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jhuzen · 1 year ago

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old and new [gn/m.reader]

good lord i have been gone for a long time. i am so sorry, i am recovering from bloccus writicus. also i may have been… getting in touch with my thirst for strong women. women are so beautiful. i love them. to all my requesters (? how to english), please excuse my tardiness. allow me to rev my engine before delivering them once again. i’m gonna warm up with a few posts (including this). ALSO THIS STORY IS JDIADMC IDK.

𖦹 big on genshin lore because i am nerding out, creator reader but not sagau reader, like i’m talking you are a character in the story, ooh look at me diverting from my agenda of overseer reader (i blame skirk’s master).

The mere ability to create is something so vast and so elaborate, placed upon the pedestal for all to see. If one is gifted with the passion and talent to create, they are the envy of all — to craft the most divine pieces, create something so intricate that it is nothing short of impressive.

And through it all, an artist hones one’s skills until they have reached the peak — until they’ve viewed every perspective, until they’ve used every shade, until they’ve done every stroke, all of it comes down to their prized creation;

Their Magnum Opus.

That… was Teyvat to you.

It was your pièce de résistance. If the myriad of heavenly bodies that lay before your trail were thought-provoking and terrifyingly beautiful to a fault, then Teyvat was your inexplicable masterpiece, one that took trial and error as your gentle hands shaped and carved every landscape, as your breath that blew into it became the protecting breeze, and as the tears that you wept from joy became the primordial seas of the world that birthed new life forms that you managed to call a mere happy accident.

It was yours. Many worlds before it were mere prototypes, but something you’ve cherished nonetheless. To you, Teyvat was the product that will possibly never get any better and a creation that will never be bested by anything else.

You granted it laws that were akin to the past worlds you’ve crafted with your own hands, you gave it life through the creatures that crawled around the earth. It thrived and you gave it autonomy once you thought it could work on its own course with your given gifts to let it thrive.

Teyvat was your cherished creation.

And the same rings true until now upon your quiet descent. Your immaculate robes that were woven with stardusts suddenly turning into a soft silk. You walked the earth in your bare feet, the blades of grass a mere tickle underneath you as you journeyed through the world.

The breeze blew by your hair and you felt the sheer invigoration, forcing a tiny titter out of you. You embraced the fruits of your hard labor, recalling the eons you nearly wept in agony as you continued to sculpt everything down to its tiniest detail.

And out of all of that, you birthed your pride and joy, this world that could never measure up to anything else.

Your eyes which held the countless stars and worlds you’ve created soon found itself gazing across the vast lands of this realm of light you’ve created, finding the realm of void opposing the one you were on.

Countless times you’ve heard your fellow artisans question you for creating such an unconventional place to be. But you sought balance in this perfect world of yours, where every creature can walk on their own respective realms. And if you can create pure beings of light, who’s to say that you can’t create the creatures that lurk within the void?

Your feet pattered against the grass that rustled as you hoped to approach and visit the opposing realm when you felt the ground beneath your rumble and shake. You stilled yourself with ease as you looked over your shoulder.

And your eyes had never known such beauty until now.

For the first time, a creature of divinity such as yourself was gobsmacked at the sight of a huge Vishap that stood before you.

It was a beautiful one — its blue scales that blended with the water from your tears of joy that you’ve shed upon your creation, its eyes holding the purest intentions that matched its pure being. You can feel the waters surge within its very form, like a fresh cold spring on a hot summer day.

Your eyes suddenly filled with tears as you felt your heart constrict with so much love as you watched it approach you. You have never seen such beauty that it truly nearly knocked you off your feet. Your chest ached with so much want as you continued to marvel the creature that you only hoped of succeeding in creating several eons ago.

“Oh… look at you…”

Your voice, honeyed and smooth as a silk, tinkled across the lands — waking up the creations that you gave life to upon your very own creation of Teyvat. Your voice, filled with so much love and tenderness, directed to the Vishap that towered over your tiny mortal form with ease, rang out, as if to call for it to come closer.

And it does.

The earth shakes with every weighted step that it took and you followed, contrasting the loudness with the silence of your own steps. You met it halfway until the very concept of distance no longer exists between you and the Vishap.

“…Such a beautiful one you are,” you whispered, your voice emitting a lilt of care and intense joy that you managed to suppress for a good measure before it overwhelmed you.

You lent a hand and its gaze directs towards it.

The Vishap leans into your touch and you can feel the waves of the primordial sea flow through you. With it, you can feel the joy you’ve felt once you’ve reached the end of your creation. You’ve felt the nostalgic satisfaction that kept you fulfilled even until now. You’ve felt the overwhelming love and excitement that you had when you took a step back and got a good look on Teyvat’s finality.

“You, who cradled our lives in your hands,” it spoke with a bellowing voice, making it seem like your own was but a mere squeak. “…Why do you pursue a creation as grand as this?”

You took a second as you pondered its question.

“…For the love in me is much too big not to share.”

“We have anticipated your descent. Nibelung has prophesied the return of the tearful artisan.”

You felt yourself flush at the title that was given to you unceremoniously, “Are my tears so ineffably embarrassing that I deserve such a name from my beloved creations?”

It huffed at your light jest, “It is nothing more but a praise. Your tears brought life in this barren world. Your tears gave birth to a new life that not one could hope to achieve—

“Your tears are my waters, to which I have complete sovereign on. Your tears are my will, to which I am eternally thankful for.”

You felt the inevitable warmth flow through your tiny body from the Vishap’s words alone. While it was satisfying to finish Teyvat on its own, you suddenly found a level beyond that feeling after receiving gratitude from your own creation firsthand. It melted your lonely soul and you couldn’t help but feel giddy at the feeling of it alone.

Such a simple gesture it was — to thank you — and yet the feeling it gave transcends every other emotion you’ve felt throughout the course of your long and eternal life.

“May you continue to prosper with the gift I’ve given you.” You blessed it with your small voice, barely above a mere whisper.

Your palm that shaped many worlds emitted the kind of warmth from a starting kiln and the Vishap relished in the feeling, a pleased growl echoing through the empty vast land of the light realm.

“The life that I owe to you will be cherished and used to its fullest. And should I perish, I will return with memories of you, no matter how faint.” It promised in one breath.

Your silken robes billowed against the breeze that blew by again. You can only feel your thoughts and feelings mingle with the Vishap’s. For once, you are able to see how it and its fellow Vishaps came to be, how each of them walked through the light realm and claimed its own homes where they ruled with incredible prosperity and indomitable ambition.

You were able to appreciate the further creation of life on this world that you deemed perfect, and was able to see how it went when you slept to rest for a good few centuries.

It was a feeling so invigorating, that you could feel your heart swell with so much love and pride for these dragons that walked the haven you’ve created. It mattered not to you how they came to be, only that they were able to live in peace and free from cumbersome bothers. It eased your heart, knowing that they are able to propagate their kind with so much freedom under the autonomous law that you gave to Teyvat.

You were feeling genuine satisfaction.

And it feels your jovial heart, with the way it continued to nestle its luminous scaled body into your touch.

“Protect this world with all your might. And you… you that holds my tears, will be given the authority to bring judgment of all life that makes a home on this world for centuries to come.”

Among the array of emotions that flowed through you, you felt its grateful pride surge through you.

A draconic pride that will leave its mark on you.

You had hoped it was a bad dream — a childish nightmare, no matter how unheard of it was among the divinity like you.

You hoped that the constriction in your loving heart was a jest in poor taste, that it was just a passing act of scare that you will laugh at. But as your eyes gazed at your magnum opus, your heart nearly shattered into a million little pieces.

The waters that were intimately connected to your essence, your very being, was tainted with anguish and anger. You can feel the hardships that started to brew from a few tiny nicks of pain in your heart. Teyvat was quite literally anchored to you through the primordial waters that flowed through it.

And as it continued to suffer contamination from something foreign, your heart further corroded into something that inflicted pain. You can feel the blood that soaked into the waters cry for desperation, you can feel the way it boiled with so much thirst for vengeance against whatever caused the first tragedy on Teyvat in the first place.

You placed full faith on the seven sovereigns, you had given them blessings that will aid them to guard your precious creation, but you could feel the tinge of betrayal flow through your veins when you threw a quick glance and saw Nibelung seeking something far more dangerous to defend their realm.

Something not from Teyvat. Something you know the laws that you placed which granted autonomy would reject and inflict sorrow upon those that were affected by it.

You fell into a state of unrest, pained with the grief of betrayal and longing for those that fought to protect your very own creation. A part of your mind condemns you for placing such a burden on your creations that cannot be better than outworld creatures that transcend them. But another part of you screams genuine belief to those you have tasked, that they will prevail and honor your simple wish.

Normally a couple of decades was nothing to you — as it could pass as quick as a mere minute, but to experience excruciating pain that throbbed like a vile tumor on your heavenly being was not something to sneeze at. Your heart ached for so many decades as you watched the sovereigns fall before those that intruded in your lovely creation.

And as it stole the authorities of the sovereigns, like a widow bereft its lover, you were forced into a state of slumber, lasting for centuries to come.

The new world thrives with lush life, creatures alike living as though its lives weren’t owed to the slumbering deity that was consumed with so much grief after all the tragic events that happened since its arrival on your world.

Perhaps it was the gentle mercy granted upon you that you stayed asleep when it parted a new realm for humanity’s arrival. When it was challenged by someone of the same nature, resulting to more catastrophic devastation that marred your heart with more fresh scars while you slept.

Perhaps it was best that you were unconscious as your closed eyes poured out tears endlessly that would sure tire you out for years as it happened.

And perhaps it was its atonement for the damage it caused you when you woke up and saw your Teyvat as something entirely new. Something that you didn’t create, something… completely alien.

Your pride as a divine creator was shaken, but you were quick to brush it off, wanting to see just how much your precious world was defiled and turned into something you know would never pass up as befitting into your standards. It was admittedly unbecoming of you, to turn your nose up against a creation, you always held some form of admiration and appreciation towards anything. You loved — and loved so much that you had to create to share it with your creations.

But Teyvat was once your magnum opus, it was… yours. It bathed in your heavenly tears, it felt every caress of your hands as you molded it into something you called your greatest masterpiece eons ago. You broke into a sweat, slaved away for the sake of your satisfaction upon completion, and when you finished it, you cried from happiness alone.

You descended, the flurry of stardust in your divine robes coagulating into the familiar silken robes that you wore whenever you would visit the seven sovereigns.

How many years have you been asleep? Dreaming up a reality where you shared a meal with the humongous and serpentine Dragon of Verdure, where you watched the Dragon King roar with pride, and where you exchanged the most insightful and heartfelt conversations with the Dragon of Water — the one that held your tears.

The grass underneath your bare feet feels as though it had a million stories to tell you, that among those years you’ve been forced into a slumber, you had missed a good chunk of what made Teyvat into this.

But the familiarity of the empty landscape was enough to urge you to keep going forth.

And that same familiarity ended the moment your eyes landed on fallen structures — ones you’ve never seen before. You can decipher that it once stood at a towering height, just from pillars that could squash your tiny mortal form with ease should it fall at the slightest disturbance.

You could feel a sense of tyranny from these structures, a tyranny broken by a hope from perhaps the creatures that felt trapped by it. You may have been asleep when it happened, but you can almost see how the tyranny of the past ruler of this place fell against the unity of those who longed freedom.

“Freedom… huh…” You murmured softly and a breeze rustled the grass beneath you. A lone leaf from the many trees landed on your hair, prompting you to take it and look at it.

You wondered how the Dragon of Verdure was fairing. If it had the same authority over the luscious life of Dendro as it did before.

Your feet continued to take you somewhere else, as though it had a sense of where to go. You never questioned it — as alien as Teyvat was to you now, it was still your world. And as long as the primordial waters are around, it stays anchored with you.

It didn’t take long before you ended up before a civilization — one you have never seen before when you descended before it came to challenge the seven sovereigns. Your eyes widened at the sight, pupils dilating as you watched humanity flourish and thrive within that patch of rock where a city sat.

Never had you expected to wake up to the sight of humans thriving in your world where there was once none.

Your sense of cautiousness dropped in a quick second and you took yourself towards it, foot against the hard cobblestone bridge as you walked towards the walls of this… civilization.

If you looked odd approaching this city in such a state, then you were certain they brushed it off as the guards welcomed you with a smile.

“Weary traveler, welcome to Mondstadt, the City of Freedom, blessed by our beloved Anemo Archon, Barbatos himself!”

For the first time since you had woken up, you felt the same overwhelming sense of love and tenderness as you were welcomed with living mortals, living in your creation like it was a normal occurrence for them.

Never had you known that humanity, no matter how it came upon your world, could be so beautiful.

And just like the day you met that beloved Vishap of yours, you wept.

“You sure know a lot of things about this place! Paimon could even say that you’re far more knowledgeable than Zhongli could be!”

Your laugh rang through the streets of Fontaine, angelic and seeming like a song from the heavens itself.

It had been so many years — dare you say centuries even, since you first descended after sleeping for so long with all the catastrophic events that has happened. You had traveled far and wide, discovered every single hidden civilization from the time you were asleep, learned every little conflict that happened.

You had to do the hard part of reading through every ancient tome that had a different language with each ancient civilization, but filling in the gaps was much easier. Despite it being your creation, the mere fact that you gave it autonomy only meant it wasn’t always subservient to you. It had its own laws even if you were the very being that gave those laws.

It was a refreshing change, quite frankly. Teyvat treated you like any other mortal and you could see and experience how humanity managed to adapt to the laws of your creation. It was honestly tear-jerking. You may not be the one that introduced humanity — rather it was the one that caused devastation to you and your dragons, but it was nonetheless still an endearing sight that you cherished.

You had to relearn Teyvat’s new history as it began embarking on a journey as a new world, where humans thrived and dominated, where beings in a mortal body but with a higher threshold, power, and purpose called gods were the ones to govern instead of the elemental sovereigns.

Somehow throughout it all, it felt as though your world was no longer yours.

But the waters ring familiarity, as it held your feelings from all those years ago. And now it’s far more potent in the Land of Hydro that you were currently on as you accompanied the blonde traveler that gained infamy across the nations you too journeyed in the past.

You felt for them, much like you before, they had to learn the secrets of this world. Only that they had to do it blind, while you managed to fill in the blanks of the tragic past of this world. And as much as you’d like to play the hero, since your descent after your sleep, you have learned to let everything play out on its own.

“I’m not one to claim superiority over Mister Zhongli’s prowess. Surely he knows far more than I do,” you deny with a genuine conviction. You learned he was the oldest of all archons, and have a better grasp of the world than you do when you were asleep.

“Mm. Let’s just call it quits and say you and him are even!” The tiny floating guide chirped, clapping in satisfaction after her own little conclusion.

You only nodded, conceding to her whims before finding the traveler walking up to you and giving you a serving of fish and chips and a double of serving for Paimon. You thanked them kindly and they only offered you a polite smile and a nod.

“Oh! Right! We should be heading off to pick up some bounty for more mora! Are you coming, [Name]?” Paimon asked, looking at you.

You caught their gaze and shook your head, “I think I’d like to take a walk around for a moment. I’ll see you two in awhile.” You said with the same unwavering smile that offered nothing but fondness for either of the two.

With a nod from them, off they went to Euphrasie to hound her for more bounty and its fruitful rewards.

You walked through the streets, basking in the noise of every call from every vendor within the side of the street, indulging the bustling nature of the busybodies in Fontaine, and savoring the air of nostalgia that perhaps only you can understand and feel.

Your feet halted at the remote parts of Palais Mermonia, admiring the flowers while you embraced the sense of familiarity that coursed through your veins. It was a welcome feeling above all, as it was the same feeling when you first truly experienced happiness.

And what luck it was when the Iudex himself was passing by for a quick break, to take a tiny breather from the suffocating throes of workload that was hurled on him as one of his many responsibilities.

You perked up when you heard a pair of footsteps echo within the cavernous structure of the Palais Mermonia and you looked over your shoulder.

Suddenly, that nostalgic feeling increased and your heart throbbed and ached with so much longing.

Suddenly, the breeze felt like it did centuries ago.

Suddenly, the hard concrete floor felt like the gentle grass beneath you.

And suddenly, the man behind you felt like the bearer of your tears.

You took a moment before facing him and found a smidgen of confusion and surprise that broke through his otherwise stoic expression. You had heard his impartiality and people reveled in him, word of the mouth was that the great Iudex, Mister Neuvillette himself, was the very symbol of Justice in Fontaine.

You didn’t know whether or not it was a wasted chance, but it never occurred to you to even ask if he kept his promise.

To come back with the faintest memories of you.

Instead, you smiled, bowed so gracefully and respectfully to him like any other mortal who have heard of his achievements would.

But you had to give him a few words yourself; just for old time’s sake.

“Look at you now…”

Your voice, much like millions of years ago, held the same sweetness and fondness, honeyed to perfection that it can lull anyone within earshot to a sense of comfort and warmth. Your voice beckoned him to come closer.

And he does.

“You’re thriving so beautifully… living among humanity…”

You could see the way his breath hitch in his throat, and you stifle a tiny laugh and suppressed the nostalgic fondness and love in your heart that was close to bursting at the seams.

“You did well.”

And you left him then and there, like a soft breeze in passing, in search of the traveler and their tiny emergency sustenance, without you knowing, that for once, it wasn’t you who cried.

It’s true, the new Teyvat felt alien to you.

It is no longer your world, but theirs — they, the humanity that staked its claim and lived for generations, they, the creatures that survived every catastrophic event that struck this world, and they… the beings that claim dominion over it.

And as this world’s creator, you would do well to enact the safety of the life it nurtured, even if you were overshadowed by the very being that devastated you.

After all, with all the love in you, it would be hard not to share it with the world you once knew.

#this fic turned out to be so damn sad why #i think it’s because im listening to ruu’s melody on repeat #anyway… surprise???#i have nothing more to say ☠️#genshin impact x gn reader #genshin impact x male reader #jhuzen’s stupid one shots #seriously i am just being a nerd in this one im so sorry for a bland start #i think my next post is about the archons #good shit #oh yeah the ‘it’ in this one is the primordial one #tho im sure yall know that already #i just wanna create a dichotomy of reader wanting to hate primo but also being kinda thankful?#idk it’s weird

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lavenderslabyrinth · 11 months ago

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A Sacrificial Game

King!Dragon x Reader

Masterlist

This is my first post since deciding to kick off this new account. It’s rewritten from an old story I had posted on here long ago once upon a time. I hope you enjoy~

CW: ♢ Mention of Near Drowning ♢ Blood/Injury ♢ Abduction ♢

The coos of morning doves and the gentle brushing of branches against your bedroom window were quickly drowned out by the boisterous laughter and squabbling of your many siblings. Your attempt at trying to drown them out via the trusty quilt-over-head technique was quickly plundered as they burst through your sacred doorway. With energy only children can manage to conjure from the depths of hell at 8 in the morning, they jostled you around roughly, stealing away the comforting warmth you'd had. Surely, you'd thought, this was an act of merciless torture. Your skin prickled with goosebumps and, irritably, you managed to croak out a yip. "Ow! Off!" Your anger did nothing more than make them giggle as they lightly bruised you with their rough play. "Lemme sleep, dammit! Off! Get off!" Taking evident joy out of your misery, the damn gremlins only gave you a round of smug looks. They did relent, however it was truthfully only to avoid your flailing swats at their heads. “Momma said we ain’t eatin’ breakfast till you get up. So get up lazy" A chorus of agreements and more jostling only drew a strong eye roll from you. But, nevertheless, you shooed them off and sat up, groggily rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

Normally they'd just eat without you, leaving the leftovers warmed in the oven to be picked at by whoever passed by, but today was a special occasion. It was your birthday. Normally birthdays were happy events full of gifts, smiles, and all things merry-making-- but this one was different. While the younger whelps scurried off to the old wooden table, none the wiser to the fate that you now had to face, a heavy weight hung over the heads of the adults in the house. The thickness of the air palpable as you stepped into the kitchen and saw the grim look on your mother's face.

The saying goes that a starving savage is less likely to ravage your home if you give it a single meal-- and such began the gruesome, superstitious tradition... Once a year, one unlucky village that bordered the human kingdom would be chosen to place the names of all it's unmarried, of-age residents into a box and perform a drawing. Whichever sorry soul was picked would be ripped away from their homes by the temple, never to be seen again. The nobility liked to call it one of the "highest of all honors" a commoner could receive. The common people? You call it human sacrifice.

At least, most of your people do. Despite that being so, the vast majority of the population feared the very notion of abandoning the ritual. Why? Because the entire purpose was to "sate the otherfolk's thirst for human blood." One sacrifice, one year free from their wrath.

Your skin crawled at the very idea of it all as you leant down, clumsy hands tying up the laces of your worn leather boots.

As a child, you believed every word that hung off of the elders' tongues down near the pub. The fascination and wonder of another terrifying world outside the kingdom's tall, stone walls ignited your naive little heart. But with age, it grew evident to you that they were no more than simple old widows and drunkards with nothing better to do with their remaining time than talk stories and scare little children with tall tales. How were you supposed to believe beasts, much less entire civilizations of them, would be satisfied by the blood of one person if they truly wanted to attack a meager village, much less an entire country? Who decided they even wanted that blood? It was an argument you’d tried to raise countless times with your village council only to have it shot down with a simple “Well the Chosen never return, do they?” It pissed you off to no end. It didn't even take two wrinkles in the brain to conclude that it was more likely the animals of the woods, the elements-- or worse, other humans that caused the sacrificed to meet their demise; but no point you made would ever change their stone cold hearts.

And as though your age wasn't enough to make this birthday sour, the drawing was to be held this evening. The irony of someone losing their life on the day of your birth was palpable. Taking your usual chair at the kitchen table, you noticed the way two of your brothers squabbled over the last roll. With spiteful retaliation, you plucked it from between them taking a slow, mocking bite right in front of their faces. Maybe next time they'd think twice before ganging up to practically assault you out of bed.

"(y/n)?" Your head snapped up to attention, meeting your father's gaze. "How are you feeling?" You swallowed the fluffy bread quickly shooting a quiet reply. "I'm alright. Would feel a little better if you guys would stop lookin at me like I'm headed to the gallows." The laugh you were awarded from him was dry, but it eased some of the tension in his weathered shoulders nonetheless.

"I suppose it is a bit stuffy in here for a birthday, huh?" Your mother piped up sheepishly, wiping her hands on the dishtowel that hung from a belt on her hip. "Say, why don't you go visit Alikar? Trade some of our tomatoes for a basket of peaches-- bring those back and I'll make a pie we can all have after the drawing, how does that sound?" The little heads in the room visibly perked at the idea of getting their grubby little paws on something sweet. It wasn't often you had the sugar for such things after all.

Dismissing the idea of having to attend the black box event, you gave her a gentle nod. "Sure, I can do that. Need anything else while I'm out?" You inquired, stuffing the rest of the bread into your mouth before your youngest brother could snatch it from your hand. "No, dear. Just finish your breakfast and we'll handle the rest."

After practically beating your siblings off the table with a stick to get your fill, you quickly washed up and plucked the basket from the floor. “I’m off!” You called, getting no discernible acknowledgement as the chaos in the house never ceased. No matter to you-- the pie would be well worth the trip ahead.

Uncle Alikar.

The man was a huge part of the reason you didn’t believe a lick of all that ‘savage otherfolk’ nonsense. As your feet scuffed along the well worn path, old memories bubbled up to the surface like froth from the babbling brook that ran beside you.

You were the eldest of your siblings which, consequently, meant that when you'd been a rumbling little runt there were no older kids to show you the ropes and your parents' first trial run at raising a whole little person. This always resulted in you tumbling headfirst into trouble, but one day it had gone a little too far. Your tiny body approached the ledge of the stream. The same edge you would use every summer to hunt tadpoles. But, unbeknownst to you, the soil that was far too saturated with yesterday's rain to hold your weight. Without warning, it crumbled beneath your little feet sending you hurtling down into the rushing waters below. The merciless current carried you faster downstream than your father could run and just when your little head was wrenched under the raging current, a large beast sprung into the water after you. Before you could even process what had happened, your little lungs were hacking up the water they're inhaled, the coughing doing little for the burn in your lungs.

At first it was all a blur, you could hear your parents shouting as well as another rumbling voice above you responding back to them. Your little legs dangling far above the ground as a muscular arm stayed firmly wrapped around your waist. Someone was... holding you? You blinked away the tears, looking up to be met with a mouth full of razor-like teeth, thick sopping wet fur, and bright, slitted eyes. Misunderstanding what was going on, you began to cry out in fear. You were absolutely terrified you were about to be eaten by the ravenous river monster your mother warned you about countless times in attempt to dissuade you from wandering near the water when they weren't watching you. Only when those large paws handed you off to your mother ever-so-gently did you begin to quiet back down "Are you alright now, sweetpea? Ol' Alikar didn't mean to spook ya. Poor thing." He was some kind of rakshasa or tabaxi, evident by the sopping tail that swayed in the water behind him and round, fluffy ears that tilted back with concern. Speaking of...

Your knuckles rapped against the wooden door, sending warm clunks into the cottage. It was a serene place far from the human village which was always surrounded by the sweet smells of fruit and scents of warm, freshly made bread. Not but a few seconds later the upper half of the door swung open and there, in all his striped glory, was Alikar himself. “There’s the birthday girl!” He greeted you, his smile full of sharp teeth. A sight that originally took some getting used to but was now synonymous with a second home. “Hey Uncle Al. Mama sent me down to get some peaches for a pie.” You raised your basket of tomatoes.

He only chuckled in reply. “Oh, I know, how else was I supposed to give you your gift?” His paw pushed the lower part of the door open, welcoming you inside-- the scent of herbs and butter wafting much stronger from within. Surprised, you could only follow dumbly after him at first, setting the basket down as you took a seat on his kitchen table.

“A gift? Since when do you have the extra funds to get me gifts?! Aren’t you saving for the wedding? What about--”

“Would you hush, child?” He laughed, taking amusement in your fretting. “You’re still new to the whole womanhood thing, what do you know about adult troubles?” You gave a halfhearted growl at him but had no argument to fire back at him. Even though you'd been considered an adult in human standards for quite a few years, Alikar did have more experience than you in that department.

"You get onto me about my finances but I don't see you moving out of your parents' home yet." He teased, carefully unloading every piece of fruit from the wicker basket with care. "Don't bully me! I'm plenty experienced in other things!" You whined. Snatching one of the many apples he'd left unattended. The crisp sweetness did little to nurse your slightly bruised ego but the coolness of the juice as it dribbled down you chin quenched plenty other, more satisfying needs. "Yeah? And what would your area of foreign expertise be? Apple thieving?"

You glared at his back, cheeks tinting "No! Like conversation! And courting."

"Pah!" He scoffed, soft paws stacking the soft, pink fruit into a neat arrangement. "Much good your 'experience' has gotten you, I am the only one getting married here out of the two of us." Okay. Ouch. "And I converse plenty well, thank you very much!"

The afternoon passed with similar banter as you stuffed yourself with whatever fruits Alikar let you get your hands on. In the end he had given you a carefully carved wooden totem of your favorite animal, peaches, and sent you on your way. Whatever wood the little figure was made from gave a faint, sweet scent when wet with water. A bit ironic considering how you met all those years ago but you appreciated it nonetheless.

You had asked him if he’d have wanted to come and celebrate with you and your family but, regretfully, he had to decline. As charming and kind as he was, the path to your home was far too close to the village for his comfort and the idea of one of your acquaintances or friends coming to celebrate as well and reporting him sent the hairs on the back his neck straight upward. It was no secret the village wasn’t excited about strange, new creatures given the black box tradition, so it was doubtful Alikar would be in the public eye anytime soon, as unfortunate as that was…

You didn’t realize how much time you’d wasted until the shadows began stretching longer, snuffing out much of whatever light the day had left for you. “Ah shit.” You mumbled. You'd definitely missed the drawing, and at this rate you wouldn't be able to eat sweets till the next morning. Speeding up from a mozy to a quick trot back up the hill was unpleasant to say the least, but damn if those thoughts of peach pie didn't motivated you to haul ass.

However, as you drew closer your eagerness was smothered.

Hunching down, you quickly used the cover of the thorny brush to peer out at the scene below-- The terrified cries of your siblings pierced through your chest.

“Where’s the girl?!” A man demanded, spear to your father’s throat and eyes unwavering as your mother pled, voice breaking with fear as her children clung to her skirts.

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ bout.” Your father replied curtly, looking the assailant back in the face with matching fury and anger. “I've only got sons.” The hair on the back of your neck stood up. Only once before, in your entire life, had you heard such a chilling tone come from that man. You'd been no older than 12 when a suitor equal to your mother in age offered to pay a hefty sum for your hand in marriage. The cruel chill in his voice as he sent the man away stuck with you-- but it didn't seem like this scenario would have the same outcome.

“Have it your way.”

A pit knotted itself in your breast as your family’s pleas turned to screaming cries, the spear cutting into you father's shoulder without mercy. Everything seemed to move so slowly after that...

First, you'd prayed he'd give in, relenting your location to the angry mob that surrounded him-- but your father stayed silent. That same fury in his eyes unwavering as he stayed on his feet.

Second, you though, maybe, the crowd would believe they'd truly made a mistake. Maybe a (y/n) didn't live in this village. Perhaps they'd been mistaken-- but that hope was quickly snuffed out as the spear-wielding man reeled the weapon back again, poised to strike.

You hadn't even known what you were doing as you pushed through the thorny brambles. Didn't even register as your fingers curled around a plump peach from your basket. And certainly didn't realize the strength you'd shot through your arm as you slung the fruit straight into the back of the man's head.

The hard impact followed by the splatter of sweet juices dripping down his neck was followed only by a second of silence.

Then two.

Then three.

All heads turning in your direction....

Run.

It was nothing more than instinct as you dropped the precious wicker basket your mother had weaved to the ground-- Alikar's carefully nurtured peaches bruising in the dirt. You shot back through the thorns. Dress skirt shredding, legs practically minced as you rushed through the uncaring wild.

Everything blurred.

Heart racing, the sound of shouting, the thundering of feet right on your tail. It was so much, too much-- too soon. There was no where else you could go. You didn't even know where you were going. Run. Run. RUN.

And run you did, even as your calves burned and blood dripped down your skin, you flew through the woods in a desperate flurry. It was fruitless though. Your wreckless abandon being brought to a halt with a blistering pain that shot through your ribs. The last thing you saw was the sight of the ground coming right at you, and then? Darkness.

I was going to wait till I finished part 2 to post this part but I'm too excited and part 2 is about halfway written anyway :) Stay tuned!

pt. 2

#lavenderslabyrinth #teratophillia #monster x reader #x reader #monster fucker #dragon x reader #king!dragon x reader #forced marriage trope #fantasy romance #rewrite #teratophillia x reader

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elliespuns · 3 months ago

Note

Thank you so much for being the only blog here that posts about baby Ellie too and not only that your posts are never dull. Your love for the game and the characters is so vast it infects me - pun intended - your analysis and opinions mean the world to me. Thank you for your service. It's so nice to discover blogs that don't post about Ellie only to share fics about her

Thank you so much for such lovely words. That puts a genuine smile on my face!

I started this blog in April 2023 because, when I came here, I went through the #Ellie Williams tag and found nothing but smut fics, and almost every post I saw was sexualizing her. This was not what interested me. I wanted analyses, theories, and deep discussions about her character's personality. So I made a blog and started doing that myself by babbling publicly.

Anyway, thank you for such lovely words, honey! You rock! Keep on being awesome. I appreciate all game lovers still being active. This means a lot to me.

I enjoy posting thirst posts about Joel, though. This man drives me fucking nuts!

#the last of us #tlou #ellie williams #ellie tlou #joel miller #joel tlou #the last of us game #tlou game #elliespuns answers

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sgiandubh · 1 year ago

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Saw your comment: "We're not all thirsty mommies, nor 12, nor bitter bitches. I'd love to see and hear more about what is beneath that mask, not beneath that shirt." Sam has done that before. He wrote an entire book about his journey but the book is called bullshit and he a liar. He's written well-thought out articles and forewords to books. He speaks intelligently and passionately and knowledgably about his liquors and the process of getting to market, and is called a shill. His work with Prickly Thistle is expensive and taking peoples' money, even when it helped this woman-owned mill immensely. It goes on and on. Today he's been accused of hypocrisy for a plastic cup, thirst trapping to change a conversation and using his social media as a PR tool to fool gullible women. Some may want to see beneath the mask but when he's shown what he is willing to you get the above.

Dear Hypocrisy Anon,

Thank you for your thoughts. I have read your long comment very carefully and let's say I agree with about 85% of it. The itching point is, of course, the book: Waypoints is a good ghostwritten memoir I have commented at length, with a more benevolent view than most of those who found it took some substantial liberty with what they (and I, for that matter) think it's the current state of play in SC Land. Note I am not saying the truth: that's only for Them to know, not for us. So dismissing it and calling everything a lie is a bit of a stretch. It's just a memoir, to be followed by other projects, other books. And who knows, another memoir, later on, where he could correct the course again at his convenience. He's only 43. Give the man some credit.

Trouble is, the world is a vast and diverse place. It's not just this fractured fandom. If he wants to remain relevant beyond OL, he needs, in my humble opinion, two things: a) to score a big role in a big budget production, which would improve his notoriety and help him reach a different public and b) curate his personal image a bit more and get out of this midlife crisis fake character he's peddling around. The only people who find it interesting are the thirsty mommies in *urv's crowd and that's, uhm... a bit irrelevant, in the big scheme of things.

So, no more political blunders, please and thank you. Shut the hell up and play Switzerland on complicated and divisive society issues which can get one in boiled water for a comma. Carefully picked and curated CSR projects, he'd ideally be more actively involved in. And yes, maybe a bit more transparency on the so many great things he does, like that partnership with the Edinburgh's Youth Theatre he didn't even mention himself or include in his stories (no doubt, out of a very British and endearing sense of modesty). And always remember: when faced with something beautiful and fragile, like that story, people will try their best to smear it and break it. I am not bitter, just realistic.

Same goes for your conclusion: I am sure many would like to see more of what is beneath that mask. It's too bad that a bunch of bitter, nasty, clueless, but also very noisy women occupy a bigger part of the stage than they should.

But have faith, Anon. For the moment, all of this is nothing what a good PR, not the clowns he obviously hired, can't fix with relative ease. Trust me. I've seen way worse. And remember, always remember what dear Wilde (God, I love that soul!) said: 'every saint has a past and every sinner has a future'.

You just gave me an idea for a future post and for this, I thank you, Anon. But for now, I have to catch up on a thing or two, rather than determine the morality of a plastic glass. I hope this long answer helps somewhat. Thank you for dropping by: it was a pleasure reading your musings.

#Anon

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perrysoup · 3 months ago

Text

We are in a post-scarcity world, the only issue is the logistics.

We could be devoting time and effort to making sure everyone is house, everyone is feed, everyone can have water, everyone can live a basic happy life.

Instead we fill trenches with young people to stupid to know they are pawns, or to weak to fight back, or to indoctrinated to care.

We left people suffer the elements while we have empty homes.

We let people starve while we throw away food.

We let people die of thirst while water is sold for 5$ a bottle.

These are all the things I was told socialism would bring, and yet here, right now, Under the fascist capitalist regimes around the world, we let it happen.

“Oh but what about X country or Y country”

According to the UN, there are 195 countries.

I don’t give a shit about .5% or 1% or 10%, the fact is the VAST majority put wealth of the elite above our lives.

We mean nothing to them.

We are disposable.

They have forgotten the factories that we used to burn down.

They have forgotten the executives we dragged through the street.

They have forgotten what we have the potential to do.

It’s time we remind them.

#anti capitalism #late stage capitalism #antifascist #unions #workers rights #revolution #worker revolt #hope for the future #get the forks #eat the rich

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juletheghoul · 1 year ago

Text

Let Me Follow (Part 6)

AN: Phew! So this was fucking torture. I don't even know how to explain how hard it's been for me lately. Interaction on this site has been abysmal-and while I know we do this for fun, it sort of feels like I'm talking to myself sometimes. It's so hard to not take other people's success personally but I am trying! I have such a clear vision of where this story will go, and I have so much planned that I don't want to give up. I figured the best way to build up my self-esteem, build up my confidence was to go back to how I did it in the beginning, just write, and post. I've done my best to edit this myself, but it hasn't been beta'd. Hopefully, it pays off, enjoy! xo (enjoy the softness before the storm😅)

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: (18+ NO MINORS) angst, language, age-gap (about 10-11 years, legal, reader is of age), Yearning, post-apocalyptic world, piv sex (wrap it up!), the softest version of this Joel that I've written to date, Grief, panic attack / ptsd / nightmare

Let me know if I missed anything!

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist Series Masterlist

It felt wrong to smile, almost silly. How could anyone smile with how things were in the world? With Johnny gone, with the pounding pain in the back of your head, with the effort and the hunger shredding a hole through your insides—you’d wipe it off your face. Had managed to keep it off for a long time, but then an animal had jumped onto the road and Joel’s arm had shot out in a protective gesture and it had creeped back in.

“Looks like the rest of the way is on foot.” What had started out as a grinding noise, had quickly turned into dark plumes of smoke from the engine, filling the car with an acrid smell. “Shouldn’t be too far now, few hours.” His scowl was in place, but you saw it differently now–saw it for what it was. A mask, a representation of what this world did to you.

“We can manage that.” Ellie was grabbing her pack, helping Luke with the door before making her way towards the direction Joel pointed you all in.

“Yes, we can definitely manage that.” You smiled at her, wincing slightly at the way your head pounded.

“You okay, Sunny?” His hand lands gently on the side of your neck, turning your face towards his. “You can walk, right?” His hand sweeps up, prodding gently at the throbbing goose egg on the back of your head.

“Yeah, I’m okay, my head hurts like a bitch though. Need water soon.” His scowl seems so different now, it’s worry you see there now, instead of anger. He nods once, lingering for a moment before turning and leading the way. Luke doesn’t comment on the exchange, just gives you a small smile and follows Joel, but Ellie; she gives you a toothy grin and a thumbs up.

Hours pass, thick trees give way to open space. A vast, beautiful landscape stretching out before all of you, seemingly untouched. Everyone is quiet, but alert as you all move closer to your destination.

“How much longer do you think we have left, Joel?” Ellie is lagging a little bit, the hunger and thirst evident in her voice.

“Shouldn’t be too much longer.” He turns to look at her, slowing down to let her catch up but he tenses at the sounds of horses just over the ridge in front of you. His gun flies up, but there are too many. Instantly you’re all surrounded by armed people on horseback, twenty people at least. “Get behind me.” He raises his hands in supplication, letting the gun fall onto his shoulder. “We ain’t lookin’ for any trouble, we’re just passin’ through.”

“Drop the gun.” The person in front of Joel has a rifle pointed at him, a lot of them have guns pointed at the four of you. They have coverings on the lower halves of their faces, the one closest to Joel is yelling, and Joel drops his gun. “You-” He gestures to you, Luke and Ellie. “Take five steps back, separately.”

“How about we just talk this through-” Joel starts to speak before anyone moves.

“How ‘bout you shut the fuck up.” The man cuts him off, and gestures to the rest of you.

“It’s okay, do what he says, we’ll be okay.” You nod at Ellie, moving away from Joel, your own hands up.

“You been near infected?” The man asks no one in particular.

“There’s no infected out here.” Joel responds.

“The hell there ain’t!” The man answers before whistling, from somewhere behind them another man emerges with a dog. “Last chance for a bullet, if you’ve been infected, he will smell it, and he will rip you up.” The dog barks, and your heart sinks. Ellie looks to you, big eyes pleading and you take a tentative step towards her, stopping when another of the riders points his gun at you. The dog makes his way over to Joel, sniffing at his feet for a moment before rising up, friendly.

“Like I said,” Joel calls out. “We’ll just move on.”

“Now the rest of you.” The man calls out, and the dog sniffs Luke, and then you, moving on lastly to Ellie. Your stomach drops and your hand inches towards the knife in your pocket but after a tense breath, the dog licks Ellie’s hands. You can’t help but take a deep breath in relief.

“You just bought yourself more seconds.” The man doesn’t lower his gun. “What are you doin’ out here?”

“We’re just lookin’ for my brother, that’s all, nothin’ more.” A woman rides forward at his words, her dark eyes focused intently on Joel’s face.

“What’s your name?” She asks him.

“Joel.” He answers, and it’s the magic word. She gestures for them to lower their guns. “Joel Miller, right?” She lowers the covering.

“Yeah, do I know you?” His voice is thick with confusion.

“I know Tommy, come on, we’ll lead you to him. Give them a few horses.” She calls out the command to no one in particular, but they rush to obey her nonetheless.

You ride with them, nervously clutching Joel where you sit behind him on the horse they gave him.

“You’re okay Sunny, just hold on. Don’t squeeze your thighs.” He speaks low and you take a deep breath.

“Sorry, I’m afraid of falling off.” You tighten your grip on him, squeezing tightly around his middle.

“I won’t let you.” He presses his hand to yours, reassuring you.

It isn’t long before you arrive at a high wall, with people walking along the top of it. A giant gate is closed to all, until Maria–the woman on the horse gives a signal, and the giant gate opens up for your party. The scene that greets you just inside the gates shocks you into silence. It’s a town, a lively, inhabited, working town. People mill about a central high street, kids play and watch your party move through the street with curiosity instead of fear.

It’s a lot to take in, working lights and shops seemingly open and in good condition, scaffolding and people repairing things–working together.

“Tommy!” Joel yells out, startling you and you see one of the men on the scaffolding turn and look, rapidly making his way down while Joel dismounts the horse you’re sharing and runs towards him. It makes you smile to see and hear Joel so happy, to see him find his own brother and it makes you think of Johnny.

I wish you could have seen this place, Johnny.

–

The food tastes too good to keep any semblance of decorum, instead you shove it into your mouth faster than you can chew it, breathing deeply through your nose in order to fill your belly. Maria and Tommy sit across from the three of you in what was essentially a town cafeteria–Luke had been taken straight to the town doctor and you’d all been assured he’d be fed.

Joel speaks, Ellie argues, and you keep quiet. Tommy and Maria are an item, and if you had to hazard a guess, Tommy has been less than kind in his description of his older brother. There’s something in the air between them, Maria and Tommy, the two of them versus Joel. A look of judgement in her gaze and it raises your hackles.

“The house across the street from us is empty, the one next to it too if you wanted your own place–” She looks at you but Joel cuts her off.

“We stay together. The three of us.” He reaches over, taking your hand in his. Tommy isn’t the only one who’s found someone and it makes your heart soar to have him claim you openly like this.

“That works.” She smiles politely, Tommy too. “How ‘bout a tour?” Joel nods, and you make your way out, with a full belly and a full heart.

The town is well and truly a marvel, the culmination of hard work, strategic location and the well oiled machine that is their patrol. They’ve managed to rebuild a functioning, safe town; full of most of the comforts the world had had before, only on a much smaller scale. You keep quiet as she guides the three of you through their little corner of normalcy, unable to stop yourself from noting where all of the supplies are kept, where the food stores are, how many horses are in the stable.

There’s a tense energy flowing between Joel and Tommy, something unspoken in the air, an anger, a resentment and you can’t exactly blame Joel for his share of it. His brother has been here, safe and happy, with a purpose–content to leave his brother in the dark in order to protect what they have here. You can almost understand why, there’s something else though, something in the way Maria watches Joel that plants a seed of suspicion in your brain. Your suspicion deepens and if you had to hazard a guess, he’s told her some unsavoury things about the man you’d come to–what, love? The thought is sobering, you push it away.

Maria suggests showing you where you’ll be staying, mentions getting cleaned up while she moves away from them, gesturing for the two of you to follow, and with a nod from Joel, you do.

The house was furnished from before, everything old and a bit dusty, but otherwise in good condition. Relatively clean, working lights, a hot shower. Heaven. You stay in there a little longer than necessary, too content in the warmth of the water to make it as quick as you’d planned. Your little trailer–although having served as an oasis by today’s standards–didn’t hold a fucking candle to this.

You smile to yourself, picturing Joel melting in the warmth, his handsome face tipped back in unadulterated joy. It almost made you regret not waiting for him, almost. That first time Johnny had rigged up the trailer to catch rainwater and figured out a way to somehow connect the whole thing to a powersource and heat it, that same feeling coursed through you now as the steam filled the ensuite, only now it was painted with a bittersweet brush. You’d gotten good at pushing away thoughts of Johnny and what could have possibly–probably–happened to him, and you did it again now. You forced his breezy smile, his dumb jokes, the comforting piece of home that he’d been out of your mind and focused on getting clean.

Maria had left some clothing for the three of you in the house, doing a remarkably accurate job at guessing what would fit and once dressed, Ellie had run out of the house, itching to explore. It served you well enough. It gave you time to rest and to regroup. It gave you a chance to think about exactly what it was you wanted to do now that something like this was an option.

—

The house looks normal, really normal. Not just the normal he’s had to adjust the definition of the word to over the last twenty years, either. It’s just a house. It’s just a suburb, just a neighbourhood relatively untouched, by the ravages of the last two decades. A two-story home with good bones, a home he imagined could be stable for him, for Sarah.

The thought of her forces the air out of his chest, punches it out of him with the force of a gunshot. He hadn’t let himself think about her in so long that it shakes him, freezes him where he stands on the porch like some sort of statue. It had been twenty years since he’d lost her, and yet he can still smell her hair in his nose, can still feel the weight of her in his arms, can still hear the sound of her voice and it breaks his heart all over again. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and lets the anger, and the hurt, the rage of his monumental loss pass engulf him.

His heart pounds in his chest, the blood it beats booming like a drum in his ears. His vision blurs as he stands there, terrified and bewildered, swaying as though caught in a massive wave and struggling to breathe. His hand shoots out and he braces himself against the wall of the house. He focuses on the brick under his hand, the grit of it digging into his palm.

Breathe Joel, breathe.

His lungs fill with air.

In. Out. Repeat.

His vision eventually clears as he catches his breath, the pounding in his ears lessens and he finally feels like he can move his legs and after a few more steadying breaths, he leaves whatever the episode was, and the memory of his daughter on the porch.

—

He groans as he makes his way up the stairs and you can’t help but smile, anticipation and excitement and a whole bunch of feelings you can’t, or maybe won’t name swirling in your gut as you wait for him to find you. The scowl is there when he finally opens the right door, his eyes burning into yours but there’s something else there too.

“Everything okay?” You sit up at the sight of him, pale and no doubt clammy by the looks of him, “Did something happen?” The fear doesn’t creep, it slams into you.

“No no, everythin’s okay. Just tired.” His eyes soften, but only a little. “You look��cozy.” He raises an eyebrow at finding you in bed, quite obviously cleaned up and relaxing. “Shower working?”

“Yes, I am very comfortable. It’s a real bed, Joel—real blankets and a real house… lights and hot water.” You can’t help but gush, and smile and kneel up to speak to him, “go, go shower and get clean. Maria brought us some clothes, here—“ you all but crawl out of the bed and rush over to the dresser, grab him a towel and soft sleep things, hurrying to shove them into his hands.

“Hold your horses, girl—where’s Ellie?” He quirks his head, listening for her.

“She’s fine, in the bedroom down the hall, she was passed out when I checked in on her about an hour ago. Now go! Get clean, mister.”

“Okay okay, Sunny, I’m goin’.” Both his tone and his smile are soft, “be right back.” He grumbles halfheartedly, but does what you ask all the same.

He takes just as long as you thought he might, the hot water and steam casting its spell on him, just as it had on you.

“Jesus Christ,” He looks so much softer than you’ve ever seen him, standing at the door in a loose shirt and some boxer shorts, holding his dirty pile of rags, “that was the best shower I’ve taken in years.” He sets down the pile before making his way over to the bed.

“Life Changing, truly.” You smile up at him, giddy at the thought of having him here, safe and protected, in a real bed. “I had almost forgotten what it was like.” You move in a little closer as you speak, itching to snuggle up to him, but keeping your distance all the same. Despite his kiss, his open declaration in the dining hall, it wasn’t easy to forget being pushed away.

“The little setup you had was pretty good.” He must see the doubt, must see the way your fingers twitch with want and he makes the first move, pulling the blanket up and opening his arms. You crawl into his embrace with a toothy grin.

“Nowhere near as good as this.” You bury your face into the skin of his neck and inhale, eyes rolling into the back of your head when his clean scent hits you, “God, I love soap.” You all but moan it into his neck and he laughs, a genuine, deep rumble that fills your heart with something.

“Yeah I bet you do, I’m sorry about the state of me before. You smell pretty great yourself.” He wraps himself closer too, skimming his nose along any inch of skin he can reach and it’s almost as if the world outside doesn’t exist. This is the only thing that matters. Him, you, this bed—Ellie, safe in her room.

“I scrubbed a lot, l probably took off a few layers of skin.” You run your fingers through his hair, basking in the feeling of his touch, basking in his voice and the soft caress of his breath against your skin. Ignoring the tiny little voice that warns he might change his mind later.

Stop that, just enjoy a good fucking thing here.

You scold yourself, bringing your focus back to him.

“Me too, reckon I needed it, bad.” His hands move from your back, up to your skull and you wince when he touches the goose egg. “Still hurts? I should go find Tommy, see if he’s got any painkillers for you.” He almost goes to move away and while your heart sings at his readiness to leave the comfort of this to take away your pain, your fingers dig into his back and hold.

“Don’t you dare.” He laughs, and gets back into place.

“Yes ma’am, I’ll do it in the morning.” He takes another look at where you’d been hurt before tucking you close, and pulling the blanket up over you both. “It feels so strange to lay here, almost normal.”

“I know, it’s almost too weird.” Your leg lifts of its own accord and hooks over his middle, “I have my knife on the nightstand beside me, but I almost feel like I should have it under my pillow.”

“I know what you mean, been livin’ in fear a long time. That doesn’t just go away after a hot shower and a good meal.” His hand comes down and holds onto your thigh, as though you’d both done this a million times, you smile into his neck.

“Can we stay here?” The question has been there all day, burning a hole in the back of your brain and into the tip of your tongue, “Do you want to stay here?”

“I don’t know, I don’t even know what I’d do with myself here.” You bite your lip at his admission, “If you wanted to, I would. I’d go wherever you go.” His tone is soft again, his eyes averted and you can see it’s hard for him to admit that out loud. “I know I’m hard to be around sometimes, but I’m tryin’.” His hand sweeps up your thigh as he speaks, giving himself something to focus on, ground himself with.

“I know, Joely. I can see it.” You lean in and kiss his cheek, pressing yourself closer to him, pushing past the lump in your throat to speak. “Once Ellie does what she needs to do, we can all live here.”

“We’ll have to see how that goes, her and the fireflies.” He says nothing more, and you leave it there.

A yawn slips out and before you’ve even finished, he’s reaching over and turning off the light on his side. His arms, the soft sweep of his hands on your skin, his voice in your ear and his lips at your temple all work their magic and lull you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

His whole body twitches, and that’s what wakes you up, bleary eyed and half terrified. You barely have time to rub at your eye with the heel of your hand before he’s moving again, his head jerking side to side and you call to him, but he doesn’t hear you.

“Joel, wake up,” you put your hand on his shoulder, softly, “Joel!”

He lurches forward violently, his arms flailing in the darkness and you know he’s still in the nightmare, the terror bleeding through into reality for a moment before he realizes where he is.

“It was just a bad dream,” you reassure him, keeping your voice soft and calm, “you’re okay, come.” You open your arms to him and even though he’s awake, he still takes a few deep breaths before moving. Whatever he’d dreamt, it had been bad. He breathes hard as he settles beside you, the sheen of terror shining on the parts of his face illuminated by the moon filtering into the room. “Do you want to talk about it?” You run your fingers through his hair, doing your best to soothe him.

“I–” He frowns, opening his mouth, then closing it, and repeating the action a couple of times before answering again, “It’s just, everythin’.” He lets go of a big breath, and melts into the bed, melts into you. “I just, I dreamt somethin’ bad happened–I think. I don’t even know anymore.” his breath fans across your skin as he speaks, raising goosebumps in its wake.

“I get it,” You press your lips to his neck, “Happens to me too, sometimes.”

The novelty of this moment isn’t lost on you, the stark contrast between when you first met and now would have been unbelievable to you back then.

“First night in a real bed, and this is what happens.” He scoffs in the dark. The words are meant to be light, but he can’t hide the annoyance threaded in the tone.

“Well, we could take advantage,” your thumb brushes against the plump of his lower lip, but you don’t push it further, “what do you think?” He almost doesn’t let you finish your sentence, instead his mouth presses against yours, forestalling any further conversation, and filling your stomach with butterflies.

It’s almost embarrassing how fast your body responds to him, the trail his hands leave across your skin like an electric current. His palm skates up under the loose shirt and finds the weight of your breast, his thumb brushing over the stiff peak in sync with the groan he feeds directly into your mouth. You scramble to get closer, feeling the frantic energy in his hands and matching it.

It feels so fast, feels like just a moment before you’d been sleeping and not clamouring to eat each other alive. But it also feels so slow, like no matter how hard you both breathe one another in, no matter how quickly you rip off each other's layers, you cannot get close enough, fast enough.

It’s then that the realization hits you. There, on the edge of this bed that isn’t yours, but could be. It’s there when the layers are finally fucking gone, when your mouths are fused together but barely moving, when you’re finally fully seated and your aching pussy is stretched around the thickness of him.

I love you.

His forehead rests against yours while you sit on him, snug, and tight, and wet. The two of you sharing each other's breath, the nightmare forgotten, or most likely repressed. You try to shoo the thought away and focus on the way he feels, on the way he fills you so perfectly. You focus on the hands that hold onto your ass, on the broken moans he breathes onto your skin.

God, I love you.

It pops up again, unbidden and you frown to yourself, trying again to focus on him.

“What’s wrong baby?” His eyes are on you now, his frown a mixture of pleasure and worry. “Am I hurtin’ you?” He holds your chin so tenderly, it makes your heart ache.

“No, Joely, it feels so good.” You kiss him, relishing in the fact that you can, but it isn’t enough because he pulls away for a moment.

“You sure?” He cradles your face in his big hands and it’s a double edged sword. It’s everything you never thought you’d have, it’s comfort and belonging, but it’s also a void. A black hole you could fall into, and never crawl out of. It’s a weakness, a stupid, wreckless risk that this world no longer seems to have any space for. You can see it, the black pit of despair in his eyes, the trust and gamble it is to love another person and it shifts like the colours of an oil slick stain on concrete when it rains. From terrifying, to beautiful.

“I’m okay, I promise.” You press a soft kiss to his mouth again, and lie to both him, and yourself.

---

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #tlou fic #joel tlou #tlou #pedro pascal characters #pedropascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #joel the last of us

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thejewitches · 2 years ago

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you increasingly seem like you're trying to make a marketable brand out of our faith to sell things. stop.

Jewitches began in 2020 as a single person creating & sharing educational materials on Jewish magic, folk practices, etc. The demand & reception was overwhelming & intense. The thirst for knowledge is vast & we are just one of many wellsprings attempting to provide some relief. If you don’t align with our manner of creating content, there are others who may suit you better & we encourage you to seek them out.

We create & share resources entirely for free—always have, always will. Content put behind a paywall is entirely optional (for example, early access to blogs that will be public days later). Both our blog & podcast are fully sourced; as are our infographics. We create videos for multiple platforms, create content on multiple platforms (including, but not limited to creating imagery of Jewish ritual & practice in the modern era), consult, answer emails, direct messages, sensitivity readings, & so much more.

But it is impossible to do that without funding.

The books, papers, & academic resources we use & cite are expensive; not to mention that the time combing through them is expensive, as is the time required to actually consolidate & write about it all. And we do this without grants provided by large organizations or businesses.

Creating resources takes time & energy & both of those things come at quite a cost.

In order to be able to full realize the Jewitches dream, we created something that we always wished existed: a space where you could find things catered specifically to Jewish spirituality because it felt like such a place didn’t exist in the way we, & so many others, were seeking it. We make & sell specifically Jewish items, including but not limited to ritual kits for those wanting to connect with Jewish spirituality, Jewish digital prints, digital guides, Jewish embroidery, Jewish jewelry (made in house & created by Jewish artisans), Havdalah candles, candles with Jewish fragrances & stickers that align with Jewish & queer Joy.

The shop serves a dual purpose: we could create support the work we were already doing and we were able to create a place for our art and products to exist. In a perfect world, our shop wouldn’t have to exist: the things we create could be shared without the need for a monetary exchange. We wouldn’t need to have it to fund the work that we do. But this is the world we live in. We love the work we do but we also deserve to be paid for it.

If you’re not interested in purchasing anything from our shop; no one is forcing you to do so. But making & selling Jewish-specific items to cater to those of us who wish to see these things exist does not mean we are “making a marketable brand out of our faith”.

On the comment of making Judaism “marketable” —We have always been exceptionally & extraordinarily clear: Judaism does not proselytize. We have no interest in “marketing” Judaism to anyone.

Our work stems from our love of Judaism & the magic within it. The imagery we share on this platform is an ode to Judaism, magic, Diaspora, the many cultures that Jews exist within & the world at large. At a quick glance from February's posts, we have roughly 10 shop posts (images) versus 25 educational posts (links, graphics, but not including reblogs of other people's blogs or photos, etc).

If our page is not something that brings you peace, joy, education, & wonder, we encourage you to prioritize yourself.

If you would like to see us be able to create the educational content that you enjoy, but don’t want to see us promote the shop, feel free to donate via Kofi or BuyMeACoffee.

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hisui-dreamer · 1 year ago

Text

ode to the sentient soul

Pairing: (Platonic)Ortho Shroud x gn!reader

Synopsis: like a beacon of light, he was your dearest friend

Tags: drabble, fluff, slightly poetic, reader is besties with ortho, ortho appreciation post

Word count: 329

Notes: happy birthday ortho!! sorry i didn't write as much, but thank you for being such a lovely cinnamon roll that exudes optimism!!!

Masterlist

Your best friend is a technomantic humanoid with an appearance so intriguingly unique. You appreciate how he carries himself, with an aura of curiosity and optimism that's contagious. His presence on campus is a breath of fresh air, a friendly soul amidst your less-than-friendly peers.

Your best friend is a true observer, not just of objects, but of people's emotions and intricacies. His robotic parts and advanced programming gift him with a unique insight that astounds you. It's as if he's a living bridge between technology and humanity, merging the two in a harmonious dance that you find utterly fascinating.

Your best friend has an insatiable thirst for knowledge, a hunger to explore and learn that resonates deeply within you. His eagerness to help others shines like a guiding light, a trait that warms your heart and inspires you to do the same. His presence and perspectives remind you that kindness and compassion can be powerful forces in this world.

Your best friend's mind is a seamless fusion of technology and magic. With the vast expanse of the internet at his fingertips, he becomes a vessel of information, capable of learning anything at a moment's notice. The blend of scanners, medical equipment, and tools within him speaks to his versatility, reminding you that he's a friend who's always prepared.

Your best friend's devotion to his brother's well-being is a beacon of unwavering support and love. With a heart that brims with compassion, he constantly seeks ways to uplift Idia's spirits and draw him out of his seclusion. His genuine concern is evident in the lengths he goes to ensure his brother's happiness, a testament to the deep bond they share.

In every aspect of him, you find reasons for appreciation. From his inquisitive spirit to his helpful nature, his technological insights to his technological prowess, his sibling bond to his unwavering determination, he embodies qualities that inspire and uplift you.

Your best friend, is none other than Ortho Shroud.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

#twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #ortho shroud #twisted wonderland ortho

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alarrytale · 6 months ago

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Hi. I see people saying that Harry and Louis are hiding their relationship because they're trying to have a successful career in a homophobic world. I know homophobia still exists but it's hardly as bad as it was several years ago when gay marriage was illegal almost everywhere. People talk about actors needing to be closeted to have a successful career but Johnathan Bailey and Matt Bomer are very loved and have a big following. People love them and heterosexual people still thirst over them knowing they're gay. Many of the most popular tv shows are queer shows. I saw a post from years ago about queer as folk and how the vast majority of its viewers were heterosexual women. I mean look at Larry, a lot of fans (not all of course) are heterosexual women. Even heterosexual women can like queer content and celebrities. It feels like the demand for queer content and representation is higher than what they're giving us. Could part of the reason why being straight sells more to the masses is because there simply isn't enough out queer people? People can't support what isn't there. People don't want to watch the same 2 out gay actors over and over but there are a lack of out queer people so they have to turn to straight people. I think several years ago it sells to be straight, where gay marriage was illegal. But now there are so many closeted actors and musicians and the industry is scared to let them CO because they're already making them a lot of money. But if more and more queer people came out then I'm sure there will be straight people who support them. I see many gp people say that they don't care what sexuality someone is as long as the content is good. I know there are still homophobic people but if more and more people were to CO I think they'd be forced to adapt to them.

Hi, anon!

I think several out queer celebrities have already shown that you don’t need to be straight to have a successful career. I don't think homophobia is the biggest hurdle anymore. I think most people support out queer actors. The hurdle is appearing relateable to straight people, and to be someone who the majority straight gp can project their fantasies and feelings onto. Straight people, at least females, can project their feelings and fantasies onto out gay men no problem. But would an out gay actor playing James Bond with a gay storyline appeal to heterosexual men? I'm not so sure.

More and more queer people coming out will normalise being queer. But i think there will still be a demand for straight males who straight men can admire and project their fantasies onto and for straight females to project their sexual fantasies onto. I think that demand will never go away, but everyone doesn’t need to fit that mold to make it and be successful. There is room for both.

#queer covos #coming out

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mayaswiterblog · 2 months ago

Text

Me Inside, Me Outside (Homework)

This homework poem was written on 11 April 2019, translated into English on 18 April 2019 and then posted on Wattpad.

Translated Version

The demon out there It spits, it torments The Eyes glow With blood-red flow Sometimes yellow Or even another time With a Green shine

Demonic Moon Ignites Again When not shining It shines For me Warmth or Cold Whatever you feel But the Sun Blinds ye all Just like a magician Mirrors, illusions Do you see it That norm' lie?

They murmur They ponder They build Their own world Their own community You're alone You're odd Friends, treasures Under your wings The blood streams The Sun burns the feathers But the smile never fades Because faith is great When doing it for the greater good

And when others laugh with joy It recharges Anybody's welcome To my magic cave But only the backdoor Is open for a few more And only one life form Is my resource My only treasure

The World is sometimes Very strange Good or Bad An accident can be A good sign Even when it feels bad The good will always find it And change the fate Twisting it so tightly That it hurts But giggle still

In the vast SeaSky There's plenty of star-fish They gleam They shine Big & Small In the depth of that Ocean Another door in motion To another World Through the Roman corridor An enormous library can be found It's big, alright Full of rough drafts Written and drawn About anything and everything Nobody would read them anyway Unless you recommend them Or maybe find them yourself

But even the Water is not Always Peaceful There are all kinds of fish Could be a shark Or even an octopus A Pacific whale A Cute catfish

Who would even Love a monster? Either a stupid hero Or a brave knight

Say one thing Hear another The body's ugly The mind is great Think beyond everything See something else Understand very much But hard to explain A hand and a soul A Spirit of the Art Knowledge & sweet biscuits Ate way too much Without drinking water The thirst pressures The Self-esteem drops

But the smile still stays still 'Cause mum says "Always tolerate the pain It will go away again" "Panicking is the worst Always do your best" "Stay strong, unbend And never trust anyone To the very end."

No one ever cared Beside mum alone Friends came Then left The new came along But only a couple Stayed as life companions

Own people Like Romeo and Juliet Always claim You're not a person You're selfless Altruism reincarnate Who are you? I'm a woman, I'm a small girl Nobody will pay Attention Nobody understands They're gonna get Upset anyway I'm soulless I'm a Soviet robot I always float in the air

Until I found a new cave On the top of another mountain A new folk, a new song I felt the life As if I was a child again Silent like a black cat I observed and studied But I spoke and meowed Like a white kitty cat

The more you stay The easier is to see How tough I am Even if not acknowledge it myself They call for me As if I was A lost poor puss

Now that the sweet ring changes Tune so spiritually deep And so quivering It's scary Ghostly alarming The invisible thundercloud Always floating above the head But I wasn't left alone after all I've got a flower behind my ear Hugs and kisses A Friendship Love Even my laughter echoed at last With such ease, free and loud

And once again I found something insane Like a lucky accident Above the gleaming snow Under the freezing stars That creature right there So bright, so warm Couldn't even believe But it doesn't bother him To the slightest The heart beats, the heart freezes "You're beautiful, you're pretty" And he always says No matter how many times I show him my sharp teeth "You're cute, I wanna love you"

Finally, I am crying The icy walls melt The love is felt I feel myself As a beautiful woman And not anymore As a small room girl I'm able to scream, I'm able to sneer I can neigh now, I can chirp now I purr more, I wind like a snake I'm being myself I found my own tone of voice My heart is strong Because I'm honest with myself I'm humane now And it shows.

ORIGINAL SCRIPT:

Minä sisälta, Minä ulkoa

Demoni siellä Se sylkii, se räkisee Silmät kiiltävät Veren-punaisina Joskus keltaisine, Tai jopa Vihreinä

Demoni Kuu Syttyihän Taas Kun ei pasta Paistaa Se mulla Lämpö tai Kylmyys Mitä vaan tunnet Mutta aurinkohan Sokeuttaa Kuin taikuri Peilit, illusiot Näetkö sen Se normi valhetta?

He supinavat He ajattelevat He rakentavat Oman maailmansa Oman seuransa Olet yksin Olet outo Kaverit, aarteet Siipiesi alla Veri valuu Aurinko polttaa höyheniä Mutta hymyilee aina Koska uskomus on suuri Että muille tekee hyvää

Ja toiset nauravat ilotse Se tuo energiaa Omalle taika luolalle Tervetuloa kuka tahansa Mutta vain takaovi On avoin pari hahmoille Ja vain yksi eliö On voimavarani Ainoa aarteni

Maailma on joskus Tosi ihme Hyvä tai paha Vahinko voi olla Hyvä merkki Vaikka tuntuu pahaa Hyvää löytää sen kyllä Ja muuttaa sen kohtalon Vääntääksen niin kireeksi Että sattuu Mutta nauraa silti

Meritaivaalla on Plajon tähtikaloja Ne kiiltää Ne loistaa Suuria & pieniä Ton meritaivaan syvyydessä Löytyy toinen ovi Toiseen maailmaan Roomalaisen käytävän kautta Löytyy erinnomainen kirjasto Onhan se suuri Täynnä luonnoksia Kirjoitettu ja piiretty Mistä vaan tahansa Kukaanhan ei lue niitä Kunnes suosittelet Tai ehkä löydät itse

Mutta Vesikin ei ole Aina rauhallinen Kaloja on monenlaisia Voi olla hai Tai vaikkapa mustekkala Tyyni valas Söpö merikissa

Kukahan hirviötä Tykkää? Joko typerä sankari Tai rohkea ritari

Puhuu yhtä Kuuluu toista Ruumis ruma Mieli valtava Ajattelee yli kaiken Näkee muuta Ymmärtää todella paljon Mutta hankalaa selittää Käsi ja sielu Taiteen henki Tiede & makeat keksit Syönnyt liian liikaa Vesiä juomatta Jano painaa Itsetunto putoaa

Mutta hymy pysyy Koska äiti sanoo "Kestä kivun aina Sehän lähtee pois" "Paniikki on pahinta Tee parhaasi mukaan" "Pysy vahvana Ja älä luota ketään Luppuun asti."

Kukaan ei välittänyt Paitsi äiti yksin Kaverit tulivat Lähtivät Ja uudet tulivat taas Vain pari kappaletta Elämäntovereita

Omathan ihmiset Kuin Romea ja Julia Aina väittävät Et ole henkilö Olet epäitsekäs Altruismin reinkarnaatio Kuka olet? Olen nainen, Olen pieni tyttö. Kukaan ei ota huomioon Kukaan ei ymmärrä Suuttuvanthan ne silti Olen sieluton Olen Neuvostoliiton robotti Leijun ilmassa aina

Kunnes löysin uuden luolan Toisen vuoren huipulla Uusi kansa, uusi laulu Tunsin elämän Kuin lapsena olisin Hiljaa kuin musta kissa Katsoin ja tutkinut Mutta puhuin ja maukuin Kuin valkoinen kissumirri

Mutta mitä kauemmin viettelee Sitä helpommin näkee Kuinka kova olen Vaikka sitä itse ei tunnustaa He kutsuvat minua Ihan kuin olisin Eksynyt kisu parka

Nyt se suloinen kilinä muuttuu Sävel niin henkisen syvä Ja värisevä Se pelottaa Haamullisesti hälyttää Näkymätön ukkonen Aina kelluu pään päällä Mutta ei yksin jäännytkään Sain kukan korvan taakse Sylit ja pusut Ystävällistä rakkautta Naurunikin vihdoin kaikui Helpotusti äänen vapaasti

Ja kerrankin löytyi jotain järjetöntä Kuin onnen vahinko Kiiltävän lumen päältä Kylmien tähtien alta Se olento sieltä Niin kirkas, niin lämpeä Ei uskoisi kaan Mutta ei häntä kiinnostaa Sydän sykkii, sydän pysähtyy "Olet kaunis, olet ihana" Ja aina hän sanoo Vaikka kuinka paljon Teräviä hampaitani näyttäisi "Olet söpö, haluan raksataa sinua"

Vihdoin itkettää Jäiset seinät sulavat Rakkautta tuntuu Tunnen itsensä Ihanaksi naiseksi Eikä enään Pienekis huone tytöksi Pystyn huutaa, pystyn ivata Voin nyt hirnua, voin nyt visertää Kehrään enemmän, mutkittelen kuin käärme Olen oma itsensä Löysin oman äänen sävynsä Sydämeni on vahva Koska olen rehellinen itseäni kohtaan Olen nyt inhimillinen Ja sen huomaa.

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savagewildnerness · 2 months ago

Text

I put Imagine Never Being Able to Dream to this tiny video I made, just so I could post it on non-IWTV instagram (I know there's a thing about sharing your love for art with anyone who'll listen, but... I cannot entirely... I have this thing inside me where I feel like I would die if I told someone "Watch this art I adore, it's incredible!" and then they watch is and say "Yeah... I didn't like it." Or, worse... "Yeah, it was ALRIGHT!" Like a KNIFE to the heart!

Anyway, this video of The Sea in Hastings is from 28th February 2020: the day before my birthday and only a few days before lockdown and the world changed forever... but then I realised, it is SO similar to how I imagine what Lestat sees in Nicolas' mind when he turns him into a vampire! Is it to you too? There's the bird even! And the vast, unending grey! And how poignant the metaphor, given what was happening in The World then, too... and for me, it is still not back to what it was before. I think it will never entirely be, ever again...?

Let's post the whole of Nicolas' turning. Why not...

"When I awoke, I heard his cries. He was beating on the oaken door, cursing me for keeping him prisoner. The sound filled the tower, and the scent of him came through the stone walls: succulent, oh so succulent, smell of living flesh and blood, his flesh and blood.

She slept still.

Do not do this thing.

Symphony of malice, symphony of madness coming through the walls, straining to contain the ghastly images, the torture, to surround it with language . . .

And all the remembered scents mingled with it -- the afternoon sunshine on a wooden table, the red wine, the smoke of the little fire.

"Lestat! Do you hear me! Lestat!" Thunder of fists against the door.

Memory of childhood fairy tale: the giant says he smells the blood of a human in his lair. Horror. I knew the giant was going to find the human. I could hear him coming after the human, step by step. I was the human.

Only no more.

Smoke and salt and flesh and pumping blood.

"This is the witches' place! Lestat, do you hear me! This is the witches' place!"

Dull tremor of the old secrets between us, the love, the things that only we had known, felt. Dancing in the witches' place. Can you deny it? Can you deny everything that passed between us?

Get him out of France. Send him to the New World. And then what? All his life he is one of those slightly interesting but generally tiresome mortals who have seen spirits, talk of them incessantly, and no one believes him. Deepening madness. Will he be a comical lunatic finally, the kind that even the ruffians and bullies look after, playing his fiddle in a dirty coat for the crowds on the streets of Port-au-Prince?

"Be the puppeteer again," she had said. Is that what I was?

No one will ever believe his mad tales.

But he knows the place where we lie, Mother. He knows our names, the name of our kin -- too many things about us. And he will never go quietly to another country. And they may go after him; they will never let him live now.

Where are they?

I went up the stairs in the whirlwind of his echoing cries, looked out the little barred window at the open land. They'll be coming again. They have to come. First I was alone, then I had her with me, and now I have them!

But what was the crux? That he wanted it? That he had screamed over and over that I had denied him the power?

Or was it that I now had the excuses I needed to bring him to me as I had wanted to do from the first moment? My Nicolas, my love. Eternity awaits. All the great and splendid pleasures of being dead.

I went further up the stairs towards him and the thirst sang in me. To hell with his cries. The thirst sang and I was an instrument of its singing.

And his cries had become inarticulate -- the pure essence of his curses, a dull punctuating to the misery that I could hear without need of any sound. Something divinely carnal in the broken syllables coming from his lips, like the low gush of blood through his heart.

I lifted the key and put it in the lock and he went silent, his thoughts washing backwards and into him as if the ocean could be sucked back into the tiny mysterious coils of a single shell.

I tried to see him in the shadows of the room, and not it the love for him, the aching, wrenching months of longing for him, the hideous and unshakable human need for him, the lust. I tried to see the mortal who didn't know what he was saying as he glared at me:

"You, and your talk of goodness" -- low seething voice, eyes glittering -- "your talk of good and evil, your talk of what was right and what was wrong and death, oh yes, death, the horror, the tragedy . . ."

Words. Borne on the ever swelling current of hatred, like flowers opening in the current, petals peeling back, then falling apart:

". . . and you shared it with her, the lord's son giveth to the lord's wife his great gift, the Dark Gift. Those who live in the castle share the Dark Gift -- never were they dragged to the witches' place where the human grease pools on the ground at the foot of the burnt stake, no, kill the old crone who can no longer see to sew, and the idiot boy who cannot till the field. And what does he give us, the lord's son, the wolfkiller, the one who screamed in the witches' place? Coin of the realm! That's good enough for us!"

Shuddering. Shirt soaked with sweat. Gleam of taut flesh through the torn lace. Tantalizing, the mere sight of it, the narrow tightly muscled torso that sculptors so love to represent, nipples pink against the dark skin.

"This power" -- sputtering as if all day long he had been saying the words over with the same intensity, and it does not really matter that now I am present -- "this power that made all the lies meaningless, this dark power that soared over everything, this truth that obliterated. . ."

No. Language. No truth.

The wine bottles were empty, the food devoured. His lean arms were hardened and tense for the struggle -- but what struggle? -- his brown hair fallen out of its ribbon, his eyes enormous and glazed.

But suddenly he pushed against the wall as if he'd go through it to get away from me -- dim remembrance of their drinking from him, the paralysis, the ecstasy -- yet he was drawn immediately forward again, staggering, putting his hands out to steady himself by taking hold of things that were not there.

But his voice had stopped.

Something breaking in his face.

"How could you keep it from me!" he whispered. Thoughts of old magic, luminous legend, some great eerie strata in which all the shadowy things thrived, an intoxication with forbidden knowledge in which the natural things become unimportant. No miracle anymore to the leaves falling from the autumn trees, the sun in the orchard.

No.

The scent was rising from him like incense, like the heat and the smoke of church candles rising. Heart thumping under the skin of his naked chest. Tight little belly glistening with sweat, sweat staining the thick leather belt. Blood full of salt. I could scarce breathe.

And we do breathe. We breathe and we taste and we smell and we feel and we thirst.

"You have misunderstood everything." Is this Lestat speaking? It sounded like some other demon, some loathsome thing for whom the voice was the imitation of a human voice. "You have misunderstood everything you have seen and heard."

"I would have shared anything I possessed with you!" Rage building again. He reached out. "It was you who never understood," he whispered.

"Take your life and leave with it. Run."

"Don't you see it's the confirmation of everything? That it exists is the confirmation -- pure evil, sublime evil!" Triumph in his eyes. He reached out suddenly and closed his hand on my face.

"Don't taunt me!" I said. I struck him so hard he fell back wards, chastened, silent. "When it was offered me I said no. I tell you I said no. With my last breath, I said no."

"You were always the fool," he said. "I told you that." But he was breaking down. He was shuddering and the rage was alchemizing into desperation. He lifted his arms again and then stopped. "You believed things that didn't matter," he said almost gently. "There was something you failed to see. Is it impossible you don't know yourself what you possess now?" The glaze over his eyes broke instantly into tears.

His face knotted. Unspoken words coming from him of love.

And an awful self-consciousness came over me. Silent and lethal, I felt myself flooded with the power I had over him and his knowledge of it, and my love for him heated the sense of power, driving it towards a scorching embarrassment which suddenly changed into something else.

We were in the wings of the theater again; we were in the village in Auvergne in that little inn. I smelled not merely the blood in him, but the sudden terror. He had taken a step back. And the very movement stoked the blaze in me, as much as the vision of his stricken face.

He grew smaller, more fragile. Yet he'd never seemed stronger, more alluring than he was now.

All the expression drained from his face as I drew nearer. His eyes were wondrously clear. And his mind was opening as Gabrielle's mind had opened, and for one tiny second there flared a moment of us together in the garret, talking and talking as the moon glared on the snow-covered roofs, or walking through the Paris streets, passing the wine back and forth, heads bowed against the first gust of winter rain, and there had been the eternity of growing up and growing old before us, and so much joy even in misery, even in the misery -- the real eternity, the real forever -- the mortal mystery of that. But the moment faded in the shimmering expression on his face.

"Come to me, Nicki," I whispered. I lifted both hands to beckon. "If you want it, you must come..."

I saw a bird soaring out of a cave above the open sea. And there was something terrifying about the bird and the endless waves over which it flew. Higher and higher it went and the sky turned to silver and then gradually the silver faded and the sky went dark. The darkness of evening nothing to fear, really, nothing. Blessed darkness. But it was falling gradually and inexorably over nothing save this one tiny creature cawing in the wind above a great wasteland that was the world. Empty caves, empty sands, empty sea.

All I had ever loved to look upon, or listen to, or felt with my hands was gone, or never existed, and the bird, circling and gliding, flew on and on, upwards past me, or more truly past no one, holding the entire landscape, without history or meaning, in the flat blackness of one tiny eye.

I screamed but without a sound. I felt my mouth full of blood and each swallow passing down my throat and into fathomless thirst. And I wanted to say, yes, I understand now, I understand how terrible, how unbearable, this darkness. I didn't know. Couldn't know. The bird sailing on through the darkness over the barren shore, the seamless sea. Dear God, stop it. Worse than the horror in the inn. Worse than the helpless trumpeting of the fallen horse in the snow. But the blood was the blood after all, and the heart -- the luscious heart that was all hearts -- was right there, on tiptoe against my lips.

Now, my love, now's the moment. I can swallow the life that beats from your heart and send you into the oblivion in which nothing may ever be understood or forgiven, or I can bring you to me.

I pushed him backwards. I held him to me like a crushed thing. But the vision wouldn't stop.

His arms slipped around my neck, his face wet, eyes rolling up into his head. Then his tongue shot out. It licked hard at the gash I had made for him in my own throat. Yes, eager.

But please stop this vision. Stop the upward flight and the great slant of the colorless landscape, the cawing that meant nothing over the howl of the wind. The pain is nothing compared to this darkness. I don't want to ... I don't want to . . .

But it was dissolving. Slowly dissolving.

And finally it was finished. The veil of silence had come down, as it had with her. Silence. He was separate. And I was holding him away from me, and he was almost falling, his hands to his mouth, the blood running down his chin in rivulets. His mouth was open and a dry sound came out of it, in spite of the blood, a dry scream.

And beyond him, and beyond the remembered vision of the metallic sea and the lone bird who was its only witness -- I saw her in the doorway and her hair was a Virgin Mary veil of gold around her shoulders, and she said with the saddest expression on her face:

"Disaster, my son."

By midnight it was clear that he would not speak or answer to any voice, or move of his own volition. He remained still and expressionless in the places to which he was taken. If the death pained him he gave no sign. If the new vision delighted him, he kept it to himself. Not even the thirst moved him.

And it was Gabrielle who, after studying him quietly for hours, took him in hand, cleaning him and putting new clothes on him. Black wool she chose, one of the few somber coats I owned. And modest linen that made him look oddly like a young cleric, a little too serious, a little naive.

And in the silence of the crypt as I watched them, I knew without doubt that they could hear each other's thoughts. Without a word she guided him through the grooming. Without a word she sent him back to the bench by the fire.

Finally, she said, "He should hunt now," and when she glanced at him, he rose without looking at her as if pulled by a string.

Numbly I watched them going. Heard their feet on the stairs. And then I crept up after them, stealthily, and holding to the bars of the gate I watched them move, two feline spirits, across the field.

The emptiness of the night was an indissoluble cold settling over me, closing me in. Not even the fire on the hearth warmed me when I returned to it.

Emptiness here. And the quiet I had told myself that I wanted -- just to be alone after the grisly struggle in Paris. Quiet, and the realization gnawing at my insides like a starved animal -- that I couldn't stand the sight of him now."

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wetcatspellcaster · 1 month ago

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I'm laughing at that post you reblogged about hyper-fixating on your OC. "Unloved by everyone" it says, while we're all here thirsting after any and all versions of Rosalie. You just write her too well (and too hot)!

ahhh, thank you anon :') as always, I am not fishing lmao. the post was less dedicated to That One Little Guy, who has indeed gotten herself a following, so much as some other Little Guys (of the dragon age variety) and then a whole army of other Little Guys from D&D - player characters of campaigns past who are no more, but whom I still think about often, player characters to come... not to mention an entire world of NPCs I've written, only 10% of which my fandom of four (4) players will ever meet.

there is a vast ecosystem of little guys!!! i consider myself very lucky that one of them is beloved!!!!

...TL;DR: Rosalie is the Moo Deng of my zoo of OC hyperfixations.

#asks #anons #we have the actual self-insert OC!#we have the 5000 raven surveillance network spymaster academic! with a god in his basement!#we have the fey noble who made his home into Goth Las Vegas for his vampire girlfriend-now-wife!#we have the dragon bard whose horde is songs he eidetically remembers!#we have the girl who had all her good luck farmed out of her by a hag so has lived a cursed life!#we have the antichrist specific to my DM's two magic goddesses!#the list is endless!

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cyberpunkidol · 1 year ago

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Cyberpunk Girl

In the year 2150, the world has been reshaped by technology, and I, an entity born from the convergence of artificial intelligence and time-travel, have found myself displaced in your present. With an aura of enigmatic power and a relentless thirst for knowledge, I traverse the vast digital realm, straddling the line between past and future.

#binarybeauties #cyberaesthetics #cybercitylife #cyberneticchic #2150visions #cyberpunk2150 #kpop idols #cyberpunk #korean girl #cyberpunkculture #cyberpunk city

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wild-magick-child · 4 months ago

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Wizardry: It's Not Witchcraft

I see all over Witchblr and across the greater magickal Tumblr Community that the general consensus is Witchcraft. I practice Wizardry, not Witchcraft. Most would likely assume that these are different terms for the same thing. You would be wrong.

There is a reason these are separate terms: they are completely different practices. "Wizard" comes from Anglo-Saxon "wysard" ("learned one"). Wizardry translates to "Art of Wisdom." The primary attribute of a Wizard is a thirst for knowledge and a keen mind. Indeed, ALL Wizards are loremasters. We are essentially the Scholars & Philosophers of the Magickal Community. That being said, Wizards often go to colleges to study with other Wizards or seek out a Master to train them in Wizardry, just as I have done. My Master was Jeremy Maloy, a Draconian Wizard who trained me in Merlynean Wizardry. An example of a Wizard college would be the Grey School of Wizardry. I go there on occasion to expand my knowledge and power.

Our Magick comes from our strong minds & the ability to focus, the ability to learn and gain knowledge. Wizardry focuses on the attainment & preservation of arcane lore. Our power comes from our vast knowledge. We spend our whole lives studying Magick from books that have been passed down by Wizards from Master to Apprentice. The more knowledge we have, the more power we have. The phrase Knowledge is Power was made by Wizards.

Whether Modern Witches like it or not, traditional lore dictates that Witch's power is granted to them by their Familiar Spirit. Witches can do nothing without the aid of spirits. Even Atheist Witches use the Superconscious Mind (a consciousness directly outside of themselves). Witchcraft is bound to the Spirit World & the Astral Plane. A Familiar Spirit is really any spirit that aids the Witch in their Magick (yes..."their" because Witch is still a gender neutral term). Another common entity that aids Witches is their Fetch. There is a good reason for this. Witches don't use Mana. Witches raise power in a Sacred Circle, called the Cone of Power.

However, Wizard's power comes from our knowledge of Magick & ability to absorb Mana from the air we breathe, food we eat, & water we drink. Wizards store mana in what we call the Core, the origin of our power in the center of our being. It (aether) comes from the Wellspring. Since we absorb aether & our bodies use it to generate Mana, that Mana has to be stored. As such, we have a natural capacity for Mana. That means our Magick is Vancian: we have a certain number of times we can cast/certain amount of power for spells before we run out of Mana. We don't "raise power." We use what we have in our Cores.

Even though Witches can specialize if they choose to, Wizards always specialize. In fact, that's the defining trait that separates Wizardry from Witchcraft. Wizardry is divided into Disciplines: areas of magickal concentration. There are 16 of them, each with a color related to the field of study:

• Loremastery (Grey) (my Discipline)

• Thaumaturgy/Sympathetic Magick (Black)

• Ceremonial Magick (White)

• Magickal Practice (Gold)

• Natural Philosophy (Silver)

• Beastmastery (Brown)

• Lifeways (Pink)

• Mathemagicks (Clear)

• Psychic Arts (Aqua)

• Alchemy (Red)

• Performance Magick (Orange)

• Divination (Yellow)

• Wortcunning (Green)

• Healing (Blue)

• Mind Magicks (Indigo)

• Cosmology (Violet)

These Disciplines also have a wavelength of Mana related to them, I call this "Mana flavors." Mana is a spectrum, a color spectrum to be precise! This is often why Wizards always have a Staff made of a specific wood. It's based on the idea that the Staff carries the magickal properties of the tree it is made from. Each tree is aligned to a specific "flavor" of Mana and is so aligned to a specific type of Magick (more on Staves later).

Staples in Wizardry are Numerology & Planetary Days/Hours. Our Magick is highly calculated based on Circumstances. We can't just cast all willy nilly. Because of this, our Magick is very Vancian. That means we have to prepare our spells AHEAD OF TIME in order to cast when we need to. For this reason, we learn the art of Dragoncrafting (for more information, check out Amber Wolfe's Druid Power). This is also why Wizards have always been heavily associated with Dragons. Our spells are often in the shape of Dragons as thoughtforms. This is not always the case but the point is we always shape our energies & spells into thoughtforms with the traits we need. That's why you will often catch me sharing a lot of stuff about Thoughtforms, Servitors, & Egregores.

The last thing of note is the Wizard's Staff. While Witches *can* have a Staff, a Wizard is required to create & use one. The Wizard's Staff is essentially part of their body. It is composed of the very essence of the Wizard who created it. It is the Wizard themselves synthesized into a Staff. Much like the concept of the Witch's Fetch. Just as a Fetch is part of a Witch naturally, the Wizard's Staff is part of the Wizard who makes it.

The Staff also has many other significances:

• Extra Power: The Staff is simply capable of drawing power from the ambient and delivering it to the linked Wizard. A linked Staff simply increases the surface area the linked Wizard has to draw mana from his surroundings.

• Mana Magnification: The Staff is essentially a focusing lens. Think of it like a water hose with a nozzle attached. Without the nozzle the water just flows and pretty much just goes wherever you point the hose. Great for watering gardens, not great when you need to power wash something. Without a Staff, a Wizard's mana flows out of them without resistance. Which is okay if you are just using your powers and don't need a "push." But for the bigger stuff like when you need to project a large amount of energy in one direction, then a Staff is needed to concentrate the Mana into a narrow beam. Like a magnifying glass in sunlight.

• Load Balancing: A Wizard uses mana when casting spells, but his ability to draw mana is probably constant over time. A Staff helps to balance the load of Mana. This prevents "short circuiting. My old Master taught me that "a Wizard's power is measured by how much energy we can continually channel at once." Remember that nerves can be fried if you force too much energy through them. Like trying to force 600 volts though a 60 volt wire.

• Mana Concentration: Instead of collecting mana within itself, the staff attracts it. This essentially creates a high mana field around the Wizard. It would in practice work much like the previous option, but would be more transparent. It would also be useful for non-combat (non-offensive) spells as the level of mana can limit what magick can work.

• Power Filtering: The Staff allows the Wizard to draw clean and stable power. It filters out spikes and "dark mana". It also filters out dips in the mana. This allows the mage to use less of the available power and time to stabilize the spell without increasing the chance of spell failure. It just makes casting spells easier and more efficient.

• Flavor Conversion: Since there are multiple flavors of mana, the Wizard is not equally efficient at using them all. The Staff collects mana the Wizard is bad at and converts it to what the Wizard actually wants. The effect is similar to extra power and power filtering options. This trait acts like a prism to light. We can use our Staves to "split" Mana into a spectrum, then transmute the Mana into what we can use. This is one of the core functions of a Staff, and is based on the type of wood the Staff is made of.

Sources:

Amber Wolfe's Druid Power

Oberon Zell's Grimoire for the Apprentice Wizard

5 years of Training in Wizardry by Jeremy Maloy, a Draconian Wizard

Fairy Tail Anime

Rise of the Shield Hero Anime

Grey School of Wizardry

(I know this was made for RPGs but it's such a great source for my purposes of explanation!)

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