#((Abyss if you're reading this I dare you to try))

[speyeralling-down-thy-majesty]

"You need to rest" Says who¿? Not even the Fox himself can force me rest and take a break, I encourage him to try.

[adoregojo]

secret admirer.

hihihihihihihihi, i cannot believe i actually slept for two days in a row? wth? and also that i never did this kind of posts? im such a lazy bum mb yall, I promise I'll write a real fic soon. summary: bllk characters as your secret admirers: isagi, bachira, chigiri, reo. how they fell, what do they do, how did they confess.

isagi.y

him. just him.

you once held his shirt collar to stop him from planting flatly on the floor.

and when you walked away, you walked with his heart in your palms.

yea, just like that

but honestly, isagi himself didn't knew he was such a big sap inside

and the moment he realised you two shared a few classes was the second he almost kneeled and thanked the sky itself for this.

an absolute swoon from looking at your side profile.

he once was long gone within the abyss of daydreaming about you, he genuinely just couldn't look away.

then got called out by the teacher for being too distracted.

definitely prayed that you didn't see that.

writes your name unintentionally in his notebook.

gets so embarrassed about it later and rips the paper.

still dose it again the next day and almost ripped the whole book apart form cringing at himself.

he once was musing over you too much to the point that your name slipped out unwittingly on the dinner table.

his parents couldn't stop teasing him about it, wondering when they would see you walking down their house door.

leaves love notes in your locker almost everyday.

it's something short and simple like: "you look pretty today."

then when he goes home he'll realize how dumb that was because you literally look the prettiest everyday.

dumb, dumby.

takes time to make the first move though.

he just feels like you're way, farther away from his reach.

it's okay, he still considers himself lucky to be one of those who got admire you.

he just hoped you saw him behind all of them, even if it was a glance.

chigiri.h

omgg pretty boyyy

despite chigiri being a confident and self-reliant, the trigger words of his old injury was like a pulling a pin of a grenade to his still-raw sorrowness. something that'll always haunt him.

and what dose he dare to say when they were nothing but truthful? like a salt to his wounds, he tends to just take it and suck it up, or at least try to ignore it for his sake.

but everything flipped when you stood up for him.

from that moment on. chigiri knew that he was far a goner.

out of everyone here he's definitely the most romantic one.

reads all your favourite books and analysis it.

probably named a cat after you.

like isagi he writes love letters for you.

just a little too poetic..

it it's short then it's something like: "loving you is like breathing." or "i hope your days are filled with the same joy you give me with your existence only."

but mostly is: "my definition of love, i see the true meaning of living behind your hue of life. you shall lighten my soul with your existence alone, i was born to see you shin each day, witnessing you is a blessing from heaven itself. the day that i stop seeing you as the owner of the stars is the day my body shall vanish, yet my soul will know it way back to you. from your only and one your admirer."

what a lovesick clown.

he might be a smooth talker on the outside, but trust me the butterflies of sentimental keeps on swirling in his stomach on the sight of you.

told his mother and sister about you.

it was his biggest regrets.

because the next day his sister shouted your name in a demand for you to spend the night for the 'meeting of the future in law'.

he had to physically drag her back to the car, freaking embarrassing.

couldn't meet your eyes for a while after that.

wants to hold your hand.

like, really badly.

it's just that feeling your skin against his cold, pristine hands must've feel like the loveliest, cosiest thing.

the thoughts alone are making him go crazy.

he confessed first, just couldn't help himself.

he just hoped if you would go to the end of the world alongside with him.

bachira.m

the sunshine boy himself.

the definition of fell first AND fell harder.

it all started when the class was ordered to work as duo for a project, something he always despised.

you may say that because bachira was definitely not having the word 'smart' in his book, you'd be right actually.

but mainly since no one really wanted to group up with him.

it was embarrassing, to just sit there and wait to be picked was putting him under the lights that pointed him out as the most pitiful creature in the room.

then you pocked him on the shoulder, and asked him if he wanted to be your partner.

and when he didn't see the sarcasm reeking from you, he knew he tripped hard, and couldn't find it anywhere in his feet to back him up.

it was strange, bachira never had a company, let alone a crush.

but the signs were there, and were painfully vulnerable.

painted you in art class multiple times; you with a smile, you reading a book, you sniffing a sunflower.

maybe also you and him... holding hands or hugging...

stares at your face a way, way too long.

he tells himself it's to crave your features better and detailed.

even he doesn't believe that however.

he draws your eyes a lot.

his second favourite colour is your eyes hue.

he was never the best at writing romantic poems, and his hand writing is just........

so he insisted gets you a gift!

which is a rock.

yes you heard me, rock.

he would even paint a little face with a smile on it and leave it on your desk by the end of the day.

almost went bald from joy when you had it hanging as a small march on your bag.

and when you had a bad day, that goes unnoticed by him.

so imagine your surprise when you would find two pairs of rocks, one kissing the other who had a sad expression on it face.

that somehow that foster a blissful smile on your face. like that little action extinct any remains of the past negative you carried.

and bachira was more than happy to be the reason for your happiness.

definitely rambles about you to his mom.

and his monster.

he once ha a dream about you two smooching.

cried when he woke up because he wanted it to be real more than anything.

you two confessed first, at the same time.

and boy was he dancing on cloud nine at it.

he almost smooch you that moment and then.

reo.m

it's mister perfect everyone, cheer.

you fell first, he fell harder.

no, literally. you fell. tripped flat on the floor.

and somehow, that made the reo mikage heart move.

?????????

love at first (fall??) sight.

he definitely leaves a trail of gifts for you everywhere.

your chair, desk, locker, bag.

he switches between chocolate and flowers to letters and perfumes, necklaces, etc..

you say how he picked them?

easy, see something that reminds him of you, he buys.

and it's pretty foolish since he sees you in almost everything.

reo is convinced that you're within everything that shins beautifully.

he actually paid the teachers to let him be in the same classroom as you.

paid even more to get a seat next to you.

rip to whoever was sitting next to you.

he once heard that a guy was bothering you.

the next day the guy was the talking of school because he suddenly moved out of town due to his dad losing his job.

hm, must be karma then.

has a shrine of you.

but you didn't hear that from me.

talks about you none stop to nagi and ba-ya.

genuinely sobbed when he imagined you with someone else.

has a flight under your name.

made a makeshift doll of you so he can practice his confessions on.

had a mental breakdown of the idea of you rejecting him.

reo can the most horrible, miserable day to a human kind to live.

then he sees you smiling

BOOM

he's all happy and smiling again, also a little giddy.

you once greeted him good morning, the next day he was planing what ring would suit you the most.

had two planes to write on the sky: 'will you go out with me?' and your name next to it in a shade of a heart.

now, you definitely cannot reject that. (Please don't)

have a nice day everyone.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I Never Missed You 2/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.3 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. Smutty smut ahead in this chapter. Brace yourselves for impact.

Part 1

You have to admit that you look dashing tonight. 

And not because you want to turn people's heads at the party… But because you want him to look at you like you're the most forbidden snack he will never have.

It's selfish and petty, and you're just seeking attention. But at least you have the balls to admit it: you want Simon Riley to drool after you. You want this man on his knees. And nothing else has worked except that bra.

So you turn to the world's oldest weapon. A woman's weapon. Seduction.

"I'd suggest you keep a low profile until we're done."

He looks at you through the mirror while you finish your hair. Uses the word we instead of I. It makes your heart ache… And you take even that lecturing comment as a compliment. So he does think you look nice, or at least nice enough to stand out. You read into every look, every little tone of voice he gives you.

"I thought we were supposed to lure him in," you say while you neaten your necklace. Of course you look nice. You have done everything you can to look ravishing tonight: a deep-cut, thigh-revealing dress, cat eye makeup, red lipstick...

"Yeah but not like this."

"I'm not locking myself inside the house because of this," you announce pointedly. "I'm not afraid to live my life." 

You turn and look him up and down, give him a little tilt of the head. "Don't you have anything else to wear?"

He doesn't shrink, doesn't bat an eyelash. Just looks down on you from that ivory tower of masculine prowess and makes you feel like a fool for being so dolled up.

"There's a difference between courage and foolhardiness," he states, not falling for your attempts to make him feel small in your world. You suspect there is so much more to this man, but you don't care to know about the circumstances he grew up in, the situations that gave him that broken nose and lip. You don't want to know about his broken soul.

Or perhaps you do...

"I suppose you know everything about that," you say while looking straight at the uneven scar on his jugular.

"I do."

"Tragic past?"

"You could say that."

You feel even more silly, standing before him in all your glory, pearls in your ears and silver around your neck. You pay this man for his services; he's supposed to protect you. But something in his eyes told you from the start that there lies an abyss inside this man. And you didn't pay for that: a peek inside his heart. But a door is open a creak now, and what's inside is pure darkness.

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sorry you had to deal with that."

Your cultured attempt to dance around his chasm makes those brown pools melt. Finally, he melts. But not to compassion, or mercy, or anything that would make you believe that you two understand each other. 

He looks at you like you're a stranger from another planet. He's intrigued but doesn't quite understand how a creature like yourself has come to be. You're not only a child in his eyes but a coward as well for not daring to open that door to hell.

"What do you think," you hurry to change the subject. "Will I do tonight?"

He’s always so hyper-vigilant, his stare fixed on everything else but you. It feels childish, to be jealous of his attention when all he’s trying to do is protect you. 

But now… Now that alert darkness bores straight into you.

"You look good in everything, ma'am."

A breeze of arctic wind goes through your scalp, and a fainting warmth settles in your belly.

You tiptoed your way to the fridge yesterday morning, before official breakfast, in your knickers and an old band merch from your youth - the one you still slept in sometimes because it was far more comfier than your silk pajamas. He walked in fully dressed and mighty while you were sneaking back upstairs with a glass of apple juice. The humiliation was overwhelming, especially when he dared to look you up and down in your state of underdress.

"Goodness… Sorry."

It should’ve been he who was supposed to say those words. But you felt like an intruder in your own house. It was a dangerous slip: to look so homely, with no brush stroke gone through your hair, with no toner on your skin. With no makeup and standing there before him in all your…you.

"No harm done."

He had never looked at you like that, and you swore right then and there that you would only descend those stairs with your full battledress from now on.

"Even in an old t-shirt…?" You ask with a tight voice. Desperate. Longing…

"Especially then."

Simon Riley strips you from your weapons and charades in a second. Your tight, seductive smile slowly falls off your face, and from behind it, a fragile, naked hope arises to gape at him. He clears his throat as if he just offered you an entire bowl full of ice cream when he was supposed to give you only a little scoop.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," he says, calm and adamant, like a statue you would go to see at a gallery.

"I'm afraid we should be going already."

"Takes 5 minutes."

You purse your lips, and he's on his way to the bathroom before you can even give him your nod. The guy is used to military showers, then, and perhaps it's for the better that he puts on at least some effort.

When he comes out, you're sitting in the hallway, and he's only wearing a towel. It's the one you gave him when he arrived, the softest you could find from your closets. You remember how the first odd thought you had upon seeing this man is that he probably isn't used to softness.

And now you see why.

You can see the prominent veins and the sketchy forearm ink, his muscles are magnificent to the point of unholy, he has a delicious, thin layer of fat on top of his belly, and the eyelashes aren't the only breath of hair that's pale on this man… But he looks like he has gone through an inferno.

His back is full of scars, and half of his shoulder looks like it has been dipped into a deep fryer. You catch a hollow dent between his ribs, and there's more, but he walks to his room before you see the rest of it.

The taxi drive to the party is filled with silence as you try to digest what you just saw. You want to call your lawyer and demand him to tell you where the hell did he find this man and who Simon Riley truly is. Who exactly does he work for when he's not taking bodyguard jobs? 

But the first thing you do when you arrive at the large party held in a small palace is to go to the punch bowl and down a glassful in one go.

He's on your heels the whole night, eyes everyone with a hawk stare, and does his job perfectly. He grabs your arm occasionally and whispers in your ear if someone seems suspicious. After one and a half hours, he comes to you and practically demands that you two leave. Normally, you would start an argument, but not tonight.

You kind of want to go back home, too. The people at the party seem tedious, and his scars have reminded you that even if you live in a world where violence is not the norm, it doesn't mean that other worlds don't exist. Otherworlds - where people get shot, stabbed, and blown apart. Whipped and cut and deep-fried. You're in danger, and it took his suffering to see that.

You have been so stupid that you just about wish someone would slap you.

Simon has been so patient with you that you nearly apologize on the ride back home. You want to beg his forgiveness and confess you have been a spoiled little idiot.

But again, that's not an easy thing to do. You turn to look at your forbearing bodyguard, ever silent in the taxi, and turn your voice to silk.

"You really should smile more," you suggest. He doesn't answer, just looks out your window as if there were perils there too. You suddenly realize anyone could shoot through the glass or the door at any given time. With a proper caliber, a bullet could pierce that window and coat his black shirt with the insides of your skull.

No. No. I'm not ducking my head.

There's no one there.

"Have you ever tried?"

You turn to humor and flirt to drive those intrusive thoughts from your head. He doesn't yet know that you're afraid, that you have been afraid this whole time. You should have bought that armored car.

"Am I your most annoying client ever…?" There's a smile on your lips, a little pardon for being so infuriating. His eyes drop there, then lift back up to your eyes with surprising seriousness.

"You're my first client ever."

Well… This was news.

"Oh. Why did you accept this job?"

His stare sails away from you and back to the London night. You stifle the urge to grab his hand, a fistful of his shirt, to draw his attention back to you. Every time he's around, you feel safe; every time he looks at you, everything else ceases to exist. 

You want him so badly you could cry.

"They don't teach you manners at the SAS…?"

"No. They teach us how to kill."

You scoff and turn to look through the window, too. 

"Brute."

"You're entitled to your opinion, ma'am."

When you reach your house, he uses that term again. You're 110 % sure he's only trying to annoy you. 

"Good night, ma'am."

"Stop it," you nearly slam your purse on the table in the hallway.

"What?"

"The ma'am thing…!"

You sound like a wife who's looking for an argument after putting on a charade all evening. When the door to your home closes, volcanoes erupt, and bombs drop, your husband-like bodyguard gets the blunt of your fear and frustration.

But how do you argue with someone who never argues back? He's calm like the Pacific during a stormless season, always, always gets calmer when you're going berserk. He walks to the armchair in your living room like he owns the whole goddamn place and sits down with a sigh. 

And there is a smile playing on his lips.

"What should I call you then?"

You look at him, dumbstruck, on that chair, spreading his legs like there's no tomorrow, arms comfortably on the armrests, and mouth drawn into a genuine, peaceful, thoroughly naughty smile.

"Oh, now you're smiling," you huff. The unbelievable audacity of this man… "Some ideas on what to call me popped into your head?"

"Verily."

"Go on then."

"Nah. You should go to sleep."

"I'm not going until you tell me."

You cross your arms over your chest to underline that ruling. His smile only widens. He looks wickedly delicious in that seat with his legs spread, and the chair doesn't swallow him like it swallows you. Actually, his shoulders are wider than the back panel of this enormous chair.

"Well," he begins, "’princess' came up first."

You try to catch what he just said through the stupor of wanting to climb on that wide lap.

"Truly? How original."

"Or spoiled brat."

You stop breathing for a second, then reel straight toward a spiral of–

"How dare you?"

You notice his eyes dropping to your heaving breasts again. This man is so different from a dinner-offering, cunning man in a suit. He has no pretenses whatsoever. He looks at you with that little smile, eyes burning, legs drifting apart even more, probably his cock stirring from how you are trying to chastise him. If you had pearls around your neck, you would clutch them. Or throw them at him.

"You son of a–"

"Pretty."

His next choice renders you speechless; it cuts through your insult before it even flees your mouth. You gape at him, jaw open, breathing and cheeks burning, pussy throbbing - soaked so thoroughly now that you feel a tiny droplet cascade down your thigh.

"Yeah. That's better," the man says as if he's also blessed with a Superman stare, knowing you're seconds away from drenched. "Better than brat or princess, anyway."

The darkness conceals most of him as he settles inside that massive chair he dwarfs. You are falling, or at least that's what it feels like. A tumble, a slip inside his Styx. But there's no bottom, and the water is warm ink, despite the fact that he's so blanched.

"Pretty…?" You whisper into that water, breathe onto the surface of his depths. The darkness answers immediately.

"Very."

Your swallow is a wet, nervous roll inside your throat when you sink into that river of lust and smoke. 

You take your jewels off first, because you know he doesn't care for them. Money's not his chief interest, even if he's being paid. And fat, at that. But he's not here for riches, he’s not here for the jewels – or that's what you desperately wish.

The necklace and pearls are gone soon, tucked away on the table with your trembling digits, and he's sitting there like a statue.

You have no trouble with this dress: the zipper seems to cascade down on its own as you reach behind your back. He's motionless as you slip out of the straps that keep the dark velvet up. You feel like you're the Styx: but the darkness of the river pools at your feet as you let go of the gown, let go of everything and continue your freefall.

He doesn't move, doesn't give evidence that he's even breathing; he just sits there like a long-forgotten king.

The panic snares you with a drool-wet throat: you salivate not because of him but because of your nerves. 

Are you… harassing him?

Does he want this…?

At least he thinks you're pretty – and you could laugh out loud; your thoughts are vain and petty, even when you're baring yourself before him in more ways than just one. Your breaths are audible distress inside that darkness, and he's still: everything's still.

But he moves when you reach for your bra.

It's just a hand that soars through the darkness, an involuntary reach for support and gathering of composure as his fingers find his jaw. They swipe across imagined stubble before he leans his head on that hand, just an ounce's worth of weight placed on his thumb and pointer as if he's simply in his thoughts. But the hawk stare is fixed on the lace covering your breasts as it falls on the floor too.

You hear his breaths now. Quicker on the inhale, heavy on the exhale. Your thumbs slide under the hem of the last piece of your veil, something you got from the store when you were feeling down. Now the underwear makes you feel better than ever - who would’ve guessed it's the moment you slither it off? Slowly, too: you’re being a tease, hip bones giving a two-second dance for him as he continues to watch you strip before him like the queen of the night.

You breathe in sync now, and your nipples perk up – he hasn't even touched you yet and you're more aroused than ever with a man.

Not a word spoken, and you fear you’re being delusional – if you've just imagined the heat between you two, but then those legs flare a hair's breadth more. His voice is the softest whip as it crackles through the void.

"Yeah... You're pretty. Now what?"

You breathe in gusts now. It's exhilaration, damnation.

"Jesus Christ, Simon."

The chair gives a creak as he rises, like an ancient shadow. Intimidating – intense, always, always, and you've been trying to coat him with soft towels and feed him toast. You wonder if he prefers black tea simply because it tastes more bitter than coffee rounded with milk.

Does he want this? Silly softness and toast and–

You get all your answers as he bends just enough to match your height, just enough to sweep you off your feet. Your hands go around his neck on instinct as he lifts you up from your rich, opulent Styx and into his sea.

You're quiet all the way upstairs – he can't fuck you downstairs, then, has to intrude on your luxury and privacy. You don't mind, especially when the steps give a desperate wail under your combined weight. He lets it sing its music to the night: your ruining already makes so much noise.

He reaches for his gun right after he’s placed you on the mattress. The sound of it is heavy when he sets it on the nightstand that has only seen glasses of water and apple juice and perhaps a few books. 

He undresses with soldierly sharpness, no seduction there. But he doesn't have to seduce you: his stare and heavy-cold demeanor have already done that.

He's so, so different from the others… Looks at you on the bed like you're both a piece of tender sirloin and something akin to garbage. That's an accurate depiction of a princess, perhaps. You know wasps gather around both honey and bloodied meat. 

He looks at you like that because you know nothing. And he's not here to ruin you… he's here to insert himself inside you like you're a foe that needs to be infiltrated, plundered and burned until you understand. 

He's big. Daunting. A brute while you’re the princess, could be the sleeping beauty, the way you stay immobile and try to take in this man's sheer power. You saw him half naked already when he came from the shower, but it's nothing compared to seeing all that taut, scarred flesh up close, soon about to fall upon you like a broken mountain. 

And what's between his legs is wholly proportional to the rest of him. That thing is a menace, and it's not even fully erect - hanging thick between thick thighs, foreskin revealing a fat, sloping tip, and he's veined all over… 

Finally, your mouth goes dry.

His gaze sweeps your beauty, and that cock gives a throb – a good, hard pull that stretches out into the open air, and your eyes go wide. Then he prowls, like the king of the jungle, moving with a fluidity that must be scary to those who meet their end by this big brute’s violence.

You are able to take in air only when his hand falls next to your head. The other claims you by the middle as if to soothe you - but the truth is you're caged in like a tiny, quivering animal.

The hand is heavy as it slopes across your stomach and scales your mound. It doesn't cup or probe, only rests there over your most sacred place, like an enemy surrounding a city. Your thighs part slowly, hoping he would just sweep right in.

"This wasn't in the deal," he rasps as he looks down at you: heavy iron judging a diamond.

"Oh shut up," you breathe, thoroughly thrilled and shy. If you weren't lying down, his intensity would buckle your knees.

"Nor do I take orders from you, ma'am."

"I'm not- Don't call me a-"

His eyes spark as the hand dips down like a deep diver into the blue. You gasp a stunned whiff when he's met with a mortifying amount of slickness. Your arousal sings a pretty song as he draws a finger over your slit, the moist sounds followed by another stuttering sigh. 

"Look at you all wet," he remarks, and you grit your teeth.

“Shut…up…”

"You know why I accepted this job?"

He wrecks you with one thick finger, rough skin lathering you with your own juice like he's trying to make a point here. And he is making a point: it comes across perfectly. The princess is a filthy mess for brutes…

And of course he was given a file on you too. With more than just one photo.

"Yeah," he rasps when you only look back at him with your felled deer helplessness. You could swear that he just heard your thoughts. "I think you know."

"You're–ah– a brute," you whisper, eyes shining. Your thighs part even more, feel yourself leaking over his fingers that stroke you agonizingly slow. You swallow with hunger, the need pangs on your cheeks. Your whole body is throbbing for him.

“Sticks and stones, love.”

He's so infuriating that you could slap him. Claw him, rip him apart. But you nearly laugh instead… It's far better an option to let him claw and rip you apart. He's tearing you apart right now, with those eyes and his hand, exploring you like you're the first course and he's here for the whole dinner. How can he be so calm?

"Could you…" You start, then realize you've never begged for this man.

"Hm? Talk to me," he commands. "Whatever ya want."

You whimper – from bliss or relief, you can't tell. The frantic need to serve is fully fleshed out in his tone. It surprises you. You thought he was here for his own pleasure. 

You try to think through the bliss of his fingers. You've had all kinds of things... All you could ever want, most would say. But that's not entirely true. No man has ever promised to please you however you want.

"Could you go…"

"Go down on you?" He places a thumb, broad and hard, on your clit. Teases it with the slightest pressure and a circle.  "Lick your cunt?"

Fuck…

He has no trouble saying it as it is, and you nod, still helpless.

"Sure. 'N after that I'll fuck you nice and good."

He's never, ever sounded like that before. Dark, and rich, the baritone reaching a level that speaks of hunger – no, need.

A brute, a pussy-drunk brute, the blood in your veins sing as he goes down. Nothing can prepare you for the way with which he manhandles his way between your thighs like they're only a petty distraction in the way. They're forced wide apart with a tight grip that speaks of urgency, but he takes his time to admire the sight bared before him. He’s drinking you in like ambrosia, towering above you while you’re being held open for him to just observe you like you’re a center-spread girl in a filthy magazine. 

"You're fucking pretty down here, did ya know that?"

You don't even know what to say - his tone, his observation is base, and still, they're the most beautiful words anyone has ever said to you.

"No…?"

"Well now ya know."

He steals a final glance at you, and the fire in his eyes already makes your legs feel weak. He dives between your parted legs, right into your leaking, glistening folds, and you're suddenly glad that you've done all that yoga… Those shoulders are so broad they force your thighs even further apart as he makes himself home there between your legs. 

A hot mouth presses against you like this man has been starving, even if you've fed him the best delicacies for days. An even, fat stroke is the first thing you feel before your toes curl and your head falls back.

"Goodness, Simon..." You try to keep yourself from stuttering as his mouth opens you like a flower. You should be quiet, for once, and let him do the job. He seems like an expert, even and especially there between your legs. "Do you-ah, always shag your clients?" 

"Told you you're my first," he rasps a husky sigh on your folds. He could ruin you with that voice alone.... He gives you another sweep of his tongue, full and ample, and your fingers curl around the sheets, your hips buck; your ass drives up on instinct, trying to both escape his mouth and rub your pussy against those thin but eager lips. 

"Don't worry," he tells your pussy with a warm chuckle. "This is free of charge."

You sigh, the first laugh of many up into the air. You're supposed to get angry, but you can't. You can't. 

"Have… no words for you."

"Good. It's about time you stopped talking, love."

He grabs your hips to punctuate it that you should indeed shut up. Fingers sink into your flesh like you're a whole goddamn feast - no more fucking toast and teasing. His hands look so huge as they dig into your skin - so different from the hands of men who work in offices or wait for people to serve them. You upvoted those hands to be the best part of this man long ago.

And that bulk of muscle… Some of those men in suits might go to the gym, but they couldn't forge a body like his in a million years: that breathtaking mass built to work and endure harsh conditions. It's not a flex or a sculptured piece of art: it's simply survival - ancient and primal.

He's got darkness, and you got diamonds, but something tells you his depths are infinitely more valuable. You couldn't buy his intensity even if they sold it in the streets. The skull mask was self-made, everything in this man is self-made, and he's sampling what diamonds taste like, and you wonder… Does he think you're cheap, some fake piece of worthless junk? Does he laugh at how easy you are? That under your manners, you're only a spoiled brat and a promiscuous maneater…? Or that he couldn't care less, as long as he can push his cock inside you?

He gives you his best, that's for sure. A working man, with you as his assigned mission, and the feeling of being a spoiled little princess only increases. And how are you supposed to stay still if he's slow and attentive like that? You might be his first client, but you're not his first shag…

His lips seal tightly around your nub, suck it, lap it, sigh on it - he's already breathless from the need to make you moan and cum. A purpose-driven, ravenous man, and when he dips his tongue inside your cunt, your mind finally goes blessedly blank. Your legs shake and stretch, and you can’t prevent your hand from skimming down to grab his hair when he gives you deep, unhurried plunges with his tongue, huffing against you from the mad want to make you feel good. 

You would never have guessed that Simon Riley would get such pleasure from licking a woman.

One hand disappears from around your thigh, and you guess it's one of his fingers that arrives, wide and thick, to tease your entrance. You can feel the smile on your folds as he slips it in, making you nearly jolt on the sheets. Your fingers instantly curl to tug that pale hair, to grab hold of something, and it makes him rumble inside you. 

He doesn’t even wait for you to catch your breath as he adds another finger. Goes shallow at first, then pushes those fingers in to the knuckle. The feeling of being filled - and not being filled enough - is going to drive you crazy any second now.

"Simon…"  

"Yeah?"

“I want you to… want you to…" you hear yourself choking on your beg as he works those fingers in and out of you while his lips are tight around your clit. He knows exactly what you're trying to ask.

And suddenly, it's he who breaks… 

"Right. 'M gonna fuck you now, yeah?"

The spread is gone, and you're being moved - on your belly, and you briefly think whether it's because he can't bear to look into your eyes when he takes you. You don’t even have time to whimper from the loss of his fingers and mouth before heavy thighs force your legs aside. You’re being spread again, crudely, obscenely, like it’s just a procedure that has to be done. He’s both methodical and impatient, and you wonder - has he wanted to rail you like this ever since he saw you? Force you to lie down on your belly while he takes you from behind like a helpless damsel?

His hands come to your hips as if to make sure that you won’t run away from under him. As if you ever wanted to… 

Something far fatter forces its way between your folds and straight onto your opening. He glides over your folds a few times, spreads your wetness all over his tip. Methodical still, but it makes you moan and swallow.

"Jesus…"

The lathering stops, the jutting cock settles right where your depths lie, and he chuckles. "Not quite, love."

Fuck… 

Fuck this man's cheek and audacity. Fuck his size and pride, the way he knows what he's doing all the fucking time. 

“Desperate for it?” 

That stupidly fat cock just resides there, teasing your aching, leaking hole without going in. But it’s like he answers his own question because you feel the thick of him give a notch against your folds. So impatient. Thoroughly needy. It sends you further down the whirpool of desire, a searing white, fathomless deep..

“Yes..”

When he goes in with a leaden grunt, your muscles go into a spasm - he's too big, he hasn't prepared you right, and still, you force yourself to relax.

"Not what you expected?" 

"It's… too much," you admit. He stops, realizing that for once in his life, he might've been an impatient man. Then he crawls forward, and you feel like you're about to be buried under a boulder as his weight bears down on you. Hands sink into the mattress on both sides of you, forcing you further up against him - you're floating, almost, to where you belong.

"Yeah? C'mon… You can take it."

You shudder. It's not even fully in yet?

He speaks too softly for it to be a demand, even when he's hovering on the brink of wanting to simply ram himself into your cunt. It's an encouragement. He’s cheering you on, like a coach. Or a leader... It’s leadership. 

When you don't object, he starts to feed more of himself in. You try to remember how to breathe because you were wrong, you were so, so wrong - it was barely just the tip, and now you're stretched wide and tight. He's endless, and sinking in deeper, deeper….

And you want it so much - all of him- you want to grip him and never let go. One hand comes to sweep over your hip again, it caresses the swell of your ass, and you know he's looking down at how well you can take him after all.

"How are we doin'?"

Your lips are swollen, and your brows are creased tight. It's still not in…? 

You’re fucked. Literally. But you can take him... You must.

You whimper when he slows down almost to a halt.

"Love. Tell me to stop 'n I'll stop."

"Just–gently," you whisper, brittle and shivering from joy.

"Don't worry. I got you."

Slowly, he arrives to the end of him and you. Hips flesh against yours, he’s out of breath before he even starts the thrusts. His length caresses places unfathomable in this position, and his weight is crushing you, even when he's supporting himself. It only feels like the safest place to be. Trapped there between your safe, soft bed and his safe, hard body. 

The first thrust punches the air out of your lungs. It doesn’t hurt, and it’s not uncomfortable; it’s just too much to take. You’ve never been so filled. 

"Fuck…" He swears, somewhere between the third or fourth thrust. "You're…"

"Good…?" You offer him when he doesn't continue. You know he was possibly going to say tight or something crude like that and corrected himself before it spilled. He merely grunts as an answer - a barbarian through and through, you decree. And then the brute speaks…

"The best."

God. You feel like a diamond after all, but you've never been under so much pressure, fearing you might break.

"You-too…" It's a sad little mewl. You sound like a child trying to make friends. Latching a hook on him, no matter how tiny it is. One shake, one ripple from the behemoth, and it will fall loose.

"Don't go lying with that pretty little mouth," he warns.

"I'm not lying."

"Yeah…? Keep squeezing me like that and perhaps I'll believe you."

It's a strange feeling, to meet your mistrust and jealousy on him. He has no pretenses, but he has secrets, camouflage, and flash grenades that blind you from the truth. But even he can't hide it all when he's moving inside you, so close, so terribly close.

You melt into a pool of heat and want, trying to meet him midway by offering your cunt, arching your spine, driving yourself up to give him better access. What was possibly meant as a desperate fuck turns into a sweet, weightless rocking, a rhythm of him and you. The hands on your hip start to gain weight as he holds you still for him, at times even pulls you against his cock.

"C'mon… wanna hear you," he huffs, then slides one hand to your butt and gives it a fond squeeze when you won't instantly make noise. "You're always givin' me that cheek and now you're silent?"

It's a warm question, a thick baritone that settles into your stomach, then shoots downwards and makes you clench. 

"Wh-what do you want me to say?"

"Want you to sing."

Of course the man who never talks won't shut up in bed. But he's not bullying you into submission, nor is he being mean. If anything, he sounds like he's finally on his knees. 

And you don't want to be mean either. Not anymore. But you just can't help yourself from having a little fun now that he's finally desperate and inside you. 

"Make me," you whisper, delivering your cheek with a wicked little smile.

The response is immediate: he dares to land a flat palm on your ass. Like you're a broodmare, a sirloin steak for him to feast on. And it does the job: you almost shriek, or at least that's how it sounds like when a parched little whine pushes through your vocal chords with violence.

"That's better," he barks, pleased with his work.

"You're horrible," you gasp. You're glad he put you face down on a pillow: you can only hope he doesn't see how happy you are in the darkness of his night.

"Yeah? And you're sweet." 

It's said with gravel wrapped in silk. It hits you and ignites, starts a flame inside you without permission.

You want him in ways you shouldn't. You want… more breakfasts, him carrying you up the stairs, taking in the way you tip-toe around the house in an old t-shirt. You want to serve him back rubs and tea and see who he is when he's not being paid. You don't want a lap dog or a guard dog, you simply want... 

Simon.

"I'm– I'm sorry that I've been such a bitch," you whisper. He sinks back on top of you until his nose nuzzles the back of your ear. He leans on his elbows, trying not to break you into too many little pieces, but the feeling of being confined couldn't be more blissful.

"Cock's that good?" He drags the following thrust, sparking your nerves aflame as he hits your core. But it's not brutal; if it is, it's the sweetest wrecking you could ever have imagined. 

"Don't make me take my words back," your lips pull to a smile and a silent, inner laugh. 

"Wouldn't dream of it." 

He's smiling too. Inwardly, perhaps, but you can hear the mirth. His weight on top of you while you're lying under him on your belly, unable to move, unable to do anything other than take the full brunt of his cock as it spreads you open, is pure heaven.

"Want you to cum when I'm inside you," he rasps in your ear, lips brushing the underside of your jaw. "Think you can do that, princess?"

Being told to cum on command is a bit ridiculous, you think. But not when it comes from that Cockney mouth. Not when he asks so nicely. Your cunt pulls, claws at him. 

"... I'll show you princess," you sigh, but it's only a second away from laughter. His fingers dig into your skin, the flush flesh of your ass. It feels possessive… Fond.

"Yeah. Show me. C'mon."

The camouflage gets slightly torn off by a wind of a smile. You can hear it on his lips. Sex should be fun, one of your friends always says. You had never thought about it like that. Bed is not the place for laughter and humor, you had thought. But now you are both on the brink of bursting with it.

"You're a fucking pretty one…" He grunts: a breathless, silent joy. "Know you want this as much as I do. Ain't that right?"

"Yes." 

"That's what I thought. So cum for me. Wanna hear the sounds you make."

You dance on the precipice already, and his voice causes your hand to shoot out to his. You drag that heated palm across your hips and your ribs, curl it next to you as if you were drawing a blanket over youself. It's a lover's caress, and his fingers slip between yours as he wraps around you like the protector that he is. 

Your walls flutter, the thickness inside you makes you swell with every thrust. His hips are relentless as he buries himself into you with blunt force, his flesh clapping against yours and making your cunt clamp down on him. Sweet, sweet, sweet, your blood sings as your lids drift closed. The wave is coming, the final tsunami that will sweep you with it, and you will only succumb with joy.

"Don't-stop," you hear yourself beg through the heavy pants he's grunting on your neck.

"'M not gonna stop," he grunts into your ear, serious now.

"Fuh–Fuck me good and… hard," you're hiccuping through dry tears. It feels like there's a hammer and an anvil placed between your ribs. "I need you hard-"

"Shit…"

You barely grasp that he's about to lose his precious control before the midnight sea takes you under. The world fades into a tight know of blue and white and black, electric, ambient, something soft and hot at the same time. You're choking on your tears, moaning into the pillow like a poor, broken, tortured cat. 

"That's fucking pretty," he swears on your neck as you cum. All humor is gone now, but he's not mocking you. He's just… emotional. The bulk of him rides you through the wave, but the rhythm of his hips becomes erratic. 

"That's it, pretty… I'm gonna…Fuck," he huffs on your skin, a mist of want, and the cockhead rubs something profound inside you and makes you jolt in the middle of your molten euphoria. He grunts, swears, and does it again - bludgeons so deep it forces out a sob, just before he breaks too with a choked, wet swallow and a groan. A trembling colossus, you think, as he thickens and bursts inside you.

You're an aching mess when he comes, his thighs pressing over yours and forcing them far and wide as he buries himself into you to the hilt. He's a behemoth, spasming and crumbling right above you. The broad abs bunch against your back while his hips pin you down and spread you open. The cock pulses inside you, and you are barely able to think how it's a miracle that both his thick flesh and the pool of cum, all of it, just somehow fits there inside you…

A gentle brute until the end, he swallows again, thick and breathless, before giving a few tight rolls of his hips, emptying himself to the last drop. Slowly, you both still inside your bubble of warm, dark blue, something akin to a sea between a tropical storm and a calm sunrise, a drowsy reef shifting with the waves. 

He's broken into a light sweat from the toil when he finally untangles your fingers. Your hips are kept in place with one hand as he slowly pulls out. You feel like you're left emptier than before, even if you feel the cum welling up inside, about to spill over.

Your bodyguard - your late-night fuck - collapses beside you, then reaches to pull you close again. Still back against his chest, still unable to look into your eyes when you're both vulnerable. 

"I'm gonna get you a towel," his fingers tremble as he caresses your arm with the most delicate touch. 

"No–don't, don't go," you whisper, then grab his hand and bring it back over you. You almost squeeze yourself with it. "Please?"

The tension behind your back decreases as he slowly falls back into bed.

"Alright love. I'll stay right here."

It's so peculiar how he reminds you of large water masses. A night sea under a pale moonlight. Not a stormy, roiling one, just a vast depth in an ever-swelling motion.

"I want… I need you to keep me safe," you whisper inside that swelling sea. You never want to come to the surface. You want to learn to breathe underwater. The heavy arm is draped over you; it covers nearly half of your chest as he sighs.

"Then let me do that."

His plea is not humble - nothing in this man is. He's not on one knee, swearing his allegiance and vowing to always protect you. He's not your Lancelot.

But in a way, his plea comes far too close to a beg. You feel a sting near your heart. It's electric, pure pain - the sweet kind, though, as you realize he doesn't only want to do his job… He wants to protect you. He has already tried his best to protect you while you run around like nothing is wrong. 

"Simon… I'm sorry."

"I already forgave you," he hums on your skin, evidently glad that you two finally understand each other. It should send you laughing, the thought that you needed his scars and his…treatment to find common ground. And free of charge, no less.

"Do you still wish you were somewhere warmer…?"

He bows his head against the nape of your neck, and the gush of air from his nose is warm and jovial. "No."

It's hours till dawn, but you wish it would never come. The beauty of the night is only now unfolding before you. It feels far more safe than the violent dawn. You wonder how he would react if you moaned his name as you cum. If he would shudder. You wonder what the hell is wrong with you that you didn't already do it...

"Simon…?"

"Mm..?"

"What happens now?"

There's a pause, but he doesn't shift for more comfort. Still, the bullet vests and battle gears are back on; you just sense it.

"We're gonna get some sleep."

"No, I meant… What does this mean for us?"

"What do you think it means?"

Now he shifts, but only to draw you closer. You feel like jello as he pulls your scent deep into his lungs, then exhales the grace on your skin like you're the only tobacco he needs after a good round of sex.

"Don't worry about it, princess," he murmurs on your skin. So delicately that you could claim this man has never even seen the army, never barked and shouted and smoked his throat dry. "We'll talk in the morning."

You settle into his sea, an embrace full of gentle, heavy safety. It's the sweetest oblivion to slip in as you begin a dreamless sleep, soft and snug. But it's not merciful enough to make you forget that you two… 

You never even kissed.

............................................

Taglist: @lialacleaf @cumikering @val-srz @glitterypirateduck @clear-your-mind-and-dream @milfs4lifee @regatoni1 @glossygreene @raf4el4 @xxmattyboixx @frozenballsack69 @gabygykss @chxrryp0p @sinnisterr @clairdelunelove @megumilover69 @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @ayavaiia @thedevillovesflowers @tiny-kasper

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Pairing: Softish Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn Note: It is/will be mentioned Tav is a draconic sorcerer

Rating: Explicit 18+ [Slow Burn]

Setting: Post End-Game Please note: Written before epilogues were added, so may not be congruent with that content

Warnings [more will be added] - expect mature content/read at your own risk.

Blood drinking. Sexual Themes/Tension. Slow Burn. Eventual Explicit Smut. Pining. Suicidal Thoughts. Biting. Violence.

Small Notes:

I am not well-versed in DnD 5e and it's rules as it pertains to this world, so although I'm going to try and keep it as accurate as possible, some aspects may not align or may be completely made up for story reasons.

Mentioned of in-game content that I've made resolve a certain way for this Tav.

Fabricated camp events.

Tav is named in later chapters (15 +), will have her own backstory, which we may explore eventually.

Details of Tav's appearance have been made up, but I've tried to keep details to a minimum so you can imagine your own Tav.

Otherwise, I hope you all enjoy!

Big thank you to everyone who reads and/or comments/follows/likes/reblogs - it truly does make my day to know you're finding some enjoyment in my story :)

Chapter 1: Lost Between Night and Dawn

Chapter 2: Reunion

Chapter 3: One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Chapter 4: Little Lamb

Chapter 5: Rebellion

Chapter 6: Dancing with Darkness

Chapter 7: Rogue Desire

Chapter 8: Free Fall

Chapter 9: Beneath the Veil

Chapter 10: Soulbound

Chapter 11: 'Till Death Do Us Part

Chapter 12: Catharsis

Chapter 13: The Fallacy of Power

Chapter 14: Devil's Ploy

Chapter 15: Reclamation

Chapter 16: Riddles

Chapter 17: Unearthed

Chapter 18: Unleashed

Chapter 19: Hark Thy Plea

Chapter 20: I Forgive You

Chapter 21: Preparations

Chapter 22: This is Our Sanctuary

Chapter 23: Way Down We Go

Chapter 24: His Hands Hold My Heart & He Won't Let Go Until It's Scarred

Chapter 25: Darkside

Chapter 26: The Edge of Erasure

Chapter 27: Sin and Shadow

Chapter 28: Blurred Lines

AO3 [cross-posted]

If you're interested, I also write a spawn Astarion x Tav fic - Shadows of the Past

I also write a much darker fic for named Durge and AA that I post to A03 exclusively. It's dark, gory, and not about fixing AA but about them becoming an evil power couple if you're interested - Lie to Me

[solarisquid]

JUST THIS ONCE... (Catradora)

Rating: General Audiences

Tags: She-Ra Season 5 Spoilers, Dark, Self-Hatred, Catra POV, Angst with a happy ending.

WC: 642

Notes: Bolded parts are whispers by Adora that Catra perceives as yells.

Read on AO3

"You look out for me. And I look out for you. Nothing really bad can happen as long as we have each other."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

That was the last memory that crossed Catra's mind before the pain.

"It was time I did justice to that promise myself. Stay safe, Adora..."

And those were her last thoughts before being forced to submerge inside the green glowing pool. Before the shadows took over and all she could hear was Horde Prime's voice, soon enough joined by thousands upon thousands of voices in the darkness. The hivemind. Their sound was deafening and Horde Prime's will was even sicker than any punishment Shadow Weaver had ever inflicted upon Catra. So she withdrew deep into her soul, far deeper than anyone could ever reach, to slumber for eternity as Horde Prime used her as a mere puppet.

Anyone but Adora. Suddenly, a light. And Adora was there. Somehow she had managed to break Prime's mind control. She didn't remember doing so. But soon enough, Prime took over again. This happened many times in a lapse of time way too short and Catra was hurting.

The last thing she saw before being surrounded by darkness once again... Was the abyss. A deep, dark abyss. Horde Prime wanted to end her life.

The darkness surrounded her, once again. She could also feel the grip of Horde Prime, restraining her whole mind. And the shadows started to grow bigger. And bigger. And bigger.

She was dying. And all she could think was... That she deserved it. She had ruined way too many people's lives. She had broken people, and pushed them away. A single good action couldn't redeem a monster like her. She deserved nothing, but death. The whole universe would be better off without her.

And then, among the shadows, she heard a voice. A shout, a yell. Accompanied by a light, so bright that the shadows started to retreat. So bright, that Horde Prime's light seemed like a shadow itself. So pure that she could feel Horde Prime's grip weakening, as he was burned by the light.

"Come on, Catra, you're not done. Not yet!"

She knew that voice. She knew it as well as she knew that the sun would rise every morning. Her heart skipped way too many heartbeats.

"Adora?"

"We're going home, Catra! You have to wake up!"

Then, Catra saw it. A bright, glowing door, calling her from within the shadows, attracting her. And Adora was there. Trying to reach Catra with her hand.

"Adora... I'm worthless. I hurt people. Why would you come back for me? I wanted you to be safe... To uphold my end of the promise for once. Leave me. You're better off without me."

"No, no!"

The sheer emotion in Adora's yells was enough to made Catra look at her. She was crying.

"I was the one who failed you! I broke the promise, while you always looked out for me, even after I left! So don't you dare blame yourself for that!"

"But..."

"Don't you get it!? I know I don't deserve it, but I'm begging you! I will never leave you again, so please, just this once... Come with me!"

Adora wasn't able to continue as she burst into tears. But her words were more than enough to make Catra feel something she hadn't felt in a long time. Hope for a better future. Hope for herself. Hope... For redemption. A will to live.

So she struggled with Horde Prime's weakened wrap. She struggled through the shadows, through the pain and through the darkness, reaching for Adora's hand, as her face filled with surprise.

When she opened her eyes, Adora was there. Leaning on her chest, feeling mentally exhausted and vulnerable... She said the only thing she could think of at the moment.

"Hey, Adora..."

AO3.

Kudos and reblogs are appreciated 💛

[skulgore]

“𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐞.”

EXPANDING ON THIS IDEA AND THIS IDEA

MWAH! i love these idea so so much, i just wanted to combine them.

@chocoenvy

warning: religious ideology/discrimination? (idk it's not real religions), blood, extreme gore (red marks beginning and end, really short)

twins aren't specified

The Abyss scoffed at the idea of the Creator. If this Creator was so loving, how come they didn't grace them with their presence during the fall of Khaenri'ah? Even the nation without a god was praying for your help. But to no avail, you didn't answer. You abandoned them. Celestia announced your arrival, they couldn't help but feel bitter. Why awaken now. You betrayed the Abyss Order.

Then they caught word of an imposter. Who shall they believe? Should they defend their non-religious belief, or help this imposter insult the "Creator's" name?

The Abyss lives to taunt the Creator, since many of their people died from them not preventing it. Damn you. They all screamed in vain, begging for help. Children, families, loved ones all died because of you.

You recently found yourself in the game you downloaded all that time ago, you knew the game inside out. But never have you heard of the Creator.

Shrugging it off as if nothing was a mistake, and now you're being hunted by everyone in Teyvat. But you've read those SAGAU stories on Tumblr? So, you'll be fine! Just run to the Tsaritsa or even the Abyss. You know they'll have your back.

Or so you thought. When you were seeking refuge, you went straight to the Abyss with a shining look in your eyes. Disappearing by boat with a cloak that hidden your form. It was as if the waves of Teyvat were pleading for you to not head in that direction since the boat nearly flipped twice. Nonetheless, you carried on.

Reaching the familiar steps of the portal you took a deep breath in, and as you were exhaling you walked into the Spiral Abyss.

You saw many people surrounding you, defensive position. The Abyss. Looking up slowly, you met the eyes of gold, and a sword pointed to your chest. “How dare you walk into the grounds of the Abyss?" The Abyss twins face was filled with such bitterness. It made you want to curl up on the spot.

“I don't even know who the Creator is!" You kept eye contact with the twin, pleading. “I'm not from here, I just want to get home..." Turning away, nostalgia hitting you like a truck of the place you hated so much, but miss so dearly.

“Prove it.”

“What?”

“Show me your blood.”

“Pardon?”

Your absent-mindedness made the twin angry, lightly cutting your cheek with the sword in their hand. Surprised to see red blood ooze out. They sheathe their sword. Offering you their hand to get you off your knees.

“Nobody has had your courage to put dirt on the Creators name like this,” the twin gleams as you take their hand with yours and pull yourself up while wiping your cheek with the other. “You might've just as well started a revolution.”

You're glad to be alive but you would rather not be in this predicament right now. “You see I-” you try to draw your hand back from their grasp but they quickly take your hand again.

“You want to lead the rebellion with me.”

“Well I didn't quite say that,” pausing to let yourself think. “But hell, it'd be nice!” You found yourself with shelter and protection. And not just any protection, but the Abyss. It can't get any better from here.

You find yourself soon leading a battalion against the same people that tried murdering you. You smile at the satisfaction revenge gives you. The Abyss follows your every command, but really all you want to do is get home.

You find playing pretend for a little doesn't hurt, and when it comes to killing people with your own hands? Hesitation. You know these are game characters but the look of fear in their eyes never fails to send shivers down your spend. When they give you those stupid puppy dog eyes for their life, you have the urge to carve their face off. How dare they beg for their lives when you begged for yours and nobody did anything?

Hearing and watching Celestia fall is like a harmony. Seeing the Creator walk out of their palace, smug look on their face. You wanted to explode the entirety of Teyvat after that. You were held by an Abyss mage and teleported over to Celestia, then soon disappearing. Nobody concerned, more terrified.

You walked straight towards the Creator and locked eyes. “I didn't want to do this, I really didn't,” your eyes expressed fake pity. “You see, I wouldn't have done anything if you didn't send out a hit for me.”

“Oh my Celestia, am I sorry.” The Creator dropped to their knees, bowing in front of you, holding onto your ankles. Head hung low.

“Look up at me.” You can feel them shaking from below you. "Look," you used the tip of the shoe to pick the Creators chin up. "at me."

“I'm sorry, m'lord. I never will do this again, just please spare my life.” Never have you ever wanted to kick them in the head as hard as you did right now. “I repent, my god. I repent.”

You scoffed- taking a step back even, bending down to make direct eye contact. “No,” you grabbed its chin roughly. “No gods,” you squeezed its cheeks with your hand. “No Celestia," you tugged at the hair to hold it up. “No Divine Principles," you tightened your grip.

Fear doesn't even begin to describe what the entirety of Teyvat felt after what you said next. “No Creator," a sinful smile crept up from you, directly to contradict the Creators.

“Only. Me.”

You summoned your sword and slashed its neck, strong enough to behead them. When the body was still breathing, in a fit of a rage you stomped on the corpse. The blood and guts spilling all over your outfit. You raised your sword to stab the body over and over and over again. The loud sounds of bones cracking every time you stab. You lift your leg and broke the head. More guts and blood. Step, step, step. Crimson covering your form.

“Your- your highness?" You heard vomiting from behind you. What did you do. You looked towards your hands, back to reality. you laughed, a sinister smile falling upon you again. Is this how much power you had in the first place? Turning around, you saw your comfort character and your blood runs cold.

[femalehieronymusbosch]

do you have russian poetry and literature recomendations that are rare and not widely known? something off the beaten path of akhmatova - tsvetaeva - dostoevsky etc

yes, of course. actually it's frustrating to see the same 3-4 poets and authors here being repeated over and over again.

i'll tell you my favourites and you'll decide if you want to read them, poetry value is subjective. i'm not evaluating them on the basis of quality or novelty, just on the basis whether i like it or not. almost all of these poets had "bleak personal life and extreme political views" (c.) which i don't care about, if we'll be judging if artistic work is worth something based on its authors morals we'll have nothing to read.

Innokenty Annensky, Fyodor Sologub, Alexei Tolstoy, Fyodor Tyutchev, Afanasy Fet, Ivan Bunin - i grouped them together because of similar vibe. their genius lies in their ability to connect and entwine in their verse manifestations of forces of nature and mortal heart's passions. Nikolai Gumilyov - he was a nobleman, war hero, heartbreaker, poet, traveller, on top of that his contemporaries said he looked kinda odd, not conventionally attractive. his interests were all over the place (and the map) and reader can feel the muse of faraway wandering in his poetry. Denis Davydov - brave dashing hussar and talented poet, what else can i say. Aleksandr Pushkin - the sun of russian poetry, tragically underrepresented on this website, melodic like a murmur of enchanted stream. all of them are VERY famous and renowned poets, just unknown to tumblrinas.

Ivan Savin, Nikolai Turoverov - i grouped them together because they're both warriors and poets, i even dare to say, knights. in word and in deed.

Alexei Lozina-Lozinsky is unknown for real, he was insane and wrote schizophrenic poems and i kinda like them for being so unfathomable.

as for prose i'm not sure what to recommend you, i don't read it often. Alfred Heidok is almost unknown to our readers too, let alone foreign ones. maybe try finding his works, if they're translated. he basically wrote semi-authobiographical works. his novels are unusual, fresh and sharp, full of fear and call of the abyss, odd peoples, strange customs, feels like you're not reading a book but riding in the wilderness of Manchuria under the banners of baron Ungern von Sternberg.

[half-deadmagicperson]

Angstfest Day 2:

Title: I'll be in Denial

AO3

Rating: Teen

Words: 748

Summary: Danny is loosing his grip on humanity

Warnings: mild blood and tooth loss

Also not all of this fits as 'Nobody Knows AU', but most of it is.

    SMASH.

    Another case of beakers shattered. Danny sighed as he walked over to get the lab broom. It's been a few days since he died, and he's already having issues. He randomly goes intangibile. Sometimes he'll find himself sinking through the floor or having stuff drop through his hands, like a case of lab beakers for example. 

    Two weeks later, and it only got worse. He almost got exposed when his eyes started glowing after Dash had shoved him into a locker. Thankfully he noticed and calmed down before Sam or Tucker saw. He wanted to tell them, but he thought against it. They didn't need the weight of their friend's death on their conscience.

    One month later, it was getting harder to hide. His ghostliness leaked out at any given chance. It was harder to walk without floating. His eyes glow in the dark like a dog's. He woke up one day to blood on his pillow and a pile of teeth. His regular human teeth were replaced with unnaturally sharp fangs. 

    So he did what any person would do and tried to ignore his problems. He put on make-up and filed his teeth. Looking in the mirror, he tried everything to look human, to be in control.

    It wasn't enough.

    He threw on sweatshirts to cover how cold he was. Hair dye was used by the boxes to cover the strands of white that were leaking through. Sam and Tucker had asked him if he was okay when the changes first started happening, but now they don't pay him much mind.

     His aura causes people to pass him by. Their minds are too horrified to look. His parents, even his sister, don't notice his coming and going. Hell, they might not even remember he exists. 

    Danny packed his bags. He looked over at the pictures of before. Sam and Tucker are smiling with him at Nasty Burger. Jazz is teaching him how to bake a pie. His dad is teaching him how to fish. He sighs. His old life is dead.

    Soundless steps walk down the stairs. Make-up and dye have been long since forgotten. They don't notice him anyways. Danny places five pieces of paper on the coffee table, each adorned with the names of loved ones.

     Tired legs lead him to the kitchen. Jazz is sitting with Mom talking about her AP class. Danny smiles solemnly. He watches as Jack bursts through the door and shows them his newest invention. They looked happy. Danny sighed and turned towards the lab door. He could only hope to have happiness like that again.

     Green light greeted him from the other end of the lab. The portal's imposing structure dared him to go in. He grabbed his backpack and breathed a heavy sigh. He can't remain on Earth any longer. He needs to gain control. He needs to move on. The young boy took a weightless step into the abyss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   Maddie Fenton was cleaning the house when she noticed something on the coffee table. There were five notes each adorned with five different names. Maddie picked up the folded paper that read 'Mom'. Gently, she peeled the edges of the page and opened it to read.

   "Dear Mom,

   If you're reading this, I am dead. I've actually been dead for a while now, but I didn't want to accept it. It's been hard, not gonna lie. At first it was just little things like dropping beakers, but now -some scribbles- now I can't. I haven't been able to control it. It's been so hard, Mom. I've tried to pretend that I was still human, same old Danny, but I'm not. I've been so lonely, Mom. Seeing you, Dad and Jazz enjoying life while I was stuck watching. It's been hard. All this to say I've decided to move on with my life, or I guess afterlife. And maybe one day I'll be able to see you again, and maybe you'll be able to see me. Don't be sad for me, Mom, I'm trying my best. I'll come back when I'm in control!

-Danny"

    Maddie sobbed. Danny, her little boy, was dead! She didn't even notice. She ran up to his room. He's just messing with her, Right? She opened the door to find the bed was made and unoccupied. The woman flung herself onto the sheets.

  "Oh Danny, my precious boy," her voice croaked into his blankets.

   Maddie spent her night grieving the loss of her child.

[bobbyfiend]

Shit my low-INT bard reads - 2

(and doesn't care who gives him a hard time about it)

Desgreangrid Frostcoat summons Dalmeloth Blighter of Flesh

By Ketthel Anorthosite Kulthinthrin

Desi marked the circle as she'd learned from her long-dead mother who had warned "Never set your foot within its space and never let the Thing behold your face."

She chanted thirteen hours in Abyssal, spoke the words of power she had wrestled from a fiend who wouldn't soon forget But she would walk this path as it was set.

A putrid smoke and sickly light appeared exactly as she'd hoped and also feared. The form inside that maelstrom had such grace she failed to pull her veil across her face.

The thing had claws and teeth and wings and fur and words less like a growl, more like a purr: "Who dares summon—" it began, then… sighed. "You know," it said, "I really do not mind."

"Thou art bound by power!" Desi rasped, "and try no tricks or I will have you lashed." "That thought, fair lady, fills me with delight," it said, "and you can call me Dally Blight."

The sorceress knew not how to respond and bought time chanting the Controller's Song. Dally said, "your voice is sweet and fulsome. I welcome the most vicious of compulsions."

Desi, who'd intended to command the Thing to purge the Unclean from her land, found these words escaping from her lips, "Perhaps—I mean thy liege demands—a kiss."

The thing before her moaned—or was it laughter? "With pleasure, precious, but what word comes after?" "What do you mean, foul fiend?" her voice was thin. It said, "I mean, kiss it? Kiss her? Kiss him?

Or, honestly, a dozen other options." Was Desi's heart on fire? Or was it stopping? She had labored more than forty years she knew Command, knew how to conquer fear

But now she felt a new sensation rising as she said to Dalmeloth, "Surprise me." Several minutes into their embrace she realized the Thing had seen her face.

Dally saw her shock and said, "My sweet, that's the least of it. Look at our feet." with dread she saw her right foot on the line and, somehow, Dally's left foot was outside.

"Dearest," Dally said, "I must come clean. I love you, though you're you and I'm a Thing. Your chanting, singing strength was in my ears for you mere hours; for me, thirteen years.

"At first I wished to torture you, devour you, but then your voice brought me to better know you. I begged Agramoleth The Hungry Dead And it agreed that I could come, instead.

Volunteering for another's summons turns out to have affected the procedure in contrast to the fate of many demons, I'm not compelled, but overjoyed to be here.

I thank the gods and devils I have found you. after thirteen years hearing your passion I want to be with you, to be around you in any way you want or can imagine.

She stared at what she'd clearly not enslaved and wondered how the fortunes could arrange a thing she never knew she'd always craved: a love for whom no passion would seem strange.

She said, "I will no longer call you Thing, my love from somewhere I can't comprehend. Kiss me again, then let's erase this ring and I will love you just as I intend."

Then the two began to do some things it's better not to write in mortal ink and afterwards they breakfasted, eventually in bed.

[lonelynova]

Harry Potter (Hogwarts Legacy) Morality Debate

Writing this, I don't intend to come off as a 'Hermione', that being a know at all that obviously has more brains than the rest. Like all posts, I am just wanting to openly type away my thoughts to the endless abyss that is the internet. I may likely never reply back if you attempt to debate me, because its not my intention here or with this blog.

So, as of right now I really want to speak about the drama that is with JK Rowling and her Harry Potter series. Specifically the whole boycott with Hogwarts Legacy.

If you've been blessed to not be curious and mind your own business, or haven't run up on a screeching moral paladin, then let me lay it out simply. Long while back, JK Rowling became even more known not just for the series, but also for her opinions regarding trans-women; which got her labeled as a transphobe. As to what her opinions are- I don't think the people screeching actually know either. The only big thing they bring up is that, "JK Rowling is transphobic, because she doesn't believe trans-women are actually women and cause, tranphobic."

Now I'm not about to dive into this whole- "is it really or is it not", because my thoughts into the open air- Is this really something to boycott over? Even to harass and try to force others not to buy it, even deeming them transphobic just for buying it despite the fact they likely don't share the same opinion. When even looking at the smallest explanation of what her opinion is really isn't all that terrible. They act like she's going to be the next evil overlord, just because she doesn't want to accept men who masquerade as women on the same level as biological women. There are actual horrid events going on around the world by the choice of a large company they likely consume from daily, but you don't see them raising hell over it.

Where are these warriors of justice, fairness and equality for all the people around the world- children abuse to do labor for cheap, adults ending up in the same situation starving and other very dark business practices. One woman has an opinion based in reality, but oh no- Don't you dare question trans-people even their choices of clothing, because you'll turn a blind eye to human abuse yet can't handle your world being knocked down a bit.

In my opinion, if it isn't obvious enough, I think this is all nuts and bananas. It's just an opinion and frankly not a radical one as they claim for it to be. It's not putting anybody's life in danger or removing their basic adult rights to even transition. I'll still watch her movies, read her books, buy official merch and likely play the game, because there are worse things to use my attention for boycott than something like this.

If you're going to boycott her over an opinion, then I better see the same uproar for all the actual horrible things around the world. I better see people boycotting a lot more companies and not because their morals got questions/offended.

[struggling-with-space]

BRADLEY BRADSHAW HOW DARE YOU, HOW DARE YOU YOU FUCKER

YOU'RE PLAYING WITH HER FEELINGS YOU MOTHER FUCKER

Kylie let me at him, let me at him please

You've broken my heart once more, and here I am begging for you to keep doing so. I love their relationship and all of the trauma they're both so unable to express and how it seeps into every part of their beings, so clearly reflected in the present as well where they are just fed up with each other.

I love reading the university Times so much because it's so clear how these experiences have shaped them to become who they are now, and you're really talented for doing this backwards, as having the end goal be clear, and having to create the background, and still doing it so creativily and gentle.

Their friendship is so fragile, and gentle, and teetering the egde of the abyss for ever step they take. Neither seeing the other as friend while so clearly being in love, even if Bradley is denying it, and Sunshine can't express it.

However, I'm also kinda proud of Sunshine, for recognising that even if they got together (which they will later but unrelated to this one shot) that she already now recognises they both have issues. And also that Bradley addresses those, and is clear that he just wants to be a good friend while being an absolute fucking idiot denying they're even friends.

I will say their friend group deserves a scolding because they're so clearly trying to push the two together while both of them aren't in a place where that is a good idea.

I have a lot more to say, however I will save that for yelling at you later, I love you so much ❤️

the one where they go camping (b.r.b.)

a/n: i started sending thoughts about the one bed trope with @gretagerwigsmuse​ and it suddenly turned into a full-fledged fic. also, there’s a playlist for this fic!! this is probably a full-fledged disaster but idk i enjoyed it. 

summary: You spend your spring break camping with your friends from UVA. Cue the most awkward five days of your life when it turns out you and Bradley will have to share a bed. 

flight risk masterlist | UVA cast of characters

warnings: swearing, alcohol, one bed trope, cuddling, arguing, food mentions, there’s a knife but it’s only used in a cooking context, the word bitch is used in a derogatory context, canon death of a parent, body insecurity, reference to former toxic relationships, sunshine needs therapy, this is semi-researched and semi my imagination, man i sure do love those fucking commas

word count: 10,612

The sound of keys being tossed on the table catches your attention. You look up from your book, catching a glimpse of Bailey, pulling out a chair next to you. From across her is Madison with Bradley, who is pulling the chair out across from you. You squint in the sunlight, offering him a soft smile. 

Keep reading

[rain-impact]

༊*·˚『 Character Trailer: (Name) The First Harbinger Of The Eleven  』

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ SUMMARY: (literally my oc- but here we go *sigh) (Name), they were from Khaenri'ah. Their fate had been already decided. Cursed with immortality by Rex Lapis(j̷̯̀̍̀ͅü̷͓͖̚s̶̡̝͔̟͝t̵̯̳͍̓͘ ̴̟̠̓͆l̷͉̯͒i̴̤͊͑ḱ̴̢̛͓̦̺̆̓e̸̩̹̽̅̈́͘ ̸͉͒́̎͝h̸̲̰͒ǐ̸̩̺̅̋̚m̸̙̯̬̟̍̏̇), (Name)'s ice blue eyes burning witht the though of revenge. Getting a cryo vision at a young age, they though of nothing but p̵̛̹̪̟̅ͅỏ̷̢͎̯͋̇̆́͝͝w̷̞̜̘̱͔̜̦̾̈́̓ë̵̛̛̯͎́̃̕̕r̷̨̭͕̔̒͐̕,

Note: Might turn this into series. Let me know what you think.

✧ ONE DAY, I WILL REBUILD KHAENRI'AH! ✧

❝ I see potential in you. ❞ A cryo vision shined, taking the shape of star(like primogem aight). ❝ You want revenge, you want to rip those apart who destroyed your nation, to rip those apart who killed your people, to rip him apart who cursed you. ❞ The child's tear filled gaze was locked on the star shaped cryo vision which they grip tightly. The vision shined brightly which gave a chill breeze. Tsaritsa stepped from the shadows, her ice-like eyes was locked on the child. She kneeled down in front of them and holded her hand towards to them, her eyes holded a familiar emotion in them. ❝ Come with me, i promise you the power which you desperately seek. ❞

✧˖*°࿐

Having a deep connection with the abyss had both good and bad sides. You'd often seen with a abyss monster(abyss herald or abyss mage doesn't matter)with you, that what some people worked at the fatui says. I could be true or not, but no one could dare to open their mouth when you are there, you are the first harbinger, its enough for them to be scared. Your ice-blue eyes often remined them the tsaritsa, but you're far more different then her. You simply had...other plans. To rebuild your nation. Yes, even the though of rebuilding khaenri'ah would put a satisfying smile on your face. Being the First of the Eleven had it own advanteges. You of course had a delusion, but yours,, is a bit special lets say. With the delusion you could control the other elements other than cryo, im not only saying just one or two, you could control all of them with the delusion. One second you were using hydro, and now you switched to electro, and- You simply didn't had a limit. Thats why Tartaglia loves to spar with you, even if you glare at him cause of how much he 'invites himself' through your office's door to ask you to spar with him for the nth time. Ugh, he really is annoying. But you two get along quite well actually, its- its just hes doing all the talking!

✧˖*°࿐

❝ You're like what? Thousand years old maybe? And yet, you're still hot and shit- ❞ You contiuned to walk ignoring the ginger who was trying to flirt you- ❝ (Namee)! C'mon! Don't ignore mee! ❞ You didn't bulge when he clinged onto your shoulder, fatui agents worriedly looked at the both of you, still didn't understand you hadn't snapped at the ginger yet. You were fine with it, at this point it became a daily routine with Tartaglia's flirting. For him, You are the most trustable, you knew what the abyss looked like, no- you knew the deeper parts of the abyss. Yet, Tartaglia found comfort within you, you sighed ❝ Get a hold of yourself. You're making both of us look like idiots. ❞ It was enough for him to return back his spot without and words.

✧˖*°࿐

Dottore respected you. The one and only person he could respect. You deserve your reputation and your power. He can't help but get jealous, cause of how much the tsaritsa gives you her precious attention. Sigh, he is interested in your connection with the abyss tho,, well, you won't reject answering some of his questions will you? ❝ Stunning as always (Name) ❞ you only hummed, the tiredness can read through your eyes. ❝ Did the tsaritsa gave you too much paper again? Y'know you could always come to me- ❞ ❝ No need, i'll just get coffee and go back to my office. I still have things to do. ❞ oh, how sharp your tongue was. He pouted and sat back onto his chair, and watched you leave. You really dont want people to stand in your way huh? He sighed and looked back to the papers in front of him.

✧˖*°࿐

La Signora trusted you with her everything. You were there for her when no one stayed by her side. You two had a close relationship. She would espacially take her seat near you in fatui meetings, just to show off. You'd always ask her opinion, that what gets her giddy inside. ❝ Thats all for today. You all can leave now. ❞ said Tsaritsa with a cold voice, you side-eyed signora, she cleared her throat and whispered some things. You nodded, feeling satisfied with her response. ❝ Hm. You never fail me Signora. ❞ ❝ I would never. Im glad that our thoughs are same. ❞ feeling proud, she smiled.

✧˖*°࿐

Another one who sits near you in fatui meetings. Scaramouche admired you. You'd always, always complete your missions without any problem. Scaramouche knew your plan, and you knew his. ❝ (Name), do you have a moment? I need to talk with you about something. ❞ Scaramouche crossed his arms while looking at your way, you had a paper in your hand which you've been looking at it for a few minutes by now. ❝ Yes, i do. Shall we go to my office? ❞ ❝ That'd be great. ❞ Tartaglia pouted and crossed his arms over his chest, you'd never invite him to your office! Just what did that gremling had that he didn't have huh?! ❝ Eleven, don't make that face behind my back. ❞ Scaramouche snickered at the ginger ❝ Wha- I- I didn't do anything-! You don't invite me to your office quite often like you do with that gremlin!! ❞ ❝ hAH?!? WHAT DID YOU JUST CALLED ME-!? ❞ ❝ Thats because i don't have to. You invite yourself into my office everyday- ❞

This post belongs to @/rain-impact do not steal or use.

[astraesi]

genshin boys and the type of s/o they'd have

pairing: gn!reader x xiao, childe, kaeya, kazuha ( all separately )

warnings: none, not proof read

childe:

-laid-back: the youngest of the fatui harbingers would no doubt enjoy someone who knows how to let loose and enjoy life. you have to be similar to him in this aspect - you two will often go with the flow, going from plotting the best ways to prank zhongli to having a picnic at the beach

-family-oriented: anyone who has seen Childe interact with his younger brother Teucer knows that he places a big importance on his familial relationships. he would be over the moon to see you get along well with his younger brother - it's even better if you end up being closer to Teucer than Childe is himself. he will tease and complain about this, but he will secretly love it as well

-childe needs someone who can see through the many walls he has built around himself. someone who can break down the facade of the ragtag harbinger and see him as the person he deep down is. the time he has spent in the abyss has sadly left him with many painful scars. please be there to soothe them.

xiao:

-to catch the attention of the vigilant yaksha, you'd have to be someone interesting. someone who is able to entice his curiosity to the point where he just can't stay away.

-his significant other has to be very patient and understanding: he is trying, okay? yes, he has had enough time to observe human relationships but being in one of them is totally different.

-to date xiao, you also have to be independent. he will come to your rescue in no time if you call his name, but you will give him some peace of mind when you're apart if he knows that you can take care of yourself.

-warm, caring: he may not show it, but Xiao appreciates when someone shows care for him. "foolish human, adepti don't need to be looked after" he would say. what he wouldn't tell you, however, is the warmth that is spreading through his heart and the slight blush that is creeping up on his cheeks when he turns away from you

kaeya:

-this man y'all

-someone flirty: we know that the cavalry captain has a knack for flirting and flustering people. now imagine him with someone who is able to turn the tables around and fluster him. his facial expression would be priceless. "someone is being very daring today..I might have to do something about this later"

-assertive: call him out on his bullshit please.

-you also have to be persistent. when he really falls for you, he will likely try to push you away. you deserve someone better than him, no? someone who can love you the way you deserve to be loved. he can't even tell you his story for gods' sake.

-he is probably also afraid of rejection. he has fallen for you, but what now? what if the archons are cruel enough to try and tear your relationship apart? what if you end up seeing the real him and it scares you away?

-when these thoughts could his mind, please tell him that he is enough. the past is the past. you love him for him and you're here to stay.

kazuha:

-as a wanted man fleeing from Inazuma, he needs someone who can be his home. provide him with unchanging security, be his home even if he is constantly on the run.

-he'd enjoy someone who is well-versed in the arts. it doesn't necessarily mean that you have to be good at them, for it is your passion that catches his eye. sing him a lullaby, show him one of your paintings, recite a poem to him and he will he mesmerized forever

-someone brave and committed: he respects people who are fair, so it's likely that it is a quality that he would search for in a romantic relationship as well. his significant other would be someone who is passionate about what they do. who isn't afraid to stand up for themselves and the things they hold dear to their hearts.

[evertidings]

I just have to jump in here to request a ✐ for my beloved K 🙏💕

I hope you're having a good day!

— “it’s not easy. i’ve been thinking it over for years.”

"what's on your mind?"

"more like what isn't?" K responds. the words fall so easily off their tongue that it catches them off guard. a couple of months ago they wouldn't have dared give up information like that so willingly. they would have evaded the question, shut down and left the other person hanging.

but somehow, you've become the exception.

"give me one," you urge. despite the dim light of K's penthouse and the dark abyss of the night sky, your eyes glimmer brightly. "tell me one thing that you're thinking of. if you have so many, it shouldn't be that hard."

that's the problem isn't it? K thinks. it shouldn't be hard, but how could it not be when half of those thoughts are about you?

"are you really going to make me do this?"

you shrug. "i won't leave until you tell me."

K considers that. most people would take that as a bluff, but they've come to know you well for the past couple of months. whatever this is, you're not lying.

"fine," they concede. "i was thinking about what to eat for dinner."

it isn't exactly a lie. they were in fact thinking about what to eat for dinner, but that was before you showed up. before you texted saying you were bored. before K implied that they were too and you could come over. before you did exactly that and were knocking on their door.

they weren't expecting it. weren't expecting to have to deal with their feelings tonight.

whenever they're in your presence, it's like their brain stops functioning. decades of knowledge are gone as their mind repeats two phrases on loop.

i think i like you and i don't know how you've managed to do that to me. i think i like you and you have no idea how much it scares me.

"well, what did you eat yesterday?" you ask.

K blinks and it takes them a moment to process why you asked. dinner. they were talking about dinner.

"rice," they respond. "homemade. i was going to eat leftovers but now that you're here..."

they don't finish their thought process. they don't want to tell you that they don't know if their food will be good enough for you. it's such a dumb thought. they wouldn't be so insecure if it wasn't for...

emotions.

ugh.

they've only ever felt like this for two other people. two other lovers ripped away from them before they decided to close off themself off forever.

it wasn't an easy decision. for years, they spent countless nights thinking about it at night, wondering if they were making the right call. eternity for them is a reality, not just an exaggeration. did they really want to be shut off to their feelings for the rest of time?

in the end, they said yes.

"i don't mind eating rice," you say. "i'm not that hungry anyway, so as long as you have enough for a small bowl, we can do that. or we can just get takeout."

"would you rather takeout?"

your eyebrows furrow as K's eyes bore into yours, trying to read your expression. after a long pause, you answer, "whatever's easier for you."

"great." K turns around and walks back into their penthouse, sliding the door open with ease. "takeout it is."

and as they go over to their cabinet to rile through the various takeout menus they've collected over the years, they can't help but feel a sense of guilt settle over them.

because the only reason they chose takeout was so they didn't have to deal with the stress of you reacting to their cooking. to deal with your comments about how much you like it, or how much you don't. to watch you as you took that first bite and judged the taste on your tongue.

to think about what it would be like to do this more often.

[r95irth]

Welp.

Okay first not that's not completely untrue. That's biased but not untrue. I can see you adore WWX and that's fine, and you probably seen only CQL or the Donghua (which is fine too, you're not obligated to see all adaptation or read the original if you haven't?)

But :

LWJ is here at Yiling because his brother sent him on a night-hunt assignement. yes he didn't send LWJ to go and see WWX and be invited over there but he certainly allowed him to go and check by himself the same viciny. It's up to interpretation if LXC did it naively or if, like he had in the Waterborne Abyss event, he played matchmaker.

In the extra of the book, LWJ explains that LXC was here when LWJ was in seclusion and supported him as best as he could. We nevr know who is the one who ordered the whiping but analyze about the society that is depicted in the novel suggest that it was either be whipped or be killed for treason so >>

In the novel WWX refuses to tell LXC about what he had seen in empathy (first with NMJ's empathy, aka that JGY started playing the deadly song after NMJ attempted to murder him in one fit of anger. He only told him about the song that was altered not that it worked at first before that. Then at the very end of the novel he refuses to tell what he had seen with the brothel owners etc). You can take that as an act of mercy to not make LXC feel even worse. You can take as a very bad decision that is not honest and betray LXC's trust. I am on the latter opinion. That doesn't mean i don't understand it.

Once i lost my rabbit, and i was away, studying while he was put to sleep. My mother was the one to bring him to the vet and allowed him to end his misery. She got me on the phone several time that week, and put him to sleep on tuesday. She had planned to keep this secret from me until i returned on friday evening. (She didn't manage to do that because my sibling called me to tell me they were sorry for my loss and i was like "???what loss???" awkward moment). When confronted she told me that it was because she didn't want me to be sad when i was living all alone and had no one to lend me a shoulder to cry on. A very moving reason for this. Do my brain get that? Certainly. Do my heart get that? No. I was very hurt by her actions and concealing this to me. Do i forgive her? Of course because she did it for my "sake" but she also took away my option to say goodbye to my pet.

There's a saying in french : "L'enfer est pavé de bonnes intentions" which basically means that you can do bad even with good intent/good reasons in your heart.

I think LWJ and WWX thinks they're doing LXC a favor here. But they take away his choice.

JGY never kill just because. He kills for self-preservation or in retaliation. He killed Wen Ruohan to end the war (oh the MONSTER how dare HE) He killed NMJ after he attempted to kill him. He did not kill Jin Zixuan he told him JZxun was ambushing him. How was he supposed to know that how you said it? "Even JZX should have known better than to lunge forward at someone backed into a corner." wow maybe JGY thought the same as you :) JYL somehow managed to get to the battlefiled and got herself killed all of her own trying to save her brother who was so mad with grief he lost control again. (which is understandable). He killed his dad in retaliation for all he had made him do + inflicted on him and used him like a tool. He killed the prostitutes from the brothel because they were witnesses of it but spared Sisi (and guess what? his only kindness bit him in the but and caused his demise) he had ALLEGADLY killed his son (Sect leader Yao is the one who started the idea, and you know how he is because he slandered your fave accusing him of everythingt oo :)) and Qin su put that dagger into her stomach all of her own after learning the truth he hid from her. Because that's how distressing it is to learn that the person you love is indeed your sibling. What was JGY supposed to do? Do that right before his marriage when there's a child on the way and leave QS get all the shame? (That's very NMJ of you). You say JGY is a monster who did nothing good. Who ended the war? Who built watchtowers that are said to have saved thousand of people? Who gave Jin Ling a dog? Who raised him as his own (with JWY) and did not get rid of him when he could certainly have to keep the power of Carp Tower? In the novel it is said that the decade JGY had been the chief cultivator was one of the most peaceful.

Does it imply that JGY killed discreetly those who opposed him and was smart enough to never get caught? Maybe. But i believe if he did, NHS would have dug this dirt too, and not just the decades old crimes he was not even always responsible of.

Look i do not say LXC is righteous. I do not say JGY is righteous at all. I say NO ONE IS. NHS for accumplishing his revenge became what NMJ would probably despise. NMJ scream about JGY being a murderer while he killed many too. (And also, in CQL tried to kill MY without even a trial like "ME ANGRY YOU DID THIS WICK MY SABER èé WHAT IS LEGAL SYSTEM I'm THE PRIVILEDGED BOSS OF YOU ALL") Not even your fav WWX and LWJ. They all made mistake that's the point of it all. NOTHING IS IMMACULATE for godamn's sake. Nothing is perfect and pure.

Arguably the only characters who are very flat and 1D are the Wen side (Wen Ruohan, Wen Chao, Wen Xu) because the war is not really developped. Even wondered why? Probably because it was not the war itself that was interesting to write but how people reacted to previous hero of the war they adulated / owed their life to once they're at peace.

WWX killed many people. In the war (so that's okay apparently). In the Jin camp to free prisoners (even if it's for a good cause, the end result is death.) Later in the ambush (again self defense, and i will say that the actor of WWX and CQL scene was awesome to show the "no choice" WWX had in this moment. You defend yourself you're a killer, you do nothing you're killed xo) and again in the nightless city attack and then the siege in BM (there, there is no other excuse than grief).

Each time WWX felt like he had no other choices. (Though in the novel at one point he argues he did and chose to kill if i remember correctly. That he made mistakes) Guess what JGY says? he had no other choices. Guess what NMj says "You could have died instead" wow what a choice they all had indeed!

That's why it hurt so much to see that Wangxian at the end of the story, take again the choice from LXC. Maybe LXC would decide it didn't matter in the end in the face of JGY did, like you wish to. Maybe it would change his perspective and he would end up as a JGY apologetist like me. Who know? No one but MTXT and she did not write him having that choice.

I don't know why you're here following my blog when most of my stories and art are Xiyao + Wangxian and i reblog JGY's apologism post all the time. Feel free to unfollow me or block me if the post i reblog make you this angry. I know i will block you for the same reason because your post made me very angry, i won't lie. That way i will take away your choice and you'll not read or see anything from me again that might infuriate you. How sweet of me ! (no)

As for MTXT's message. In a more recent inerveiw she said she hadn't wrte thinking of Xiyao, but when confronted with the interviewer who was clearly a xiyao stan, she ended up saying something along the lines "you know what maybe if you see it it's okay"

And that's very relatable. As a writer i once wrote a entire story based on the friendship between two young girls. And once a few years later i met a reader who told me they adored my story but found the relationship between the two girl quite toxic and not balanced. And at first i was hurt because that was clearly not my intent here. But when i looked back i was like "yeah maybe a bit ? :/ i don't think it is but i can see why they think so."

I do see MTXT's post about this, and i think she thinks she wrote righteous model and characters. I don't agree.

As a writer i know sometimes what you write is not always what you intend to either.

That doesn't mean i don't respect her. In her notes she also said she is okay with fanfics on 3 conditions (i only remember two) : "do not separate Wangxian, do not kill one of them again"

Does this stop people from writing Chengxian and Allxian? No. Does this prevent people from writing angsty fic where one dies and the other survive? Nope.

She also says she never write a Second Pairing in her story. Does that prevent people from writing second pairing? Nope. Does that stope ADAPTATION OF HER WORK with her LEGAL AUTHORIZATION to do it? (Chengqing) nope.

It's sad but once a story is out there, it's up to the interpretation of its readers. A writer needs to learn that, they can disagree and be disguted by it, and protect themselves by not engaging / not seeing this content. They can also do like the author of GoT and say "yeah they did that in the adaptation i don't approve". The choice is their. It seems in the recent interview that MTXT is wise enough to do that.

Honestly, I find it really cruel how Wangxian purposefully conceal important information about JGY from LXC.

LXC encouraged LWJ to discover the truth about WWX when everyone was ridiculing and gossiping about him. 

LWJ got to visit the Burial Mounds and discover the truth of what WWX was doing. He learned that WWX was simply trying to assist the Wen reminiants that assisted him and discovered the lies behind the rumors claiming WWX to have undertaken immoral behavior. 

If he had accepted the general consensus regarding WWX as a traitorous demonic cultivator who aimed to destroy society, then I doubt LWJ would have been able to love him without feeling guilty for doing so. LWJ is a very rightous man! He wouldn't have supported or even been able to love WWX burden-free had he believed WWX was acting immorally. I think LWJ knowing the truth behind WWX's actions is significant because it allows him to defend WWX - even if it was too late.

LXC is the reason that LWJ could accept his love for WWX and later support him when he returned in MXY's body. When he struggled to understand if WWX's actions were acceptable, his brother was the first person who supported him!

So why can't LWJ extend that same kindness to LXC? I think Wangxian deciding to hide information because it might change LXC's mind is truly an act of betrayal because In doing so they too have betrayed his trust. He expected WWX + LWJ to present a full case of evidence regarding JGY so he could decide whether to condemned his sworn brother or to stand besides him and… they don't actually give an option.

It reads as very selfish. Just because the main characters decide someone is irredeemable and evil, does not mean everyone has to share their opinions. When people opposed WWX, LWJ was given all the information he needed and was allowed to stand with him, even if it was after his death! But Wangxian take the place of the mob that called for WWX's death in the case of Xiyao by obscuring part of the truth to manipulate LXC's perception of JGY. 

LXC never truly had a choice. He was tricked by JGY, by his brother then by NHS. There is no one who actually given him the full truth and it is such an injustice.

[cherryjuicegf]

I'm sorry to just barge in here incoherently but s2 planted a big old yennskier seed in my brain and my head keeps playing tad's 'ruin' (song) on loop in my head - 'we make universes out of bitten lips and broken hands' 'you make me brave' I'm just 🥺🥺 they!!

i've been thinking about this for so long you're absolutely right i listen to the song and think about them and cry :') here's a little thing i wrote while staring at the fireplace, idk what it is just vibes and pain and love 💜

wc: 922

There's something terrifying in the way he sometimes catches her eyes staring at the void.

Terrifying, making his skin prickle as though the roaring fire in her look burns his skin, as though the hollowness of it makes him nauseous and he trips and falls into the abyss, and falls, and falls.

Somehow he never catches her hand.

Sometimes she will stare at the void, and the void will echo back the heart-wrenching screams that don't dare escape her lips, lest she rids of them all and doesn't have spare for the rest of her life. Funny, how she knows her life will never be devoid of screams. Terrifying, how he knows too.

A glass falls gracelessly on the cold stone floor and echoes in the empty library.

Startled, he raises his head from the book he pretends to be reading, and looks ahead. Looks at her.

But she doesn't look back.

Instead, she stares at the shattered glass at her feet, unmoving like a soul trapped inside a marble statue. He notices her hands shaking.

"Yennefer..."

He tries, he really does. And he's so tired of trying, so tired of being the only one and yet there she is, in the middle of the room with a gaping hole wailing around her as the broken splinters still echo like sobs between the walls and something in their deafening melody reminds him of shadowed, unforgiving amber eyes, of childish protests, of blood and tears and fire and rage. Of her voice.

He doesn't speak again. His own breath makes him wince. Too loud.

In a parody of a laughter, she huffs. "It's always like that, isn't it?" Eyes still fixed on the splinters and her voice is barely more than a whisper, barely more than a spark that he fears is enough to explode. Shaking. "It always has to break. Everything." Shaking, she raises her eyes and meets his, and if he hadn't been stabbed before, now he thinks he knows what it feels like. She shakes her head, smiles. "Everything has to break."

There's something about fire now that makes him shiver, on the verge of shutting down, something that forms a sob in his throat and rips his skin apart. Yet he's always enjoyed staring at it, crackling, daring as though to pull him closer. He always goes.

With slow steps, he approaches, gazes still locked like an anchor on each other and he doesn't know who will be the first to fall if they separate, even for the barest of seconds. With slow steps, he reaches her, and reaches out.

On instinct.

He holds her face inside his hands, cold and scarred fingertips on soft skin, and it feels so familiar now, so fitting, and they're so close to falling. Yennefer smiles still. It's closer to a curving line, bloody and gaping, carved on her skin with a knife.

He's stepping on broken splinters. He doesn't care.

Her voice is trembling, dangerously calm, always dangerous. Always beautiful. "I need to get it right, Jaskier. For once." She swallows tears but she really doesn't need to, for he will wipe them off himself if needed to keep her higher before him still. Shaking, smiling. "Without breaking it. I need to get it right."

He's not thinking. Nothing, except that void, and he's falling and it's so warm suddenly, the emptiness around them, as though it's filling with the scattered pieces of each other. He's not thinking. He only leans in and presses his lips on hers, chapped and sweet from intruding cold, and feels her choking on a sob and yet, and yet she kisses back, and it's sweet and careful and desperate like a heart bleeding inside his mouth and he doesn't know if it's his or hers, he doesn't know anymore. He doesn't care.

For a moment, they part. For a moment, to ghost over each other. He smiles, and he thinks it's genuine. "Let's start with this then."

It's so bitter. Her eyes, he swears, oh, he's never seen such beautiful emptiness, such hollow overflow, and he can't stop staring, he can't stop falling. Yennefer breathes in, and he wants to give up all the air in his lungs for her to never choke again. "Already ruined," she whispers and the glass cracks under their feet. It sounds welcoming.

He shakes his head. "I don't care." Perhaps he should. Perhaps, but it's too much sorrow, too much longing in her gaze that begs him not to, for once, even if he breaks once more. He doesn't know when he stopped. Perhaps when his feet stopped touching the ground.

There's a glint in her eyes now, and it's probably the tears. It can be something else too. She looks at him as though she wants to swallow him whole and let him piece her back together, even if he's then to leave forever. A hint of a smirk on her lips, old and familiar. "Impossible. You're a coward."

He chuckles. So warm, the abyss, like the hands creeping up his arms, like the fingers stroking his skin, carving maps of another universe, like the seething tears that won't escape her eyes only much later. A coward. "I am," he admits, he's been a coward all his life, if an artist is ever one. Then, he rests their foreheads together. "Just not with you."

Out of habit, he would say, because the fire is daring, and he's only human. Always too close to the fire. Of that one, he's not afraid.

Yennefer smiles at him, finally, and he shivers, and finally catches her hand, and they fall.

Not afraid, no. He's terrified.

But for once, he's also brave. For her.