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saltpepperbeard · 10 months ago

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Call It Through as a Crew: Alleviating Some Phone Anxiety

Hello everyone! So as you probably already know, there has been a recent call to make, well, calls! Another member of our crew figured out that the max customer service line (855-442-6629) is a very effective way to get our feedback heard, as the feedback gets transcribed and shared to a multitude of teams.

I already sort of briefly shared my experience on this post, but I wanted to go a bit more in detail to offer some solace for those who are also phone averse, as well as share resources and get the word out even more.

And y'all, when I say I'm phone averse, I mean PHONE AVERSE LMAO; MY FEET WERE SWEATING JSDKLS LIKE I WAS FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE. So I totally, TOTALLY get it, and am here to walk you through everything in detail!

So I called that number and was on a brief hold--probably like 5 minutes or so. The customer service representative (Margot my bestie Margot) then picked up, and asked for the email associated with my account as well as my full name.

I was extremely extremely worried and anxious about being bothersome/annoying the person on the other end and just being able to feel it in their tone, so I was shivering and sweating all the while. But then when she asked for my reason for calling, I said, "Oh, it's actually in regard to some feedback," and she went, "Is it for Our Flag Means Death?"

And we both laughed, and I was like, "Haha how did you knooooowww?" And she laughed some more and was like, "Let me tell you, I have never seen anything like this in all my years working here. We are getting so many calls. It's incredible."

And by that point, a large weight was off my chest because she was friendly, I was friendly, EVERYONE WAS FRIENDLY.

I laughed and told her that we were a very passionate and concerned bunch, and she told me that she thought that was so cool and also super important. She then allowed me to tell her my feedback, and she transcribed it as I talked. This was the little script I had prepared in case you'd like to reference it:

I just wanted to call and express my disappointment, dissatisfaction, and concern with the recent cancellation of Our Flag Means Death on Max. As a queer person myself, this show has a tremendous impact on me. And in a climate where so many diverse and LGBT-centric shows have unjust ends, I’d just like to express my wish for reconsideration, and just the hope that…Max will allow LGBT stories like ours to live and flourish. And I’m really worried about there being some kind of…homophobic angle to the cancellation, so it would mean the world to myself and so many others if the decision could be reversed, and we could get our third and final season.

I went a little graver than originally planned, because I saw talks that taking a DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion) angle, as well a "hey I'm a queer person and this feels like a decision made for a nefarious purpose" angle, are supposedly more likely to be noted.

Anyway, she allowed me to say my piece and wrote it all down, and then actually stayed with me on the line to chat a bit more. So, the phone call didn't feel rushed or anxious which was SO so huge to me; it felt far more conversational.

She was like, "I don't want to toot our little horn or anything, but Max really takes all this feedback into consideration. It will be passed to the properties team (or something equivalent, I can't remember the EXACT term she used), and they're in charge of what goes on Max and why. So, I really feel like you guys have a fighting chance with these efforts."

And of course I was thanking her profusely for telling me all of this, and for listening; polite menace, that will be my brand!

But man, the coolest part of all? She told me that she was POC, and a queer person herself, and that this was all so cool and so amazing to see. She applauded our efforts, and expressed interested in the show. I laughed and said, "Well uhhhh I might have a BIT of a bias, but I cannot recommend it enough."

And then she proceeded to tell me that it might be even MORE effective to hit from different angles. So, keep calling (they're available 24/7), and also keep utilizing the online feedback form. Basically just keep FLOODING them with how much this means to us and why.

I then expressed a lot of gratitude, we exchanged pleasantries, and there was a brief survey at the end. I don't think the survey is necessary, so you can probably hang up by this point, but I stuck around for a little more horsepower. It tells you to rate the customer service on a scale of 1-5 with 5 being the highest, and you know I gave my bestie a fivvvveee. It also tells you to press 1/2 if your issue was resolved or not. I said HELL TO THE NO, DUDE SJDKLS. And THEN, it asks you to leave a voice message after the tone describing your experience. I said that I was with the customer service representative Margot, and that she was extremely friendly and helpful, but that the issue at hand will not be resolved until Max reserves their decision about the recent cancellation of Our Flag Means Death (I'm also always saying the show title in full as opposed to just the acronym, just for more OOMPH).

...And thennnn I proceed to shake it/shriek it all off LMAO.

Buuuut yeah! Probably took a total of 10 minutes or so. @xoxoemynn also shared with me that she's seen people say that these customer service representatives likely deal with older folks who need help with technology, and are subsequently stunned (and maybe even excited) to talk to younger people who just want to voice concerns instead of chew the poor customer service people out lol! And Margot also mentioned that they were eager to take calls no matter what, so as long as we're all polite and succinct, I don't think we'll have to worry about a very tense and awkward call.

I hope this alleviates some fear a bit! We got this, crew. We're doing so, so much. And it seems like it's being heard all over the place; it also seems like we've got so many people on our side, too. Big big hugs, and I'll share the necessary resources once more-

Customer Service Number: (855) 442-6629

The Online Feedback Form:

The original tumblr post with all the information:

The tumblr post where Fox and others were sharing even more information:

#OFMD #Our Flag Means Death #OFMD Season 3 #Renew as a crew #SaveOFMD #RenewOFMD #Be a lighthouse #WHEW LMAO #WE'RE TRYING #i told em this but you KNOW it's dire when all the anxious/nd individuals are cALLING PEOPLE SJDSHDLKS #WE SIMPLY: DO NOT DO THAT EVER <3 SKDJLSDS #IF WE CAN HELP IT #SO IT'S REALLY SAYING SOMETHING #And also again-- just want to reiterate that this is great practice for calling local representatives and politicians too!#ESPECIALLY if you're phone averse #It just gets you used to the whole process in a BIT of a less formal scenario

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maikissed · 9 days ago

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cherry flavoured lips part 5

Kylian Mbappéx reader

summary: No pretence, no lies, no avoidance. Just them and nothing around to ruin it. At last. She only regretted that they made it harder for themselves to achieve it.

warning: smut

note: I've been struggling with the smut. Ended up hating it LOL.

She was angry, to say the least. She did not have any organized plan or vision for the future tucked up in her head, that she would find now ruined and lost after Ian unceremoniously left her. And she was not upset, or heartbroken, oh that she definitely wasn’t. She focused for a minute, tried to find a minuscule source that might have given her any sign that deep inside she was in fact sorrowful after being rejected, or was she? Truthfully, she was the one that initiated this unprecedented conversation between them. And as the result was expected and anticipated even, she still found herself mad at how it all turned out at the end. Like she found herself at the same miserable spot she was in before.

“It was a very simple question, Ian” she articulated calmly.

Ian seemed irritated, uncomfortable.

“You are asking if I love you, but cannot give me a straight answer yourself” he commented, gazing up at her.

She was standing so unnatural and stiffly, facing him, towering over him, like they were going through some kind of trial. She was the prosecutor, and he was the suspect waiting for more charges fired his way. Yet the roles might be reversed in a blink of an eye and there was a high possibility that it would be her facing the death penalty at the very end. Who was going to pass the sentence? Her palms were itching.

“I asked you first, it’s important to me” bold, cool and reserved.

“So my answer defines yours? That’s how you see it?” he squinted his eyes searching for a trick, a deceit.

He turned distrustful. She was aware what caused it.

She sighed, dropping her arms, already feeling worn out by this conversation.

“Do you know how I see it?” Ian started after few seconds and she turned her head back to him in alert “I think you’re running from something and that exhausting getaway has pushed you into my arms” he nodded and she frowned in question “I am not blind, y/n, I can tell that the only person you really want is him”

She said nothing, swallowing something big and bulky that started to form in her throat. No words came out still, she just shook her head. In her own defence? A mere, pitiful try.

“Why are you doing this? Are you trying to punish him or yourself? Because clearly this is not about me” he seemed to enjoy this upper hand. But there was a dull ache visible in his eyes, like he felt deceived “That is actually funny to be honest, even when we are having sex you seem disappointed when you open your eyes and look at me”

“Oh, what in the hell, Ian?” she moaned in resentment, feeling uncomfortable under his investigating stare. And agitated by the choice of his words.

She turned into a suspect, much closer now to be announced as convict.

“You know what, I’m sorry” he reached with his hand to scratch his brow “I don’t want to fight with you like that. I am not angry with you, just feel a little used, that is all�� he muttered softly and as he looked down at his hand and then back up at her the ache made place for generous ease. He was waiting for a perfect moment to let it all out, she gave him one.

And her? She was not sorrowful, she did not feel the despair flooding her heart and sinking it at the bottom of her stomach. She took one deep breath and wondered when the feeling of love turned her into a stone. A cold statue, an insensitive performer. She toyed with him all this time. And that thought actually made her a tad sullen.

“I’ll pack my things, I have a flight back to London in three hours” were Ian’s next words.

She shuddered, bringing her gaze back to him.

“I am sorry” her voice weak and abashed “It was not my intention to treat you this way” and this was an honest confession.

And he smiled at her in answer, almost like realising how everything sooner or later falls back in it’s place.

Fleur very much enjoyed when Ethan and Kylian were visiting with their parents, joining the family for a dinner from time to time. She liked the company of these two boys and their father, Wilfried was absolutely one of the most entertaining people she knew. He liked to narrate the most captivating stories and was not irritated by her oh so many questions she liked to throw in in the middle of his story. He was very patient, her father was too, but she knew her father too well for him to be so amusing. Fayza, on the other hand, was giving off the impression of a very intense and fierce woman, that’s why Fleur was watching herself to not be too pushy towards her, although she was kind and lovely. It was her demeanour that brought much respect in Fleur, for she made sure to be polite and careful. Still at the end of the day she was a sweet aunt.

“Ethan, are you growing out your hair?” she started in her funny, so much adult voice and the boy smiled at her after he greeted her.

“Yes, kind of” he grinned “Do you think it suits me?”

“Not really” she shrugged carelessly and then her ears reached a characteristic laugh from behind them.

She was always playful with Ethan, because he was playful with her. She beamed when she noticed Kylian enter the anteroom.

As she reached with her arms to hug him she could not fight the excitation over the news she so desperately wanted to announce to him. Maybe it was not her place, but she just… couldn’t keep it in.

“They’ve broken up, you know” she smiled sheepishly and he kneeled in front of her handing her a sweet little bouquet of flowers.

“Who?” he knitted his brows questioningly.

A bigger bouquet in his other hand, probably for Fleur’s mother. And a lovely present bag under it.

“Y/n and Ian” she rolled her eyes in a “duh” kind of manner “Good for her, I feel like he was sucking out the life out of her, can you believe it?” she huffed in displease.

“Well, people bond and sometimes part, that’s the way of life” seemed like a proper answer to this young girl.

It almost made him laugh out loud when he noticed her judgemental frown as she stared at him. Something like “don’t give me shit right now”, he could tell because her sister often graced him with this type of face. Her beautiful, lovely and stubborn sister he could not wait to see tonight. He hoped she was here.

“We shouldn’t bond with people that are just not right for us, isn’t it true?” she asked.

“Yes, it’s very much true, Fleur. However sometimes it’s not so obvious at the beginning. You just get to know the person with time”

“Yeah, well” her face turned serious again, aristocratic and modest “You and her were always great together, I cannot fathom how you did not bond since you are clearly idiotically in love with each other” she just shrugged, sinking her nose in the flowers she held now with both hands “Come, the dinner is almost ready” she said simply when she turned around.

Fleur was too smart for her own good. And Kylian stood there for few more seconds, dumbfounded.

When he finally came back to his senses he entered the dining room when everybody gathered but y/n was nowhere to be seen. It was her mother that obviously noticed his curiosity and after thanking for the beautiful flowers he picked for her, mentioned that she was in the kitchen, finishing preparing the food. And of course he decided to see her first, hoping that they were not bound the spend an uncomfortable evening.

He entered the room silently, spotting her standing over the kitchen counter, a knife in her hand and vegetables on the board in front of her. She was facing him but did not notice him at first. But with the corner of her eye she could spot the movement and raised her head to finally see who has joined her. Sharp chop on the board was the first thing, the next thing he could her was her pained cry.

“Ah, shit!” she yelped holding up her hand.

And without any thought he ran up to her, to see if she’s alright. She stared at her palm as he neared her and he knew very well what was coming. She could not stand the sight of blood, it made her dizzy and nauseous, she was afraid of needles since the earliest days. So he wrapped his arm around her middle, catching her injured and bloody hand below the wrist with the other.

“One step back, to the sink” he instructed calmly, and he could feel she begun to slump in his hold.

There was a lot of blood, already dripping on his fingers. But as he put her fingers under the running water he could see that stitches were not necessary, the knife just properly scratched the pad of her middle finger.

“It’s alright, just a tiny little cut” he murmured, examining her hand, looking for any additional cuts.

“Mhm” she breathed on his cheek and when he raised his head, he noticed she was looking at him all this time.

The proximity, her big, round, shaken eyes stunned him for a moment. But he had to move, she needed and aid.

“You just need a bandage. Can you stand on your own?” he made sure, slowly and very carefully backing his hand away from her waist.

She nodded slowly, still looking at him, and he lingered for just a short moment before rushing in the direction of the medicine cabinet. And this little incident end up with her finger decently secured with a quite big amount of bandage and tape. She snickered at the sight of it, and after considering it for a moment, she actually brought her hand up, curling other fingers down to grace him with a rude gesture, her puppet looking like finger almost in his face.

“Come on, I did a decent job” he frowned before smiling at her softly.

“You did, thank you” and she smiled back at him “If it weren’t for you I’d probably faint and bleed myself to death” she joked looking back at the vegetables awaiting on the chopping board.

“Your cells have the capacity of sealing such cut back together themselves, you know?” he muttered carelessly, reaching for the knife to finish her job himself. He would not let her ruin the bandage now.

“Oh, wow there, Sherlock. I was kidding and I was paying attention in anatomy class for your information” she snickered taking a step to the side to let him take her place.

“Of course you were” he snorted, but meaning what he said, looking at her playfully.

She looked calmer and healthier. He was glad. She blinked like finally realising he was here with her and they were at last having an easy and warm conversation. Maybe she was glad too. For a moment there was silence, but she lingered close to him.

“Those are too big, cut them smaller” she almost whispered while she inspected his cucumber cutting abilities.

“Keep your fingers away, please” he muttered indignantly and she actually laughed out loud.

“Sorry” she breathed and he resumed. But there was something tender about this word as she voiced it out “I really am sorry, Kylian” now, it was a whisper.

Yet he was determined to keep on cutting the cucumber, something in him turned defensive and he was worried she at last would put him in his place. As a friend, as a childhood companion, like it used to be before. But she could not have it like that, so she reached with her hand and delicately placed it over his forearm. So he had no choice but to look at her. And he was seeing her, seeing her fully, and there, in the reflection of her beautiful, glimmering eyes he could spot his absolute devotion, his dedication, he could see it clearly. Could she?

“Love is a scary emotion” her voice quiet and careful, her eyes looking down at his lips for a moment, but out of bashfulness “I thought I was doing the right thing for myself, but instead I put myself in endless misery” she confidently continued “I am so sorry for pushing you away and you have every right to hate me for it”

“Nothing in this world would make me hate you. There’s not a thing I would not forgive you for” he opposed, feeling hurt at the thought that she was drawing such conclusions.

“Don’t say that” she frowned, her eyes turning even bigger “I’ve hurt you, I did an awful thing, admit it. I own you an honest apology, then you might consider if I deserve forgiveness” her voice breaking, her palms shaking, her eyes turning wetter, but she stood her ground, did not hide her emotions.

So he turned to her, making sure that every word he intended to say next she would find honest and real. And right.

“I acted up at the start, but the truth is that I would wait for you as long as it takes, I would step down, move into the shadow of your life, stop being an obstacle” she started to shake her head after, wanting to disagree, wanting to let him know that she did not see him that way, but he continued “I would be patient, I would let you make the choices that are right for you, because you are your own person. But I would be here, waiting, even if it meant waiting for the rest of my life, because you are my choice. And it would be my choice and I am okay with it, because I love you and I loved you long before I could understand what love actually is. That’s why you don’t have to say anything for I have already forgiven you”

A little sob broke out of her chest and she quickly turned her head to the side to hide her obvious tears streaming down her face.

“Hey” he whispered “It was not my intention to make you cry like this” and he reached for her hand to stop her from hiding her emotions. But delicately and considerably, wanting to be nothing but gentle. Her body was shaking with more sobs.

She turned back to him and started nodding like a little girl making peace with her subtle outburst of emotion. It made him smile at her.

“Loves, where are the salads?” y/n’s mother surprised them by unexpectedly charging into the room, halting at the doors after noticing the sight in front of her. Y/n turned to the other side so she could not notice her red and swollen face, her hand reaching up to wipe the cheeks dry “Sorry, is everything alright?” she asked, slightly embarrassed “What’s happened to your finger, y/n?”

Y/n sniffled before answering:

“I shoved it up his ass” she muttered quite frankly, before wrapping an arm around Kylian’s bicep, then she simply put her head on his shoulder.

He started to shake with laughter, trying to compose himself but truthfully found it difficult. He laughed out and y/n accompanied him.

“Oh, how funny you are” she sneered at her daughter but there was a gentle smile as well that finally broke on her face “Alright, you have five more minutes, lovebirds. Then I want my salads on the table”

Are you asleep?

She sent the message and begun to stare at the screen of her phone with gnawing impatience. She hoped he was awake as well. She itched with need to have him close, only today realising the size of the desolation that has grown in her heart when they parted. Their whole family stayed for the night, as they often used to when visiting their home on the countryside. She perceived their previous conversation unfinished and still felt like she owed Kylian more explanation. His confession, on the other hand, was nothing she could ever expect, not because she was hesitant to believe in honesty of his words, but for the reason that he drew it out so naturally, without any strain or difficulty. Almost like he unveiled the hidden truth of life everyone desire to find, using the simplest words. That is how it sounded to her, and she wasn’t very sure how she was supposed to handle it now. He was not terrified by it, he expected nothing while giving her his all. She was afraid she was not so experienced in the art of love, she worried she was not fit for it.

He answered the message after a while and she realised she drifted off in thought.

Non, why aren’t you asleep?

She typed back the answer with no hesitation.

Come to me?

And it didn’t take him long because just few minutes later she could hear gentle knock on the door to her room, so she jumped out her bed and run up to let him in. She smiled as soon as she saw him.

“It’s your birthday in twenty minutes” he murmured, holding up a little present bag in front of him.

“Good” she whispered “I wanted to spend it with you” she took the bag and then reached for his hand to guide him inside “Do you mind if I open it later? It is a bad luck to open the present before actual birthday day” she asked while placing it on the dresser near the door.

“You are way too superstitious” he snickered and she rolled her eyes at his answer.

“Maybe, but it kept me safe to this day”

Kylian shot her a mocking look and she laughed at his reaction, only then realising that they were still holding hands. She looked down at them as they stayed joined, feeling affection rising in her chest. She enjoyed this feeling. And she wanted him closer. So she took a step back to guide them to her bed so they could rest. He followed and they sat down comfortably at the edge of it.

“I was afraid this year would be the first time I’d spend my birthday without you”

He just smiled at her warmly and she took a deep breath, suddenly realising that she calmed much more when he was here. When he was listening and looking at her.

“I’ve put myself in this emotional prison, knowing that I was doing the exact opposite of what my heart called for” she murmured switching from looking at his face and back at their hands “I piqued Ian purposefully, I am a coward and I did not know how to free myself, so I was glad when he turned out to be aware of everything. But I was so distressed by what I’ve done, I thought you would never want me back”

He squeezed her hand reassuringly, this time letting her speak whatever she needed to let out. Giving her time and space for it. But at this point the nervousness hit her strong back again, because she was worried she was not so good with words like he was. She was not used to it. But the words she was so desperately trying to reach were the most perfect ones. The right ones. She decided on moving a tad closer to him, his warmth and scent wrapping around her.

“So…” she started and there was a cheeky smirk that appeared on his lips.

He was so definitely going to tease her now. She guessed not much has changed, but it was a good sign. And he was so handsome, she wanted to punch him in the face.

“So what, miss eloquence?” he muttered and her heart skipped a bit when his low voice reached her ears.

“Don’t make fun of me now” she whispered, it was not her intention but she whispered, realising that all her senses were now filled with him, the spark in his eyes, his breathing, his touch.

“I am not” he opposed, reaching with his hand to gently stroke her cheek, his knuckles lovingly grazing the skin.

Delicate and tender, she felt the touch with her whole body, within her soul.

“Je t'aime” she whispered while leaning even closer to him, but lingering, wanting to make sure that he still felt that way. That nothing changed during the evening, that he did not change his mind.

She looked him in the eye and there it was again, the simplicity, the obviousness, that sweet spark in his eyes and a smile on his face, and all of it – so serene. And as she finally said it, addressing this confession to him, she realised there was no grand secret, no hidden truth of life, but the only truth of one’s heart. And she was free. His love was the only one to grant her that freedom.

“Didn’t hear you properly” he said “Could you repeat?”

She sniggered at that but reached with her hands to wrap them around his neck, leaning closer to softly whisper into his ear:

“I love you, Kylian” she sang “You and only you” she smiled “I love you”

His arm wrapped tighter around her and she moved so she could face him again. She knew that look in his eyes, so dark, so soft and sparkly.

“One more time”

She giggled. A stronger beat of her heart and she kissed him, a delicate peck on the lips, he hummed as she leaned back.

“I love you” she kissed him again and another “I love you” after.

The next kiss lingered, he let her guide it on her own pace, maybe because he regretted the times when he was more demanding on this part, when he kissed her or touched her ways that weren’t proper many times before. She pressed onto him, adding more fervency into this contact, soft but sure touches, she begun to move, trying to be closer, trying to take more and more. But as soon as he felt her mouth opening slightly, he broke the kiss and his lips followed a path, from the corner of her lips, to her jaw, and then lower to her neck. Her fingers rested on his nape, she closed her eyes and let herself feel. He was being delicate, patient, savouring her, experiencing her. Slow, too slow, she started to burn, she realised. That funny and sweet little spot he reached and bit on delicately, send an intoxicating shot through her whole body and she jerked breathlessly. Many other places on her body yearned for his attention, yet he was not in a hurry. It was a way too precious moment for Kylian to rush anything. She enjoyed every second of this special attention, but there was much more, so much more she wanted. Her fingers timidly reached for the buttons of the little night sweater she was wearing, one undone, then another and then – he reached for her fingers when he finally noticed it. Her eyes hazy and lids heavy as she looked at him, he looked down, her breasts clad in a delicate bra already visible to him, beautiful, soft skin unveiled. He wanted to kiss her there. But, there was hesitation.

“We shouldn’t” he whispered “We are not alone”

“Everybody is asleep” she reached for another button, her eyes focused on his face, but his eyes could not fight the temptation to see another piece of her skin being unveiled “Their rooms are far” the last button undone.

She was not particularly nervous now, but her fingers shook as she grabbed the folds of the sweater and pulled it down her arms. She could see him swallow and she loved that to a great extent. So she stood up, in front of him, untying the little ribbon of her fluffy pants and let the garment fall off her hips. Slowly, as he seemed to enjoy, she put one knee at the side of his thigh, her hand reaching to him, resting against his cheek. His eyes locked with hers and she knew she had him there. He was mesmerized. She straddled him the next second, pressing her lips against his once more. The kiss finally deepened, his hands travelled from her waist to her back, his touch soothing her. She felt the same thrill she did when they were kissing in the orchards. She wanted to press him down on the mattress, but again he had other ideas. He pulled away and put his mouth on the skin under her collarbone. And again, he was savouring it. Slow, moist and adoring kisses reaching lower, and she gasped when he placed one on the still clothed nipple. He bit on it, a moan broke out from her throat, her head already a spinning mess. He raised his head with a little smile and surely captured her mouth. She moved against him, she could feel him, all of him. Never before she felt more alive.

“Can I?” he asked, while his hand still placed against her back moved higher, touching the clasp of her bra.

“Yes” the answer was rather quick.

He removed it without struggle and she smirked at him. She never truly enjoyed sex before, no one could really find out about it, but the fact that he was the only person that could awaken such strong elation in her was a little guilty secret of hers. Until now.

He took her hand in his, the left one, with the finger still clad in bandage, and sweetly kissed her knuckles. He still seemed to consider.

“Sit next to me” he instructed and she wondered, but did as he asked.

To her surprise he kneeled in front of her.

“I want to taste you” he stated confidently, removing the t-shirt he was wearing. She shivered.

Oh, God.

“Can I kiss you, love?” his voice was so steady but also alluring, she found herself struggle to speak.

So she nodded, trying to compose herself.

“I can’t hear you, I won’t do anything you don’t directly agree with” he caressed her calf as he said so. There was something demanding in his voice, but still gentle, no pressing.

“Yes, please” her voice shaky but sure.

His fingers travelled up and rested at her hips, grabbing the strings of her underwear. He was watching her expressions attentively, searching of any sings of discomfort. She rose her hips up, giving him none. And as it was foreseeable he dragged the material down her legs very slowly. She was sure she blushed heavily as they held the eye contact. For a moment she lost the sense of reality, arousement coming to her in more persistent waves. He smiled cheekily and she moved closer, more to the edge of the bed, being able to perfectly read off his request. And he did not move yet.

“A little wider, love” hotness spread all over the skin of her cheeks and neck again.

She felt a tad silly now, because once again there was no abashment in the way he touched her, or spoke to her or even looked at her. And despite the fact that this moment thrilled her greatly, she was also unsure, felt unprepared, like she was about to turn out not right for him, not fitted for his fantasy. It was an awful feeling.

“Do you want to change your mind?” his voice softer now. His eyes on the other hand not. He wanted her. Badly.

“No” she breathed, looking at him intensely. She wondered if her vastly beating heart could be the cause of her immediate death.

He was patiently kneeling in front of her, gazing up at her with his lovely and sparkly boyish eyes for goodness sake.

“Then relax” he murmured, his fingers still gently drawing lines down and up her calf “I want you to enjoy it”

Part of her wanted to look the other way, yet bigger part wanted to observe him while she opened her legs for him. Breath stuck in her throat when the intensity of this moment hit her momentarily.

“More” he rasped and she groaned softly, looking into his eyes that turned darker and darker by every second.

“Like that?” she asked weakly, her hands desperately clutching the sheets behind her, she was burning.

He liked the way she asked the question, he hummed and smiled at her, before lowering his head to place a kiss on the inside of her thigh. She took a big breath in.

“As much as I would love to hear you, I must ask you to be quiet” she almost whined hearing his low voice, but did her best to nod in agreement.

This time he granted her his mercy, not prolonging it much, maybe because he grew impatient to finally have her. While his hands securely held her open for him, his mouth found it’s way to her cunt. It seemed to happen very suddenly, her hips jerked uncontrollably and she gasped at the contact. Softly and gently he begun to pleasure her, she could sense that he was watching her, but could not find the confidence to meet his gaze. His hand squeezed her thigh, putting it up to let it rest on his shoulder. His tongue pressing surer against her, while his lips were delicate in their caress. She gasped and jerked up once more. Everything felt wet, his mouth hot against her, his tongue precise. Very unexpectedly he groaned against her, and it stunned her significantly, making her body tense and her eyes shot open. A sharp gasp that left her met a little moan, it sounded out like a hiccup.

“Why don’t you look at me, darling?” he murmured and she swallowed hard.

She was familiar with Kylian’s domineering attitude and quite stout ego, she always imagined it’s influence on his sex life. He was being considerate enough with her now, she wondered what will happen once he finish restraining himself. Chills ran down her spine. She yearned to experience it all. So she directed her gaze lower and the look in his eyes was shattering and overwhelming, so hot, she moaned out loud shamelessly, her right hand quickly shot up to cover her mouth. That’s when he chuckled and that’s when she simply could not stop everything that came next. It was quicker than she suspected. Too weak to keep herself up, she fell on her back, both of her legs now wrapped around his head, her hands delicately grazing his hair as if trying to keep him close to her at all cost, but no pressure in her touch.

“Kylian” she breathed, too quiet “Ky…” he sucked on it now “Kylian” she whined, louder.

And it was too much. She had to clasp her hand over her mouth again, most of her cries muffled, but still prominent in the room. Her body moved on it’s own accord, her head rolling around almost spasmodically. She was feeling lighter now, with her eyes closed she could not really specify where she was. She could remember it was her room, and her bed, but her mind stopped registering it properly. There was nothing more then her flesh, her senses directed only to experience the ecstasy of the upcoming pinnacle, a burst of euphoria. She wasn’t even sure if she was still breathing, but could tell her chest was moving rapidly. As the first wave hit her, she almost choked on her own breath, as the second appeared she expected it to bring a few more that fades quickly and leaves her hazy and light. But shockingly there was more, and more, and more, and it felt like her soul started to leave her body. She could not keep up with it, she was not prepared for it. Was she making noises? Was she loud? Was her mouth covered? Did she pass out?

She felt the mattress bent next to her. Her eyes still closed. She could hear her breathing despite the ringing in her ears. She could feel her fingertips again, weakly moving against the sheets.

“Hey” a whisper, close to her ear, she leaned into it “Are you alright, love?” she smiled, it was a lovely voice, soothing and sweet.

“Mhm” she murmured and very slowly opened her eyes to look at him.

He looked different. And one look at him made something in her insides jump. She was back in her body.

“You need to rest”

“No” she opposed, her hand flying up to touch him. Delicate, as she grazed his lips with her fingertips.

“I think yes” he laughed.

“I think you just gave me two orgasms in one take. Or more, I am not even sure now” this seriously spoken sentence made him laugh again. His lips flexed under her touch “But I want you now”

A big intake of breath as he considered her plea. She was fine, she could take him, she was not drained or sleepy, simply astounded or even blown away. She felt bolder now, more determined when she rose on her elbows to reach him, pressing a kiss on his lips. He grew weaker when she kissed him like this, softly but surely, with her nails lightly scratching the skin on his chest. She took advantage of this moment and pressed on him, making him lay down on the bed. He seemed stunned when she sat up, on top of him, her hands already resting on the clasp of his belt. She could notice him swallow but there was another of his shameless smirk appearing on his lips.

“What’s so amusing?” she jested.

“Your persistence. I adore it” he sat up, his hand sneaking around her middle and before she could comprehend his intention, he simply grasped her, turning them so she laid on her back again.

She could start up a heated conversation about his own stubbornness at this point, but the idea started to quickly fade in her head as she watched him unbuckle the belt after he stood up. The intensity in his gaze was drawing her to him, she felt the same impatience once more. She reached for him desperately when he joined her, her legs already at either side of him, inviting him, keeping him in, close, closer. No pretence, no lies, no avoidance. Just them and nothing around to ruin it. At last. She only regretted that they made it harder for themselves to achieve it.

“Make love to me now” she hummed before kissing him.

#kylian mbappe imagine #mbappe imagine #football imagine #football fics #football imagines #kylian mbappe fic #kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe x reader

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sinvilles · 4 months ago

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Thoughts on Arthur, Angela and Clay: Oedipus Complex or just touch starvation?

You know the drill: I'm unconcerned about redemption because I'm not a fuckin lutheran. I'm a writer and I like sociological stories and seeing characters achieve wholeness within narrative. moral orel is a unique case because the story was cut short halfway through, and all character arcs were arrested at their lowest point in the narrative, except for some characters on the side who were just kind of beginning to shine.

Mother, child and the father laid to the wayside. The dynamic in that family is cursed by something we often disregard in analysis: Clay's 10 dead siblings who never saw light outside the womb.

Their ghosts are present, haunting Angela every time she looks at her son and thinks of the fragility of his little life. Their ghosts haunt Arthur when he sees his wife overcoddling their son. And when Clay is told the truth, their ghosts surround him as well.

CLAY

Think about that moment. He is 12, sheltered, the apple of his mother's eye, and probably didn't even know miscarriages were a thing- his mother won't even say the word "dead".

Then suddenly, his mother's body- once his source of comfort, associated with life, nourishment, love- is a graveyard. Her body is no longer safe, secure and homelike. His mother is now a stranger, and deeply suspect.

Not only has she had children pass inside her- she put every one of them behind her, choosing to move on and focus her love on the next child, and the next one and the next one... But even that makes her suspect- if Clay dies will she just move on and have another baby?

So he tests her. Like a little kid would. Maybe it's a prank he thought of earlier in the episode when he saw the bullets lined up in his father's study. He expected to be let off easy, because his mommy always laughs at his jokes and pranks- it's part of what makes their relationship special. But he didn't expect to kill her.

Of course the loss of his mother impacts him forever. I don't think that, as an adult, he's actually IN LOVE with her, or that he lusts after her. He comes off as wanting to crawl back into the womb for comfort. Every woman's body is now his mother's, and he can't really engage with women without being reminded of all of the baggage attached, the womb simultaneously a warm cradle and a grave. Of course he has to drink to do it. That and he's gay.

It seems to really freak him out when he visualizes those thoughts- when he thinks about his mother he literally imagines lubing his entire body up and crawling back up into her womb. He tries to drown it instead of examining those emotions because it's WEIRD lmao. But I doubt it's a sexual thing for him.

also, speaking of 10 dead siblings, I'm going to drop this Wikipedia article on the fraternal birth order effect. Read this and get back to me.

ANGELA AND ARTHUR

We see them progress in family photos from a very lively, happy couple, with interests and hobbies, to a pair who can barely recognize one another. The trauma of miscarriage can do a number on a couples love life- I have no doubt it was Angela who wanted to continue trying for a baby. I wonder if Arthur was so used to the disappointment that he actively kept himself from getting attached to his first living son before he was born.

He seemed to be trying to bond with him in the episode- though Angela may have taken his aloofness to heart and hoarded little Clay to her bosom. So not only is he denied the love of his wife, but the bond with his son as well. It's like an Oedipus complex in reverse, where the father is jealous and (SUBCONCIOUSLY!!!) seeks to destroy the son for competing with him for the mothers affections. Whereas Clay didn't seem to bear any ill will towards his father prior to his mother's death and his rejection of him.

Lets reflect on the use of the word leftovers: this can also mean something secondhand or second best. When Clay is done eating, Angela doesn't even bother preparing a plate for her husband, but pushes a plate of Clay's leftovers in his direction. When Clay tries reaching for his father after just having lost his mother- needing the physical comfort and safety he is so used to receiving- he is pushed away, and Arthur angrily says: "I don't want your LEFTOVERS!"

Arthur was always aware that Clay's love for him was secondary to his love for his mother. Clay, in his stupidity (it's a very natural thing) was content to sell him out, prank him, humiliate him. And a lot of resentment had festered for years to get to that point- Arthur didn't have the maturity in him to set it aside and just be there for the child that needed him. Hell, he expected the kid to die before his wife did. He does come to regret how he treated Clay in the future, but only because he saw how it affected his grandson.

Arthur didn't just deny Clay his physical affection, leaving him starved for any kind of touch (even being hit), he straight up ignored him. You can't ignore a kid.

Arthur and Clay's situation is one that I'm actually stumped about plot-wise. I don't think Clay would even be willing to accept an apology from Arthur- the damage he did so deeply affected Clay's formative years. Does Clay have to forgive him? Alternatively, does Orel have to forgive Clay? It really is a vicious cycle; I do think it will hurt Arthur not to be forgiven by his son, but he might possibly accept it. But Clay, unable to forgive his father, in turn cannot forgive himself. And when Arthur dies and its too late, it will definitely break him.

#thoughts of feelings

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a-d-nox · 11 months ago

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what your tarot deck thinks about how you spend your time

grab your tarot deck, a piece of paper, and a pen! make a list of everything you do that takes up a majority of your time - number these tasks (this is the number that corresponds to the task AND how many cards you need). ask your deck "what do you think about the time i spend on my tasks?" while looking at your list. below are some ideas of what the cards you get could mean.

fool

upright: it's new to you but totally worth the risk OR you could delve deeper into it

reversed: you should spend your time doing something else

empress

upright: you are in your element

reversed: take a break OR try approaching this activity from a different perspective

emperor

upright: this activity makes you stronger and is well worth its time

reversed: reallocate your energy

hierophant

upright: time to take some classes OR to start offering your own courses to others

reversed: take a break, you'll come back to it

lovers

reversed: you and this activity are co-dependent (this is really unhealthy, if it has to do with social media), consider setting boundaries or managing the time you spend on the task

chariot / strength

upright: take this activity to the next level

reversed: practice makes proficiency - keep trying, you'll get there

wheel of fortune

reversed: time to let this activity go

justice

reversed: have you considered that this might be a case of "square peg, round hole"?

hanged man

take a step back; there is something you aren't seeing that will help you to make your activity even easier or more fun for you

death/tower/judgment

something about this activity has changed and you have to let it (this is very important, if it has to do with socializing)

temperance

upright: don't do this activity alone, if you can help it

reversed: stop forcing the situation - take a break

devil

upright: this activity is not good for you physically, emotionally, and/or mentally

star

upright: this activity is perfect for you and it will likely inspire you in other areas of your life

reversed: don't lose hope - give it some time

world

upright: time to wrap up this activity OR you might win/gain something by doing this activity

ace of cups

upright: it's perfect for you

reversed: it's exhausting you - spend your time doing something else

2 of cups

reversed: you might be using too much of your time doing this activity - make space for other things in your life

3 of cups

upright: do this activity with others

4 of cups

you should should spend your time doing things you love, not things that make you feel disappointed

6 of cups

upright: prefect activity

reversed: it's time for you to move on

8 of cups

move on

9 of cups

upright: you are working hard to be good at this activity; keep it up

reversed: you need to not be so cocky about how good you are at this activity, and practice moderation when doing this activity too

10 of cups

upright: perfect and fulfilling activity

page of cups

upright: love this card, especially for creative activities

2 of pentacles

upright: you need to find balance, you are spending too much of your time doing this activity

reversed: you are being irresponsible with your time and your money - you really should reevaluate how you are spending your time

3 of pentacles

upright: this is a great sign that you might make this activity a side hustle

reversed: its okay to take a break

5 of pentacles

upright: i don't believe this activity is good for your mental health

7 of pentacles

upright: you are getting there, you are almost at your goal with this activity - but if you feel like the juice is not worth the squeeze, you can and should stop

8 of pentacles

upright: this activity is well worth it

reversed: you are likely feeling burnt out, so take a break

ace of swords

upright: side hustle potential, for sure

4 of swords

take a break

6 of swords

upright: explore new activities

7 of swords

reversed: try a new approach when it comes to this activity

10 of swords

move on to something else; abandon this activity

3 of wands

upright: delegate other tasks and activities, so you can do this one

5 of wands

reversed: the devils in the details; stop debating what to do with this task, and how to approach it - just jump in and start ("start by starting")

6 of wands

you are going to win something for this activity, keep working on it

8 of wands

do this activity when the mood strikes

like what you read? leave a tip and state what post it is for! please use my "suggest a post topic" button if you want to see a specific pac/pile next. if you'd like my input on how i read a specific card or what i like to ask my deck, feel free to use the ask button for that as well.

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#astrology #astro community #astrology tumblr #tarotdaily #tarot witch #tarot art #daily tarot #rider waite tarot #tarot deck #tarot reading #tarot cards #tarot #tarotblr #tarotcommunity

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dootznbootz · 1 month ago

Note

Big oof guys Odysseus wasn't a cheater he was a victim you soggy feminist retelling enjoying fries. and I don't get them changing that so that "women who have been cheated on by their husbands can relate and know they're valid for being sad" because let's be honest if he was a women y'all would've been treating his situation appropriately. Feminism is about men and women being equal, and do you know how many women (and men) could relate to Odysseus's situation? He wasn't a good person (neither was anyone in Greek myth) but stop making him out to be the bad guy. It's not only insulting to his character, mythology fans but also victims. It can be insulting to male victims for this being erased and treated so lightly. And for female victims who know what that feels like and are (rightfully) disgusted when this sort of behavior gets excused.

And for those of you saying "But he had a choice with Circe!!" Um... not really? He slept with her to save his friends, his brothers. Let's put it this way "Let's say your best friend was being held captive, and the only way to save them would be to sleep with the guy who's holding them hostage. Cheating would imply there was a betrayal of trust between partners, this wasn't done out of maliciousness. This was done to ensure the safety of an innocent person/people who you care about deeply. Any good lover would understand there's a huge lack of choice in a situation like that. Again, if the gender roles were reversed y'all wouldn't have been saying this crap.

If men and women are so equal, a men getting sexually assaulted and used holds just as much weight as a woman. This isn't feminism, this is sexism towards men. And no, it's not justified because "that's what the Greeks did", it's not okay just because you lable it as petty payback/revenge. What happened to be better than your oppressor? As if you were the one's in ancient Greece who had to deal with these things. You are not in a friend group with every woman in history just because you had to deal with "scummy men".

And even if you are a victim, how can you be immature and gross to KNOW what that feels like yet still not care/be ignorant towards one suffering and easily erase it. And just because they were the same gender as people who were asses and creeps towards you or people who happen to be the same gender as you.

Tumblr never fails to disappoint me 😔 I have no doubt in my mind Penelope would beat up all these people victim blaming her husband

"you soggy feminist retelling enjoying fries."

Dear Anon, I love this phrase so much. Thank you for sharing it with me.

Sorry this took a while to get to. <3 I just answered quite a few heavy asks recently and I wanted to give a lil break in general :) You also wrote it all out very well already so I didn't really know how much I have to add or say without sounding like a broken record!

And yeah, like, he's not a good person. Nobody really is, especially by modern standards. But that doesn't mean what happened to him didn't happen. Or that people should diminish it.

I mean, I'm very very sure that Homer even shows Odysseus' PTSD from it all in the Odyssey. How he's so adamant about Nausica's maids NOT helping him bathe, despite that being the custom/culture of the time. Like Idk what other reason he would have to not ask for help, being "older" wasn't something that would've been too outta the norm, he was still exhausted from nearly drowning to death, etc. BUT this is RIGHT after he just escaped Calypso. Gives huge PTSD reaction to me.

ngl, I find it really disappointing in a way that this ancient text feels more respectful of victims and their trauma than more modern books lol. A lot of Modern shit feels like trauma porn ;~;

And you're absolutely right with Penelope. She loves her like-minded fool. She would not blame him. I honestly think she'd be the one to reassure him often because he'd probably feel guilt and/or just...need some comfort from everything.

I really hate the whole "He expected her to be faithful when he was not." Because guess what? He canonically was. He had no concubines officially listed ANYWHERE. People can take vague statements if they want but that's just it. Vague statements. All other "interactions" were against his will and/or it was coercion to save his friends. All under duress regardless.

Like in general, there is so much more potential in writing about about a character trying to help her incredibly traumatized lover. Seeing him as he is still and loving him. Him finally feeling safe again, LEARNING to feel safe again. After finally having clawed his way back into the arms he never wanted to leave in the first place, he can LIVE again. There's something incredibly beautiful in that.

I mean as you said, I find Odysseus very relatable in a lot of ways. His story is really beautiful in the whole "You've been through Hell, You've done some horrible things, but despite all that, you can achieve peace again. You can LIVE again." It's a really hopeful story in a way. And I really love that.

#Mad rambles #shot by odysseus #ask #anon #tw sa mention #tw sa #tw sa vent #I hope you're doing okay Dear Anon. Take care. <3 #essay #odysseus #anti circe #anti madeline miller

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celticcrossanon · 27 days ago

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BRF Reading - 17th of October, 2024

This is speculation only

Cards drawn on the 17th of October, 2024

Question: How will the tour of Australia go for Queen Camilla?

Note: I'm using my new Rider-Waite deck for this reading, as part of the process of breaking the cards in, so the energies are not going to be as clear as they usually are.

Interpretation: She is very worried and stressed about the whole thing

Card One: Strength in reverse

Strength can mean physical strength or inner strength. In the reverse, it indicates a lack of strength, physical or internal.

The Strength card is the card of Leo, ruled by the Sun, so I was wondering if Queen Camilla would be affected by the weather in Australia, but I looked up the forecast and it is mild - the minimums and maximums for Sydney from the 18th to the 23rd are 17-25, 19-27, 16-23, 15-21, 15-23 and 14-26, and for Canberra they are 12-22, 11-23, 7-25, 7-24, 6-26 and 9-27, all in degrees Celsius, so even the warmer days won't be that warm because the nights are so cool. It might affect the Queen, she is old, so I'm putting that down as a maybe.

The other energy I get from this card, and this is the stronger energy of the two, is that of a lack of internal strength. So feeling not very confident, fearing that something will happen, doubting herself or feeling inadequate in some way. I think she is going to spend most of this visit worrying about The King, to be honest. She could also be comparing herself to Princess Diana, who drew huge crowds when she visited Australia, and I don't think the King and Queen will draw the same crowds as the interest is just not there as far as I can see - not as strong and not as promoted by the media. They will still draw crowds, but not the massive crowds that Princess Diana drew.

I drew a clarifier for this card and it was the Queen of Cups in reverse. Both Queen Camilla and Princess Diana are represented by the Queen of Cups card, which is my card for Cancer people, so there could be some sort of competition going on in the Queen's mind. If not, then the clarifier says that the Queen will not be at her best on this trip - she will be diminished or overshadowed in some way, or she will be acting out of the negative side of her inner nature.

Card Two: The Nine of Swords

This card is all about worrying about something - being physically comfortable but mentally in anguish. It indicates things such as fear, anxiety, negativity, and reaching your breaking point.

The energy of this card is of fear and worry. Somehow, the idea of doing this tour has the Queen in a state of extreme worry, and I'm picking up some fear also, mainly in the form of 'what if' thinking. I don't think the Queen wants to go on this tour and this card tells me that she is not mentally prepared for the tour at all. It could be that she is just worried about The King, but if so it is a very intense worry.

I drew a clarifier for this card and it was the Magician in the reverse. The Magician is the card of manifesting something, and in the reverse it is about not being able to manifest something, so the Queen may be worried that she can't make something happen that she wants to happen, which could be anything from good press to making sure her husband takes care of himself on this trip.

Card Three: Death

Death is the card of Scorpio, the sun sign of King Charles, so it looks like the Queen's worry is focused on her husband and trying to make sure he takes care of himself on this tour. I think that she also wants the tour to go the way The King wants it to go (which it may not) and she is worried about the effect on him if he is disappointed in the tour after putting in so much effort to make the trip.

The Death card is about endings, changes, letting go of things, and transformations. The energy of the card is that this is a farewell tour, a final goodbye, and the Queen wants it to go as well as possible because as far as she knows it is the last visit to Australia.

Underlying Energy: The Six of Swords

This is the card of travel overseas, so that is the going on tour itself that is underlying all of the above concerns. The Six of Swords can mean moving on, leaving things behind you, either leaving a problem behind or being forced to move on from a situation that you don't want to leave and you don't want to change.

The energy of this card is of regret and farewell. Like the Death card, an energy of 'this is the last time' lingers about it, of not wanting this to be the last visit but having to accept that the odds of returning are not in their favour. The woman in the card is huddled up in a cloak, as though she is in mourning for what she has left behind, and it is that sorrowful energy and regretful energy that is coming through this card.

Conclusion:

The Australian Tour is going to be hard on Queen Camilla. She may not show it externally, but inside, she is carrying a lot of worry and she may be having a crisis of confidence. She thinks that this tour will be the last time her husband travels to Australia and she wants the tour to go well for his sake - for him to get a triumphal farewell, if that makes sense. She is worried that this won't happen and that the King's last memories of Australia will be marred by any disappointment he feels from the tour. She may also be worried about her husband's health and how it will hold up to the tour.

There is a lot of worry and fear in this reading, coupled with a strong feeling of regret and a feeling that this is the last time so it has to be a good tour. There is self doubt as well, that the Queen can't make things happen they way she wants them to happen and also a self doubt in general - a sense of 'I'm not good enough', which may be from comparing herself to Princess Diana on tour (or maybe not, the Princess Diana is a faint energy and I'm only mentioning it because it is there as a small thread). She may also find the weather quite trying (again, she may not, this is a minor energy).

It's not going to be easy for her but most of that is coming from her own mind - she has bound herself up in her worries and her concern for her husband and she is most likely making things into a bigger deal than what they are - not mountains out of molehills, but exaggerating things a bit because she is worried and upset and she doesn't have the emotional resources to just take things as they come and adapt to any situations that occur.

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iisasarcasticlittleshite · 2 years ago

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An Innocent Mistake (Finale)

"Has Barbatos brought MC back yet?" Mammon demanded. "I got the pictures in from the photoshoot we did!"

"Oooh, lemme see!" Asmodeus chirped, clamouring for the envelope as Mammon held it out of reach. "Gimme!"

"Hell nah! I promised MC we'd look at 'em together! Get yer hands offa me!"

"We kept their outfits, right?" Belphie asked, half asleep on the sofa, legs resting across Beel's thighs as the gluttonous demon ate popcorn beside him. "They looked really cute in that blue silk one."

"What about the armour! Like a mini warrior dragon!" Spewed Levi, cheeks growing pink at the memory. He has his own collection of pictures taken of little dragon MC in all sorts of different outfits. One of his favourites was when he draped thin chains of gold around their horns and wings, making them look like almost godly.

The house of Lamentation has gotten used to many an odd occasion, from curses to video games, and their human inhabitant turning draconic has been no different.

Over the month they've been in this form, MC has grown from the size of a housecat to the size of a medium-large dog, and the brothers have found ways to accomodate.

Satan reads his notes to them so they can't fall behind on classes, Asmodeus paints their claws the same way he'd paint their fingernails, Beel feeds them off his own plate most of the time and Belphie is more then happy to use them as a pillow with or without scales.

Still, they miss MC's voice. As cute as chirping and growling is, it just isn't the same.

The brothers all look up at once at the sound of the front door opening, only to find Lucifer, with no dragon in sight.

He takes note of their disappointment, and laments adding to it.

"I've received some disturbing news. Apparently, Solomon has collected MC from the Demon Lord's Castle. He failed to inform anyone that he's found a way to attempt to turn them back."

"Attempt?" Satan muttered suspiciously.

"That's not a good word." Levi agreed with the sentiment. "What if he turns them into something else, like a-"

"There's no point speculating." The eldest put an end to the panic before the real objections could really start. "I've already contacted Simeon, Solomon isn't at Purgatory Hall, he's taken them somewhere else to reverse the spell."

"And we're just supposed to trust the crazy bastard?!" Mammon wailed.

"Not much choice is there, really." Asmo frowned, folding his arms around himself as he does on fearful occasions. "At least we know the pacts still work, so MC can tell us if things go really wrong...right?"

A heavy silence fell over the room, one nobody broke as they all quietly found perches around the living room to wait, napping, scrolling through DDD's or watching some droning nature documentary that no one really paid attention too.

Not much of anything was said for at least twenty minutes, until the sound of a fresh bag of chips cracked open the silence.

"Isn't this the same narrator who did that short series?"

"Yeah, think he started out with documentaries though." Levi replied without thinking, without realising that speaking was the very voice he's been replaying from his phone at night, the voice they've all missed to death.

It's Beel, whose sensitive nose picks up their scent, who throws himself to his feet, sending popcorn and Belphie flying when he takes off and crashed MC into his infamous bear hug.

The human barely has time to laugh at their reactions as they throw arms and legs around Beel and squeeze tight, relishing the feeling of a proper hug for the first time in weeks.

Belphie is hot on his brother's heels, ending up sandwiching MC between them, as they always do. If MC could still purr, they would have.

"Hey! What's the big idea, scarin' us all like that!" Mammon's objections fell on utterly deaf ears, as the second MC wriggled out from between the twins and hugged him, he couldn't hold onto the mask.

He buried his face in their neck to hide his smile, "reluctantly" wrapping his arms around them to pull them close. "Don't go lettin' that shady sorcerer do that to ya again, ya hear?"

"But Mammon, didn't you think I was cute as a dragon?"

"Shaddup, stupid human."

"Mammon! My turn!" Asmodeus demanded, and soon had MC happily in his arms, spinning happily as he smattered their face with kisses. "Welcome back hon!"

"No ill effects from the transformation?" Satan appeared at Asmo's side, affectionately stroking their hair while Asmo continued to rock them gently back and forth.

MC smiled happily, revelling in the rare display of affection from the Avatar of Wrath. Satan isn't a hugger on the best of days, let alone in front of his brothers.

"I'm fine, was barely disoriented. Pretty sure Solomon would rather I'd have been unconscious though..."

Satan's lips twitched into a smirk. "Something tells me you didn't just say I told you so."

MC's innocent grin said it all.

They sidled away from a reluctant Asmo to high five Levi. "Transformation achieved! I'd have so levelled up by now!"

"You are always OP, Henry!"

"Does anyone know what OP means?"

"Nope. MC does, ask them later."

Finally, the human looked to Lucifer, smiling quietly at them, holding himself back, as usual. During the weeks they'd spent as a dragon, Lucifer had been so careful, so diligent in making sure they stayed safe.

MC didn't care if he was too proud to hug them in front of his brothers, they jumped on him, happily nuzzling into his collar. "Thank you, for looking after me.

"I am...glad you're back." Relief filled his words as he muttered close to their ear. "Next time that sorcerer wants to try a new spell, you cast it on him first."

MC laughed, happily surrounded by some very relieved demons and back in their own skin. "Duly noted. But you're all still in deep shit for letting Barbatos use me as a rat catcher."

"Oh...oh shit."

@ihatecorns

#obey me #an innocent mistake #finally #obey me x mc #obey me lucifer #lucifer x mc #obey me mammon #mammon x mc #obey me leviathan #levi x mc #obey me satan #satan x mc #obey me asmodeus #asmo x mc #obey me beelzebub #beel x mc #obey me belphegor #belphie x mc #obey me solomon

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metalomagnetic · 8 months ago

Text

WIP Snip Monday

let's pretend it's Monday, and not Wednesday.

Thank you so much for the tag @mundrakan

Here is a snippet from "It runs" (This chapter is so stubborn! I promise I am working hard on it, but it's complicated and real life is Hell, so please, bear with me).

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“Come back to me, yes, there you go. Breathe," his mother's voice soothes him, drags him back to reality. "Everything will be alright.”

“I-”

Sirius doesn’t understand what happened to him, how seamlessly his mind slipped away, one moment in his home, the next in Azkaban, and now his mother is there, and he's confused-

“It’s alright. I’m here. I know I wasn’t always, but I am here. My Sirius, my brightest star. You’re home, you’re safe. Your brother is safe. That monster is dead. No one will ever hurt you again. I won’t allow it, yes? Breathe.”

He rests his head on her shoulder, tries to breathe normally. He shivers, cold and miserable, but one of her frail arms wraps around his back, draws him closer.

“You will heal,” she tells him. “You will have the best Healers in the world, the best potions, and you will heal. You weren’t there that long, the damage is reversible still, I asked, I asked many experts. You will heal from this.” It sounds like an order.

Sirius always disobeyed her, even if he didn't want to, didn't set out to hurt her. He always ended up disappointing her. He doesn't want to do it again, but that word- 'heal'- it sounds foreign, impossible. It sounds like she's setting him up for failure again, because how can Sirius accomplish it?

“And what potions will heal me from finding my best friend dead? From knowing I had a part in his death?” he whispers, terrified that he has to live with that, forever. That he'll have to find a way to accept it.

How can he? How? It's impossible.

“His son will heal you,” she says, determined, her fingers combing through his hair. “Little by little. You’ll see. You’ll have a piece of him with you. The best piece. Trust me when I say, our children are the best parts of us. What survived of Potter, is the purest part of him, the brightest. And you’ll raise him, do right by him, won’t you? That boy needs you stable, needs your love and care, and he’ll love you back, as only children can love.”

Harry. Yes. That’s true. Sirius will see him soon, will hold him. Tomorrow.

“He killed Voldemort,” Sirius whispers, finally voicing it. It doesn't sound real. “Harry.”

His mother snorts, but she keeps her fingers so gentle in his hair. It makes Sirius remember he once felt safe in her arms. Long ago. So very long ago.

He was sick with dragonpox, so sick, and scared, but she never moved from his bed. She stayed with him, wiped his brow with cold cloths, sang to him, held water to his lips. She hugged him when he shivered.

“Mama, will I die?” he asked, because he’d never felt as sick in his life, and he leaned people can die from feeling sick.

“My brightest star, how do you think I’d let you die? Who would dare take you from my arms? Death? I’d destroy it if it even glances your way.”

Sirius looks into her fierce eyes, and for a moment he thinks his mother is just as strong as his father, perhaps even more, because she seems capable of anything, of scaring death away.

“I may not be the most learned woman in the word, I didn’t go to any Institute, but I have lived for some dozens of years now, Sirius, and I have traveled far and wide, read many books, met many people, heard many things. A baby cannot kill a grown wizard."

Sirius knows. He does. And yet-

“He died," he says, and he shivers savagely. His mother's arm clings harder to him. "I found him there. Dead. In front of Harry’s crib.”

He sees it, all over again. Voldemort's body, his empty eyes, the wand between his fingers.

No, no, no. Stop. Sirius can't, he can't think of it. He bites his tongue, hard, he leans even more into his mother, inhales, and her perfume brings him back from the memory.

“Good riddance," she spits, venomous.

All over Britain, people celebrated Voldemort's death, Sirius knows. 'Good riddance'.

'The monster is gone'.

'Let him rot.'

It's fair, Sirius knows it's fair, that Voldemort caused so much pain, to everyone, his enemies or allies alike.

But it hurts. It hurts so much. He was always alone, that beautiful boy from the picture, the angelic child Sirius imagines, in some muggle orphanage, the fiercest dark lord in the world that cooked for Sirius, that held him in his arms at night. It hurts. It's beyond painful.

“I loved him,” Sirius confesses, and his mother goes still, stiffens all over. “I slept with him. Ate with him. Lived in our- in his home. Will you abandon me, too, now?”

She should leave him. Sirius doesn't deserve anything. He doesn't understand why he still has his family, his sanctuary, when James is dead, when Voldemort is gone, alone and terrified somewhere.

Sirius deserves to be alone, too. They should have left him to rot in Azkaban. It's what he deserves.

She takes a long time to answer. First, she resumes petting his hair, and eventually she rests her chin on his head. She sighs.

Just from that, Sirius can imagine how broken and pitiful he looks, exactly how he feels. He is in such a deplorable state, that she doesn't spit on him, doesn't call him a deviant, a disgrace, a stain on her family name.

“That takes longer to heal from,” she whispers. “Loving a hard, cold man isn’t easy. Even when they are heartless, even when they betray you, over and over again, it still hurts when they die.”

“How long?” Sirius asks. “How long does it take to heal from that?”

She hums. “I will tell you when I have an answer,” she says. “I’m still waiting. You can wait with me.”

#sirius/voldemort #lord voldemort #sirius black #walburga black #PTSD #long road to recovery #Walburga saves the day

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pikahlua · 6 months ago

Note

I've been in the dkbk fandom for 3 years and my husband is an anime only. We just watched the new episode and he was disappointed. He predicted that Star will die and the plot won't really move forward. He's a sci-fi fan and he's seen many a series fall apart after more characters, complexity, and a war are introduced. I've been avoiding spoling the manga for him but since he's lost interest, I spoiled him and confirmed that the manga has been in a holding pattern for 2-3 years with this final arc. I told him what you said about Bk's death and Deku losing his arms as being symbolic but he said those actions being reversed lowers the stakes and it's hard to maintain emotional investment if you know that major plot points will just get reversed. I wanna believe in Hori but I'm waiting for payoff instead of enjoying the story. Is what's happening really good storytelling if this final battle has been dragging on so long and Deku's characterization has come to a halt?

I’m hesitant to answer this. I said I wouldn't answer any asks that were looking to me for reasons to keep liking MHA, and I really don't want to encourage more asks like this--and yes OP, I don't know if you realize it but that's basically what you're asking. You've framed this question around your husband's opinions, but you're couching your own thoughts inside.

If your issue is that you and your husband like different media, then that's a marital issue to resolve; accept that you shouldn't always watch all media together, particularly if doing so isn't fun for both of you. But your husband doesn't like what's going on in MHA, and this is enough to make you doubt whether or not MHA is written well? Despite the fact that many, many people like MHA in its current form? That sounds more to me like you agree with your husband. It certainly doesn't sound like you tried to sell this story arc to him.

I decided I'll answer a question like this this one time because it'll help me summarize my feelings on these topics, though I'm sorry to say the topics I address may not be what you expect.

"We just watched the new episode and he was disappointed. He predicted that Star will die and the plot won't really move forward."

Is this really a surprise? I don't remember anyone being all that into this arc when it first came out. Everyone was saying Star would die, and yet most people did not correctly predict the actual outcome of this fight--that Star's quirk would be eliminated and Tomura would be weakened. Most guessed Tomura would steal Star's quirk and become overpowered.

"He's a sci-fi fan and he's seen many a series fall apart after more characters, complexity, and a war are introduced."

You mention sci-fi but uh, has your husband watched like...any other anime? Ever? At all? MHA is far from the first shounen anime to do this. You can't really make your husband like MHA if his problem is that he came to an anime restaurant and got upset when there was nothing but anime on the menu.

Seriously, MHA is not doing all that much different with its ending than what Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood did, and that's one of the most critically acclaimed shounen anime of all time. If he's predisposed to dislike the stuff anime does, that's not a writing problem. That's a mismatch of anime with his tastes.

It strikes a nerve with me because I grew up loving anime and was bullied for it by people with opinions such as your husband's. Now, the mainstream-ification of anime has drawn those same sorts of people to anime for whatever reason, and all they seem to wanna do is complain about anime being anime. Take sci-fi for example: I typically hate outerspace-themed media and the concepts such media often explore, and you know what I do? Not watch it. I've decided such media is not for me. Honestly, the same is true for a lot of anime too. I am very picky about anime because there are some tropes or themes I'm just sick of.

"I've been avoiding spoling the manga for him but since he's lost interest, I spoiled him and confirmed that the manga has been in a holding pattern for 2-3 years with this final arc."

This is where it sounds like you primed him with your own feelings, because it certainly doesn't sound like you were selling him. I don't even know what this means. "A holding pattern"? Do you mean the arc has just been going on a long time (see: welcome to anime being anime)? Or do you mean not much has happened with Izuku? Because I am getting a bit of a sense that your issue is you're an Izuku fan and his growth has been slow because the arc has had to wrap up all the other characters' arcs first. Because a lot HAS been happening with all the other characters (and we recently got some Izuku progression too).

The only other thing I can think of is an opinion I've had for a long time. I think a lot of anime fans don't realize they're not actually manga people. You watch an anime you like a lot and you wanna get up to speed, so you go to the manga not understanding that the manga is different from the anime. The pacing is different, as is the presentation and focus on details. The manga presents one or two story points per chapter, whereas anime episodes are 2-3 chapters compressed into one sitting. The anime's major selling point is its fast pacing, but this is not a selling point of the manga--of ANY weekly manga. "2-3 years" means very little in the context of a 15-page-a-week-AT-BEST manga.

"I told him what you said about Bk's death and Deku losing his arms as being symbolic"

The symbolism angle is one thing. I've never really understood why people like any media without symbolism--that's what gives a story its flavor, isn't it? If we're talking about tropes and familiar story structures, the artist's approach to familiar items is precisely what makes it unique and interesting to me. I wouldn't become invested enough to care about Katsuki's death if all that mattered to me was the surface-level event.

But are you saying you spoiled the fact that Izuku lost his arms? That's...not that big of a plot point to spoil if you ask me. Certainly not one I'd bring up as one of the greatest hits of this arc. This is another detail that makes me feel like you're particularly focused on Izuku, which is not a bad thing nor is there anything wrong with that, but Izuku doesn't actually feature very much in this anime season all things considered. It's hard to sell anyone on what's currently happening with Izuku in the manga since we just got to his stuff and it's not complete.

Again, this was what happened with Fullmetal Alchemist. The last arc covered the events of one day that ended the final war. The main characters were only occasionally featured and didn't do all that much in the season until the very end, as one would expect. When it was coming out in manga form, the pacing was admittedly very weird because of this storytelling choice, albeit it felt a bit different from MHA since it was a monthly manga and covered more ground per chapter. But when the same arc was adapted to anime, the feeling and pacing were very different, and a lot of iffy elements improved on me as a result.

"he said those actions being reversed lowers the stakes and it's hard to maintain emotional investment if you know that major plot points will just get reversed."

Is your husband someone who watches things only once and then can't rewatch and enjoy them ever again? Does he only watch stories for plot twists and once he knows the twist he stops liking it?

I don't understand this general obsession with consequences and stakes a lot of people have. Sure, they are elements that can contribute to a mood or feeling in a story, but they're far from the make-or-break linchpins so many people make them out to be. The "reversals" are major plot points too. I find much more enjoyment in trying to follow why a writer would do such things and what they're trying to say than wondering how likely some character is to die or how many people will be brutalized.

I'm in the camp that believes spoilers should not make a difference in whether or not I find a series "good" or whether or not I can invest in it. I personally have played video games specifically BECAUSE they were spoiled for me and it sounded like I would like them, and having those major things spoiled for me did not detract from my enjoyment at all. I'm not saying everyone has to be like me, but I do certainly think a story's ability to persist as an impactful and memorable work has very little to do with its stakes and everything to do with how it handles its story and characters. Was Star Wars memorable and beloved because of how many people were at risk of dying in it? Was something taken away from the story when Luke got a robotic replacement for the hand he lost?

Goodness, didn't the MHA fandom predict for years that Dabi was Touya Todoroki? And wasn't everyone just waiting for the reveal to fucking happen already so we could get it over with? And wasn't the entire fandom surprised and enthralled when the Touya reveal did happen precisely because it was handled in such a unique and cool way with Horikoshi's flair? Did predicting that twist really ruin anything for the story?

A good story is a good story.

"I'm waiting for payoff instead of enjoying the story."

I can't know what payoff you're waiting for. I've enjoyed all the events and details along the way, even if there were some expected dips here and there. When I went back and reread the entire arc in one go, the pacing really hit me differently and I got a lot out of it. If you're not enjoying the story, that's not about whether or not the story is employing "good storytelling." I've enjoyed plenty of stories that were told poorly and sloppily because there were other redeeming features that appealed to me. This is about preference. You and your husband have your own personal preferences, and that's okay! But you both have to manage your preferences with respect to each other and to yourselves.

"Is what's happening really good storytelling if this final battle has been dragging on so long and Deku's characterization has come to a halt?"

If you're actually interested in whether or not MHA has "good storytelling," I'd suggest you take a creative writing class or otherwise learn about the way stories are told in different media i.e. novels vs comics vs TV shows vs movies vs video games. But I honestly don't think that's what you mean. I think you're looking for permission to keep liking MHA even if you personally don't like its storytelling or how Izuku's character is currently being handled. I can tell you from experience that yeah, you can. Plenty of people do it all the time. Some people get so frustrated with the stories they like they write fix-it fanfiction. Some people appreciate the way a story is so perfectly written that they cannot build a fandom around it because they can't come up with anything to add. It's going to depend on you and how you want to approach the situation, and while I'm happy to talk about what I like about MHA and which writing choices I think are well made, that's not going to get us very far if you don't like the same things.

I do often find media that I personally think is not written that well, and like I said, sometimes I like it and sometimes I hate it, but if it's a piece of media with a large fanbase like MHA, I have a hard time calling its writing universally "bad." If it speaks to that many people in some way, clearly there's something about it that reaches people effectively, and who am I to judge? I'm certainly no expert in quality of writing. All I have are what I've taken away from my education in literature/writing, my years of experience with many anime that came before MHA, and my thoughts on all the other media I've enjoyed. My experiences will lead to different conclusions than others'. I know I don't like a lot of what's popular with most people, so I certainly can't hold myself out as some paragon of good taste.

It's okay to like or dislike whatever for whatever reason. I don't always stay with the same fandom. I move around when I find new and good things. I sometimes come back to old things I loved and like it anew or find it underwhelming as I currently am. As of right now, I'm actually willing to say something I never was before, which is that MHA might be one of the best-written manga if not the best manga I've ever read. While FMA is top-tier, its themes are a lot safer than MHA's ambitious goals. MHA was always going to be controversial in some ways just because of what it attempts to do, such as telling its story through comic book-themed superheroes. It also says a lot of political things that risk alienating readers. The levels of risk MHA takes are part of what makes it amazing to me and what makes it a worthwhile piece of art to enjoy. I'm so happy it exists, flaws and all. No story will be universally loved, and that's something I accepted a long time ago when I decided I wouldn't let the bullying stop me from liking anime. All I can hope to do is have the courage to love the things I love and the grace to leave alone the things I dislike for others to enjoy.

#anon ask #ask pika #my hero academia manga spoilers #final arc spoilers

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amnevitahwritesstuff · 3 months ago

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Feyre dies of old age. Rhys becomes a god to get her back.

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Feyre/Rhysand

Rating: Teen

Triggers: Major Character Death, Murder, Questionable Life Choices

Chapters: One-Shot

AO3 Link

For @officialrhysandweek Day 7: Free Day.

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Across the Universe

Nothing’s gonna change my world.

Across the Universe - The Beatles

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Once upon a time, Feyre died.

And, in one world, she was reborn. A high fae and High Lady to rule alongside her mate for centuries.

This was not that story.

Instead, Feyre died in Rhysand’s arms, an old woman.

They had had many happy decades together. And in those decades he had watched her body wither and tire. Her hair go bone white. Her skin turn pale and delicate. He did everything he could to delay the inevitable. Fed her rare tonics to boost her vitality. Scoured every inch of The Library for some spell or ritual to lengthen her life.

But, in the end, there was only so much one could do against the ravages of mortality.

And so, Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, spent his mate’s final days clutching her frail body to his own like at any moment she would be snatched away. He whispered his love into her ears and into her mind and reminisced with her over the life they had shared.

“I only wish…I had given you children,” she said, voice frail and soft now. “So I wouldn’t have to leave you alone.”

“No,” Rhys replied firmly.

It had been one of his greatest regrets, that he had never managed to give her a child. She had thought it was her failing, but secretly he thought perhaps it was his own. After all, the fae were not a fertile race the way humanity were. Children were as rare as they were cherished. So he hadn’t been surprised when no children had resulted from their union. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised.

“Put it out of your mind. I wouldn’t change anything. You’ve given me more than I could have ever deserved.”

It was an old argument. One she usually was more than happy to repeat over and over again.

But, it seemed, she was too tired now to argue.

And that was what scared him most.

He had tried to coax what little food he could into her, as if her favorite delicacies would stave off the inevitable just that little while longer.

“Please,” he had begged her, holding a bowl of broth to her lips. “Please, just one more.”

And, dutifully, she had choked down a few swallows. He knew it was solely for his benefit, her appetite having all but disappeared these last few weeks, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He was afraid.

So very afraid.

And so, in a strange role reversal, it was the dying woman who found herself consoling an immortal in her final moments.

“Please don’t cry. You’re too pretty to cry. It makes me self conscious.”

Rhys couldn’t help but laugh at the old remark, even as he buried his face deeper into the hollow under her ear, staining her skin with his tears.

“Don’t talk. You’re wasting too much energy,” he scolded.

I’m going to die either way. She thought ruefully.

That just made him sob harder.

Her time came all too soon.

Rhys felt it when she finally died.

I love you, he said frantically to her fading consciousness. I’ll never stop loving you.

Feyre was too far gone to form real thoughts anymore, but he felt her love for him through the bond. Felt her sorrow at leaving him and the relief she felt at finally being free of the pained and broken body she was leaving behind.

And then the bond…broke.

And he felt her soul disappear beyond his reach.

And Rhysand felt a very necessary part of himself fracture and die with her.

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He went mad for a while.

His duties to his court went ignored. The inner circle, Mor and Amren especially, took on the brunt of keeping things running and making sure his subjects stayed in line. Not that he particularly cared either way. He had all but barricaded himself in his townhouse after his mate’s death.

He left only once, for her funeral.

Rhys buried Feyre under her favorite tree. A weeping willow that grew along the waterfront. It had been her favorite place to paint. He dug the grave himself. And then, afterwards, he went back to his empty home and wallowed in his grief for nearly a century.

By the time he emerged, he was nearly unrecognizable to those closest to him.

“You need a haircut.” Mor had said. They were the first words she had spoken to him in a decade.

She hadn’t been wrong either. His once perfectly groomed countenance had fallen into ruin. He had even grown a beard, something unusual amongst fae considering how long it took to grow. But then…he had nothing but time now.

Mor took pity on him. She assumed he had emerged to return to his duties. To distract himself from his grief with work. And Rhys didn’t correct her.

It was easier that way.

For a while, no one really seemed to notice what he was up to. He’d been isolated for so long that erratic behavior was all but expected from him.

But then, slowly, things began to stand out.

Like his endless visits to the Library. Or the information gathering missions he would send Azriel on across the sea. Or the ever more dangerous voyages he funded to bring back rarer and stranger artifacts.

It only became clear what was happening after it was far too late.

Mor was the first to confront him.

“You can’t.”

Those were the words that greeted Rhys one afternoon as he left his home.

“Can’t do what?” He said, his mind already elsewhere. Mor latched onto his arm and forced him to a standstill.

“You can’t bring her back.”

That got his attention.

Rhys’s eyes narrowed. Not in anger. But in challenge.

“Can’t I?”

The words chilled Mor to the core.

“She’s dead Rhys.”

The look he gave her made every one of her hairs stand on end.

“She’s dead,” she whispered again.

“Yes,” he said. “But I’m going to fix it.”

And then Mor watched him stalk off, terrified of what those words meant.

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Buried deep down in the darkest, oldest parts of the Library Rhys finally found his answers.

It seemed such a small thing when he finally brought it into the light. A brittle, fragile scroll made of vellum so ancient he wasn’t quite sure how it hadn’t crumbled into dust a millennia ago. It took ages to decipher the words upon it. The script was so faded and the language so archaic that even Amren had puzzled over it.

But Rhys was nothing if not stubborn and this too soon laid its secrets bare for him.

So many things he learned!

That there were other worlds. Whole sister universes. World just like his own with other Prythians and other Rhysands.

And, most importantly, other Feyres.

Of course, one could not just traverse between worlds as one would winnow from one place to another. This he knew all too well.

But, as it turned out, there were those who had.

The Daglan.

And so, it was with renewed conviction and fervor that Rhys saw the path now set before him.

He would become a god.

No matter the cost.

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To become a god, he discovered, one must first kill another god.

And, as it so happened, he soon discovered a goddess sleeping underneath his court. A creature of unparalleled beauty with snow-white skin and hair as dark as the night itself, sleeping ever so soundly in a crystal sarcophagus.

A Daglan.

It was shockingly easy to kill her. Goddess she may have been, but she was still weak from thousands of years of slumber. It took barely any effort at all for him to slide his knife into her breast and soak his clothes with her wine dark blood. To paint it onto his skin. And then to tear her heart from her chest and consume it whole as the old scrolls demanded.

But that was only the beginning. Those same scrolls demanded sacrifice. A whole manner of them. Godhood was not something so easily won.

Nothing worthwhile ever was.

They called for a blood sacrifice. So he culled the Court of Nightmares. They demanded he give up something of great worth. So he burned all of Feyre’s paintings.

On and on they went. Greater and greater forfeits. More and more significant pieces of his soul bartered away so that he might finally touch the divine.

And have the power to restore what was lost.

“This goes against everything the Mother stands for,” one of the priestesses told him one night as he set the Library alight.

It wouldn’t do to have anyone else following the same breadcrumbs he had. He couldn’t risk someone gaining the power to stop him.

“If the Mother cared she wouldn’t have taken her from me.” He didn’t need to say who. “I’m only taking back what was stolen from me.”

The priestess lifted her chin in defiance. “This isn’t what she would have wanted.”

“It doesn’t matter what she wants,” he said calmly as he watched the flames swallow thousands of years of knowledge. “She’s dead.”

But not for long, he thought.

Soon.

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It was a slow process.

One bought over many years and with a veritable ocean of blood. His blood. The blood of his enemies. The blood of the innocent. All of it ran together and baptized him anew.

No longer a creature of flesh and bone and sinew but of darkness and death and the endless void.

A god.

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Divinity was tearing a hole in the fabric of reality.

It was reaching past the boundaries of his world and grasping onto another. Sifting through all the endless realities and worlds until he found the one he wanted.

One where she still lived and breathed.

And then it was only a matter of slipping through that crack he had made.

And taking back what belonged to him.

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As it turned out, he didn’t have to search far before he found her.

He saw her, alive and defiant before a cruel queen he had not seen in centuries.

It took but the barest measure of his power to bring him before that broken (beautiful) human. Shocked gasps echoed through the mountain hall at his sudden arrival, but he heard none of them. All he could hear was the precious, lovely, sound of her beating heart.

Alive.

She was alive.

Behind him, the queen shrieked to her subjects. Once, this creature had tormented his nightmares, even long after she was dead and gone. But now, standing before her, he felt only irritation. Like the buzzing of a particularly annoying insect.

(And there was only one thing Rhys had ever done with annoying insects.)

With nothing more than a thought he tore open a hole in the universe and didn’t bother to watch the void swallow her whole. Around him, the crowd of fae shrank back in shock and terror.

All except for one.

His other self stared back at him.

Not that the other Rhysand knew it was himself he was staring at. He had been ever so careful to cobble together some semblance of his old mortal shape…though all he had managed in the end was a vaguely humanoid void. He was the vast darkness of space. The cold and unfeeling void. It was so very hard to contain all that now.

To be small.

But still, he had tried.

For her.

He heard the alarm from his other self then, as he realized this thing meant to take her. His mate.

(Because even then, he had known. He had always known.)

“Don’t worry,” the god said to his lesser self. And his voice was like the terrifying whisper that came from the shadows of a dark and empty room. “I won’t let you suffer without her.”

And then, with a sweep of his hand, the other Rhysand disintegrated. His atoms scattered like so many motes of dust on the wind.

It was a mercy.

After all, he had been forced to live without her once. He couldn’t very well subject his other self to the same fate. A god he may be, but he wasn’t that cruel.

He turned back to Feyre then.

She recoiled.

He felt her fear. Her confusion. But it took no more than a thought to wipe that all away and take her into his cold, dark embrace.

“Come,” he said. And then ushered her through the gap between worlds. Back to their home.

Where she belonged.

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Once upon a time, the Lady of the Night Court died.

But then, one day, she appeared once again. Hale and whole and young once more.

No one questioned how such a thing had been accomplished.

Their High Lord was a god after all.

#across the universe #rhysandweek2024 #acotar fanfiction #feysand fanfiction #acotar #feysand #my fanfic #my fanfiction #amnevitahwritesstuff

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archerygun · 8 months ago

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Was anyone else disappointed as a kid after watching the prequels? (But not for the reason you think. Read further.)

The answer, broadly, is yes, I know. But not for the reason you’re thinking. Just for one, hyper-specific reason that has little to do with the quality of the films.

Owen and Anakin weren’t actually brothers. Owen and Anakin met like… once. ‘Too much like his father’ the fuck you mean Mr. Lars, the man you met ONCE?

You mean to tell me we were robbed of what had the potential to be the funniest sibling dynamic in ALL of Star Wars? Angry old dirt farmer vs the Chosen One/Dark Lord of the Sith? Objectively hilarious. The implication (in the og film and book) that Anakin just fucked off one day to become a jedi starpilot, leaving Owen at home thinking “What a fucking nob.”? Peak comedy.

Can you imagine if these two were actually siblings? Owen watching the look in Luke’s eyes develop into the wild, idealistic look that cost him his brother. Telling Luke his father was a drug smuggler on some old cruiser because that was an easier story for Owen to tell than the reality of it, and after a while Owen himself starts half believing it. Despising Obi-Wan for both taking his brother from him, and then in his eyes causing him to become a monster. The tragedy of Vader ordering the death of his brother.

Say what you want about the brotherhood between Obi-Wan and Anakin, it’s a brilliant dynamic. But the idea of Anakin and Owen coming from the exact same nowhere, same family, same upbringing and everything… it hits me in the feels. Because they represent two polar opposites that ended up with a sort of reverse parallel fate.

Anakin wanted adventure in the stars and he got it, at the price of everyone he loved and never getting to see his kids. Owen wanted a simple life minding his farming and he got it, at the price of dying without ever seeing the stars and becoming alienated from his son. If these two men had been brothers, the TEARS THAT WOULD HAVE COME OUT OF MY EYES-

It would have humanised Owen to the audience long before Kenobi (which I do still basically consider non-canon even though it was a fun ride) did him the - admittedly a little bit over-the-top/ridiculous - justice he deserved. There have always been appreciators of Owen Lars but a lot of people see him as just a bastard. Give him some real PAIN behind that exterior. Give him a VERY good reason, an even better reason than the one in canon, for being the way he is.

Plus, the idea of Owen partially having the force is objectively the funniest concept ever (although I’d still go for the whole “Anakin had no father.” thing and have Owen be normal).

Sorry for the incoherency of my ramblings, I love Owen Lars.

#star wars #a new hope #star wars anh #anh #star wars a new hope #owen lars #beru lars #anakin skywalker #darth vader #luke skywalker #star wars ot #star wars original trilogy #star wars what if #tatooine #anchorhead

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changenameno · 3 months ago

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My Own (Chapter 5)

Summary: Geralt finds himself once more on the path, gloomily looking at what lies ahead. And you? You had no one, no home and certainly no coin. Well that’d be something you had in common. No coin. You two are surely off to a great start…

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem. Nymph Reader 

Warnings: 18+, death, cursing, angst and finally some fluff, hurt & comfort, MDNI (there will be smut in the future)

Word count: 1.2K

A/N: Hahah more teasing, sorry, not sorry…It’s not proofread, any mistakes are my own. Please be kind, comments/reblogs are much appreciated…Thank you and enjoy ❤️✨

!The Witcher characters and world are not mine! 

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(In case you’ve missed CHAPTER 4)

CHAPTER 5  You couldn’t read Geralt’s expression in the moment, it seemed to only show stone-faced indifference. Then at last he opened his mouth, “No.” Pausing briefly, before adding,” Of course not.”  Relieve washing over you at his answer. Safe at last.  Weirdly he was a bit disappointed that you’d believe him capable of doing something like that. He knew of course that this was unfair to you, as he’d be just as suspicious, if your positions were reversed. Still he couldn’t shake the feeling. You were somehow able to push all his buttons and make him feel drawn to you at the same time, which confused him all the more. He couldn’t explain it, even if he wanted to.  Shaking his head, he went over to Roach, to do what he originally got up for.  Now that you felt somewhat safe and were no longer hungry, the lingering exhaustion and fatigue caught up to you, making you yawn. Just then Geralt returned with two bedrolls in his arms.  Silently spreading them out, close to the fire. It wasn’t particularly chilly but during night-time a glowing fire could certainly help, feel more comfortable. An added bonus: the smoke would keep the mosquitoes at bay.

He knelt down, about to rest his aching body, when your amused voice cut through the silence, “Why do you have two bedrolls?”

Geralt rolled onto his side, facing you, looking more sullen than before. You giggled softly, “It’s the bard’s, isn’t it?” If it weren’t for the most delightful of laughs he’d ever heard, he’d have stayed stoic, but instead he nodded, even a little amused himself that you could look through him so easily.

You didn’t want to antagonize him any further, especially because he’d been nothing but nice to you. Though one last quip left your lips anyway, “Knew you were soft hearted…”

He felt rather pleased with your statement, warmth spreading through him. Content and tired he closed his eyes, about to welcome a better nights-sleep.

There was quiet shuffling as you lay down, on the other bedroll.

“Good night, Geralt of Rivia,” you murmured.

“Good night.”

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This time he woke because he heard your unsteady and shallow breathing, he kept his eyes shut, listening to your racing heartbeat.

Trying not to wake the witcher, you’d held back the sob that wanted to break free from deep within your chest. A nightmare had woken you a few minutes ago.

As you sat up, breathing heavily, you’d realized it hadn’t been a dream. At least, not really. Your subconscious had replayed recent events, mixing them with the past. Probably because you’d told Geralt about it.

It had all felt too real. An all-consuming sadness spread through you, as the first tears rolled down your cheeks.

He’d opened his amber eyes, even though he didn’t see your face, he could tell you were crying. A salty, bitter scent permeating the air. He sat up, very familiar with nightmares himself, his heart went out to you. To prevent startling you, he cleared his throat.

Making you stiffen and furiously wipe away the tears that didn’t seem to stop flowing down your face. Sniffling, “Fuck, sorry…I didn’t mean to wake you. Go…go back to sleep.”

How on earth was he supposed to go back to sleep, hearing you cry, sounding so distressed and miserable?

When you heard him getting up, you hugged your knees closer to your chest, hiding your face. Your breath hitched when a big, warm hand brushed over your back. Gently stroking up and down.

Geralt didn’t know what overcame him, but he couldn’t just sit back and do nothing, so here he was, attempting to sooth you. After a few tense moments, in which he thought you’d push him away, you finally started to relax into his touch.

Surprising him, when you suddenly turned and slung your arms around him, pushing your wet face into the crook of his neck.

You shocked yourself a little bit, when you turned and hugged him, but you felt so very safe and comfortable in his presents. And he smelled incredibly good, calming you instantly.

Unsure he slowly put his arms around you as well. Small hiccups could be heard, muffled cries leaving your quivering lips.

The embrace lasted quite long, until his slow, soothing heartbeat had reduced the speed of yours.

You lifted your head, wet eyelashes clinging together, as you found his gaze. Now it was his pulse that sped up, as you leaned in closer to his face.

You leaned in, placing a delicate kiss on his lips. Eyes closed, feeling his stubble scratching lightly over your chin when he started moving against your soft lips. The kiss was slow and deep, not rushed or needy. Both of you just wanting to feel the other.

Unhurriedly you pulled back, his ambers already fixed onto your face. His next words came out in a rasp, “We-we should get some sleep.” Because you couldn’t detect unease or regret on his face, you nodded, sliding off his lap and back onto your bedroll. He’d studied you all the while, before he went to get up.

A sudden fear reared its ugly head, what if you’d have another bad dream, so your hand shot out, gripping his forearm. Geralt halted, once he felt your fingers on his arm. Dark brow lifting in question.

“Please. Could you stay?” When you saw him hesitating, you softly sighed. “I just- don’t want to be alone right now. And you-you feel…safe,” mumbling the last word so quietly only a witcher’s keen ears could pick it up.

You couldn’t bear to look at him anymore, too embarrassed as he’d surely deny your wish.

He knew he was playing with fire, but he knelt down once more anyway, too strong was his desire to hold you close, to protect you. “Lie down.” Quickly moving, before he could change his mind, you lay down on your side, facing the glowing embers.

As he lay down, broad chest touching your back, Geralt heard the acceleration of your pulse. Which he mistook for nervousness, so he scooted back.

Though he didn’t come far, as your hand had reached back pulling at shirt, until he got the hint and drew closer again. He breathed in, no distress corrupting your sweet and flowerlike fragrance.

His eyes twinkling happily when you pulled his arm over your side, letting his hand rest against your stomach. Smiling even more, when you clarified, “Just…so you’re comfortable as well.”

A delightful shudder running down your spine when his answering, “Mmh,” sounded.

“Good Night.”

“Night.”

CHAPTER 6

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Taglist:

If you’re interested in being on my taglist, please let me know! And if you want to be taken off (my taglist), feel free to tell me!❤️✨

#henry cavill #geralt of rivia #x reader #fanfic #the witcher

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