reality.

[fayes-fics]

Vignette

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: An artist meet-cute in the park.

Warnings: none... this is the fluffiest of fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

Authors Note: Anon request fill (see HERE) about Benedict and an artist having a meet-cute in the park. Unbetaed. I hope you enjoy this, Nonny, and sorry it has taken so many months! <3

A wooden toy hoop whooshing inches from your knee interrupts your quiet refuge amid the flower gardens of Regents Park, breaking your intense concentration on your drawing and almost dropping your charcoal.

Seconds later, a pretty young girl of maybe eleven years old comes running after the errant object, her plaited hair bouncing, her blush pink dress swishing around her knees as she calls out an apology to you and retrieves the hoop from the nearby bush.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her face a picture of impish inquisition as she wanders back to your bench.

“I am drawing,” you smile benevolently; something about her mischievous spirit reminds you of your nieces.

“What are you drawing?” her grin somehow infectious.

“You see those roses there?” you point with your charcoal to a nearby white alba maxima rose bush, stems almost bowing under the weight of the heavily ruffled peach-tipped petals. “Those are in peak bloom, and I am attempting to capture them, their ephemeral beauty...”

“Are you any good?” 

You chuckle at her youthful bluntness, but just as you are tilting your work towards her, you are interrupted by a man rounding into this same quiet corner. 

“Hyacinth! Please refrain from injuring and bother…” his refined voice begins to chastise but suddenly grinds to a halt mid-sentence as soon as he catches sight of you.

But he is not the only one who has lost the power of speech. 

Something vaults hard in your stomach like you are plunging down an invisible chasm. He is handsome in a way you have never seen before in your twenty years on this earth: tall, with a strong jaw and a dandyish colourful outfit that fits him very well. 

There are a few moments where all you do is stare at each other, lips parted, before he appears to shake himself a fraction and bows his head in polite greeting.

“Where are my manners? I would like to apologise for my little sister almost causing you injury, Miss. The fault is entirely mine; I should not have let her play quite so spiritedly in a public park. I-I hope you are not injured?”

“N-Not at all; the hoop merely brushed my skirt. I am more than fine,” you assure hurriedly. “Mr….?”

“Bridgerton,” he offers, nodding to you in a more formal greeting.

You would know that name anywhere—one of the most esteemed families of the Ton. You instantly know he is not the Viscount, having seen him at society events, so you surmise this must be one of his younger brothers. Before you can offer your name, however, he speaks again. 

“You draw?” 

“Oh.. yes, yes… I-I do,” you stumble, a little taken aback by his question, even as you feel his sister’s gaze volleying between the two of you with a bemused expression.

“I draw too,” he explains, placing a hand over his sternum, the sunlight catching upon a signet ring on his little finger. 

“Oh…” you seem inordinately pleased to share such a hobby with this virtual stranger.

“I also know well that charcoal fingers are an occupational hazard..” he adds cordially as he catches you attempting to wipe the dark smears upon your hands with a rag. “May I see your work? If it is not too impudent of me to ask,” he adds modestly.

“I-I am not very good…” you fret, looking down at the partial image you see on your sketch pad. “Tis merely a pastime I use to escape…”

“Believe me, Miss…?”

“Y/l/n.”

“Believe me, Miss y/l/n, it is very much the case for me too - being that I am one of eight. Including such trouble-makers as this one,” he rolls his eyes affectionately as he signals to Hyacinth, who seems to be rapidly losing interest, distractedly spinning the hoop she holds. “Escaping is almost a full-time hobby for me…” 

You cannot help but giggle at his droll humour, and he seems delighted, his face lighting up as you hide a mild blush behind the back of your hand.

“May I?” his ask is so soft you cannot do anything but acquiesce.

“‘Tis just a small vignette…” you excuse meekly as you hand over your sketchpad, suddenly so nervous to hear his opinion. You have never shared your drawings with anyone before, but something about his affable demeanour makes you bold enough to do so.

He is quiet for some time. It feels like an age, even though it is likely only a matter of seconds, but still long enough that butterflies start to roil in your stomach.

“I did say it is just a hobby…” you titter nervously, looking away.

“It is beautiful…” he exhales quietly, tone filled with admiration as your eyes ping back to him.

Your heart flutters as he extols the virtues of your work, effusively admiring your use of shading to capture shadows and the lines you have used to denote the multitudinous layers of petals, his gracious hand gesturing over the picture as he speaks.

“You flatter me entirely too much, Mr Bridgerton…” you demure, even as you feel yourself blooming under his praise, just like the flower you have painstakingly attempted to capture. A warmth in your chest that seems to radiate out to glow all over.

“I assure you I do not,” he smiles, handing you back your sketch pad.

“Benedict,” Hyacinth whines, stamping her little boot on the grass, “you said we would play…”

“I do not wish to interrupt your family time,” you placate, pleased you have learned his first name.

“Hyacinth, I am sure Eloise said something about sandwiches; you want lunch, do you not?” Benedict responds, raising a pointed brow.

“Well, yes, but…”

“Run along then,” he pulls an exasperated face at her that again has you giggling, making a shooing gesture with his hands.

She sighs but departs with a dramatic flounce.

“Sadly, I must also depart; a family picnic indeed awaits. But if I may be so bold, I would very much like for us to meet again. If you would be amendable? With a chaperone, of course,” he adds hurriedly, keen to be gentlemanly. “I think perhaps we would have much to speak of… around art. And perhaps we could… draw together? Here?”

His proposal, so sweet and straightforward, has you rendered speechless again, heart leaping at the very thought.

“I…I would like that very much,” your honest confession out of your mouth before you can swallow it.

“As would I,” his response instant, his face beaming. “Would you be here, perchance, Thursday afternoon around this same time?”

“I would…” The hitch of excitement in your own voice unmistakable.

“Excellent!” his hazy blue eyes seem to dance in the sunlight as he respectfully tilts his head again. “I am so looking forward to it, Miss y/l/n…” are his parting words before he takes his leave.

“As am I, Mr Bridgerton…” you murmur belatedly, the words shared only with the fragrant roses surrounding you, swaying gently in the afternoon breeze.

Your stare lingers where he stood long after he has left, an excited buzz over your skin at the thought you have met a kindred, artistic spirit. And one so very handsome, too.

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[nihilityuniverse]

CREATOR | Genshin x FEM! Reader

In which, You, The Creator, descend onto Teyvat as a Human in disguise.

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MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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ENG is not my First language

I do not own Genshin Impact or any of the pictures used.

Do NOT Repost

Also available on Wattpad: Chapter 1

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Long, long ago, even before humans existed, our beloved Creator walked upon the land they had formed, accompanied by dragons and living harmoniously with their creations. Their mere presence caused bountiful fruits and vegetables to grow, and with each step they took, golden flowers blossomed.

As time passed and the first mortals and gods emerged on Teyvat, the Creator ascended to a higher plane, beyond the understanding of mortals and gods. Yet, their gaze never left Teyvat, always watching over their creation.

But then, without warning, the tranquil and pure presence vanished into thin air. The following day, disaster erupted across Teyvat, accompanied by numerous cataclysms. All living beings were left bewildered, not knowing what offense they had committed to warrant such a punishment from their Creator. This tragic event became an indelible mark in Teyvat's history.

In the present day, tales of our Creator are rarely spoken, and only a few ancient scripts remain to remember them. It seems as though humans have forgotten and abandoned the Creator, the memory of their grace fading into obscurity.

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Descending back onto the physical plane as a human felt both alien and exhilarating. The first gasp for air filled your lungs with a sharp, cool sensation, invigorating and strange after eons of ethereal existence. Each breath tasted of the earthy, ancient air of Teyvat, grounding you in a way you had almost forgotten.

Your eyes scanned your surroundings, taking in the dimly lit chamber. You found yourself back inside the old temple where you had once departed from this world, your first creation of both the planet and the universe it resided in.

The room was vast and ancient, with high, vaulted ceilings adorned with faded frescoes depicting the dawn of creation. The stone walls were etched with intricate runes and symbols, remnants of a time long past. Torches flickered softly in their sconces, casting dancing shadows that seemed to whisper secrets of the ages.

You were lying on top of a stone slab, the surface cold and unyielding beneath you. A simple white robe clothed your new form, its fabric coarse against your skin, yet comforting in its simplicity.

You raised your hands, watching eagerly as you moved each finger. The sensation was foreign, a mix of fascination and discomfort. The human body felt both fragile and potent, a vessel brimming with possibilities.

Attempting to stand, you found your legs unsteady, and you tumbled to the hard, cold ground with a soft thud. "Ugh..." you huffed, the sound escaping your lips, a blend of frustration and determination.

You tried to stand up, but your arms and legs were still shaking. You let out a sigh. 'This body is more fragile than I thought it would be...' you mused. 

Crafting this body had been a complex task, designed to contain a tiny fraction of your powers and your Consciousness while still maintaining a link to your true form in the higher plane.

With a surge of determination, you mustered your energy and stood up again. You managed a few unsteady steps before crashing against the stone door. Sweat dripped down your forehead, and you panted, feeling the strain of physical exertion for the first time in ages.

Bracing yourself against the cool, solid surface of the door, you took a moment to catch your breath. 

The temple was eerily silent, the only sounds being your labored breathing and the faint echo of distant memories.

You placed your hands on the old, heavy stone door, trying to push it open with every ounce of physical strength in your frail body. It was as if you were trying to move a mountain. Your muscles trembled with the effort, and despite your determination, the door remained stubbornly immobile.

Realizing the futility of brute force, you closed your eyes and placed your hand gently on the door. Focusing intently, you drew upon the small reservoir of power within you. A faint white light began to emanate from the palm of your hand, soft and ethereal. It tingled through your body, warm and invigorating, as if tiny sparks of energy danced beneath your skin.

Slowly, the heavy door began to open, not through physical effort, but as if invisible, imaginary threads were pulling it open from the other side. You could feel the ancient mechanisms responding to your power, groaning softly as they shifted. The door yielded, inch by inch, until it finally stood ajar, allowing a soft breeze to drift into the temple.

With wobbly legs, you walked outside and were greeted by a vast expanse of vibrant green stretching out before you. The sounds of birds chirping echoed in the distance, a symphony of life resonating through the forest. Your eyes widened with excitement as you hurriedly ventured deeper into the forest, mesmerized by its magical allure.

Each step you took landed on a bed of soft moss, the texture cushioning your feet like the most luxurious mattress. The sensation was soothing and delightful, a stark contrast to the hard stone of the temple. 

Above, a canopy of trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves creating a symphony of whispers. Sunlight filtered through the branches, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow that danced around you in an enchanting display.

The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the earthy aroma of the forest floor. You took a deep breath, the freshness of the air invigorating you. The sounds of chirping birds and the distant babble of a stream created a soothing background melody, a gentle reminder of the life teeming around you.

Massive trees with trunks wide enough to house entire rooms rose majestically around you. Their leaves were an array of colors, from the deepest greens to shimmering golds, reflecting the sunlight in a magical display. The forest floor was dotted with flowers of every hue, some glowing faintly, adding to the breathtaking atmosphere.

You spun around in happiness, full of energy, as you took in the beautiful scenery. You had always gazed at the planets from afar, observing them and the mortals who inhabited them, but never being able to feel it, to live it. Now, you were here, a part of this vibrant world, experiencing its wonders firsthand.

Every moment in this new form felt like a gift, a chance to connect with the creation you had so lovingly crafted. The forest welcomed you with open arms, and for the first time in millennia, you felt truly alive.

As you ventured deeper into the forest, every flower, tree, and plant you passed seemed to bloom brighter and more lively than ever before. With each step you took, golden flowers blossomed in your trail, a testament to your presence.

You were filled with happiness, giggling in delight. 'So this is what feelings are like!' you thought.

In your true form, you had never experienced such sensations. Witnessing this firsthand was truly amazing! Creating a human body, a vessel capable of containing even a fraction of your essence, had been the most difficult part, especially after observing billions of humans from different planets and universes simultaneously.

Lost in the scenery, you suddenly tripped over a root and went rolling down a hill. "Woahh," you yelped, and before you realized it, you tumbled off a cliff.

The wind rushed past your face, your hair whipping wildly as you plummeted through the air. Time seemed to slow as you neared the water's surface, the crystal-clear lake shimmering beneath you.

You hit the water with a splash, the coldness enveloping you instantly. The shock of the cold water against your skin was invigorating, every nerve ending coming alive with the sensation. You sank momentarily, the water muffling all sound, creating a serene, otherworldly silence. The lake's clarity allowed you to see the sunbeams piercing through the water, creating dancing patterns of light.

As you resurfaced, you gasped for air, the coolness filling your lungs. You floated there for a moment, feeling the gentle sway of the water around you, the chill seeping into your bones but also refreshing you. The lake was a pristine, tranquil haven, the cold water a stark contrast to the warmth of the forest above.

You laughed, a joyous sound that echoed across the water. This was living, truly living, and the exhilaration of it all was beyond anything you had ever imagined. Every experience, every sensation, was a marvel, and you couldn't wait to see what other wonders this world had in store for you.

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Alhaitham, the current scribe of the Sumeru Akademiya, strode through the dense forest, searching for a very ancient ruin unknown to ordinary people and even the scholars.

This might seem an odd and unnecessary task for a scribe, yet Alhaitham justified it as part of his duty to document rare and important findings.

In Sumeru, the role of a scribe involves more than just classifying and archiving documents. The scribe is a key figure with access to vast and profound knowledge.

Alhaitham fits this role perfectly, possessing information unknown to most, and often comparable to the Grand Conservator. His privileged access to ancient texts has made him a repository of wisdom.

The reason for his solitary search lay in an old relic he had discovered, written in an ancient language and not recorded in the Akasha system.

The relic spoke of a sacred ruin where the Divine Creator had left Teyvat and ascended to a higher plane. Driven by his scholarly curiosity and desire to understand the world's underlying principles, Alhaitham was compelled to verify the existence of this ruin.

As he ventured deeper into the forest of Sumeru, he noticed flowers and plants blooming with an unusual brightness. Intrigued, he followed the path marked by these vibrant plants.

His light turquoise eyes fell upon a pair of golden flowers, their petals shimmering in the sunlight. He blinked, thinking it was an illusion, but as he stepped closer and touched the flowers, they felt real, their golden hue dazzling in the sun's rays.

"Golden flowers bloom in the trail of the Divine Creator's steps," Alhaitham recalled the old tale.

He gazed back at the brightly bloomed flora and then at the golden flowers. As he connected the dots, a sense of wonder and realization washed over him.

This finding...

A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. His usually composed demeanor wavered, his heart pounding with the weight of this revelation.

The Divine Creator... has finally descended.

The significance of what lay before him was overwhelming. These golden flowers, blooming so vividly and impossibly in his path, could only mean one thing.

The legend was not just a myth; it was unfolding right before his eyes. The Creator, whose presence had been absent for millennia, had returned to Teyvat.

Alhaitham's mind raced with questions and possibilities. What could this mean for Teyvat? For its people and gods? He felt a profound sense of duty to document and understand this momentous event.

But beyond his scholarly curiosity, a deeper desire stirred within him. The golden flowers only bloomed in the Creator's steps.

If he could follow this trail, he might find the Creator themselves. The thought was both exhilarating and daunting. To meet the being who had crafted this world was a prospect beyond his wildest dreams.

As he pressed on, the golden flowers continued to guide him, their radiant glow a beacon of hope and discovery. The forest seemed to part before him, welcoming him deeper into its mystical embrace.

He was on the path of the Divine Creator, and he was determined to see where it led.

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"You ask, what does the Creator look like?"

"Hahaha... my child, we do not know. According to the sacred texts, our Creator is shapeless or may take on different forms to our eyes. What is important is that all beings in Teyvat will recognize when our Creator has descended."

"You ask me how?"

"Oh, little Haitham, this is quite simple, especially for those who wield visions, for they will feel the presence unmistakably."

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Reblog if you like this story

[dreadsuitsamus]

nsfw, fem!reader, breeding and ozai being ozai

Guarding the former Fire Lord, even with his inability to bend anymore, is daunting. Though a prisoner, Ozai is still intimidating and dangerous, those muscles not simply for display. There aren't many guards willing to take on the task of keeping a watchful eye on him for even a single shift, let alone during all of their working hours. Your bravery and resilience is rewarded with handsome payment, though by now, you'd do it for free! There are certain... benefits that have come with your position.

"Ah, ah— Mm! My Lord, oh, yes...!" You throw your head back onto Ozai's pillows, his time spent as a political advisor to his son having offered him a nicer cell than a typical prisoner would have, thanks to the leverage he still holds over the young man. Ozai has your limber legs spread wide against the mattress, your toes touching the headboard as the man above you plows into you with vigor, his cock reaching places inside of you that you never knew existed before fate brought you directly to him.

Ozai hisses, his grip tightening around your ankles. "That's it... Take it. Take my cock, my power, my all. You'll give me a new heir, one that will be perfect, one that won't fail me like the others! You'll do this for your King, without fail!" He spits out, the excited luster of his ideals getting him off as much as the way your slickened walls grip his shaft and beg to be filled once again, as he has every night for several months now. Whether you're on duty or sneaking into his chamber, you take your Lord's seed and humbly await the night you'll fall pregnant and kick his plans into gear. He cannot bend fire anymore, but his theory rests on your firebending abilities and his genetics to create a child that can bend, and be the very best.

Zuko was a failure from the very beginning, and Azula's demise must surely stem from her mother, a woman never loyal to the Fire Nation and Ozai himself. This heir will be the one to make him proud.

"Breed me, my Lord! It is my duty, my destiny to bear your child! Together, we shall restore your honor, your legacy, with our children."

Ozai's grin is maniacal, his laugh sinister as he lowers himself to speak directly into your ear. "You're getting ahead of yourself, aren't you? You've yet to give me one heir, let alone multiple!"

"The solstice is nearly upon us." You pant, a mewling whimper breaking your concentration as your Lord twists your nipples that will one day feed his child and help him to become strong.

"And...?" Ozai's strong fingers squeeze the sensitive buds harder, grinning at how pleasurable you find his pain to be.

"T-There will be no better time to fall pregnant, my King. Our child will be strong, guided by the stars to take back what is yours!"

"Oh, really? So do you suggest I'm wasting my time now then?" Ozai begins to pull away, only slipping out a mere fraction of his slick-coated dick before your fingers, small and soft and so breakable like the rest of you, are threading into his hair. Amused, Ozai pauses with a raised brow and cocky smirk on his lips. "What's this, hm?"

"My Lord— My love." You breathe out, sneaky legs snaking around his trim waist to summon him back into his fully-seated position. "Please..."

"Please what?" He hisses, those strong arms slipping around your waist tightly in what's nearly a darling embrace, though he still remains only partially inside of your cunt. "Are you simply here tonight as my whore?"

"For you, I am anything." Your chest heaves, beads of sweat prickling you from head to toe. "The mother of your proper heir, the one that sees to your exemplary care... Your courtesan, your lover... Your wife, if you'd have me."

Ozai's large hand, one you'd still not fear even with his power intact, comes to rest at the side of your face. "Provide me a firstborn son that can firebend, and then we'll discuss a permanent relationship."

Your much smaller hand covers his, hopeful tears welling in your eyes. "I won't let you down, Phoenix King Ozai."

"See to it that you don't." Ozai's lips capture yours in a rare kiss, and he again rocks his hips to yours, soon filling you to the brim with seed that takes, settling deep into your womb to create the child that will swell your belly with his pride.

[radiance1]

Unintelligible chanting echoed in a warehouse. A perfect summoning circle drawn on the ground with one cultist standing before it with a group more standing behind them.

Even thought the chanting was unintelligible, it was perfect. Not a clipped word or uneven tone out of place as they all, in unison, chanted the words to summon an almighty being from beyond.

Even as interlopers broke in the warehouse, they didn't stop chanting, only the cultists who weren't chanting and were previously standing around the room, broke away in an attempt to stall.

The circle glowed a toxic, unnatural green before growing dark yet darker. A black, mist like substance spreading from its focal point and out into the bounds of the circle before twisting and twisting as the temperature rose and grew into a sweltering heat that could be felt all throughout the warehouse.

They did not stop chanting.

Even as the last of their guard fell.

They did not stop chanting.

Even as some of the cultists at the back of the group started to engage in combat.

They did not stop chanting.

Until finally, the black mist twisted into a brilliant, unnatural black flame as the heat soared and shaped itself in the giant form of a bird before larger than large wings snapped themselves open.

Black flame slide off of the being's form like water, small flickers of deceptively harmless looking flame trailed down the bounds of the summoning circle as the phoenix lowered itself.

"So we meet again." The being spoke, its very presence demanding attention and respect. Impossibly red eyes focused all of their intent on the cultist and the helm. "What do you want this time? I am quite busy, as I'm sure you should be aware."

"O'h' great one," The cultist fell to their knees, hands spreading up and out reminiscent of a prayer. "The deepest flame, the guardian of the blackest fire, rival of the-"

"Enough of that nonsense." The being snapped, scoffing as it turned its head in disdain. "I did not answer your pitiful call just to hear you praise me. Make your demand, now. I have an appointment to keep."

The cultist seemed to deflate, for but a mere moment, before lowering their hands and clasping them in front of their chest. "O' great one, I have sowed the seeds and cultivated a cult in your name through the ages, we are might in number and consistent in our worship."

"I do not need a recap." The Pheonix said, blandly. Looking utterly disinterested in the cultist's words. "Your demand."

"After all of this, surely you would not mind parting with but a bit of your power?" The cultist asked and finally, the Pheonix seemed to stare with something more than mere disinterest before snapping its head up. "Do not interfere, mere interlopers." It snapped.

The heroes froze as, suddenly, they felt held down in place.

It then disregarded them, staring back down at the cultist before him with some level of interest and clicked its tongue. "Already blessed with immortality yet you wish for more? How..." Its eyes seemed to smile. Amused. As it purred. "Ambitious."

"Please, O' great one. Just a bit. A mere fraction would be enough."

"Oh all alright," The Pheonix said, holding up a wing as it plucked off a feather with its beak. "I suppose you have done enough to be worthy of a bit of my power."

The feather flew down from its beak, encased within a ball of black flame that, as the cultist spread their arms, fused into their chest.

"Do try not to be consumed by it. As I do expect noteworthy things from you."

With that, the Pheonix disappeared in a puff of mist like fire. The circle instantly losing all vibrancy and the sweltering heat snuffing itself out.

And the heroes were free of whatever magic kept them bound in place.

The cultist slowly stood up, back facing them as something bubbled up under the back of their cloak before large, flaming wings burst through the cloth of their cloak. They slowly turned around, and the movement almost looked serene, and faced the heroes.

The cultist slowly spread their hands. "I would have thought the Justice League would have handled this matter themselves, not send their younglings after me." They spoke, calm and measured and holding no feeling whatsoever. Black flame spilled from their hands as they stretched their wings.

"Come. Young heroes. You would be the perfect steppingstone to test my new abilities."

[cvlutos]

“God of Teyvat”

| Repost: 02.15.23 | 0.9K | Rated Mature |

Genshin!Various X GN!Reader

| Characters 18+ | Yandere | Cult AU | Obsession | Mention of Self harm [Not the Reader] | Sexual Suggestions | Genshin Impact | Self-Aware Genshin | Proceed with Caution, Beloved. |

T.Manor.Notes: Repost from my old blog, this was first posted in like 2021 so it’s old as hell.

They are your vessel.

The twins that came from a different world. They are how you see the new plane in which you inhabit. Their eyes—yours. Their breath belongs to you. They are how you exist until you gain a body of your own. No one knows of your arrival but them. For the twin is selfish and wants you only to themself, for they view themself as the only one worthy. To be the body that you control, to feel you within them.

To be one with you.

To be one with you.

══════ ♡ ══════

Barbatos is the first to know. The first to feel the wind shift and wrap around him, drawing him to you, to the twin you chose as your vessel. He is jealous. For he has sung your praises for so long, for he has sent your tales across all of Teyvat. For he is your most devoted. Yet you chose another over him.

It will take time for Venti to subdue his jealousy, but he will remain cheerful. Staring at you through the eyes of the Traveler. For he will become the most suitable host, if only for a mere moment, to gratify you. Venti is devoted. He will destroy Mondstadt if it meant that only for a mere second, he is able to see your form. Your true form, and to witness a fraction of your power. The idea makes him weak and hot, and though he speaks kind words to the traveler, they are meant for your ears. He will make sure you hear him, that you understand the lengths he’ll go to make you love him.

══════ ♡ ══════

Morax is the second. He learns of your arrival the moment you step into Liyue and he is angry. The earth bends and sways beneath his feet as he glares through the eyes of the Traveler’s, into yours. He has existed since the beginning; he was watched friends and lovers fall to their demise, all under your wish, under your control and desire. He will not rejoice in your return, not now, not yet.

He wants to rid of your existence. To end you, to force you back into your slumber, but he cannot. For he hates you, but not even his spear will harm a single hair upon your head, no matter the body you use. He will ignore your existence, forget that you are above him, until you appear everywhere, as if mocking him. Soon he will bend and break, before kneeling before you. He will apologize and praise you, but still, his anger has not been quelled. It will take time, but soon he will love you.

══════ ♡ ══════

The Raiden Shogun is the third. She learns of you the moment you step into the Plane of Euthymia for the second time, within the body of the Traveler. She will fight, blinded in sadness, until you win and she is defeated. She will cry and cling to you, clinging onto the Traveler, with wide eyes. She will beg for forgiveness, for you have learned of everything of Inazuma and her carelessness.

She will claw out her own eyes, peel at her skin, if it meant you revealed yourself. She feels the most shame and willing to toss everything aside, if it meant you’ll be happy. She loves you, adores you. Will wipe everything off of your path, give you anything to make your journey easier. She will ramble about your grace and if you want her gone, she will no longer to exist.

══════ ♡ ══════

“Welcome.”

They all kneel to the Traveler, to you. Who sits cross-legged, a smile across their lips. Your first vessel, a name the Traveler has taken upon themself, to show their own superiority. Venti, Zhongli, and Ei, all eager to appease you, adoring your bedroom with the finest of materials, the freshest of food, and the highest quality of products.

Venti feels weak, his face flushed. He wants nothing more than to touch you. He nudges his nose against the boot of the twin, staring into your eyes. His nails dig into the wooden floor. He can feel your presence as you stare down at him. His hips buckle blindly, a soft whine leaving his lips as he crashes to the ground. Merely a look sent him over the edge and into the pleasure of release.

Ei begs to be next. Her hands grabbed at the leg of your chair, inching closer with wide-pleading eyes. Resting her head against the twin’s thigh, squeezing her eyes close, feeling the energy of you radiate off and through her body, like electricity. A muffled whine leaves her throat, her body twitching, her chest heaving as she clung to the traveler’s clothing, drool rolling down the side of her lips. Your aura alone sending her into a frenzy as she came.

Zhongli kneeled as the other archons fell weakly to your knees. The twin says something to him, but all he can hear is your voice. “Zhongli.” As if he was lit on fire, his body burned. He was not as strong as he would like to believe, a low groan leaving his mouth. He looks up at the traveler, a scowl on his lips, while his body tense. He hated you so much. How could such a God, a God without a form of their own, control him to such lengths?

All weak to the power of the true rule of Teyvat. One that stood above and used those with visions as their vessel. One should count that alone as a blessing to come true.

[thr0wnawayy]

Chapter 429 has been my Dabi's Dance

I can't stop smiling.

I wanted to start off by saying thank you. Not to Hori, but to you all. Every last one of you in these tags for your contributions. Be it analysis, re-reads, fan works or simply your perspectives. I look forward to seeing what you will make in the future.

So, Thank you.

I suppose I should start at the beginning. MHA was always in the background of my life and I hated it. I don't watch anime and yet still MHA related media would make it's way onto my socials in all it's obnoxious forms. This went on for years.

And then suddenly, it stopped. It seemed like MHA's craze had died down, I'd still see it from time to time through merchandise but never to the consistency it had prior.

That was until Dabi's Dance was published and the net went wild.

I knew a few things about Endeavor from my past exposure, he was universally hated and abused his kids and wife (to the point she scalded her son in a fit of psychosis).

Deciding I had nothing better to do, I found myself searching to see what kind of consequences would befall such a monstrous character.

Would he fall like Icarus, be torn apart by the public, how would the family he ruined react to the news?.

And then, nothing. No punishment, no reaction. Just dead air.

I recall that my face dropped internally. My blank expression mirrored my phone screen's sterile nature, as it displayed the information in front of me.

He got away with it. So I did some digging and it got so much worse.

Bakugo's evasion of any consequences or damages, coddled and shielded by Hori's inability to go through on anything.

Hawks who murdered a near crippled man on a hypothesis, for the mere crime of having the "wrong" quirk, for not giving up, for being "unlucky"

Aizawa, Hori's little mouthpiece. who decides to play judge, jury and executioner with the futures of students he's supposed to be teaching. Only for the Nedzu and the narrative to allow him, his friends turned into lapdogs that agree to the letter.

The Commission who strive to keep theirrotting husk of a system alive through assasins, child soldiers and indoctrination.

Even if it's gears must be lubricated with blood, even if it means lying to the world and having them clean up the mess. They MUST stay on top, the illusion must be upheld.

I just couldn't fathom how this was seen as a good thing.

And somewhere along the way I began to feel something akin to hate. Not your typical ire, one powered by anger, no.

I wanted to see how low Hori would go, just how horrifically he would mangle a series that everyone had once praised.

I wanted to witness what wonders a jaded community would create, to show what they were capable of (to create and understand MHA in a manner Hori wishes he could even emulate a fraction of)

I wished to see your own expressions of love and hatred.

The thought of witnessing the breaking point, the dust settling to expose all the glaring flaws and infested wounds of MHA. It buzzed in my brain like electricity.

The idea that when all was said and done, you, the people would do what Hori couldn't/wouldn't and forge the bones and salvagble bits of MHA into a story worth remembering.

One where abusers are punished for their crimes instead of rewarded

Where victims can have a voice, feel and grow, carve their own paths and move forward from their trauma.

Where the implications of MHA's rotting and disingenuous society get explored instead of swept under the rug

Where people get a chance.

I waited eagerly for the day it would all fall apart.

So, do you know what I did when I logged onto the tag and saw your posts!?.

I laughed, the shrill giggle in the back of my throat quickly surging into an almost manic cackle. It was like lightning, vindicating and sobering all at once. My face was stretched to it's absolute limits with how wide my grin was. I could almost hear the shattering of MHA's last bit of integrity and I loved it.

The realization MHA's greatest threat was the author himself, It's one that I grasped long ago (as far back as the Dark Dekiru Arc) and I'm sure most of you understood this as well.

But to see that more of you are starting to get it, to realize there's no going back. That as the curtains draw near and the lights begin to dim, there is no other side here. Violence begets violence and Hori's gone past the event horizon.

It feels, hopeful. Perhaps we can build something worth saving.

It's been a wild ride so far and it's still ongoing. Hori's time is long over, it has been for a while now, so I suppose what I'm asking Is:

Now It's Your Turn, what's your play?

_______________________________________

Update:

IT'S FINALLY HAPPENING!

[city-of-ladies]

Wu Shuqing and the revolutionary women's troops

Revolutionary women fighting at Nanjing

In 1911, revolutionaries in southern China rose up against the Manchu-led Qing Dynasty. Their successful uprising brought an end to the imperial system and ushered in the early republican era. Moved by both patriotism and feminist ideals, women joined the movement.

Wu Shuqing’s women’s troop

Wu Shuqing, a 19-year-old student from Hanyang, was one of these women. Alongside two others, she wrote to revolutionary leader Li Yuanhong, asking for permission to fight. He initially refused, arguing that integrating women into an all-male army would be too difficult.

But Wu Shuqing didn’t back down. She responded by asserting that there was no difference between men and women when it came to fighting a revolution:

“Were they to hear that the nation was conscripting troops, farmers would lay down their hoes and laborers would abandon their tools. In high spirit they would go off and become soldiers. Even teachers and students in school would all have to become troops. The people are the starting point for society, and society is the point at which the state begins. The people are thus of major importance in terms of victory and defeat of the state. If we do not now come to the aid of the great Han people and wipe out the Manchu bastards, we will assuredly earn the slander of foreigners. In the north sits powerful Russia and majestic Great Britain. Our country faces great dangers on that front. I seek no instant glory. I merely want to join the troops in fighting northward, giving my life in pursuit of the enemy, killing the Manchus. Only then will our Han race be avenged.”

Wu Shuqing’s request was granted, and a women’s troop was formed.

The women’s troop at the front

The exact number of women who joined is unclear, with reports suggesting several hundred. They underwent military training before being sent to the front lines.

Wu Shuqing led them into combat. She participated in a campaign against the Qing at Hankou. During the battle for Nanjing, she and her troops devised a plan to occupy the fort at Shizishan, opening a path for the revolutionary army.

Many women’s forces and organizations were formed in quick succession, though not all of them saw battle.

The sisters Yin Weijun and Yin Ruizhi became famous for their skill in bomb-making and explosives. They earned respect during the battles against the Qing for their daring bombing raids.

Though Yin Ruizhi was wounded, her sister went on to create another unit, the Zhejiang Women’s Nationalist Army, leading them into battle. Over 30 women from this unit fought to liberate Nanjing. They attacked three forts, occupied Yuhatai, scaled ladders over the city walls, and entered Nanjing on December 2. Eyewitnesses praised their bravery and combat effectiveness. However, the troop was later disbanded as the commander-in-chief did not believe women could handle a long-term expedition.

The Yin sisters in military attire.

A third women’s troop also participated in the battle for Nanjing, providing first-aid and logistical support.

A fourth women’s unit, the Guandong Women’s Northern Expedition Bombing Team, was led by Xu Mulan. A hundred female soldiers fought at Xu Zhou.

Though women made up only a small fraction of the revolutionary forces, they played a vital role in the overall movement. For some, their military involvement became a way to express their political ideals and ensure the possibility of an egalitarian society in the future republic. Some of these women also became outspoken advocates for women’s suffrage.

Aftermath

Most women’s armies were discharged in 1912 after a compromise was reached between the revolutionaries and the northern forces. Many female soldiers were left frustrated, feeling that their contributions were undervalued, especially as all positions in the provisional government were given to men.

Wu Shuqing’s whereabouts after the revolution remain unknown.

Here is the link to my Ko-Fi. Your support would be much appreciated!

Further reading:

Edwards Louise, Gender, Politics, and Democracy: Women's Suffrage in China

Ono Kazuko, Chinese Women in a Century of Revolution, 1850-1950

Li Xiaolin, Women in the Chinese Military 

[threepandas]

Bad End, Chosen: Part 3

Back <- | -> Next

The Dark Lord's castle was under seige... but it it felt very far away. Most things did, these days. Cacophonous booms and terrible screams wrent the air, somewhere beyond the greeting chamber's walls. People were dying. Monsters were dying. I... I should care. D..Did I care? I could not remember anymore.

A warm hand continued to pet my head.

My Grandmaster sat upon his throne. Unamused. There were pests that would not die. They stood in our way, he said. I... I could not understand. Yes, Grandmaster. Of course, Grandmaster. (I was so far away, Grandmaster. My body did not feel real. Nor my own. Had I left? Why?)

The world shook. Again and again. An irritated inhale from above me. Grandmaster did not like wasteful, showy, displays of power. They were needless peacocking, he said. Yet... yet my Failure Master enjoyed them. Said magic was to be enjoyed. Meant to be shared. A gift.

But he was a Failure Master.

We do not need him.

.....my head hurt. Grandmaster was kind though. Loved me so very, very much. He stroked my hurting head, as I sat, pretty and leaning against him, at his feet. A good Grandlearner. Dressed in soft and beautiful robes. Dark as night. Red, red, RED as the blood of my me-!

My headache spiked. I winced. Pretty jewels tinkling softly as the thought slipped away. Or... at least... I THINK I was thinking a thought? Was I? Probably not. My head hurts.

It's easier not to think.

I turn my face, to tuck it against my Grandmaster's leg. The soft fabric of his leggings is, as always, cool and blissfully fresh against my face. It is a miracle the delicate, ornate accessories I wear don't catch on something. Like so many drops of blood. The thought tries so desperately to catch, but there is nothing to hold. My mind is mist.

A pleased noise, as my Grandmaster stokes my hair.

I am a Good Grandlearner.

The grand doors crashed open. A painfully loud noise that spears my aching head. The sounds of battle have slowly grown more and more distant. Running feet. They are here. The wretched Beloved. Here to end this little play. Why... why does it feel like hope? I hate them. I feel nothing. I miss one.

My... my head hurts.

"MASTER! It ENDS TO-!" Shouts a familiar voice. Once, it was family in this unfamiliar world. Or at least... I had hoped it would be. "....no. Learner. You... YOU MONSTER! Master, what have you DONE TO HER!?"

There is such horror in his voice. Such grief. As though I am already dead. Truely... truely he IS a Failure Master. That he would not even fight for me. That I would, only now, become relevant again. Master... oh my Master... am I nothing but a prop in your story? Motivation for you to fight on? You do not even see me... do you?

"Disgusting."

My Grandmaster has finally lost his patience. Rising to his feet. Not as my Master's Master. But as Alaric Blight, the Arch-Mage of Red, Dark Lord, and final boss of the game. With him, the cycle will begin again. But oh... OH. His wrath is a terrible thing.

The so called Heros have gathered behind my Failure Master. SHE is there. Short hair the color of sunlight, eyes like dawn. Her mere presence cuts through the mist that has swallowed my mind. Slowly, relentlessly, but enough. I can... can claw my way.. with bloody mental hands... to something like aware.

I wish I could laugh.

She looks so delicately horrified. A proper Protagonist facing "horrors". Ha ha... this? Oh, little Saint. This is nothing. They made you weak by shielding you. And now? Now we may all die for it. I... I hope your love story was worth it. Now die, so this can finally end.

The battle is pathetic. Not a single one of them worth even a fraction of the brave souls that once gave their lives for me. For their kingdom and countrymen. They flail and jump around like grasshoppers. Call out attacks like children trying to impress. But dispite it all... they have the very GODS on their side. And it holds an unfair advantage.

One that they ultimately? Waste.

Die. Like vermin. And I can not even be glad for it. Because I know they have learned nothing. WILL learn nothing. They will continue on to be selfish and spoiled forever. Favored children at the cost of us all.

But... they did free me. And for that? I can almost forgive them. Almost. The so called "assassin" dropped one of his blades. More like flung them everywhere. But it makes no difference. It is close enough. I do not watch as my Grandmaster gives his speech. Sneering down at the God's favorite brat. She offends him on a visceral level.

He plans to rip out her heart. Make me EAT it to steal some of her power.

If she is not dead, the cycle does not yet repeat. And he is more then powerful enough to keep her alive with out vital organs. But... but I know. I KNOW! He can not TRUELY bring back the dead. Only their meat, in shambling and mindless service. He is distracted. And I?

I Will Be Free.

The knife is sharp. So fine it barely hurts. But oh, oh it takes everything I am not to choke loud enough to be heard. He would turn. Stop my death. I... I can not allow that. It will take mere moments. After all, once and deep, right across the neck. Already I feel cold. My eyesight grey and limbs weak. The knife falls to my lap, the noise muffled by the ornate skirts.

He turns too late, a heart in his hand, to see I have defied him. Bidded my time. I am not weak. Not so easily kept and conquered, Dark Lord. I fought to defy you. I... defy.. y..ou... sti..ll....

And so the Cycle Ends. And So it Begins.

The Gods don't have all the Endings yet.

[juliewillruinu]

Garden of Forbidden Melodies | 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 | Sukuna x oc

Tw: This fanfiction will contain mature content such as smut, violence, blood, and death. There will be sensitive topics that might make many uncomfortable, so there will always be warnings at the beginning of each chapter. You have been warned. Enjoy ♡ -J.B

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ, ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ, ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ...

Prologue

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝘂𝗻 dipped low on the horizon, casting warm hues across the newly tended garden—a fantastical bloom of color and fragrance, just for her. I leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree. My crimson eyes fixed on Hanabana as she sat on a stone bench, and her back turned to me. The soft wail of the biwa began to weave through the evening air, notes spiraling like silk threads.

She’s beautiful, even in her solitude. The way her fingers dance across the strings as if coaxing the world into a calmer state. How foolish the villagers were to think they could cast her aside. They claimed to fear her power, but their ignorance is truly terrifying.

Her melodies wrap around me like tendrils of smoke, pulling me away from the chaos that constantly churns within me. I should despise humanity—they are nothing but insects in my eyes, crawling about in their filth. But her... she’s different. She sings for me in ways I thought only the dead could hear. She doesn't fear my darkness; she invites it. Perhaps that’s why I linger here, darkly entranced by her beauty. It’s maddening.

Something stirs, deep in the void I thought was hollow. Is this what they call love? An attachment? It feels more primitive than that—a primal need. I want to possess her. Oh yes, it’s more than a desire; it’s a relentless hunger. To make her solely mine, to claim her spirit like I’ve claimed so much else in this cursed world.

What a paradox—this girl, this sorceress, protecting her village from the evils I embody, yet standing unyielding before my wickedness. An undeniable draw, though the depths of my heart have long since turned to stone. How amusing! I, the King of Curses, find solace in the presence of one who yearns for innocence. Such a fragile thing, yet she bears the strength to repel the invaders of the spirit world, like me.

Let her gaze linger longer at these flowers. They bend and twist in ways even I can not control their vibrant colors intended for her eyes alone. All these blossoms, nurtured by my hand, are but a mere fraction of what I would do for her. She deserves the world, but it's not something she seeks, so for now, these petals in the garden are all she allows me to give.

Soon, I’ll capture her gaze. She will see the man behind the monster, the protector hidden within the curse. I shall embrace her, entwine our spirits as one. What a juxtaposition we present—a songbird and a demon. The villagers will never understand, nor will they accept us.

Hanabana, don’t look back just yet. Let the evening dance through your hair a little longer. Let me bask in this moment before the cruel world reminds us both that such beauty can’t last.

But then the sweet contentment broke like glass underfoot, shattered by fate’s cruel hand.

The beauty turned to me. Once her deep brown eyes met mine, a warm smile stretched across her face. Yes, smile more. I won’t let anyone enjoy that look on your face. It belongs to me and me alone. Smile only for me, my songbird.

"Welcome home, Sukuna."

Now I understand—home is where you are. Come, let me embrace you. Let me hold what belongs to me. Melt in my grasp. Squirm, cry, laugh, and moan underneath me. I don’t care what you choose to do or if you choose to do them all. Just do it all for me. For we shall never part.

Not ever.

The beauty placed her instrument down before standing up and began to walk towards me. She was careful for her sandal to not crush the flowers and to remain on the stone path. Her figure is alluring. It's something only I've ever seen. As it should be. She seduces me with the way she pushes her hair to the side, revealing part of her neck. Her eyes are gleaming with excitement, and her pace quickens the closer she gets to me. Once she's in front of me, my hand wraps around her waist and arms wrap around my neck. Her eyes fluttered close, and her face came close to mine. Her lips must have been cold without mine.

Ah, I shall devour this woman slowly.

Special thanks to @sweetlandspos for allowing me to use her art for the cover of my book. You can also read it on Wattpad. My account is apocalypsesupremacy.

[sserpente]

A/N: Requests from anon and @slaveforloki​. You might wanna take a shower after this one. If you noticed the font in the image being different… I forgot I don’t have Photoshop on my computer in Austria anymore I didn’t take my laptop with me so I had to do it with an online editor, ugh! Try to ignore it! :D RC is not a virgin in this Imagine as originally requested, at least it’s not mentioned but I have another Christmassy one planned with that, so I hope this one will be fun regardless, I didn’t wanna post two so similar ones back to back! Could I resist adding this new gif? No, absolutely not. I’m so hyped for Season 2.

Words: 2826 Warnings: forced marriage, smut

Additonal NSFW warnings: CMNF, orgasm denial, orgasm control, arguably a little bit of dub-con, definitely angry sex

-

You’d do it, officially. You would hate Christmas for the rest of your life. Loki had made sure of that. With a deep sigh, you straightened your green dress—one of the maids had chosen it for you because it was Loki’s colour—and lifted your chin. You refused to let him see how much he had hurt you. How he had ruined your life, shattered it to pieces by claiming you as a bride, forcing you to become his wife all because he was now king of Asgard.

You weren’t even royalty—not wholly, anyways. Your father was the second-born prince of the king of Alfheim but your mother had been a commoner. Human. You had no royal duties, no obligation to rule a kingdom one day. You had lived a life in freedom—up until Loki had claimed you like a prized possession.

You remembered the dark prince of Asgard. The second-born mischievous God of Chaos had been mysterious and charming the first time you had met him at a ball a few years back. But that was before the rumours about him attempting to subjugate Midgard had the branches of Yggdrasil sway with the quick footsteps of Ratatöskr.

The wedding had been yesterday—on Christmas Eve. Now officially, Alfheim did not celebrate the Christian holiday, regardless of its stolen aspects from ancient paganism. But you had visited Midgard often enough yourself to grow to love the holiday, not to mention how much your mother had adored it before she passed. You’d been looking forward to decorating and buying Christmas gifts for your loved ones and now here you were: stuck in King Loki’s chambers after a forced but oddly passionate kiss after the ceremony. A few weeks had passed since then and needless to say you had not consummated the marriage just yet.

You had been fuming already, you would have torn him to pieces if he had dared put a hand on you… and… you were pretty sure he was very well aware of that. And while he was the most dominant man that had ever stepped into your life, he respected that. For now. You hated the part of yourself that longed for him to rip your clothes off your body, throw you on the bed and fuck you until you forgot everything but his name.

If Loki was one thing beside an arrogant and power-hungry king, he was handsome. You had noticed it at the ball already. Back then, you would have wished for him to sweep you off your feet. Now, however, your anger suffocated every other feeling you could have possibly harboured for him. Desiring him physically made that wrath even stronger. You would never admit that to him though.

As if your thinking about him had summoned him, Loki barged into his chambers only mere moments later. His quick and confident steps had you tense up, even more so when his stunning blue gaze met yours.

“So you haven’t forgotten about your waiting wife then.” Loki rolled his eyes at you.

“You are not a prisoner in my chambers. You are free to roam the palace and the realm—as long as a guard accompanies you.”

“I had no need for a guard before I was married to you.”

“Consider it an additional perk.”

“Right,” you spat. “And what exactly are the other perks of you asking me for my hand in marriage and not accepting a no?”

For just the fraction of a second, Loki was surrounded by a green shimmering light. The next time you blinked, he had swapped his regal attire for some more comfortable clothes.

“It will reinforce the alliance between Alfheim and Asgard. The kingdom of Alfheim is already very suspicious of me,” he explained as if it was the most logical thing in the nine realms.

“For good reason, Loki.”

“Don’t you dare lecture me. You don’t know anything about what happened. So watch your tongue.”

Fuming, you clenched your fists. “Why me then? Why not any of my half-sisters?”

“Most of them have been promised to others already. One of them to a king in Niflheim, the other to the current princess of Svartalfheim, now that Malekith is dead. Besides, you are part-human. That makes you a valuable pawn to assure my peaceful intentions.”

“Peaceful? Your intentions are anything but peaceful.”

“Are they not?” He tilted his head, making your lower regions clench. Then, he gave you a just the tiniest hint of a smirk. “I do not recall you being present at your council meeting earlier, dear. I very much doubt you get to have a say about any of my intentions.”

“You forced me to marry you!”

“Your father was thrilled and all too eager to send you to Asgard, to me.” Loki looked you dead in the eye, a mocking tone playing in his smooth voice. “Do you truly believe I wish to be married to a bastard daughter of a king? A woman who is half human? You should consider yourself lucky to be by my side rather than resent me for it.”

“Lucky? Lucky?” you screeched. “You ruined my life! You came to Alfheim and drowned everything in chaos! I was free before you claimed me like an object!”

“Please… freedom is life’s great lie,” Loki responded sharply.

“And on Christmas of all days! You decided to wed on Christmas! You have no idea how much this holiday meant to my mother and now you’ve spoiled it, you selfish and arrogant prick!”

“Watch your tone with me!”

“I will not! You made me marry you, now you’re going to deal with what you claimed!”

Loki’s blue eyes widened. It was barely noticeable but it didn’t escape you regardless.

“Where does that new-found passion for hostility come from? You have been awfully quiet over the last few weeks, pet.”

Pet. “I’m not your fucking pet. Heavens, you are so irritating!”

“Well, so are you! A spoiled child who knows nothing of love and life!”

“Me? I’m the spoiled child? My mother was human and I lived a very humble life before you tossed me into his palace. You were the one born with a silver spoon in your mouth!”

“Do not speak of things you do not understand.”

“Stop patronising me!” You were both screaming at this point. You couldn’t really care less about what the servants outside of Loki’s chambers must have been thinking. They could know you were not here voluntarily.

Loki strutted towards you, a menacing and threatening expression on his handsome face. You pressed your thighs together, standing your ground on your “shared” bed. You did not move away an inch. Not until he came to a halt right before you, so much so you had to look up to meet his stare.

“You need to stop talking,” he breathed quietly. Too quiet. “Ungrateful brat…” He muttered under his breath. But he was just loud enough for you to hear him. It almost seemed like he was trying to hold back. From what, you were unsure. Lashing out? Throwing you out? Getting physical? You swallowed thickly, your mind jumping to an image where Loki threw you over his knees, grabbed a fistful of your dress to reveal your bare bottom and spanked you for your mouth. It infuriated you even more.

“I fucking hate you!” you screamed at him, sitting up so you came to kneel on the bed. One second passed in which Loki narrowed his eyes at you… in the next… his lips were on yours.

Fire rippled through you, hot flushes blackening your vision. Your eyes fell shut, the sensation of his mouth moving against yours stealing away your ability to think straight. As if your body turned against you, your arms came up to wrap around his neck, allowing him to take a hold of your hips. Possessively, he pulled you flush against his body, his muscles rubbing against your chest hardening your nipples.

“I wish I could hate you, Earth girl” he muttered when he pulled away, stroking your hot cheek with his thumb. Your lips parted. And then you finally realised. He desired you. He’d always desired you and the fact that he did… it made him furious. You drove each other mad—and yet together you could be unstoppable.

Breathing heavily, you refused to respond to his confession and instead buried your fingers in his hair to kiss him again. Fuck it all for now. Fuck him. Right now, preferably. Even angrier at him now for making you so flustered for him, you growled, feral like a kitten when he pushed you away with a start. You landed on the mattress, bouncing up and down once before he was on top of you, his blue eyes filled with hunger.

Loki grabbed two fistfuls of your dress. You shrieked when he tore it straight off, exposing your naked body to his greedy gaze. Asgardians didn’t bother with underwear much and the maid had refused to let your wear your bra because it “didn’t go well with the dress”. Now, all you could think about was easy access.

A moan escaped your lips when he cupped your breasts in his hands, kneading them firmly and playing with your nipples until you arched your back for him. You threw your head back then, and he attacked your neck, suckling, biting, licking… Unable to form any functioning sentences, you breathed his name.

“Fucking arsehole…” His chuckle went right through you, tightening that delicious knot forming in your lower stomach and… you could practically feel yourself getting wet for him.

“I will make you beg for my cock, pet. You can try and hate me all you want but that delicious body of yours doesn’t lie. I can see it in your eyes. And I shall make it worth your while.”

Before you could muster both the courage and the smugness to counter his irritating arrogance, he kissed you again, soft hands travelling down to your hips to hook his fingers into the seam of your knickers. He ripped them clean off, making you curse.

“That was the last fucking pair I heard from Midgard!”

“You are my wife. This sad excuse of underwear is nothing compared to the lingerie I will have you wear from now on. Be glad it’s gone.”

“You don’t get to decide what I w—“ Another kiss, even more passionate than the last. His tongue slipped into your mouth, battling yours for dominance.

“Oh yes, I do. You are mine now. And you will feel like a goddess with what I will pick for you.” Attempting to shake your head failed miserably when his hand wrapped around your throat and squeezed lightly. Your pussy clenched around nothing. Great. He’d discovered a new kink too, now. Arsehole.

The grunt that left your lips made him chuckle once more. Oh, he knew fully well what he was doing to you and how it made you fight your own body. But it was no use. Loki used his free hand to roll his trousers down his thighs, just enough to free his erect member. It sprung free with its tip leaking precum. Loki pushed his hips against you, cock sliding between your nether lips and brushing against your clit.

“Oh, fuck…” you whined, digging your fingernails into his clothed back until he snatched your wrists and pinned them down next to your head. He thrust forward again, teasing your clit and making you buck your hips.

“Oh, just fuck me already!”

Loki tilted his head, smirking down at you. “Now that is hardly how you speak to your husband who happens to rule the realm you reside in, now is it?”

“You’re an arsehole, Loki! I’m not begging!”

“You are not going to beg your husband?”

“No! Fuck off!”

“Fine. Then you are not coming.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You are not coming until I give you permission.”

“As if you could stop me.”

Loki raised an eyebrow and you swallowed. Challenge accepted, his expression appeared to say. And then, without any further forewarning, he plunged himself inside of you, making you moan loudly enough for his servants outside to hear. You could only imagine them blushing, except if he had charmed the room to contain any indecent noises.

He gave you no time to adjust to his length but instead began railing you as if he was going to starve to death if he didn’t. His grip around your wrists tightened, even more so when you wriggled beneath him, unable to decide between meeting his thrusts by bucking your hips and moving away because the stimulation was almost too much to bear.

It was then you felt it. The invisible force on your clit, teasing, kneading, massaging, playing you like an instrument. Loki was using his seidr to work you up, fast. And while you desperately wanted to stop your arousal from growing to not give him the satisfaction of being able to drive you straight to orgasm, to not have him control your pleasure, your body longed for more, longed for him.

It took him another minute, his rhythmic thrusts deliciously controlled, almost hitting your cervix, and you were on the verge of falling off that relaxing cliff your cunt was craving so bad.

And just like that… the stimulation stopped and Loki angled himself in a way that would keep you on the edge but not quite get you there.

“Are you fucking serious, you arrogant… ahh…” His own grunts only fuelled your arousal, his heavy breathing sounding like music in your ears.

“Beg me,” he demanded hoarsely.

“Fuck… you!”

Loki chuckled. He let go of your wrists for a moment only to grab your thighs and haul your legs over his shoulders so your bottom was slightly elevated. His next thrust was so deep you screamed with pleasure.

And then that delicious treatment on your clit continued, working you up once more. Higher and higher, closer and closer… and then it disappeared again, just before you could jump. Loki continued this sweet torture all the while he kept fucking you senseless.

“You have no idea how long I have been craving to claim that sweet quim of yours, to have you beneath me, screaming my name.”

“I hate you!” The exclamation was half-hearted. Both he and you heard it. Because you didn’t. You were crazy for this man ever since you had met him at that damned ball all those years back.

Loki chuckled in response. “Oh no, you don’t…”

You were unsure for long he kept playing with your body as if it were an instrument. Was it minutes? Hours? All you knew was that Loki kept his promise. He didn’t let you cum all the while he kept filling you up until his seed was leaking out of you, staining both the bed and your inner thighs. His stamina was incredible, your whole body had turned into jelly at this point. Weak and almost in trance, you fought for your release until you just couldn’t take it anymore.

“P-please… Loki… p-please let me cum. I… I can’t… it’s getting too much… please…” Swallowing your pride, you looked him deep in the eye, your anger almost doubling the more his mischievous grin grew.

Loki had lost his clothes by now. His naked chest was glistening with sweat, his raven hair sticking to his skin. He tilted his head, stilling inside of you for just a heartbeat.

“That is all I wished to hear, pet.”

You growled in response, moments before his seidr went back to work and he sped up his rhythm. Only this time… this time Loki didn’t stop until finally, you fell. Never before had you experienced such a strong climax. The build-up, the edging and the constant denial had turned you into a feisty animal. Screaming your heart out, you let the pleasure consume you, your orgasm electrifying you from the inside out. Again and again, you pulsed around him, demanding yet another release from Loki.

He came inside of you one last time, face buried in your neck and feasting on your sensitive skin. You whimpered when he bit your neck as if he wished to mark you and then, once your high had finally subsided, he collapsed on top of you and let go of your wrists. You kept them on the mattress none the less, too weakened to bring yourself to slap him for teasing you like that. If you did… he’d probably spank you there and then. Your poor pussy clenched yet again. Oh, fuck…

“So tell me… do you truly hate me?” he murmured smugly, his hot breath brushing against your ear.

“I’m still contemplating,” you shot back, closing your eyes. You guessed you could learn to tolerate him and give in to your feelings. But only if he fucked you like that again.

-

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this story! If you did, I would appreciate it so much if you supported me and my writing on Kofi!

I finally, OMG, released my first novel! You can find all info about it in the Linktree in my bio! <3

Now, time for some mulled wine!

[fayes-fics]

A Change in Circumstance [Drabble]

2k Celebration Masterpost

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict has some surprising news...

Warnings: none really... just Benedict being a lil bit of a Regency Benace…

Word Count: 642 (250 words max is such a lie...)

Authors Note: the second of my 2k follower celebration drabble request fills for @bridgertontess (ask here). Unbetaed. Enjoy! <3

Your heart skips as Benedict enters the room, dressed up in the Bridgerton family blues and looking so handsome your stays feel too tight to breathe. You haven't seen him in a few weeks, and you have to look away. It’s not proper to stare, especially not at a man betrothed, such as he is. You cast your eyes downwards, fiddling with the chair back you stand in front of, waiting for everyone to file in before you all take your seat for this dinner.

So you startle when a familiar scent fills your nose, and Benedict is taking the seat next to yours.

“May I presume to sit here, Miss y/l/n?” he asks with a friendly and casual air.

“It is your family home Mr Bridgerton,” you point out, “I do not believe you need a guest's permission when selecting your seat.” 

Hopefully, your attempt at polite, formal conversation will not give away just how flustered you feel merely being next to him, a blush most assuredly creeping up your neck.

“I was thinking more of if you can tolerate my company,” he responds drolly, a smile tugging at his handsome face.

You have to look away; it's too much to bear. “Of course, you are a most wonderful person,” you fluster, smoothing your dress as you sit. “How… how is Miss Reynolds? Are wedding plans progressing well?”

Even out of the corner of your eye, you see a sudden look of surprise flit across his features. “Hmm, perhaps the grapevine that is the Ton is not as powerful as I had imagined….” he opines, his brow knitting.

“What makes you say that?” you are intrigued that is how he chose to answer your query.,

“Miss Reynolds broke off our engagement,” he sniffs, grabbing his napkin and shaking it loose before smoothing it onto his lap. “It happened more than a week ago; I thought that old news by now.”

Your heart leaps into your throat. “Oh… I,” you stutter, “I had not heard; I am so very sorry. You are a good man; you do not deserve to be treated as such.”

He smiles warmly. “I do not mind. We were, perhaps in hindsight, not best suited after all,” he gets a faraway look in his eye. “She once said art is pointless.”

You can’t school your loud, shocked gasp. “That is positively untrue!” you decry as the waiter leans in to pour you a red wine. “Especially art as wonderful as yours! She is a fool!” you add fervently.

He says nothing but twists slightly towards you, his hazy gaze so intense you momentarily forget to breathe. Everyone else around the table just melting away in your conscience.

“I am sorry, that was very rude of me,” you apologise, shaking your head slightly and placing a hand over your chest. You don’t miss how his eyes drop to where it hovers over your thrumming heart.

“Do not be. I am not upset about this change in circumstance,” Benedict says slowly as you pick up your wine, his cadence slowing, his timber dropping to a level only you can hear as he leans in fractionally. "Perhaps it wasn't right because she isn't you," he adds barely audibly.

And you are almost overcome, dropping your glass back to the table with a heavy thump, blood pounding in your ears. You must have misheard.

“You heard me,” he murmurs, as if reading your thoughts, a lopsided smile spreading across his face.

“Mr Bridgerton!” you exclaim quietly, unable to stop your chest from heaving.

His eyes sparkle with a mischief that you know will be your ruin. 

“Drink up, Miss y/l/n,” he smirks, nodding to your wine, leaning in even more so you feel his warm breath over your cheek. “There is so very much we need to discuss….”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms

[galedekarios]

Idk if you’ve been asked before but what are your thoughts on EARLY early access Gale? The Gale that has bandages on his arm in some early promotional art? There’s an old Auntie Ethel vicious mockery line for him: “I can smell what’s under those bandages wizard! You’re all rot and ruin.” I always wondered if the orb was originally going to have nastier side effects. Like it was making Gale fall apart slowly OR maybe Gale was trying to become a Lich to better handle the orb before being abducted by the mind flayers so he’s in this half alive and undead state when Tav meets him. I feel like that last one would explain the necrotic damage he emits when he dies better. Anyways those are just two tiny details that I roll around in my mind from time to time. I might be thinking too deeply about it. Maybe the writers just wanted to figure out a way to show how much the orb was hurting Gale and the bandages were a start but for some reason they decided against it.

i loved early access gale. there were a lot of uncharitable reads / bad faith takes about him back then, ranging from him being the secret bbeg, the ultimate and guaranteed betrayer, the absolute, to being myrkul because he had a triangles on the robe he was wearing (no, i'm not joking), etc etc etc.

personally, i always loved his character, though, and found him the most interesting and intriguing out of the companions.

overall, i think that he's not that much changed - however, as with all companions and a lot of the npcs, some things have been whittled down or away entirely by larian due things like fandom feedback, but that's a discussion for another time.

i don't subscribe to the lich idea myself, because i think that's not something that gale would want for himself for a multitude of reasons. having said that, however, i always enjoyed this theory:

so, early access gale had this key art, which is still one of my favourites:

left hand wrapped in bandages, the almost stone-like texture of what little you can see of his skin.

adding to that, as you also mentioned, ethel had these vicious mockery lines for gale:

Auntie Ethel: I can smell what's under those bandages, wizard. You're all rot and ruin.

and

Auntie Ethel: Come to greet death early? You'll be a lovely spectacle.

to add to this, this was the way gale talked about the orb and what he thought it was, as well as karsus:

Player: I was wondering about that “mighty lord” you told me about in your story. Gale: Ah, yes. Karsus Karsus was perhaps the most powerful wizard that ever lived. The child-who-would-be-a-god, the elves called him. And he tried. With a spell of his own devising he endeavoured to usurp in one fell swoop the power of the goddess of magic.  Mystryl, she was called then. Imagine what it must have felt like. To be a god. To know yourself to be untouchable. To be mistaken. As Karsus aimed his spell at her she began to unravel, and with her, the entire Weave. Too late did he realize what he had unleashed. It would have been the end of everything had not Mystryl sacrificed herself.  Gale: The goddess of magic is all magic. By dying, the entire weave was lost, and the spell that challenged a god failed. It was the end of Mystryl, the end of Karsus, and the end of an entire civilization. As the child-who-would-be-a-god was turned to stone, his empire came crashing down around him. The floating cities of Netheril were no more. An event that came to be known as Karsus' folly. Player: So at that moment in time, all magic was gone?  Gale: For a spell. Mystyl was reborn as Mystra. Upon her return, the Weave returned with her.  Gale: Now, so many centuries later, I tried to follow in the footsteps of Karsus, not to destroy Mystra, but to prove my love for her. I tried to control only a fraction of the magic that was unleashed that fateful day. I merely sought to return one tiny diamond to an imperfect crown. Gale's Folly one might call it. History. Repetition. It's the way things go.

some of this is still in the game.

more lore about karsus's folly:

Unfortunately, his choice was a terrible mistake, for one of the responsibilities of the deity of magic was to regulate the flow of magic to and from all beings, spells, and magic items in the world. Lacking the ability to do so properly, magic surged and fluctuated. With her last remaining bit of power, Mystryl sacrificed herself to block Karsus's access to the Weave, causing all magic to fail. The flying cities of Netheril plummeted to the earth. The severing of the link also killed Karsus and transformed him into stone, and the last thing he saw was his entire civilization being destroyed because of his actions. This was to be known as Karsus's Folly. The stone form of Karsus eventually landed in a part of the High Forest, now called the Dire Wood.[8] The city of Karse was built around its base. Karsus was never accepted as a petitioner by any god, nor did he go to the Fugue Plane when he died. Instead, his soul was bound to the Material Plane. Those with experience in pact magic could call up his vestige, where he appeared as a giant blood-red boulder,[5] like the one found in the High Forest where his petrified form landed.[8] Blood burbles up from the top of the stone, trickling down the side facing the summoner, pooling at the base. [x]

there are also lines of gale referring to this corruption he carries within as a "taint" and a "shadow", corrupting him "within", affecting his blood as well (another thing that carried over to release).

i think what might have been originally planned (and again, some of this did carry over) is that the orb not only affected gale's magic, but also his body even more severely (it still does to an extent in the release version even though this part is very, very sadly almost entirely glossed over).

putting all of this together, i think that by absorbing a part of that magic unleashed on the day of karsus's folly - the failed magic, the severing of it, karsus turning into stone, petrifying him - might have affected gale in a similar, albeit weaker fashion.

"history. repetition. it's the way things go."

karsus's folly.

gale's folly.

perhaps as the game continued this petrification might have spread, from his hand, up his arm, to his shoulder, and on, either by leaning onto the darker aspects, or by the treatment failing (the consumption of powerful pieces of weave).

maybe that concept was then turned from petrification, to a sort of corruption/rotting that ethel referred to in her lines.

either way, it would have been interesting to see, for sure.

[manikas-whims]

Reasons I despise Shadow and Bone

• Inej Ghafa in the books was an SA survivor and a girl who despite all that she went through, held hope close to her chest. Book Inej was so scared of the menagerie, she couldn't walk past it without the fear of being recaptured. She finally moved on from this fear when she choked Heleen at the Ice Court, stole her diamond choker and ran, calling her silks feathers. And finally believing that she was free after facing her fear, her abuser head on. So seeing the show Inej casually walk into the menagerie as well as merely shrugging upon hearing of Heleen's death this season, was not just extremely ooc but disrespectful and had zero depth.

• Kaz Brekker's disability was basically neglected this entire season and his cane treated like an accessory. Not only that they butchered the entire Kaz-Nikolai meeting in CK. Kaz would've immediately recognized Nikolai, like that was such a downgrade. Not to mention Nikolai threatening Kaz (and Jesper). Kaz wouldn't be threatened. Instead he'd make negotiations with Nikolai on his terms. Oh and most importantly, his entire backstory was rushed and played off like it was nothing serious. That intensity of two innocent small-town boys being tricked by an adult with agency and power, I couldn't feel it as much as I felt reading the books.

• Jesper Fahey's backstory is very emotional and beautiful. The memories with his mother and his coversations later on with his father, all lead up to him slowly accepting his grisha side more and embracing it. Embracing being a zowa. The show speed-ran through it and well, it lost its depth.

More importantly none of the backstory material makes much sense and lacks so much depth because there was nothing that lead to that development. The books, whatever transpires in SoC is what leads to and triggers their individual character developments. So any backstories stuffed in the show made no sense.

• Nina Zenik's bisexuality is completely erased by the show. Its like netflix is allergic to sapphics 😭

• Now Kanej! We got so much Kanej content we should be happy right? I agree. The scenes did give me a momentary high because those are some of my favorite parts of the books and its a blessing to be able to see them adapted on screen. Except, none of those scenes made sense, especially since season 1 barely hinted about some chemistry between the two and then season suddenly escalated all that slow burn into significant moments badly stashed into the show plot. I mean ofc we got the chapel scene and all but.. The whole wound patching-up scene was a pivotal moment in their relationship and it was completely downplayed in the show. And then there was also Kaz getting mad at Inej freeing some children from slavers? Like ofcourse even book Kaz would be slightly miffed but he wouldn't outright reprimand Inej and tell her she's off the team due to it, but thats what show Kaz did. And then after everything that happens, the sudden drop of “how will you have me” and the “without armor” dialogue completely did dirty to that moment. Like ofc she says “gloves on, fully clothed, head turned away so our lips never meet”. But in the books, Inej utters those words because of all the secrecy and lack of effort for pursuing a proper relationship between them. The “no armor” Inej says is addressed towards wanting him to be more open about himself (since Kaz knows basically everything about her, from her full name to how she was captured and ended up in Ketterdam) but Inej knows nothing about him, not even if Kaz Brekker is his real name. But the show made the “no armor” dialogue so bad. Its made Inej look so shallow as if she is merely speaking in terms of her physical wants.

Ohh and I did mention this in another post but everybody fucking knowing about Kaz's backstory? Everyone but Inej? The only person he actually tells in the books. Him even telling the fraction of stuff he tells Inej spoke volumes about their bond and how he trusted her enough to reveal this truth about himself. Show Kaz's past is revealed to Nina and Jesper casually walking in and listening??? WTF was that? And no Inej in thaf moment. Call it nitpicking but it was WRONG.

• Wesper has been reduced to the token gay couple of the show. Their sweet first encounter has been completely eradicated and they're turned into this typical trope of people who had a one night stand and accidentally met again. Their romance is so sexualised in the show, as many tend to do with queer ships (which is extremely disgusting imo). More importantly, we'll most likely never see the “no, not just girls” in that possible spin-off 🙂

• Ketterdam: the show has given no proper insight on Ketterdam. I bet most of the show only people don't understand much about the city and the gangs. I wonder if many even know whats a Dime Lion. And Pekka randomly having the stadwatch in cahoots with him was so shitty writing?

And these are just a few that i can remember right now. Also i don't want this post to get too long.

–» If you're one of those sheep fans, don't comment shit like “creators already told us its different from the books, so you shouldn't be mad” 🤪 cause I'll definitely delete your comment.

If you are one of those, scroll past this post. Cause what do y'all even mean? People can't freely discuss or criticize a piece of media now? STFU!

[nostalgebraist]

Here are some fun / amusing / potentially-interesting facts about the process of writing and plotting Almost Nowhere, if anyone's curious.

Major spoilers for the whole of Almost Nowhere under the cut.

(There's really no way to spoiler-censor this material without rendering it incomprehensible. If you haven't read the book, do that first before reading this post.)

(1)

A large fraction of the book's eventual plot emerged from my attempts to patch a single, in-some-sense trivial continuity error I made while writing the very first chapter.

The Mooncrash section of that chapter ends with this sentence (emphasis added):

All parties were used to stillness, now, for the Mooncrash was nearly four years old.

And a few paragraphs later, in the opening of the Academy section, we get this (emphasis added again):

For (as everyone knows) the Shroud is upon us and while it tolerates the Academy — as it presently is, as it has been for the last eight years, a chrysalis, preparing itself step by minuscule step [...]

So: The Mooncrash is 4 years old. The Academy crash is at least 8 years old, and indeed older.

Yet the Mooncrash is also as old as the crash system itself! It was made by humans, during the period between the discovery of the anomalings and the mass-crashing of the human race. (This is only shown in the second chapter, but I had it in mind before then.)

How long has the human race been crashed, then? At most 4 years, and at least 8 years? How could that possibly be?

It would have been easy enough to just edit the chapter, but that's not how I do things. Restrictions, famously, breed creativity. I enjoy attempting to solve puzzles I have inadvertently created for myself, and many of my best ideas have been produced through this process.

It would also have been simple and easy to merely say: "OK, I guess time elapses at different subjective rates, in different crashes."

Amusingly, I ended up doing that anyway! But for some reason, this avenue didn't occur to me at first. By the time I started asking myself whether to include this kind of effect, I already had a different solution in mind.

I spent a lot of time beating my head against the figurative wall, trying to resolve the 4-vs-8-year issue. The early parts of my AN notes are full of this stuff.

----

At some early point, I came up with the idea that the anomalings/shades would deal with troublesome crashes by "rebasing" them, rewriting their histories.

I didn't intend, initially, for this idea to take over the plot as much as it eventually did. It was just a fun idea that underscored the huge power differential between the anomalings and their captives, and felt in line with the Cartesian/Wachowskian themes of transcending a "fake"/illusory world, radically doubting one's own perceptions and memories, etc.

But, having stipulated that "rebases" were a thing, I hit upon the idea that they could be used to modify the total quantity of past (subjective) time inside a crash -- turning 8 years into 4, or vice versa, or whatever.

So, I could fix the problem by stipulating that one -- or both -- of the problematic crashes had already been rebased, in this way.

But why? And by whom?

----

Now, at this early stage, I also had the idea in mind that the character "Anne" would eventually escape from her crash, and that she would have a hand in various major events in the story -- including some events that had already occurred, relative to the "present" of the textual PoV.

But I didn't know, yet, what these interventions actually were.

(I put "Anne" in quotes, here, because in the very early stages I casually assumed that only the PoV Anne introduced in Chapter 1 would be a major character, and that her sisters were merely background material for her personal narrative, like the tower itself. Of course, in the process of thinking through the details of things, I realized that this assumption was needless and indeed counterproductive.)

As often happens when I'm plotting a story, I found that two unknowns slotted neatly into one another, each one providing a potential solution to the problem posed by the other.

We need something for "Anne" to do in the past. Something consequential, something that shows off her newfound agency -- but also something that obscures her role from view. Ideally, something kind of weird, esoteric, "advanced"; something that feels buried inside the deep, dark center of the backstory, which the reader will only "excavate" at the end of a long, strange journey.

And we need someone to rebase the Mooncrash.

That answers the "who?" question. But again -- why?

Well, it was already in the plan that Azad would join forces with Michael, when Michael went in search of his lost Anne. That Anne would meet Azad, as a result, and that it would be Azad who persuades her to return to Michael's crash.

I didn't, at the time, have much else planned for the Anne-Azad connection.

As originally conceived, the "Azad convinces Anne to return" scene was about Azad's uncertain loyalties, and about Anne's lack of exposure to other human beings (and to the power of words, as deployed by human beings with access to real human culture). That is, it merely served specific, separate purposes in the sub-stories of these two characters. There was no intent to set up, or develop, a thread connecting these sub-stories, making Azad a major character in Anne's arc and vice versa.

But that seems like kind of a shame, doesn't it? Why go to the trouble of preparing these characters, and bringing them into contact, if I didn't have anything for them to do together?

Anne and Azad.

We need someone to rebase the Mooncrash.

We need Anne to learn about real human culture, somehow, before she leaves. I knew that, already, though I didn't have a mechanism in mind.

(I also knew, by this point, that causing Azad's appointment as translator was another one of "Anne's" consequential moves. I had conceived of this, at first, as a relatively impersonal act, done only for its historical significance. Indeed, that would have been enough -- but the more the merrier, theme/motivation-wise.)

Problems paired up, interlocked, and became each others' solutions.

(1b)

As is obvious from the above, I didn't have the scenario planned out in very much detail when I wrote the first chapter.

At the time, the story had been gestating in my head for a while, but only as a bunch of vague inklings and intentions.

The proximate cause of writing-the-first-chapter was a sudden and unexpected burst of inspiration. I was riding the bus to a social event, and suddenly my mind was awash with crisp, never-before-glimpsed details about Anne and her tower, the Mooncrash, the Academy, Cordelia's blue dress -- all the stuff of Chapter 1. It felt like a crucial message was being beamed into my brain, VALIS-style, from the Muse / Higher Power.

I had an urge to bail on the social event, turn around, ride back home, and start writing immediately -- what if the magic went away, as suddenly as it had arrived? I resisted that urge and made a perfunctory appearance at the event, but then went back home and wrote as much as I could before falling asleep.

So, when I was writing that chapter, stuff like "four years" and "eight years" wasn't based on any single coherent picture, just vibes and vague inklings.

(I think 4 years probably sounded like the right amount of time for G&A to have been in the Mooncrash, character-wise. Meanwhile, Hector's ascension from the Academy had to be long enough ago that there would be no direct overlap between Hector and any of the current students. The "Bad Old Days" had to feel like something you'd only hear about in rumors, or from authority figures who probably weren't telling the full story.)

(2)

Like TNC before it, Almost Nowhere was originally conceived as relatively simple and straightforward story, only to become something much weirder and more complicated as I fleshed out the details.

As I said above, I only had a very vague "plan" at the outset of the writing process. But I kinda knew where I was going with it, in very broad strokes.

The original arc, insofar as it existed at all, was something like:

The bilateral / anomaling tension is introduced.

The bilateral PoV characters come to an understanding of their situation.

Many of the bilateral PoV characters join up with Hector Stein, who is already trying to defeat the anomalings and free humanity from the crashes.

Azad temporarily sides with the anomalings, and Anne temporarily returns to her captive state. But both them "come around" eventually.

Anne eventually triumphs over Michael, delivers a dramatic monologue castigating him for imprisoning her (etc.), and mounts a successful escape.

Shortly after Anne's escape, some (TBD!) resolution to the main conflict is achieved. Whatever it is, it is proposed/spearheaded by the bilateral faction (and specifically Anne herself), and it somehow exemplifies "the bilateral way of thinking/being."

The humbled anomalings conclude that "the bilateral way of thinking/being" has its advantages, both practically and morally.

So the story, as originally conceived, was much more straightforwardly about the "good" PoV humans fighting back against aliens.

It unabashedly took the bilateral side in the conflict, and it ended with a "beauty of our weapons" sort of moment in which the bilaterals are both victorious and righteous, and in which these two kinds of success are closely linked and almost merged.

I have to imagine that, even in counterfactual worlds where some things went differently, I never would have stuck to this version of the story all the way through.

Because, one way or the other, I would have eventually realized that.. like... this version of the story kind of sucks, right?

I mean, why go to the trouble of introducing these aliens, and trying to make them interesting, only to say "nah, actually these guys were just wrong, it's us and our existing 'ordinary' pre-conceptions that are right, and that's what the story was about all along"?

It would have been "inventing a guy to be mad at," as the saying goes.

Not a great foundation for a story. And the least interesting possible direction to go in, given this kind of setup.

It also presents a seemingly unresolvable tension, for the writer, about how to portray the distinctively "bilateral" nature of the bilateral side in the conflict.

If "bilateral" is as broad a category as the anomalings say it is -- if you and I and all of us, whatever other qualities we possess, participate equally in this sin -- then it's hard to strike a note of emotional triumph around the quality of "bilaterality" that doesn't feel wrong, vacuous, or bloodlessly abstract.

"Woo, yeah, humans are great!" I mean, are they? All of them? You don't get to say "well, only the good ones," here, or "in their ideals if not always their acts," or anything like that. Everyone is included in the relevant category, except for the guys-who-aren't that were invented for this specific story.

It's difficult to make this land properly, in the same way it would be difficult to write a story that inspires "carbon-based life pride" or "having-DNA pride" or the like in its reader.

So this version of the story was dead on arrival. And indeed, by the time I was thinking through the stuff chronicled in (1) above, this version of the story felt like a provisional placeholder, at best, in my mind.

Nonetheless, there are various echoes of it in the story I eventually landed on.

For example, in the original version of "Anne's" escape -- conceived in a much more straightforwardly positive way -- I had Anne reading "real" books in secret, drawing moral strength from them, and then including a bunch of literary quotes in her big dramatic monologue to Michael. (I took inspiration, here, from John the Savage reading Shakespeare in Brave New World.)

And I had the idea that "Anne," being an autodidact, would read omnivorously without making culture-bound distinctions familiar to you and me; that her selection of quotes, in the monologue, would put low culture alongside high culture, infamous books alongside famous ones, etc.; and as a particular case, that it'd be fun if -- before going on to quote Shakespeare and co. -- she began the whole thing by quoting Ayn Rand.

And that one idea stuck, even if the rest of it didn't.

(Or, consider how the idea of "a powerful move in the conflict that exemplifies the bilateral way of thinking/being" actually crops up multiple times in the finished story, right up to its last scenes. One can see traces of it in the "trick" that obsesses Michael, in the use of autobiographical writing to build up nostalgium, and in Annabel's improved crash design.)

(3)

I came up with the Mirzakhani Mechanism relatively late, in between writing Chapter 13 and writing Chapters 14-15 (in which the MM is introduced).

The MM was a product of looking back at the sci-fi elements that already existed in the story, like crashes and rebases, and trying to invent some single underlying explanation that covered all of them in a relatively parsimonious way.

This basically "worked," I think -- it certainly worked better than I had been expecting, after playing the dangerous game of "write a bunch of weird stuff and hope you'll be able to explain it all later." (I remember talking to one reader who was shocked that I hadn't had the MM in mind from the very beginning, which was flattering.)

It also had unintended consequences that kinda took over the story, but largely in a good way.

Earlier, I had planned to have the post-rebase crash timelines "screened off" from the outside world somehow, so that rebasing a crash wouldn't mess up the timeline of the outside world. But, once I'd fixed the idea that "rebasing is an MM event" in place, I realized that this wasn't consistent with the way MM events were meant to work. Instead, the exposition in Ch. 15 directly implies the stuff about rebases that Grant realizes much later in Ch. 41.

Once I'd noticed this, it was obvious that it was extremely important, and I re-incorporated it into the broader plot.

On a related note, I eventually decided that the account of the anomalings "going backward in time to our era" in Ch. 15 didn't really make sense. This meant I needed a different, more viable way anomalings and bilaterals to exist at the same point in time.

This line of thought, along with several others (like "what happened to all the nonhuman organisms?" and "which parts of the MM multiverse are real?"), eventually led me to invent Everywhere-Heaven and the beasts.

That happened right at the start of 2022, between Chapters 21 and 22.

It quickly became clear that the E-H/beasts stuff could be put to a lot of valuable use in story's third act, which was largely a worrying blank space in my head (even at this point!). From thereon out, I worked on fleshing out the third act behind the scenes while writing the second.

Not coincidentally, Chapter 22 contains a ton of E-H-related foreshadowing, and also some hints that human scientists (like Aidan in Ch. 15) had never fully understood the anomalings.

The use of Maryam Mirzakhani, a real (and recently deceased) mathematician, was a weird choice and arguably one in poor taste. All I can really say in defense of it is that it came to me suddenly, and had a number of properties that fit the vibe of the part of the story in which it appeared, and I have a policy of "going with my gut" when it suggests such things to me.

I felt similarly about this choice and another thing introduced in Ch. 15, the nuclear attack intended to kill scientists. Both of these things underscored the fact that the story took place in an alternate reality. And both felt sort of "edgy," "too dark," "too close to the real world" compared to the tone of the story so far. But I wanted to take the story to new places in the coming acts -- "darker," "more real" places -- and something felt right about introducing these elements at this exact point, as signposts providing an indication of where things were headed.

(4)

The phrase "NOWHERE TO HIDE" was originally "NO MERCY," in my notes.

And the abbreviation "NM" for "NO MERCY" was used throughout my notes for Nowhere-To-Hide related stuff, e.g. "NM Annes."

This wasn't the product of much thought, just the first thing that came to mind that had roughly the correct vibe. I almost immediately concluded that I'd have to replace "NO MERCY" with something else in the work itself, since it would seem like an Undertale reference that I didn't intend to make.

"Moon" was originally just a placeholder name -- a shorthand for "the 'NM Anne' who rebased the Mooncrash." But I liked the idea of actually using it, once it had occurred to me.

The corresponding placeholder name for A11 was "Ling," as in "linguist" (but also an actual name).

(5)

I went through 3 different outlines of the third act.

Really, there was a first outline, which was really bad, and then there were two slightly-different versions of a very different outline that mostly corresponds to the finished draft.

The first, bad outline was amusingly titled "notes-satisfying-ending.txt", because I explicitly used this post about "satisfying endings" as a guideline while writing it.

(To be clear, I don't think the linked post was to blame for the badness of that first outline. I didn't ultimately find the post very helpful as writing advice, but the "satisfying ending" outline wasn't even a "satisfying ending" in the post's own terms, and was also bad in unrelated ways.)

I don't want to go into much detail about the bad outline. It was really bad, and also really different from what eventually occurred. It's honestly a pretty embarrassing document.

A lot of the key ideas were there (E-H, etc.), and the very end of the story was roughly the same. But it had a ton of needless flaws that I later corrected. Various existing character arcs and motivations were dropped and never picked up, or suddenly diverted in some new and unfruitful direction; way too much time was spent on getting characters and objects from point A to point B, or otherwise sort of rambling about in a way that didn't matter in the end; it included a lot of whimsical "fun ideas" that weren't necessary and would have added clutter to an already very full canvas; etc.

I never got to the point of building a chapter-by-chapter version of this outline, but I'm sure it would have much longer than the existing third act, also.

The existing third act is pretty long, but it was actually the result of an aggressive pruning and tightening process.

If the "satisfying-ending" outline had a single greatest flaw, it was terrible pacing. Lots of slack, lots of empty space, and when big things did happen, they came out of nowhere, not really prompted by what came immediately before them.

The next draft of the ending resulted from taking the raw materials of "satisfying-ending," purging all the dross, re-thinking all the obviously flawed stuff, and then trying to rearrange the pieces in front of me in a way that was maximally "tight" and interconnected, with questions and tensions introduced and then resolved in a rapid-fire manner, and without any major thread "sitting around in the background" long enough to feel stale, or get forgotten.

That outline was in a file called "notes-good-end.txt."

Much later, I tightened up the plan even further, merging some things that were originally in separate chapters. This was in a file called "notes-true-end.txt", and -- true to its name -- was the version reflected in the book itself.

So there was "satisfying-ending," which sucked; "good-end," which was good; and "true-end," which was slightly better.

(I realize the multiplicity of the ending, and the account of deliberate "tightening" etc., is in apparent tension with my recent account of working by direct inspiration.

There are a few things I can say about this tension.

For one, it really is true that the third act of AN was more deliberately reasoned-out, and less directly-inspired, than some of the earlier stuff. This is kind of inevitable: you don't get to do anything after an ending, that's what an ending is, and so you have to deliberately try to make the final act of a story fully work as a thing unto itself, rather than writing checks in the hope of cashing them at some later point.

And separately, I do think the final version of the ending feels "more real," "more true to the work" than the satisfying-ending draft.

I think I was aware, even while composing "satisfying-ending," that it felt off and wrong in some ways. But it was only after going through the exercise of creating a complete ending -- some sort of complete ending -- that I was able to look back and say "OK, this fits, but this doesn't fit," and distill something that actually felt right.)