#but I've had similar dreams and they weren't pleasant at all

[extemporary-username]

I dreamt with someone who had your eyes, you know, those ones.

This is either really cursed (you dreamt about my eyes without knowing my eyes)

Or really cursed (you dreamt about someone with simplified drawn eyes)

I definitely know which one is scarier

[leniisreallycool]

Herbalist MC Part 1

Disclaimer: this is based on my own limited knowledge and experience. Do not take any of this as medical advice to any capacity until you have done your own thorough research. Some of the mentioned herbs are toxic and even deadly when handled improperly. As an herbalist I strive to maintain factual accuracy, but I may make mistakes that could be fatal. Do your own research.

---

I feel like Solomon is one of the first to recognize their skills. They were using the kitchen in Purgatory Hall instead of the one at the House of Lamentation (it was under repair once again) to prepare a human-safe cream for their dry skin.

"What's this? Is my dear apprentice finally taking a hands on interest in sorcery?" Solomon steps into the kitchen when he hears glass clinking and someone clattering around noisily, usually a sure sign someone was preparing a meal. This time, however, it was you.

He takes a look around. The pleasant floral scent over calendula fills the air. There's a massive pot on the stove, something boiling furiously inside. Curiously, the lid is on upside down with a plastic bag of melting ice on top.

On the other side of the kitchen, a glass jar lays tipped over on the granite countertop, golden flower heads scattered on the counter. That must have been the source of the glass he heard moments ago.

You look over at him with a slight grin as you sweep the fallen petals from the counter into a clean bowl. "No, this is all human world stuff. I'm going to make a cream for my hands. Asmo keeps scolding me for letting them get so dry."

Solomon hums softly. It had been many decades since he himself had practiced human medicine. No longer familiar with herbalism techniques, he steps inside and pulls out a stool to watch. "You don't mind if I stick around, do you?"

"No, that's fine with me! Just don't touch anything. I know what I'm doing and if you mess with anything I might not be able to fix it."

He's content to just watch in peaceful silence for now. You do seem to know what you're doing - you're confident in every movement you make. The moment feels oddly domestic, with you whipping up some interesting concoction and him sitting contentedly to the side, allowing you to work.

Eventually, his curiosity gets the better of him. "You mentioned a hand cream, but what is that on the stove?"

Setting the bowl of petals down on the now clean counter with a quiet clink, you remove the baggie from the lid and dump the water into the sink. "I'm making a hydrosol first," you reply, refilling the baggie with ice from the freezer next to the stove, "to be one of the main ingredients in the cream. Calendula is really good for a lot of different things, but in this case we're mostly focusing on its wound healing properties. It's anti-inflammatory and soothing to dry, cracked skin."

"I see. If I remember correctly, calendula is believed to induce prophetic dreams to protect against theft and burglary. You could certainly use that around a certain brother." Solomon holds his chin in that silly philosophical pose he does so often. "I'm all for experimentation in pursuit of knowledge, but is that pot not a simplified pressure cooker with none of the testing to ensure its safety?"

You giggle and shake your head. "No, it's perfectly safe. Maybe if I wasn't monitoring it, it could be dangerous, but I've done this plenty of times. See, having the lid on would normally create pressure with the water boiling in the bottom, but the ice on top rapidly cools the water vapor, making it drip into a bowl inside the pot. Basically the steam cools down so quickly pressure can't build up."

He nods once more, content with your explanation. For once, he's not the expert and he's willing to learn from you. "Interesting how similar this is to sorcery..." he muses.

"Yeah, I've noticed that." You replace the baggie ice in the lid again. "I think that's why so many herbalists were ostracized or punished for being witches, even if they weren't. The main difference I've seen, now that I've practiced both, is whether there's magic involved or not."

"Or if you're using ingredients native to either the Devildom or the Celestial Realm. Which I suppose is a more specific way of saying there's magic involved," Solomon adds.

Neither of you have much of relevance to say after that. After an hour or so, you remove the finished hydrosol from the pot (ignoring Solomon's gentle teasing about the slightly insane but creative usage of an upside down colander to hold the little glass jar above the boiling herbs) and let it cool before doing anything else.

"Making the hydrosol took longer than I expected, so I don't have time to make the cream today. The hydrosol has to be room temperature before I can start," you say. "And now I also have this super concentrated calendula tea in addition to the hydrosol. Maybe I'll make soap out of it."

"You know how to make soap?" Solomon asks. His gray eyes, normally guarded, widened in disbelief makes you laugh.

"Yeah, it's not hard. I can come over again soon to show you how, if you want." It's a genuine offer. He taught you most of your practical sorcery, so it's only fair for you to teach him ordinary chemistry and herbalism in return. That, and you just enjoy his company.

Solomon grins, openly joyful at the prospect. "Absolutely! I would love that."

"Okay! I'll text you when I have time to come back."

---

Note: The disclaimer at the top won't always apply but I will add it to every post in this series. Some herbs are entirely harmless. However, I don't want anyone to see this and think it's okay to use any herb in any preparation without doing their own research. I don't know what kind of skills you have. I don't know what allergies you have. You might not know what allergies you have. Always take these types of things with a grain of salt.

[theoldsouls]

I have many questions; first, how can you be sure about your past lives? I'm not asking in a I-don't-believe-you way, I ask because I've read, study and analize compilations of people claiming to be some person in a past life, but there's always this incognite about how far can human brain takes us, if there's really a soul that connects us to places along all the history or if it's all just a extremely complex tool of our brain. Doesn't that scare you? The knowledge that all you can believe at the end of the day could be your brain dealing with something?

In other hand, what kind of point of view has given this to you about fate and destiny? Most of times we associed the existence of past life and soul to a destiny or fate, in the books I've read about the subject, the individuals said that they knew the same people, sharing similar relationships, going through similar events, and in general, going in a ciclical experience; but, for the things you say, I don't think it's your case. In fact, for the things you say I don't think there's something as a ciclical experience nor a similarity, it looks like two different lifes and two different people, except that one is carrying the memories of both. In my opinion I think that's beautiful, there's something ugly to think there's not freedom and we all are going in the same patterns forever, but correct me if I'm wrong.

To finish I just would like to know what kind of misconceptions you can refute about your past life, I'm not interested in history, I'm just a little of a gossiper. (If you're confortable with it, I'd like to know how you feel about the fanart/fanfic about your past life, but if you don't like talking about that, ignore it. In fact, ignore anything of this message if you don't like it.)

Have a good day.

These are incredible questions with even more complex answers. Thank you for sending these my way.

At the end of the day of course we'll never know how much of the things we remember are real. After all, even with memories of events relatively close to us now there's a danger of coloring things in that weren't there and erasing things that were, and you and another person you shared this event with might have completely different memories of this - which might even contradict each other. It's a complicated part of our brain that we haven't really figured out yet. And just as much religious epiphanies and spirituality, these past life memories very well could be some messed up way my brain has tried to cope with trauma or something unrelated. At the end of the day you'll never know for sure, and as you said, that can be a very scary thought to grapple with.

However.

There are some reasons why I believe it might be not made up, and they're the reason why I feel relatively comfortable stating who I was with just as much confidence I have when stating who I am now.

I am not American. I did not step foot in the US until I was 19 years old. The education system I was in did not touch upon American history - besides briefly touching upon the Boston tea party, and diving in a bit with the Cold War. I heard of George Washington for the first time through Fairy Odd Parents on TV, and all that taught me was that he had wooden teeth (which is factually false). This means that I could not have heard, seen, or learned anything of the American Revolution and its early founding unless I myself consciously researched that area of history - which, for a long time, I didn't.

I did have memories, though.

Memories I at first did not understand nor had a name for. I remembered the clothes I wore, the faces of the people I was with. I could remember writing - which stood out to me, as I normally couldn't write or read in dreams at all - I could remember the drills and could reenact them with ease. I remembered how to load and fire a gun. I remember the feeling of my kids tugging at my breeches to go up, up! I remember events that - well, were less pleasant as well, being sick for example - the kind of sick you don't notice until your eyes roll back and you collapse, waking in your bed with blood crusted on your cheeks (face) and leeches on your arms. I remember my mother singing to me, our house near the sea, I remember her dying. I remember my brother carrying me after but the funeral is a blur. I remember my wife, angry, silent as she got, just sitting there and looking at me and me frantically talking and talking and talking and she just sat there. I remembered her name, Betsy, i remembered our first Dutch bed in the wall, and the guilt i felt as i looked at her livid. I remember my own death.

I remember more but I don't want to get lost and lose track of your question. I know these are memories, and not my imagination or dreams, for a few reasons.

First, they are repetitive. If I dream of them, or they come to me during the day, the details don't seem to change. The dialogue is the same. The people don't change, etc.

Second, though not good at recognizing or recalling faces in dreams or my imagination, theirs are crystal clear to me. And again, they don't change - only with age.

Third, I feel phantom pains from particular memories. My way of walking changes when thinking a lot on the war (it's more of a march then a walk). I sit different, i talk different.

Fourth, the languages and other skills. Thought not speaking neither French nor English, both kind of "fell" into my head with relative ease. I remembered doing the studying - I sometimes forget if I read or learned a thing here or then as I recall it well, i could converse with a professor of economics at a university with comfort (he gifted me books to read, impressed by my knowledge) even though I had not finished my degree nor had I specialized in the political economics we were discussing. I had not studied these things now, and yet I knew them still. I played the piano in a different past life, and now was able to pick it up without a teacher, quickly.

These things solidified the belief that I had a past life for me, even before I could put a name to the person I was. Since then I've met others whose memories directly coincide with mine (sometimes with minor differences, as is the pitfall of memories) and who literally recognized me by looks and mannerisms alone, but I won't touch too much on this reason right now as this is maybe not applicable to other people struggling with this and I don't want to give off the impression that external validation is necessary.

As to your second question in regards to fate and destiny - I do actually believe that people we meet and situations we end up in echo past lives and will repeat ad infinitum, until we learn whatever we are meant to from that situation. I go on a bit more in detail on that in this post.

For example, I started university at the same time I did then (same age). I dropped out (due to external circumstances) after the same amount of time had passed. I met an ex at the same time I had previously, we dated for a similar amount of time and broke up due to similar circumstances, I married my current spouse at the same age - and I intend to return to law very soon and apply for a clerk's position in the court near me this year. I have the exact same facial features, hair texture, body, length, cadence of speaking, mannerisms, tastes in food and drink, tastes in music, reading, gardening - even though I grew up in a different culture and do not have the same ethnicity as I used to.

These are but a few examples of how things echo very strongly - and I have no idea if they are simply coincidences, or things and people I was meant to meet, meant to experience. After all, experiences in life shape you. Friends that you meet, parents that raise you, even people who dislike you, make an insurmountable impact upon you as a person. You might carry yourself the same way a father figure did, or hold your loved ones the same way your mother did. As the 'lessons' you learn, with the people you're surrounded with, stay the same in life after life, perhaps that is why we are so similar every time? I have no idea. I'm not a philosopher - I just live and remember.

Some 'lessons' I did not learn last time I have been able to rectify - and with others, I made the exact same mistakes all over again. I guess this is why people end up with thousands of lives lived. After all, if anything, we are stubborn creatures.

So I guess I do view destiny and fate as something tangible. I believe that free will appears in how you react to the things that happen to you, rather than what happens to you. For example, I think I was meant to end up on the path of law regardless of what I did or didn't do in the past few years. But choosing to pick it up, and go into social justice law - that's free will. That's prioritizing things I could not and did not want to, before.

And thirdly, your question on any misconceptions - there are many. Of course there will always be generous and studious scholars who dig deep and find these, I will touch upon a few closest to my heart that seem, to the general public, factual and real even though they are not. As an entire life is long, and this post is already enormous, I shall keep it short and inexhaustive.

I loved my father. I never hated him, and he did not disappear from my life forever. We wrote to each other. I wrote to relatives in Scotland. I loved him. I do not blame him. I don't know if he was my biological father, nor do I care much to know who was.

I never had the hots for my sister-in-law.

I wasn't a 'womanizer,' nor a 'slut.' I enjoyed the company of women, I enjoyed flirting banter. Calling someone who danced on both sides of the fence a 'slut' is a whole can of worms I cannot and will not touch on, but it's bordering on homophobic. I adored my wife; anything that went on in my marriage concerning infidelity concerns only me and her and that's all I will say about that. Plenty has already been said (including by myself).

I hung out with more gay men than some suggest, and was more 'out' (to use modern terms) as a 'molly' (to use older terms) than is now perhaps known or acknowledged. It was not out of the ordinary for jokes about my inclination to both the male and fair sex to fly across the dinner table, which is why, unfortunately, it so often made it to the papers. In modern history this however seems to be deemed 'speculative,' and is dismissed. Queer people have always enjoyed to meet up with like-minded fellows, the age you live in be damned.

I am not entirely sure what date I was born. Birthdays are hard to remember and were largely unimportant then; we celebrated our children's birthdays sure, but when I was a young adult it hardly mattered and multiple people frequently forgot or ignored their birthdays with little to no remark. It was probably the 11th of January, before the crack of dawn. Maybe the 10th if you count nighttime as belonging to the day before. Who knows. Not me.

Last but not least, you were curious to my opinion on fanart/fanfic. I think it's very natural - at least, I soothe myself in this sometimes - that anyone who remembered as much as I did would be curious to see what others wrote and devour it all. Some of it I want to bleach from my brain, some of it is sweet but has nothing to do with me as a person (fanart of the musical, for example, is to me fanart of the cast of 'Hamilton', not me nor my contemporaries), and some of it is heartwarming and will forever be cherished by me. Some of it makes me laugh and others sting a little (deservedly or undeservedly so). I guess I'm glad I went from obscure and nearly forgotten to famous internationally - though I could've done without the toxic elements of the fandom or the 'thirsting on main' for me (and people self-inserting their kinks onto me as a vessel I suppose!). In the end, people are allowed to draw or write what they will and it's not really up to me to judge. If something someone said hurt my feelings or makes me uncomfortable, it's not like I can say 'hey Alex here, thanks for honoring me but no thank you' haha!

I hope this post is not too long - thank you again for taking the time out of your day to sent this to me and I hope I was able to do justice to the things you were curious about. Adieu.

[maifrenthebesto]

Everyone you meet is important. Their importance is proportional to the amount of time we spend with them, and the lesson they came into your life to teach.

Some are as innocuous as being present to comment on an event adjacent to you as a bystander, others come in to show you why that thing you like so much is actually not so good for you, and every now and then, you meet someone who you just know are going to be a constant in your life. Either through the lessons learned when near them, or due to the quality of the time spent together. The vibe check needs to be maintained, and the more you like the vibe, the more willing you are to allow for time in order to measure stability rather than holding back, because it *can* stabilize, but it's more likely that the issue will escalate if it's already spiking before anything major takes place.

Anyways, with the principle of adjacent presence established, let me tell you an anecdote. You might know who I'm talking about, because they may be you.

I met this person. They seemed really shy at first, but played it off with an air of nonchalantness that extended to everything around them. They seemed 'quirky' at first, and they had some clear edge to them. I never really had a problem with them, they lived in a completely different world, one you [reader] might be more familiar with than I am, however through the chain of events that led to the consistent intermingling of all the involved parties (up to that point) I came to like them for who they were (up to that point).

Eventually, through life's many storms, we found each other under the same roof. I was looking forward to the prospect of getting to know this person more, and they made it known that they were excited about the prospect. I didn't really question the reason for the excitement outside of excitement for someone I was expecting would see me under the same light I saw them. My problem was the expectation of a parallel being present purely because it would make me trust them quicker, and that just facilitates daily living. However I also learned that a certain degree of separation was necessary after some harsh, albeit similar lessons from before. It simply exists lower than what is percieved to be fundamental for most to lower the bridge, if that makes sense to you. (What anyone does under a lowered bridge scenario is entirely up to them, you can visit, you can live, or you can raid. I do not condone this last one, and not for the reasons you might expect.)

After a while of living together, going through the flow of life, certain aspects about everyone become apparent to the household, and you try to adapt the best as to not encroach in the life of those enabling the place to continue to be. The only person that didn't know me was this new person that I've been working on trusting, and things hit unexpected roadblocks even when you open yourself to letting someone live near you. Growing pains, if you would.

I saw past the pains straight to the source, the individual was being so narcissistic that it was seeping into the household. There was a power struggle in the individual's mind long before I showed up. I think in their head, having the 'new guy' element be pushed unto someone else would help steer eyes away from what was to stay hidden. I don't think their pleasant demeanor was purely as an act of misdirection for the other roommates, but it was indicative that the worldview was not consistent nor compatible with the household, and that ousted them through self-performative attempts to nurture the idea they were the 'Alpha' of the household, or that if they weren't, they were going to be somehow, someday, somewhen.

This was exhibited by their words, hobbies, dreams, and aspirations. This individual was very vocal about long term goals, however some of them didn't really have solid systems to bring them to fruition. Save one of them, which was ironically the reddest flag in my scenario. (There was an even REDDER flag, but that does not pertain to me to speak of. Save for one point, but it'll come up later.)

Their point of contention, the angle from which they aimed to climb the mountain, was through music. A very noble path, requiring a tremendous amount of skill, and even more passion. They mastered their instrument long ago, and did maintenance on their tool and its use frequently, however they never had the self confidence to believe they were good enough for what their dreams were, and if the gig wasn't matching the expectations set by them, it wasn't worth it. This led to no gigs, no experience gained, and no self promotion through word of mouth, purely due to a reluctance to gain notoriety within the local community, and would rather get something out of town, which limited the rate at which he could do anything. They compensated this through coaching by industry specialists. I heard a few of the calls, and it all seemed like a bunch of people making the song theirs. I heard the first version of the song, and then the "post-arbitration" edit, and it felt as though the song was drained of its soul, and it was made to blend in with the rest of the nightclub tracks. This is fine, but it was counterintuitive to the goals stated, standing out and being your authentic self were baked in to the dream, and I witnessed the live vivisection of this dream.

Which also I don't think it's a very good dream, it's just drinking the Hollywood tea dreaming you could be a looked up by as many people as possible the same way you looked up to the person who sold you the dream, and then have all the girls you want, all the money you want, and all the blow you want.

And you know what. I was also there for the night those dreams came true.

It ruined his life (Up to that point).

It started a chain of events that culminated in their removal from the household.

The saddest part is, I wanted to like them beyond their flaws, beyond their problems, beyond themselves, but bow, because they self destructed, I'll never get that chance (up to the foreseeable points in my future, idk about theirs tho)

I'm really upset that he insinuated doing the same thing they got kicked out for to me, even after I opened up to them about how I had gone through that very same thing. I really hope they didn't go through with it, although at this point it's not like I could say or do anything about it if it were to occur, but it feels like even if someone tried, someone else is not lowering their bridge to anyone, because apparently only people that want to harm us knock on that bridge, and that's so not fair to anyone.

"It's all fair in love and war"

Crazy how one line ruined a whole species.

[flannelepicurean]

Okay, another one from the weirdo dream vault:

Was in a classroom, probably high school? But it looked like halfway Harry Potter nonsense building, basement level. All exposed brick and stuff, no windows. For some reason, I was character-presenting as a white girl with light-brown hair styled after Judy Garland in The Wizard of Oz, and a white and yellow eyelet lace dress of similar shape.

We were going around the room, giving our best life pro tips, and I was like, "Yeah?! Well, listen to this mic drop, homies! ALL Y'ALL WEARIN' THE WRONG SIZE BRA! INCLUDING THE DUDES!!!" in my most Jersey-est accent (I am not from Jersey). I then proceeded to give a lecture in proper bra measurement, and point them toward some resources for larger-cup bras.

Throughout, I kept sneaking increasingly suspicious glances at the teacher in his corner desk, a youngish fella with blond hair and an increasingly embarrassed, "Holy hell, I'm gonna get in so much administrative trouble for allowing this complete circus of a situation to occur" expression. And when one of the students hesitantly raised a hand to inform me that it was past 5:00pm, and could they all maybe...go? Please? I left off. Watched them all file from the room. Turned to the teacher with a knowing smile and cheekily declared:

"Bizazzles."

"Okay," he sighed, in his FULL, ENTIRE, 💯, GLORIOUS, BILLIAM ZABKA SELF. "So, what happens now?"

And I start scramblin' around, locking doors, looking under desks, checking corners, explaining how shit's about to get real weird, because now that I've gone lucid, my subconscious is gonna throw a tantrum and start springing traps and flippin' out and all sorts, because for some reason I can't dream inside of buildings in peace, so keep close and keep cool and do whatever I tell ya, okay?"

And he's like, "...What?"

And I'm like, "I'll explain later, I promise, just help me find my Chucks before--ah shit, there it goes, C'MON, DUDE, LET'S GO!"

And the walls start shifting, and we're ducking and darting and squeezing through mazes that weren't there before, and he's like, "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK," and I'm like, "DUDE, FOCUS, LOOK FOR MY SHOES! BLACK SLIP-ONS! WHITE LACES! Ah, there they are, LET'S BAIL!"

Next thing you know, we're cruising down a pleasant little gravel lane in an extremely charming countryside, looks like a cute French indie film and a Studio Ghibli movie had a baby, on a bike that clearly belongs to me because not only am I steering/pedaling, but the back end is loaded to a cartoonish degree with all sorts of wicker baskets and bird cages and whatnots full of spell components and snacks.

And eventually we park it and take a seat in some picturesque grass, and I start making snacks. Really hobbit-y bread, fancy butter, sun-warmed blackberries. And he's still staring at me like, WTF. Because of course. And we start having a conversation about the nature of reality, and I try to explain some of the rules of my dreamscape, and how mercurial things are up in this piece, and how you just gotta go with the flow a bit and keep your wits about you and be flexible. And he continues to be flummoxed and stunned, as we wax philosophical, and eventually I just kinda shrug and go, "Dunno what to tell ya, man. It is what it is, innit?"

And he's like, "Yeah. Fair. Hm. Man, this is good butter."

And I'm like, "I know, right?!"

[hyetiny]

c// fem!reader, superhero reader, villain yeosang, lowkey enemies to fwb, top yeo, bottom reader, bodily scars + showing them to each other, mentions of violence, clubbing, drinking, dry humping, oral (f receiving), knifeplay, pain kink, choking, degradation, dirty talk, protected sex, yeo monster cock

please read the tags carefully, this may not be for everyone!

this is the longest thing i've ever written omfg. also i’m really proud of this, please don’t let it flop :’D

kang yeosang was the root of everything wrong in your life, you had decided.

he was like the annoying fly that wouldn’t stop buzzing around your ear on a hot summer’s day. no matter how many times you were certain that you had vanquished the city of the blight that was yeosang, the supervillain managed to come back unnoticed.

at this point, you were convincing yourself it was impossible to cease him from causing trouble. on shitty nights like this, you went down to the discreet nightclub, hidden away in a dark alleyway. whether you needed a good drink or a good fuck, the club was always there to provide.

“the usual?” the familiar bartender yunho asks, taking in your frustrated expression and slumped shoulders that he sees far too often. 

“yep, a slouchy susan.” you roll your eyes at the corny names yunho would come up with, your mind wandering to the silly names he must have had for the other patrons. it was always comforting to have a chat with the friendly bartender after a hard day - plus, you couldn’t deny he was absolute eye candy. 

“top it off, please.” you shift your glass back to him after downing it.

“put it on my tab, yuyu”. a familiar, deep voice comes from next to you.

you turn to see yet another unbelievably attractive man. he has blonde hair that grows just past his neck, his natural black roots starting to show through. from where you’re sitting on your rickety stool, you pick up on the hint of cologne that lingers on him. you’ve never seen him before, yet something about him seems eerily familiar, like you’ve seen him in a dream.

you shake off the feeling, instead deciding to chat him up.

“yuyu?” you giggle at his affectionate nickname for the barkeep.

“we go way back, it’s what his mother would call him when she’d drop him off to school. i guess it stuck”. the man smiles at you, visibly taking in your features and not breaking eye contact with you.

you’re taken aback by him, your heart thumping unusually fast for some reason.

“stop embarrassing me, yeo-”

the man clears his throat loudly. you must have missed something, because yunho immediately goes quiet and wordlessly hands your drinks - your “slouchy susan” and a whiskey for the man.

“so if he’s yuyu, what are you?” you ask him.

“you can call me ryusang.” he says.

“y/n”. 

the two of you lapse into easy conversation. you giggle at his lame jokes, and he does the same. you find common interests, funny anecdotes, blissfully letting the stresses of the day slip away with each word of the attractive ryusang.

soon enough, the dance floor grows crowded and the music gets louder.

“dance with me?” ryusang stands up, offering a hand. you take it gratefully, letting him drag you to the dance floor. it’s a mess of sweaty bodies, but you don’t care as you become part of it with ryusang. his hands find your hips, and you’re both falling into an easy rhythm, completely in sync with the trap music blasting from the speakers.

as expected, the space between you gradually gets smaller and smaller, until it’s practically non-existent. you’re shamelessly grinding against each other, joining the litany of couples who are completely up against each other. you pretend not to pay any mind to his noticeably growing bulge, instead deciding to tease him a bit by intentionally grinding up harder against him. this night was going right where you wanted it to.

“my place is near here.” he whispers right into your ear, making you shiver underneath him.

“then we’d better get out of here quickly, hm?” you say in response.

since you had both been drinking, you decide to take a cab to his place. the sexual tension is rife in the air. you deliberately, teasingly lay a hand on his thigh, oh so close to his crotch, his face glowing red as it clearly riles him up.

when you get up the flight of stairs up to his apartment, and he fumbles with the key for what feels like minutes, you’re all over each other. the first kiss you share is nothing but messy - all teeth and tongue, nothing but complete lust for one another. he’s gently guiding you towards his room, until your legs hit his mattress. you break the kiss, only for him to gently lay you down, straddle you, and get right back to sloppily kissing you.

he undoes the buttons of your blouse without breaking the kiss, impressively with one hand. he breaks the kiss once again to take in the sight of your newly exposed skin. his eyes engulf the expanse of scars on your skin, some older and some looking to be very much recent.

“who did this to you?” he whispers in what seems to be a mixture of awe and anger. hesitantly, he runs a finger across a thin line that spans from your lower belly to your ribcage.

“you did, yeosang.” you say, deadpan.

he pauses, his heart dropping to his stomach.  “excuse me?”

“did you think you were fooling me? seriously, why didn’t you pick a less obvious fake name?” you giggle. despite the vulnerable position you’re in, you clearly hold the upper hand, indulging in his shocked expression. you hadn't missed the bartender's obvious slip up of yeosang's name, and could never forget that deep voice of his that would always taunt you.

“you’re always screwing me over y/n. i didn’t think we’d end up like this”. he says as a smooth recovery.

you roll your eyes. “remember when you gave me this?” you tap at the scar. he shakes his head.

“two years ago. you were trying to get rid of all power in the city. i almost stopped you, so you pegged a knife right here.” 

“if i was trying to kill you, the knife would’ve stuck.” he says defensively. “you got away with a scratch, only because i wanted that.”

“well, thanks for not trying to kill me, kang yeosang. i’m flattered.” you say sarcastically. 

“well, you gave me something worse.” he strips himself of his shirt. to no surprise, his skin is similar to yours. a canvas for an array of marks and scars, most of which you recognize to be your own work.

you point to an especially long one on his collarbone. “that one was definitely me.”

“yeah, and it hurt like a bitch.” he says snarkily.

“well, now we’re both half naked.”

“nice catch.”

“well for convenience’s sake, we may as well get back to-”

his lips are on yours again, effectively shutting you up. you don’t protest - besides, it’s hard to when his tongue is in your mouth. 

what you don’t expect is the cold press of something against your throat, which then trails down to your collarbones. it isn’t pleasant, but not uncomfortable either. it’s sharp against your skin, and your curiosity gets the best of you.

yeosang begins to press open mouthed kisses against your skin, alongside what you now see is a familiar knife in his hand. you begin to feel more vulnerable underneath him, knowing he had complete power over you. yet somehow, you don’t feel afraid of the man who has your life in his hands.

he undoes your jeans, letting out a low whistle at the damp spot forming against your panties. the flat side of the blade presses against your clothed core, earning a whine for him.

"fucking touch me already". you say through gritted teeth, despising that your mortal enemy has you so needy for him.

"am i not already touching you?" he says with a shit eating smirk. fuck him, you think. but that was exactly what you wanted to do.

to your surprise, you hear the sound of fabric ripping, and a sudden cold against your core, as though-

"i liked those." you say frustratedly, finding yeosang pulling away the ripped remnants of your panties away from your core.

"you look far better without them." is all he says before licking an experimental stripe up your already wet hole, earning a breathy moan from you. you don't have it in you to be mouthy when his tongue continues to tease your labia, eventually meeting your clit in what is the most heavenly thing you've ever felt. all thoughts of how much you hate the man currently eating you out are out the window as the pad of his finger presses against your clit, his tongue messily lapping at your hole as if he was just licking for his pleasure rather than yours.

your hips subconsciously grind up in tandem with his tongue, earning small moans from him as well.

"so fucking wet. do you usually get this wet this quickly, or are you just that much of a slut for me?" he chuckles.

it takes every ounce of self control not to flick him on the forehead. the degrading name catches you off guard, yet somehow it makes your hole clench needily. besides, you want what's hidden under the confines of his black jeans far too much to be mean to him right now.

"just... just fill me up, yeosang."

"i like you like this." he says with a cocky smile. it gives you butterflies, even though you know it means nothing more than just a spur of the moment thought. "beg for me a little more, and i'll think about it."

oh, the urge to punch him in the face.

"fuck you."

"that's the plan."

you sigh in frustration. "kang yeosang, my mortal enemy, fill me up with your monster fucking cock until i can't think straight." you say sarcastically.

surprisingly, it's enough for him. it seems you weren't wrong when you said "monster cock" his cock far thicker and longer than any cock you had taken recently. or in general, for that matter.

he must notice the way you gape at it, giggling to himself.

"cond-" you start, but he cuts you off by leaning over to his bedside drawer.

he shuffles around before he finds what he's looking for, sliding on the first condom he finds and coating himself in lube for good measure.

"ready? are you okay?" he asks, lining himself up against your entrance.

you want to roll your eyes, but you know he's just looking out for you. you give him a nod, and it's all it takes for him to push, breaching your wet hole and filling you up perfectly. you can't stop the high whine that leaves your lips. it's embarrassing, but yeosang seems to enjoy it, groaning into your ear.

"you're so fucking tight. expected you to be all stretched out like the whore you are." he whispers into your ear, embarrassingly only making you clench more around him.

you barely need to adjust, needing nothing more than for him to ruin you. his hips set a steady pace, grinding oh so perfectly against you. the tip of his cock perfectly reaches that sweet spot inside you, earning a louder moan for him. you'd be embarrassed with what his neighbours must be hearing, but it's the last thing on your mind when you have such a perfect cock stretching you out.

"fuck, my perfect slut. so nice and tight around my cock, huh? it's like this pussy was made to take my cock." he growls, his thrusts only getting harder and sloppier the closer he gets to his high.

"o-only for you." you cry out, gasping as he fills you up impossibly deep, over and over again. the coil building up in your stomach only gets tighter when his fingers find your clit.

the breaking point is when his lips meet your collarbone, leaving more kisses and tiny bites here and there. the sensations all over are too much for you. you cry out when your orgasm hits you harder than ever before, leaving you breathless. your orgasm triggers his as well, indicated by the long, pleasured groan he lets out.

you can't do anything but catch your breath as he pulls out, taking off the condom, tying it up and throwing it away in the bin next to his bed.

"who knew that all it took was a good fuck to get you weak for me?" yeosang breaks the silence.

"shut up." you say weakly, still too breathless to properly argue back.

"maybe i will, if you make me."

needless to say, he keeps you up for a few more hours until you both fall asleep, the first rays of the sunrise peeking through the blinds of his window.

the next morning, you wake up groggy and exhausted, the drinks and activities from last night finally catching up to your body. to your disappointment, yeosang isn't there next to you, the other side of the bed empty.

of course, the asshole didn't have the decency to wait for you to wake up. reaching out for your phone, you find to your surprise that there's a sticky note on it.

“last night was fun, we should do it again. i've gone out to wreak havoc, so i know our paths will cross again soon anyway.” - your mortal enemy, kang yeosang <3

[hughiecampbelle]

Gelid (John Shelby Drabble)

Character/s: John

Word Count: 902

Tag List: idek if I should add it @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @brithedemonspawn @death-of-a-mermaid @lotsoffandomrecs @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @theshelbyclan @creativemayhems @soleil-dor @thegirlwithoutaname87 @babylooneytoonz @peakyxtommy @locke-writes @lucillethings

A/N: When I tell y'all this is dark!!! I'm hesitant to even post this and might end up deleting idk. It's similar to Hypothermia, very macabre, I am warning you!! I have to say tho I'm really proud :) It's been a month since I've written anything. I have tons of ideas, the words were all just awful. I hope this is a good sign that I'm finally getting out of my slump/ getting rid of writers block and can finally get all my ideas out! Hope you enjoy!!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Summary: Getting caught in the snow isn't as fun as it seems 💕

Gif Credit: @pcllygray :)

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. / PART THREE.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

You sat on his lap, heavy arms wrapped around you, his head resting on your shoulder. Unsure if he's awake or asleep, his breathing shallow, but consistent. You don't look back, though. Something about the uncertainty too enticing. Instead, cradled by the warmth of him, you watch the fire instead, listening to her sing-song voice crackle and whine. There's an infatuation you have with her, an admiration unspoken, a love you dare not share. The wisps, the whines, the cackle of her voice. On your cheeks, she is warm and inciting, her lips on your skin, face to face, skin to skin. Your hands threaten frostbite, though. Cold and small, every piece of your bone exposed. Never enough layers, he always chuckled, laughing the way he used to: always bashful, playful, pleasant. You lean towards him, his cap scratchy against your neck. She will not burn forever, and neither will you, but it'll be okay. You'll all go together, yeah?

The smoke moves as if she knows something you don't. Confident, smug, dancing in the wind, tempting you to follow. You knew better, though. She could run off, run away, without worrying about scraped knees, without worrying about the chill, thicker than blood, in the air. Like a child, wanting to be chased, giggling with secrets. The desire is there, to escape, to disappear between the silhouettes of the woods. Trees tall above, looming, grinning, rustling leaves violent, sharp. It is only the three of you under the deep blue sky, stars spelling words you can't read, urging you in every direction. Twinkling, stitched across the infinite above. They might have been stunning, beautiful, even breathtaking, in another life, another memory. Here, now, it was only horrific. Mocking you for your own mortality, your own limitations of which they know not, warm blooded, so unlike them. Holding secrets of the universe you could only dream of, your last thoughts those of envy towards constellations.

The fire, at first a parade of delicate dancing, eager to please, to show off, grows tired, her skeleton aching. Behind, you could hear him sniffling, shuffling, the snow below him nipping back. It was his idea, the fire. Something familiar, a distraction, anything to take your minds off the inevitable. You weren't sure how long it's been. Not since the car stopped, skidding off the icy roads. Not since wandering for help. Not since the creeping realization there was nothing out here, no one to help, to call, to do anything, only you and the great beyond. You hoped he would say something, anything, but he didn't. It wasn't the time to fill with words. You guessed it was better anyways. The quiet grew comfortable, the silence, no use in fighting it. Instead, you sat together, not wanting to sit in the car, to freeze there instead. In need of dignity, even now. The freedom of choice. Here or there. You chose here.

Eventually, his shivering stopped.

Stay close. Keep warm. You weren't quite sure which came first: his want to protect what little source of heat you had left, or his fears of dying alone, with no one to hold, or to be held by. An affectionate boy turned man, his hands never strayed too far. You didn't make him beg this time. The chattering of his teeth, the quiet of his voice, as if not to disturb anything more, it was enough for you to listen. Now, even if you wanted to, you could not get away. Tangled. Seen together. Not one, or two, but something more, something less, something about to find out what rests on thr other side.

You can't bear to look. His hands are enough of a sign. A blue tint settles into his freckled skin. The pinky ring, shiny below the bright of the moon, frozen solid. His breathing no longer rocks you. Instead, a stone sits in his chest, unmoving, unwavering, quiet. His name nothing but a faint whisper. He won't answer back, you know this, and yet you try regardless. Such a human thing to do: keep trying. His coat over your shoulders, one last act, one last joke. Stripping, at a time like this? He'd go first. He'd been out running the grim reaper long enough, his hand lay on his shoulder longer than you ever realized. Trying to give you a chance. Naive, your John, or maybe just a little too human, hoping for a miracle in a place as godless as this.

You're okay, though. You squeeze his hand, solid in your own, reassuring the goth of you this is what you want, what you're ready for. A sudden warmth spreading through you, an ease, a way out, too kind to refuse. The shaking has stopped, the shivering, the ache in your back settled. No more discomfort. No more pain. No more fear. You rest your head against his, waiting. The only sound left is the wind, howling, praying, the two too close. Even the sight of your own breath in the air is faint, struggling, exhausted.

The fire, she is done, nothing more than a pile of blackened sticks. And he is gone, too. There is no one else but you, and you too, have found an odd comfort in this. There has to be something more, right? Sometime better, something they know you don't. If there wasn't, what's the point of all this?

[thunder-the-ranger-wolf]

Helpless

A man travels the world to reclaim his selkie wife's stolen skin.

A man travels the world to reclaim his selkie wife's stolen skin.

Ares had once been a man of war. That stopped when an injury sent him home. He first met his wife during a walk on his favorite beach. They were just outside his house and when he came acronym her she was panting, crying, scrabbling at the sand before her and desperate to escape the undertow.

"May I help you?" He asked quietly. She nodded frantically, and so he did.

They didn't go much further than they were. She pulled herself up using his arm and they hobbled further up the beach. She collapsed in the sand, where the water couldn't reach, and sobbed.

He didn't ask why. She didn't say anything. They sat for what felt like hours, watching the sun set and then rise once more before she finally moved.

"Thank you." She rasped. "Your kindness will be repaid in turn. What do you wish, good man?"

"Your name would suffice." He murmured. "And to know that you are in good hands if I leave."

"I am not." She admitted. "I have lost something precious to me. I cannot go home without it, but I do not know these lands enough to stay here."

"If you wish it…" he hesitated. He'd inherited the house from his grandfather. There was a groundsman's hut not far from the grand old palace of a place. Fitting enough for one who raised a man of war, but not for Ares. The groundsman's hut was all he needed.

"If you wish it, the house behind us can be yours." He offered at last. "There are people who come through to clean and cook, but the place is otherwise empty. I occupy the groundsman's keep at the edge of the property." Ares admitted.

The woman's breath hitched and she narrowed her eyes.

"And what would you have in return?"

"I would have you safe, good lady. You said just now that you weren't."

"And company is not a requirement?" She scoffed bitterly.

Ares coughed awkwardly.

"If it were company I required, I could find it on my own. If company is what you wish, then I am no one to stop you."

"Truly?" The woman snorted. "If that be the case, then I accept."

Selkie Tails

Selkie Tails

They did not grow close overnight. He patrolled the lands with the rest of his grandfather's guards, cooked for himself and kept his house just so. On occasion, when he gathered enough courage to approach the house, the lady would welcome him.

Her name was Evelyn. She was beautiful, but it took him so long to feel another's touch without reacting. Years of practice in holding extremely still revealed themselves. Some from his childhood, others from various experiences. All of them hurt. Nothing was pleasant, especially not human touch.

That changed, with her. She spent a few weeks holed up in the grand house, likely getting used to the place. The staff loved to talk about her when he met them on his nightly walks.

She found a litter of cats to keep, she knows how to cook very well, how to sew and darn and dress herself, though she doesn't quite like mirrors. Quite a bit like you, wouldn't you say, Milord?

That title was something he would never be used to, but he would bear it with pride if it kept the staff happy.

Selkie Tails

Selkie Tails

"You should have dinner with her sometime. You do so much to keep us all well, and you let us cook for you. She has new dishes we could try. Exotic things from far off."

Madeleb was always trying to get him out of the house. It wasn't enough that he patrolled the grounds, oh no. His mother in all but name desperately wished that her boy wasn't nearly so lonely.

"If she wishes to have my company then I would hear her say so." Ares insisted.

Selkie Tails

Selkie Tails

Evelyn stormed down to the groundsman's hut and knocked on the door.

"Have you no heart?!" She snapped one day.

"Indeed not." He scoffed. "Or so I've been told many a time. May I help you?"

"Have dinner with us tonight. Your mother speaks her sadness to the skies and you do nothing to ease her burden. If you despise me so much then let that be said."

"Despise you… good lady, there is nothing about you worth despising, and my mother's sorrows are hers to bear. I cannot ease them, though I try. What madness do you speak of?"

"Madness… yes, you are indeed mad. I had hoped to find one who was not, but even with no true attachment all men are mad!" She snapped.

"Good lady-."

"Evelyn!" She screeched. "My name is my own and you will say it. And the madness I speak… some of it might be my own, but you are indeed avoiding me." She insisted. "There is nothing you can take from me, I've made sure of it."

"Even if there were, I would not… Evelyn."

"Levine said the same." She muttered darkly. "Levine insisted he would never, but then he avoided me too, and the last I saw of him was the last I saw of all I owned."

"Well then… I suppose you have reason to be wary. If dinner is what you wish then dinner we shall have. But I must assure you, Evelyn, that you were never the object of my avoidance."

Selkie Tails

Selkie Tails

Dinner went swimmingly enough. Evelyn served fish of many kinds and each one was stuffed with something else, a type of green or perhaps some crab meat. All things fresh from the kitchens and prepared very specifically.

The staff gathered around the table and Madeleb started the evening prayer.

Praise to the Seafarer who gave us this meal.

Praise to the Hearthstone, who gathered us all.

The man to her left continued.

Praise to the Night's Eye, who offers safety in the dark.

The prayers went on, one by one each of the staff contributed their own thanks. Occasionally the same names were called out for different reasons.

Praise to the Stolen One, may They return what is rightfully ours. Ares growled at last, ending the prayer. Madeleb shot her son a knowing look, teeth gleaming in the low light.

Dinner was a successful venture, all things considered. Ares felt a bit lighter when he woke the next day.

Selkie Tails

Selkie Tails

"You said when we first met that my company was not a requirement… but would it be welcome if presented?"

Ares found himself floundering after such a blunt proposition. Evelyn was smirking at him, thoroughly enjoying his fluster.

"I've not had company like yours in quite a while." He admitted.

"The same could be said for me." She snorted.

Madeleb snickered when she woke one day to find that her master's old room in the Castle had regained a rather... significant use.

Selkie Tails

Selkie Tails

Oh yes, those two. They truly are good for each other, no? Arien smiles so much now, and Evelyn has no sense of what it is to fear her own skin. Not any longer, at least. It is a shame that neither of them will walk on the beach much, though. It used to be Arien's favorite place.  

Selkie Tails

Selkie Tails

"Lady-dear,"

"Will you ever stick to one name for me, darling?"

"I should think not, love of mine."

"How may I help you, Milord?"

"You do not like the water, do you?" Ares queried nervously.

"I… not particularly. I used to love it once. I was a strong swimmer in my youth, but now… I would drown sooner than float, dear one."

"So will you never enjoy yourself here?" He wondered.

"I enjoy myself rather much, if I am truthful. But the waters are indeed closed to me."

"I would be with you. I would never let you drown."

"Sometimes fear is all it takes, my love. There isn't much even you can do about that."

Selkie Tails

Selkie Tails

One night, as he falls asleep, she tells him the story of a girl wrapped in sealskin and the love she'd thought was true.

“I thought I knew love once, but until I met you I knew nothing of it.” She admitted. “I wish there was no secret to tell, Beloved. I wish my life were yours entirely.”

Ares had thought that night a dream, but the next morning Evelyn was nowhere to be found.

He checked the groundsman’s hut first thing. Then every one of the rooms in the castle, twice over. The search extended to the grounds, and the last place he ever thought she would be. It wasn’t until sunset of the next day that he found her, wrapped in seaweed and flailing in the shallows not far from the beach. She writhed and panted in a way that he hadn’t seen before, even when they first met. He was by her side in an instant, sandals cast off and pants rolled up. His clothes did not hinder his movement but the waves swarmed over them, dragging them down down down…

Somehow, they reached the beach. Evelyn, wrapped in seaweed, howled and thrashed in his arms. She cried and babbled in a language that his ears knew nothing of, but sounded rather similar to the sea. She screeched into his arms and sobbed and wailed. Her teeth, normally bared in his favorite smirk, were parted in agony now. Ares could do nothing but hold her as she wept herself dry.