#but when it's so cold nothing can evaporate? absolutely no

[phoenixiancrystallist]

DAY DUNNO. 356? DOESN'T MATTER, FUCKIN COLD, FINGERS HURT. -40°F WINDCHILLS ARE BULLSHIT.

I did line art experiments on Prompto and I don't know what I think of it. I'll make a decision tomorrow after I do the same stuff with Ignis's lines and see what it looks like as a whole.

[arvandus]

Daily Drabble - Morning Tea

Barbatos x GN!Reader

Warning: NSFW implied but not explicit; established relationship

Barbatos doesn’t see himself as a demon who allows himself to be controlled by his passions. He’s old enough now to keep such things in check, locked away safe and sound where they can do no harm to those he cares for or to the precious timeline that promises stability and happiness.

But something shifts in him when he sees you in the morning light of the large moon, your hair tousled from sleep and his dark teal RAD shirt covering your body, secured by a few scant buttons. Nothing else graces your body. The soft curve of your butt peeks out from below the hemline, followed by the slopes of your legs, all the way down to the bare toes that curl and flex against the hard stone floor.

Possession awakes in his quiet veins, like the coming of spring. It still stuns him at its fierceness, its presence still novel after so many millennia of solitude.

Mine.

The single thought resonates like a tuning fork in his mind, absolute and synchronizing with every fiber of his being.

And you were his. In fact, he’s already had you many times over, yet each time is just as fulfilling as the last. Fulfilling in its passion, it’s satisfaction. And yet each time that need for you rekindles anew with the smallest laugh, the softest gasp, the gentlest kiss. In a way, he realized, he was never and could never be entirely satiated on you. He would never grow bored of you, or reduce your times together into one of monotony.

You’re standing at his small breakfast table that he has in his room, where the tea set sits. The water is always kept hot but never evaporates, and the satchel of tea leaves always stays fresh. You’re preparing a cup… no, make that two cups of tea.

Barbatos watches you from the warm comfort of his bed, a quiet smile upon his lips as his green eyes watch the way you add the sugar just the way he likes, stirs it back and forth without a clink just as he’d taught you. A dash of milk, and more gentle stirs.

He loves moments like these... little glimpses where your love shines through in the simple things, the minutiae, the details. All the small ways you think of him, love him. Because he does the same, your presence always a part of him, the thought of you and your happiness always in the back of his mind. It is why he loves to spoil you, to dote upon you at every opportunity.

Barbatos wasn't used to being taken care of. It had taken your persistence and him relinquishing some control over the more private parts of his life to allow himself to receive your love in the way you loved best. Now, as he watches you butter the scone, he is glad for it. Glad that he'd learned to make space for you, to step aside and let you into himself. After all, it was that allowance of vulnerability, that blossom of unbridled love, that makes your nights together so powerful, your kisses bringing him to life and his touch setting your your heart racing.

Not that such things need to be reserved for the nighttime only...

Barbatos carefully rises from his bed, as silently as possible so you don't notice.

He loves you. Completely, utterly, endlessly. And in a few seconds, he's going remind you of it, write it across every inch your skin with his mouth until he has you crying beneath him, so he can kiss the tears from your cheeks, taste their saltiness on his tongue.

After all, the tea never gets cold.

[thingwithasoul]

And I'm Gonna Hurt You

Kishibe x Reader | 18+

C/W: Considerable age gap (reader in early 20s, Kishibe in mid-late 40s),Female bodied reader, Daddy kink, Oral (F receiving),Fingering, Edging 

A/N: I haven't been on Tumblr in ages so if I missed any cw lemme know and I'll add. Word Count:3189 words Read Prologue & Epilogue here >> Lilies trilogy master-list

~You're like an angel, nothing can touch you~

You were fuming, eyes darting around to avoid his. Cheeks running red, mostly out of embarrassment. You felt exposed, skin and heart. More than the fact that you said what you said, what sent your vision swirling was the fact that he looked absolutely indifferent. Unmoved. Maybe even a tinge of annoyance flashing in between the crevices of his face. His stone-cold stature, almost a mockery of your visible agitation.  

“So, what are we?” the words you uttered minutes ago still hung in the air, heavier than the heaving of your chest. The taste they left in your mouth started bittering by the second. You were on the brink of something, whether crying or punching him in the face, that was yet to be decided. To say that you felt stupid would be an understatement. 

Kishibe was calculating the situation. When he walked in through your door, he expected it to be just like any other evening. Lecherous fucking and call it a night. But now, there he stood, rubbing his forehead and regretting dropping by. You were a mess, to say the least, exhibiting and alluding to such a mixture of emotions that it was almost alien to him at this age. 

It did start like every other evening. He found himself leaning on your doorway, counting the loops in the pattern of your doormat. Twenty two, he knew it already. His fingers clutched around the flask a little tighter than usual as he took in the raw whiskey. He could feel the bullshit of the day slowly evaporating away while something rather depraved crept up in its place. Twenty-two, he knew it well. 

He would always take his time before knocking (never the doorbell) and actively tried not to delve into the reason behind doing so. Once the vague pangs of conscience settled in, he would knock. By the time his knuckles hit the door a third time, you'd be standing on the other side. He could almost smell you.

He could, in fact, smell you. And every time, it made him wish that he had the ability to leave his nose at his job. Cause you smelt sickeningly sweet. Wild berries dipped in butter syrup, hardened with caramel. Gun powder icing, mercury glaze. It got to his veins faster than anything. And when you opened the door, standing in some old, worn-out t-shirt and underwear, he would feel his heart twist just the tiniest bit. Just enough for him to know this was becoming a habit. He would lean forward to meet your lips — the nastiest saccharine. Nauseating. 

~You know my weakness, but you don't know what I'd do~

Pulsating. Warm. Blood rushing, frenzy, just under the skin. Already, by then, he would feel heat coagulating in his loins just at the mere taste of your lips. Plum jam and cinnamon poison. The softness of your mouth taunting the sharpness of his teeth.

And so it started, like any other evening. With his hands snaking down your belly. 

But this evening, the script went a little off track when you pulled away and, almost comically, distanced yourself. Hips swaying in that devilish motion to the soft, blooming background beats. A genuine smile, to his dismay, formed as you gestured him towards your kitchen. The kitchen of your apartment is less of a kitchen and more of a space in the corner where you cook. In your shoddy studio apartment, everything was a bit too dangerously close to the other. He could already see the mess on the counter. You were up to something. Your smile, scorpion-like, stinging his skin, "I have something for you."

After his work, he didn't like unpredictability. He wanted things he could rely on. Booze, cunt, solitude. However, that fucking smile of yours was the most unpredictable factor in his life right now, and that fact both appalled and enthralled him.

He stood behind you, watching you move to the music, cutting into what seemed like pudding. The spoon trembling as you raised it to his chin, eyebrows wiggling, “Come on, try it.” As he bent down to take the spoon in his mouth, you flashed him the biggest grin - “How is it? I made it for you! You know my mom used to make it on my birthday, I thought you'd like it. Is it good?”

It wasn't anything extraordinary. You weren't the greatest cook. And truth be told, it could use some more sugar. But something about this whole ordeal made his stomach turn. Just the mere view of this dislocated image of a normal household, to come home to someone, to have someone who makes you their birthday pudding, made him jittery. He never had anything like this, he never knew he’d even like something like this. Unbecoming. Sacrilegious.

In that moment, for the first time in a long time he felt the need to have. To possess. To have this for the rest of his wretched life. He couldn't even begin to comprehend how selfish all of it was. How utterly inhumane. And how terribly human.

And just like that, his palm was wrapped under your jaw and the other one up your t-shirt, tongue desperate against yours. When he bit your lower lip, it was with need. Soon, he turned you around, pressed against the counter, his nose buried in your nape. He took in your scent like a man derived of air, fingers etching patterns over your panties.

“God, you're the prettiest little thing,” he almost huffed in your ears., licking the delicate lobe. Saliva trails all over your neck, he wanted to take in even the salt of your sweat. “So fucking beautiful, you got me fucked up.”

“You like it?” you mewled. Your knees barely holding your weight up as his fingertips swayed, pressing dense, deep.

“Every inch. Every goddamn inch. I'd do anything for you”, with that, his hands were sliding up your sides, fabric bunched up in his grip. Kisses up your spine, “Anything you want.” You were clutching the counters for a semblance of balance, “just wann- make ya feel good,” mouth hardly closing enough for clear utterances, “be yo- favorite girl.”

“God, you already do,” he was pressed firm against your back, hard against your supple flesh, “You are. You are my only girl.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, all motion in the room came to a halt. He pulled himself away, and when you turned around to see his face, it was unreadable. Blank. You felt anxiety kick in the back of your ribs, you didn’t know what you were supposed to be feeling. You desperately wanted to know what he was feeling. And before you could say anything, he spoke, words ice cold - “I didn't mean it like that.”

“You meant it like what?” the words doing little to convey the amount of hurt you felt, “So, What are we?” 

~Tell me I'm no one else's but yours~

“Look, kid..” he sat down on the edge of your bed, cigarette hanging from the edge of his lips.

“Don’t you dare call me that,” voice trembling, the rage taking hold of you.

“You are young, and you should be with…” he trailed off, patting around his body, looking for his lighter.

“Oh, so now I’m too young for you, but 5 mins ago, I was old enough to stick your dick inside of,” your tone was dripping with scorn.

A subtle tch. His lighter left lying on his work desk.

Kishibe continued as if you didn’t even mutter a word, “With someone of your age, who will love you and treat you good. Give you a good life.”

“And what if I love you?’ Blasphemous. Profane.

“You don’t love me,” he said factually, no missed beats, “it's just infatuation, happens at your age,” certain.

“You don’t get to tell me how I fucking feel,” you practically hissed, palpably rattled. 

Kishibe sighed in response. He could tell you can not be reasoned with. He knew precisely what was about to come out of your mouth by the way your lips swelled up, and he was contemplating just walking out when you blurted it out,

“Do you love me?”

“You don’t want to do this,” apathetic, stone-cold, the cut-line on his face as harsh as his tone.

“Yes or no. I didn’t ask for anything else.”

Kishibe was silent. His gaze was indecipherable, still, fixed on you. As indifferent as ever, but you could tell there was an indiscernible trace of something else in his eyes. 

“Say no, and I’ll let you be forever. Say no and walk away, and don’t ever look back,” you were pushing him dangerously and he knew it.

His mouth was pressed in a line. He knew what to say. He knew what he should have done. It was as simple as that, you were giving him an out that he was looking for ever since you smiled at him differently that terrible, fervent, rueful night. Yet…yet… 

“I don’t think I have the right to love you,” the words bittered his mouth as they came out. He was sobering up, badly. 

A chill ran through your shoulders. Warmth behind your ears. The ringing in your head suddenly stopped, and you could almost taste the sharpness in the air. When you spoke, it was clear. Measured. Repulsed. 

“You don’t have the right to love me, huh…So, I was just another girl you were fucking casually? Did I get that right?” 

At this point Kishibe himself was confused as well. He thought he made that abundantly clear, to begin with. Sure, he would call you up every other night. And started sleeping over instead of leaving right after sex. And he would buy you things and sometimes even have dinners in fancy restaurants. But none of that really meant anything, right? The way your witty jokes made him chuckle, the soft skin of your palm against his calloused knuckles; it's just ordinary stuff. Yes, he never did all of that for any of the other women he had been fucking. And he was trying really hard now to recall which other women he had been fucking recently other than you. At this point, he was starting to blame his age for this memory lapse. There must have been other women. Has he really been that drunk all this time? 

You were pretty much shaking in place by this point. Kishibe realized he should say something before you… and you did.

Your eyes were welling up. Lips quivering, red plum. There you were, begging to be loved like you were a child again. You loathed him in this moment, such a brute. And before he could even think of saying anything, the intensity of your rage got the best of you. You stormed over to the bed, hand acting on its own. A loud slap landed on his cheek faster than you could even process what was happening.

You basically spitted at his face — words stressed, vile, livid.

“You sick, old fuck. You don’t have the right to love me, but sure, let's fuck this tight, fresh pussy, yeah? You fucking pervert. Absolute disgusting freak.”

He didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was the fact that someone managed to land a hit on him after god knows how long, let alone a regular woman or maybe because it was the first time he was seeing you like this, verbalizing word to word how he felt inside. Slimly. Sleazy. Throbbing. 

It roused something in him. Something foreign yet familiar. An ineffable, forbidden alchemy of acute guilt and unbridled desire. He pitied himself. Almost to the point he could laugh out loud. How pathetic has he become that it's stirring him to see you like this? Eyes red with anger, glassy with tears. He was loving the fact that you hated him. And that you needed him at the same time. It was dizzying. Intoxicating.

Tears started streaming down your flushed cheeks, “Am I not good enough for you?”

You were sobbing. Uncontrollably. If he could describe what he felt at this sight, it was like someone was twisting a knife inside his heart and jerking him off at the same time.

"Come here, sweet thing."

Before you could protest, he had grabbed you by your hips, pulling you closer. Face buried in your lower belly, he was taking your scent in. Golden skin, milk powder. Then he was looking up at you, bloodshot, drunk eyes. 

Glimmering like an angel, towering over his figure. He thought of how such a delicate thing could exist in a world like this. He knew sooner or later this world would not allow such an anomaly. And he was afraid that he was a mere agent of that fate. The joke was all on him.

“So you’re telling me you love this old pervert, is that so, Angel?”

He could feel the anger boiling up again inside you, lava hot, warm tangerine. But he had different intentions, so he pulled you down on his lap. He hovered his lips on your collarbone, “You know, sweet, sweet girls like you should stay away from sick fucks like me?”, words fluttering on your skin, voice husky, soaked with lust. His hand was caressing your thighs, the insides of them. In a fraction of a second, the heat from your head shot straight to your core. That stupid easy, you couldn’t really help yourself.

“I might develop a habit…” he felt the truth slither in his throat; love is not made for people like him, but “You do burn better than whiskey.”

Habit? He was strung out on you, higher and longer than he himself knew.

"Tell Daddy what you want, baby."

He was thumbing your lips. Touch fleecy, then crude, feeling the sharpness of your teeth from over your lips. You could only whimper in response, thoughts slowly starting to melt away. 

“Use your words, sweetheart,” a command, not a request.

“I want you,” your tongue traced the words on his fingertips, now brushing against your incisors.

“You already have me, girl,” he pulled his fingers out, eyes set straight into yours, sordid stare.

“No...no like that,” words were evading you, “I want to be with you, like, like a thing.” Like you were in high school again, confessing to your crush. Nothing more humiliating than longing to be loved, “I need this to mean as much to you as it does to me,” yearning to be adored.

You were squirming under his gaze, flustered by your brash declarations. Even now, he was baffled by your sincerity, and it drove him insane. To be wanted, no, needed like this.

He could never in a thousand years come up with an explanation as to why you would even want that, let alone cry for it. He wanted to ask what exactly you saw in him. But he knew better than to hurt you anymore now. So he decided to hurt you later, only delaying the inevitable. Even as he was saying it, he knew it was wrong, “How can I deny such a pretty little thing?”, It was beyond anything he should ever give you, “My sweet girl.” Wrong. Bound to go up in flames. Destined to break that porcelain heart of yours.

“Show daddy how much you want him. Let me have all you got”. Greedy. Cruel.

His tongue was inside you, and hands gripping your hip into place. Legs over his shoulder, your head was drowning in the clouds. Back arched off the bed, you could barely take enough air in, heart beating like a prey caught, magnificently helpless.

He had you exactly where it would get your veins run magma in a coil, nose nudging you just at the right angle. Your legs closed tighter round his head with every demanding lap, every sinful suck.

“You are gonna be the death of me, sugar, if you keep this up,” he said, pushing your thighs open, burning bite marks on the flimsy skin. Your complaints rolled out in whines and fell on deaf ears. “Eager, are we?”

And then he was climbing on top of you, viper eyes, jaw clenched, stubble wet with your fluids. Piercing purple rings along his tedious way. Hard nipple between his teeth, his fingers circled your opening, stretching, mean, almost careless. Three digits in, aching, you were pulsating against his knuckles. And before you could whine some more, he pushed the other ones down your mouth, probing your warm, silky insides. The pleases you choked up, craving for more of him, were barely audible, saliva running down the sides of your mouth. Tongue rolled around his fingers, deep enough to touch your throat. 

Just when your limbs spasmed with impending ecstasy, he pulled his fingers out, leaving you gaping, hollow on either end. You looked up, frustrated, to see him licking his fingers clean with a filthy smirk. He was taste-testing you, his turn to test you, sloppily. Annoying. Tease.

“Fuck. you.” Impatient. Reeling.

“Well then, better beg, love,” he said leaning forward, fiddling with his belt buckle, messy. When you reached out to palm him, he stopped you in your tracks. “Think I asked you to do something, babe,” pinning both your wrists over your head with ease. You were raw with need, and at that point, nothing but a hole, wanting and waiting to be filled. 

He pulled your bottom lip with his teeth, drawing a pained moan out of the pit of your stomach. His thumb and index pressed into the underside of your jaw, forcing your mouth open; you were at his mercy. “Don't make me wait now, be a good sport and ask for it. prettily.”

And beg, you did. Eyes hungry, words delirious, writhing in a frenzy. Pleases in ardent pleads, in fervid prayers. Pining for the elusive, torturous release that only he knows the rites to. What a wondrous thing to be hunted down, euphoric misery. So you begged, clawing at his chest, “Please, Daddy, I need you inside of me, fuck me, please,” a hymn, an offering, please, please, please.

“That’s more like it,” a sneer, he was eyeing you down, then a flicker of intense intent, a kiss, feather-light yet doused in gasoline, undeniable love, certain devotion, “Good girl.” 

Your hair in his fist, he was thrusting in, invasive, like a dagger through your depth, the line between pain and pleasure blurred into heat waves beneath the skin. You were melting on him, underneath him, into him. 

“Who do you belong to?” he groaned in your ears. A touch too sincere.

“You”

“Name!” he grunted. Fist tighter, pace rougher. Brazen, claiming.

“You, Kishibe. I belong to you.” Full of him, filled with bliss to the brim, paradise smelt of flesh, like sweat and liquor. Base and carnal, beyond divine.

“That right. So good for me.”

When you came, he murmured in your ears, “Angel, I won’t be good enough for you even if I were born a hundred times over.”

~There is nothing that I want but you Tell me, can I be seen through?~

[cobaltcarbonpotassium420]

lemon sorbet - gojo satoru

content: 1.4k words, gn!reader, can be read as platonic or romantic, wrote this with teenage gojo in mind, gojo is an annoying little shit

author's note: it has been so long!! uni has kept me dead, and the summer weather has continued to keep me dead :/ anyway out of annoyance at the heat and my burning desire for lemon sorbet, i figured i'd write this. also i somehow have a cold... in july... and the boredom is turning my brain to mush so apols for a slightly shite fic, i just needed something to do :p

"is it possible to sweat from the bottom of your feet?" "how would i know? i don't know shit about biology."

the summer heat had never felt so stifling before. in fact, even this wasn't an appropriate way to explain the weather. the heat was suffocating. not a single breeze passed through the town, fans and air conditioning were rendered useless, and even going down to the river in the shade of the trees did nothing since the stones by the riverside had absorbed all of the heat from the summer sun and were probably hot enough to grill food on. as the saying goes though, all clouds have a silver lining. in this case, the silver lining wasn't cute summery outfits, or beach days with friends, or whatever else typical july days offered. instead, the oppressive heat finally gave you an excuse to hang out with the ordinarily (and at times inappropriately) adventurous and spontaneous gojo satoru while doing nothing.

"freezing cubes of tea so the tea doesn't get diluted when the ice melts? that's genius! where did you learn about this?" "uh, the internet? it's kind of an open secret."

on any average day, gojo would have dragged you out to a cafe on the other side of town but even he had no energy left after the heat made it all evaporate from his body. as such, he had no choice but to lay on the cold wooden floor in your room so he could have at least some company. your laptop was in front of you, open to the last page of the dozen tabs you had been scrolling through in your boredom before giving up and deciding to just press your face to the floor in a futile effort to cool down a little more. just next to you gojo was aimlessly flicking through a pile of books, manga, and magazines which he had grabbed from various places around your room. currently, he was skimming the pages of a week-old local newspaper that was on the pile of mail you needed to bin.

"strips in a club, five letters? dollar doesn't fit… maybe paper?"

his questions had started to become a little annoying, but it beat staring under the furniture and wondering how long it had been since you'd moved it out of the way and mopped the floor under it.

"it's bacon. the clue means 'club' as in a 'club sandwich'. they've used that clue before, editor must be getting lazy. maybe they've recycled the whole crossword." "you really think so? okay then, what about poker term, or a mount when read backwards? four letters." "ante. yeah they definitely did this one a while back, sometime late last year i think. i remember solving that clue and thinking how nice it would be to go to italy. maybe try some authentic gelato."

gojo immediately perked up. his previous position had made you wonder for a second if it was possible for a person to melt, but now all of his energy had seemed to be restored in merely the blink of an eye.

"oh that sounds like a good idea! we could go do that now!" "do what, go to italy? for starters, i absolutely don't have the money for a plane ticket. and anyway, if it's so scorching hot here then just imagine how hot italy would be. we're barely hanging on by a thread here, i think we might actually die if we go to italy." gojo's energy was normally infectious, but somewhere between the temperature and humidity it got misdirected and just couldn't reach you.

"nonono, although if you really want to go i'll just pay for the flight." "absolutely not." "fine. but italy wasn't what i meant. i meant we could go get some ice cream from the train station! you know that's where the best ice cream is." "that's a lovely idea and all, but how are we meant to get there? not like we have a car, there's no buses in that direction, and getting a taxi just to the train station seems a little excessive. and they're shit expensive." "we have legs!"

upon hearing those three words, your body finally granted you enough energy to lift yourself up, even if just to support yourself on your elbows for long enough so you could stare gojo right in the eyes before giving him a definitive "fuck no." and slumping back down on the floor.

gojo wasn't one to give up on an idea so quickly though, and upon seeing him sit up and drag himself closer to you so he could try to annoy you into giving in, you simply prayed that there was a benevolent deity which would take pity on you in this state and let this whole ordeal blow over quickly. unfortunately, even the gods were tired from the heat today, and so the discussion had to be dragged out for much longer than you wanted it to.

"please?" "no." "pretty please?" "no." "pretty pretty please?" "no." "pretty pretty please with a cherry on top?" "like the cherry on top of an ice cream sundae?" "yes!" "still no!" "argh! you never want to do anything fun!"

gojo threw himself on top of you, and from his voice you could hear his pout, both actions which you were sure were worthy of an acting accolade, but by this point the heat had exhausted you completely and your eyes were closed which was the only surefire defence against gojo's theatricality.

a few moments passed with neither of you making a move. nothing was said, but you knew gojo's actions were childishly telling you that unless you agreed to his stupid plan then there was no way he was moving.

"if we go then it's my treat, y'know, since i dragged you all the way there."

no response. gojo started drumming his fingers on the floor, thinking up his next course of action, and then his phone screen lit up with a text from geto and presented him with the perfect plan.

"they have lemon sorbet today! i know you love that." he dragged out the word "love" for far too long. he could never understand why that flavour was among your favourites, and ever since he found out he teased you for it constantly. out of all of the delicious, mouthwatering flavours that you could choose from, you chose the most vile, sour flavour nine times out of ten.

"they have lemon sorbet every day." "yeah, but geto just texted me. he said that it's just flying out of the shop today, and they're down to their last two containers."

now this had the potential to change your mind. your interest was piqued, and gojo could see how your facial expression subtly changed from where he was sat.

"you know, they only get deliveries twice a week, and today was their delivery day. that means you'll have to wait at least three whole days until the next time you can savour the taste of their refreshing lemon sorbet." gojo spoke slowly, even more so on those last three words. the gentle lilt of his voice was starting to sound nice, almost as nice as the sorbet he was talking about.

"three whole days?" "yeah, or maybe even longer. you know lemon sorbet is gonna be flying off the shelves right now, and i doubt a tiny ice cream place in the middle of nowhere will be at the top of the suppliers list."

at some point during gojo's very convincing speech, you had sat up without realising it. the gravity of the situation suddenly fell upon you. lemon sorbet was indeed very popular, and the supplier's priority would probably be larger cities with lots of customers.

"you might be right… and the sorbet they sell at the store isn't that good…"

a twinkle appeared in gojo's eyes. he knew he was close. he could practically taste the chocolate chip cookie ice cream he'd get.

"if you want, we can take a tub as well, and ask for a few scoops to take home too."

a moment passed. and then another. gojo scrutinised your facial expression. he watched the way you stared ahead at the wall, and the way your eyebrows slightly furrowed together. you licked your lips ever so slightly, and then took a deep breath.

"fine. we can go." "oh hell yeah!" "you're paying though." "you know what, i'm not feeling it anymore."

[cataztrophi]

TAZ November Celebration 13: Sick

The card I drew for this @taznovembercelebration entry was "sick," so you know what that means! It's time for more soft taakitz! Another incredibly self-indulgent one that was loosely inspired by me starting off this month horrifically sick and now being very grateful I can breathe again. Discussion of sickness in this one, naturally, but just inconvenient cold/upper respiratory infection stuff, nothing too serious.

“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to anyone,” Taako declared, flopping back against his pillows. Lup crossed her arms and looked down at him with limited sympathy, which was extremely cruel of her if you asked him.

“You have a cold, Taako,” she said.

Taako sniffled, desperately trying and failing to clear at least one nostril. “It’s not just a cold, Lulu. It’s the worst cold I’ve ever had in my life, and it just had to happen when I have a first date planned.”

She rolled her eyes. “Kravitz isn’t going to evaporate just because you have to reschedule. Just text him and tell him you’re sick.”

“I already did,” Taako huffed. “He hasn’t responded yet.” 

“Maybe the library’s busy today.”

“He has the day off.” 

She threw her hands up. “Then I don’t know what to tell you, bud. Maybe just be patient a little.” 

Taako moaned. “You have no idea how hard it was to find a night that worked for both of us. And the maintenance meter is running, Lulu!”

“The… what?”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, that's right. I forgot you've been dating the most devoted guy in the universe for three years. Let me remind you what it's like for us singletons.” He pushed himself back up to a sitting position to better make his point. “Whenever you're trying to set up a first date, or fuck, a second or third, there's a limit to how inconvenient you can be, or how weird, or how… much… before the guy decides to fuck off and ghost you. That's the maintenance meter, and by my count I'm already at a disadvantage because he caught me eating gogurt in the stacks that one time.”

Lup was looking at him like he had three heads. “I think maybe you just have shitty taste in men.”

“Well, when life gives you lemons,” he sighed, then fell into another coughing fit.

Lup sat down on the edge of his bed and rested her chin in her hand. “What about Kravitz? Do you think he’s another lemon?”

“No,” he said miserably. “I think he’s perfect. But that doesn't matter if he thinks I'm too much work to bother with."

She patted his leg sympathetically. “If he's as perfect as you think he'll know you're worth the work.”

Taako’s throat felt too tight all of a sudden, and not just from coughing all morning. “Thanks.”

“Any time, bud.” She pushed herself up off the bed. “I'm gonna go check on the soup. Yell if you need me.”

She headed to the kitchen, leaving Taako to burrow deeper into his blanket nest. He was half-dozing when their doorbell rang, startling him back to consciousness. He heard Lup answer the door, then a brief conversation he couldn't make out. A moment later she appeared in his doorway. 

“Taako? You awake?”

He groaned in response, eager to get back to his nap.

“Kravitz is here.”

His eyes flew open. He struggled his way out of his tangle of blankets and into an upright position. 

“What?” he exclaimed. 

“Kravitz is here. Should I show him in?”

Taako recoiled at the thought. “Absolutely not! Look at me, Lulu! I'm at maintenance meter defcon one right now!”

Lup just rolled her eyes. “I'll show him in.”

Taako frantically tried to smooth down the worst of his bed head and straighten out his pajamas. There was a quiet knock on his door frame, and he looked up to see Kravitz standing there, a sympathetic smile on his face. He looked incredible, of course. Even on his day off he was wearing a three-piece suit, plus a tie with a subtle raven motif.

“Hi,” he said, taking a few steps into the room. “Sorry to barge in on your sick day.”

Taako laughed. “Sorry I look like such a fucking mess.”

“No!” He denied, gallantly. “You look fine! A little stuffed up, maybe-”

“I can think of something else I'd like stu-” Another fit of wet coughing overtook him, and he collapsed back onto the bed. “Fuck, forget it. I'm too sick to flirt right now.”

Kravitz's eyes were soft and kind as he looked at him. “Well, I was hoping I could help with that.” He held up a large canvas bag before depositing it on Taako’s bed. 

“Let’s see….” He began rummaging through it, pausing occasionally to hold something up. “We've got DayQuil and NyQuil, depending on whether or not you want to be conscious for the next twelve hours. Some peppermint tea, to clear your nose and settle your stomach, if you need it, and some cough drops. I didn't know what kind of Gatorade you liked, so I got you orange, red, and blue, and hopefully one of those is good. And I knew Lup was probably taking care of food better than I possibly could, but I did bring you some saltines just in case. And….” He reached into the bag and pulled something out with a final flourish. “A friend to keep you company.”

It was a tiny stuffed plague doctor, which Kravitz set down gently on Taako’s bedside table. Taako stared at him, half-convinced he was looking at some sort of Kravitz-shaped fever dream.

“Krav, you didn't-” he croaked. “You didn't have to do all this.”

Kravitz shrugged. “It was just a quick trip to the store. Besides, I wanted to.” He tucked a stray lock of hair behind Taako’s ear and Taako was seized by a sudden desire to pounce on him, upper respiratory infection be damned. “You've got to get better soon so we can reschedule that date.” A slight shade of doubt passed over Kravitz’s face. “If you still want to, of course.”

Taako feigned a grimace. “Ooh, well, this is awkward, but I actually met an even hotter goth librarian while I was lying here hacking up a lung, so….” 

Kravitz laughed, rich and genuine. Taako grinned up at him. As his laughter subsided, Kravitz gently took hold of Taako’s chin with a thumb and forefinger. He stooped slightly and Taako closed his eyes, turning his face up towards him, trying not to give away just how much it made his chest ache to have Kravitz here, all lovely and warm and seemingly unphased by his transformation into some sort of snot monster. Kravitz pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, then stepped back towards the door.

“Get some rest, Taako. I'll see you soon.”

Taako heard him say a quiet goodbye to Lup before he left the apartment. A moment later Lup was leaning against the doorframe with a smug grin on her face.

“So, did he just completely disprove your whole depressing ‘maintenance meter’ theory?”

Taako picked up the tiny plague doctor, still in a bit of a daze. “He could be the exception that proves the rule,” he replied absently.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I like him.”

“Yeah. Me too.” He snuggled back down into the blankets, his new plague-friend clutched close to his chest.

[thedeathlysallows]

TW: Smut (degradation, no contraceptives used, Felix has a God complex)

Chapter 11: Poison Ivy

            My senses come back in a slow and steady drip.

            First, touch. Smooth, delicate marble beneath my palms.

            Second, smell. Smoke from a fireplace curling up my nose to settle in my lungs.

            Third, taste. There’s blood and something more I can’t name on my tongue.

            Fourth, hearing. Rain pours down outside this room.

            Finally, sight. Felix stands to my right, gazing down at me warily.

            “Felix,” I say and startle when I don’t even recognize my own voice. “What have you done?”

            His lips curl in a wry smile as hair falls into his eyes. This is arguably the most unkempt I’ve ever seen him. It’s like he’s been doing nothing but running his fingers through his hair for the last week. Even his clothes are totally wrinkled and rumpled.

            “I should’ve done this sooner, darling.” His voice is a low purr, the deep bass wrapping around my body and shooting straight to my core. “You were ravishing for a human, but now? Now you’re absolutely devastating.”

            “What. Have. You. Done?” I manage to get out the words between gritted teeth.

            Felix clicks his tongue and steps toward me, pulling me by the waist so I’m pressed firmly against his body. He isn’t cold anymore. Not like he used to be at least. As his fingertips trace over my skin there’s no cold chill left behind at all. Now… now we feel the same. He’s still a wall of muscle, but any fear, any shock, any sense of being less than is completely gone.

            “We’re the same,” I say out loud. “I can feel it.”

            He smiles and tilts my chin up to meet his eyes. “What else do you feel?”

            There’s a vague burning in the back of my throat, but something tells me that isn’t what he means.

            “Nothing,” I tell him, my voice a whisper as I stare into his eyes.

            Felix shakes his head. “Look closer, darling.”

            And I do.

            I look closer, and closer, and closer until I’m seeing myself in his mind’s eye. My face is deathly pale. My eyes are a blood red so startling and bright that I can’t help but gasp. My lips are pink and pouty, the corners tugging down in a frown. I look… annoyed. Confused. Powerful. I finally understand why he kept calling me his poison ivy. Something pretty and unassuming that will bite you if you mishandle it. Through his eyes I see myself as he’s always seen me.

            “You’re absolute perfection,” he purrs. “Now, what do you feel?”

            “I feel… I don’t know…” There’s so much to sift through and think over.

            Felix cups my face, brushing his thumbs over the apples of my cheeks. “Keep looking.”

            It isn’t love that I find in his mind. At least, I don’t think it is anyway. Paul and I loved each other when we were kids, and it was something pure and good. What I find in Felix is much darker. It’s possessive and greedy and obsessive. It’s something so transformative he’s been acting out and crossing lines that could get him killed by his masters.

            “What do you feel?” Felix repeats his question, lips inches from mine.

            “I feel…” My chest heaves as I try to breathe through his closeness. It’s overwhelming and intoxicating. I smell nothing but leather and grass. “You. I feel you, Felix.”

            His mouth crashes against mine. The kiss is desperate and sloppy, nothing but tongue and teeth, but I can’t find it in me to care. It’s like something suddenly clicked inside me and all the hate evaporated into the atmosphere in a second. I don’t feel love exactly, but the anger and frustration I once held disappears into nothing.

            “Do you understand now, darling?” His words come out low and breathy. “Do you see why I would burn down this world and the next just to ensure none but I can possess you?”

            I nod and swallow the lump in my throat. “Yes.”

            And I can. I really can.

            The understanding washes over me, a tidal wave of euphoria.

            Felix claims my lips in a kiss so fierce my head feels dizzy. His hands are demanding as they glide over me body, touching me everywhere.

            “You’re mine,” he tells me.

            And I finally am.

            “Say it,” he demands.

His grip on my hips is painful, even for my new body.

Because there’s no getting around it. What I’ve become. What he made me.

I’m a vampire, newborn and facing eternity with a man I’ve been trying to kill for months. A man I harbored such a deep hatred for that I saw nothing but him. Was it ever actually hate? Or could my human mind not comprehend a connection as profound as this? Was that why I couldn’t actually kill him any time I had the opportunity? I thought I was going crazy, and maybe I was, but I think I would do it again if it meant I got to feel the symphony of emotions waking inside me now. It’s intoxicating…

“I’m yours,” I tell him.

Do I mean it?

Yeah… I do.

“It’s strange,” I say before he can make any more demands. “I thought I’d hate you until I died, but now I can’t imagine that.”

Felix smiles and everything shifts once again. He truly is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. “Oh, darling, we both know by now that we will be one another’s absolute ruin. I wouldn’t have it another way.”

I nod. “Kiss me again?”

His expression changes from tender to ravenous in the blink of an eye. His hands, massive and demanding, cup my face.

Fuck.

Those hands. I want them between my legs so badly that there’s a physical ache deep inside my cunt. His hands, his tongue, his cock. Any of it. All of it. I need it. I need it in a way I never thought possible. Every other guy I’ve been with is nothing compared to Felix and whatever this bond is between us. Do all vampires feel this way? Or am I just embracing insanity?

Felix’s fingers skate across the exposed skin of my neck and shoulders, finding their way to my back. He toys with the zipper of my dress before huffing impatiently and giving a harsh tug. The sound of ripping fabric feels the room as he growls,

“I’ll have what’s mine now.”

My knees go ever so slightly weak at his words.

“Felix-”

“Unless the next words out of your mouth are bend me over and fuck me hard, don’t say a godsdamn word.” He snaps the strap of my bra against my shoulder before stepping back and stripping down to his boxers.

Unlike our previous encounters, I feel free to take in the sight of him and actually enjoy it. I’m not too sure what god could’ve crafted a man like Felix, but I’m glad they did it. Even naked he’s absolutely massive. He’s so tall and his shoulders are so wide, his torso tapering in at his hips, the start of an Adonis Belt peeking out from the top of his boxers. His body ripples with muscle and power.

“Strip,” he demands.

As I follow his command, I’m rewarded with another flash of how I look through his eyes. He can’t look away from my chest, thinking of a million different ways to mark me, to claim me as his. Any marks will eventually fade, but he can just leave them over and over and- his mind blanks for a moment when I shimmy out of my panties and toss them to the side.

“Like what you see?” I can’t help but tease him. I might be a willing participant this time, but I still need some semblance of power here.

Felix licks his lips, his eyes focused on my pussy. He steps closer and closer until I’m backed against the stone slab I woke up on. The word “up” barely makes it out of his lips before he’s on top of me, head buried between my thighs. His hair is soft and thick between my fingers, his mouth hot and seductive against my core.

“Felix,” I moan out as I arch my back, desperate for more.

He licks my clit, slow and teasing. I can practically feel the smile on his face when he dips two fingers inside me. He continues at his own pace, ignoring my pleas of “more” and “faster”. He’s intentionally ignoring me. Intentionally dragging this out. Felix laves his tongue over my clit one more time before closing his lips around the bundle of nerves and sucking until I scream his name.

“That’s it, darling,” he says, pumping his fingers in and out of my cunt. “Who am I?”

“M-mine.” I grab his wrist but he knocks my hand away easily.

His mouth meets mine in a searing kiss, his teeth biting my lower lip while his fingers circle my clit. “What else?”

“Oh- fuck- oh my God!”

Felix chuckles. “That’s right, darling. I’m your God now. You belong to me, body and soul. Yes?”

I nod, hips bucking into his hand, desperate for more.

He rewards me with another kiss, his free hand cupping my right breast. His fingers toy with my nipple and I squirm beneath him.

“Tell me, darling, will you take this cock like a good girl?”

“Yes!”

Felix purrs, his hand gripping my jaw firmly. “Such a desperate little slut. I should leave you like this. Desperate and dripping for me.”

I shake my head. “No, please, please, Felix, fuck me…”

“Shall I use you like a whore then? Pump you full of my cum until you’re sobbing?”

“Yes!”

He looks at me and his eyes are dark. “Roseanna, are you aware of what you’re agreeing to? Once I fuck you, that’s it. You’re mine and if you let another man touch you I’ll kill both of you. I’m still debating on whether or not I’ll let that Jasper fucker live.”

“I understand.” And I do. Because if Felix touched another woman I think I’d kill both of them as well.

Felix watches me for a moment, like he’s looking for something specific. He must find it because in the space of a few seconds he nods and flips me onto my stomach. He grips my hips and forces me up on all fours. The tip of his cock teases my clit before sliding down to my entrance.

“Felix, please,” I beg.

He chuckles and pushes in. The burn of my walls stretching around his length is almost addictive in its pain. He’s huge, bigger than anyone I’ve been with before, and I’m not sure I can take all of him.

“Good girl,” Felix hisses between clenched teeth. The muscles in his neck strain and pop out with the effort it takes not to simply slam inside me and fuck me until I’m crying. He’s trying to be thoughtful, if not gentle.

I wiggle my hips, trying to get more of him inside me, and hear him say “fuck it” before shifting his hips and slipping all the way inside me. The sensation leaves me breathless and I have no opportunity to regain it as he thrusts his cock deep inside me. Felix holds on to my hips, his upper body folding over me so his lips are by my ear. I can hear every curse, every moan, every breath perfectly and it sends a fresh wave of arousal to my cunt every time.

“Felix,” I pant out, turning my head so I can nip at his ear. “Cum inside me.”

Felix’s hips briefly stutter in their punishing movement. He growls in response and moves even faster. If I was still human it would’ve been unbearable, but now it just feels so fucking good.

I’m not even sure what I’m saying to him. All I know is that my mouth is moving as he finds his release inside me. A wave of ecstasy washes over me as he collapses on top of me. My head is finally clear enough and not quite so consumed with him that I can finally take in my surroundings. The room we’re in is made of pristine white marble and accented with gold filigree. In the dead center of the room sits an obsidian altar. “Where are we?”

Felix nuzzles the side of my neck, still basking in the afterglow. “The castle.”

“No shit. I mean where in the castle.”

He sighs, shoulders slumping. “We use this room when a new vampire is being created. You’d be surprised how often a newborn completely wrecks whatever room they find themselves in upon waking up. Your self-restraint is remarkable, and I’m sure Aro will have an interest in it. He’s already discussing decorations with Heidi.”

“Decorations?”

“He’s decided to throw a party to properly welcome you into the loving arms of the Volturi Guard. Anne is trying to convince him to make you a Black Cloak.”

I blink, feeling a strange pressure behind my eyes. “How long was I out?”

“A week.” He flinches when he says the words.

“A week?! Fuck, I’m behind schedule. I have to get to Charleston-”

Felix looks down at me and there’s a glint in his eyes that tells me I’m on thin ice. “You’re going where?”

“Charleston. I told you before that I-”

“Yes, yes, I remember your grand scheme to get revenge on The Society. I don’t care. You aren’t leaving me.” He scoops me up in his arms easily, throwing me over his shoulder. “I’ll chain you up in the dungeon if I have to, darling, and I would much rather use those chains in our bedroom.”

I try to kick, try to fight, but even with all my newborn strength I’m still no match for Felix. In fact, I’m nothing more than an annoyance to him. Like a gnat buzzing by his ear.

“Felix, Anne and I have been working on this plan-”

“I don’t care. Shall I say it again, darling? Your plans mean nothing to me. You said it yourself, my little poison ivy, you’re mine. I own you.”

“You’re insane!”

Felix doesn’t respond to my name calling. Instead he just keeps trudging through the castle, other guard members practically jumping out of his way. I don’t need to see him to know there’s murder in his eyes. I can tell that just from how rigid he stands and how unyielding his body feels. He slows down eventually and I take in the sight before me.

We’re several levels underground in a stone cellar that stretches before me in complete darkness. Iron cells line either side of the room as far as I can see. Some contain chains hanging from the wall. Most are empty, some aren’t. Nothing but silence comes from the cells that contain prisoners. It’s as if they’re holding their breath, waiting for Felix to strike them down. Luckily for them, Felix is only here to threaten me into submission.

“Felix,” I say his name slowly when he puts me down. The floor is damp beneath my bare feet. “I understand-”

“You don’t!” He tugs my wrist and throws me into one of the cells. “But you will. I waited months for you, darling. I can wait a couple more for you to get rid of this ridiculous revenge plot.”

“No!” I rush forward, but Felix is quicker. He slams the cell shut and I cry out in frustration. “Felix, let me out!”

“I will in August.” He pulls an envelope out of his cloak and slides it to me through the iron bars.

I feel my throat constrict as I read the worst news of the day.

[ran-orimoto]

{I’ve…Forgot to crosspost my Junzumi one-shots here again. Sorry🥲. I just feel embarassed sharing my writing here, but I know you asked me to, so I’ll learn to feel more comfortable lmao💕}

[ NOTE: Junpei and Izumi are respectively 26 and 25. The one-shot from this month is sillier than usual and it features a hc I have got about older Izumi liking sewing. Even if my adult Izumi is into cooking, I love imagining her still retaining a love for fashion she can express in her own ways. I like Izumi modelling, ok, but I’m not a fan of it, especially if I take in account the …Creepy scenes she, 10 y.o kid, got in the past. You know, it’s hard to see it in a good light⭐️.]

•Il vento e le sue innumerevoli sorprese•

When he stormed into the bedroom with a note of nervousness accompanying the drumming of his steps, it had just dawned on her she had exhausted her attention and focus on the boring book she was reading. Due to that haste he had stepped out of the bathroom with, he had accidentally left the door opened and now a generous crack was inviting her to stretch her neck and spot some hints of the tempest he had created in there: a crumpled carpet pushed against the tiles of the wall, a pile of familiar clothes abandoned on the floor as if they were nothing more than rags, tired towels peeking out from the edge of the bathtub and being about to slip off it, the most disparate objects scattered on the flooded surface of the sink.

Oh well, she would be the worst kind of hypocrite if she decided to scold him because of that mess: she couldn’t absolutely lie about the fact an hour before that poor bathroom had had to go through another hurricane, making both discover in awe they could add another personality trait in the list of…Lovely flaws they shared.

“What’s the matter? Che c’è?” She couldn’t help bursting in gusts of laughters, but the defined sight of a stout young man in elegant attire froze the dance of those bursts in the chilly atmosphere of their bedroom.

She wasn’t that certain about what she could say, what she wanted to say and she wasn’t when it came to him, either. She didn’t know if he had imagined she would squeal at him and throw herself in his arms, cooing at how handsome he looked, but he should know her well by now, shouldn’t he? He should know she wasn’t that kind of woman and yet…

And yet…

Tossing her book aside, she crawled to the other edge of the bed, near to where he was regulating the strap of his watch. He checked how tight it felt on his wrist, proceeding to repeat the ritual again, and unexpectedly ignored the curious green of large cat eyes inspecting his figure with an enchanted caution.

After a year spent following his bustling tenor career from such a close perspective, she had grown used to seeing him dressing up for special occasions; to observing him shifting from his usual scruffy appearance to an utterly alienating and refined look. She would often get the destabilizing sensation of being in the company of someone else whenever that happened, her voice and sarcasm evaporating in thin air, her wary hand remaining suspended in the air until he would grab it.

However, she had soon realized it would take a simple, goofy smile in her direction to make that illusion vacillate and eventually break. Obviously, in that room with her, standing next to the foggy windows of the incoming venetian winter, there was no one else but the awkward Junpei she had always known.

“This looks so bad,” He muttered to himself with a head shake as he passed his palm down the fabric of his tie. “No, no, it isn’t just bad. It terribly sucks. Definitely.”

She was feeling way too cold to stand up, as at that time in the morning the radiators were still heating up and slowly warming the apartment, but her voice could have the same effective power as her persuading caresses on his shoulders.

“How can you say that? That misted window hardly looks like a good mirror.” She raised an eyebrow in amusement at the way it seemed he was really trying identifying his reflection in there, in the thickest grey of a glacial weather. “Besides…I was thinking you actually look nice.” His back straightened all of a sudden in response. “You look really nice.”

Then, he surrendered to the urge to turn to her and he showed her his blissful face, -because it was really enough to compliment him with the most ordinary and driest existing words to make him feel like the luckiest man on Earth-.

“I look nice,” He repeated in disbelief, the chocolate in his eyes seeming to be melting and being about to stain his pail blue shirt. “I guess I can’t do anything about it: if Izumi says so, it’s because it’s true.”

It is , That whisper prudently advanced through her most inner thoughts, gaining self-esteem at each surpassed millimeter. It became way too cheeky at the end of its fast journey, though, and Izumi found herself smirking, complacent.

Junpei greatly appreciated that feline expression on her porcelain face and probably started feeling a bit more confident about his outfit, just like that whisper of hers had. Actually, he accumulated enough self-esteem to hop in front of her, spread his legs and arms and theatrically put his black waistcoat and brown trousers on display.

“Ta-da!” He chirped at her, as he made his fingers vibrate like if they were sparklers without fire and light, and she spontaneously applauded at that improvised, silly show to exchange his playful mood.

Still, while her pupils were taking a more careful tour down his robust silhouette, focusing on those details she hadn’t been able to catch at first, she started feeling like something looked off. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was until she got onto his feet. That was the reason why her gaze wasted a whole minute of embarassing silence repeatedly going up and down, -from his neck to his knees-, making her fantasy go wild and brainstorm in the most different ways: did he need a hat? One of those Fedora hats that could turn any man in a perfect dandy? Could it be she needed to see him with shoes on well? And now that she thought about that, what kind of shoes had he picked? Don’t tell me he’s chosen to wear trainers!, She sweated at the only imaginary draft of such a horrid decision.

But she fortunately pushed her irises further, down onto the wood floor.

“Uh, have you changed your mind?” He murmured, confused but also slightly anxious. His hands still in the air, he glued his spheres onto her pensive features as his legs started creating a more and more evident distance between each other.

“No, no, it’s just that…”

“It’s just that…? Don’t tell me you want me to wear a bow.”

“No, Junpei, it’s just that your trousers are too long,” She pointed at the mass of linen falling on his socks. “Or your legs are too short,” She let out a chuckle at that teasing remark and ,as if on cue, as if they had been offended by her, Junpei’s legs ceased to his bizarre position by gliding in a painful split.

Izumi didn’t pay attention to the first time of the day he had fallen and hurt himself. At that moment her ears were only listening to her unbridled rambling, no matter Junpei’s whining was covering half of it and turning part of her plans into a mash of incoherent sounds.

“That hurts so much,” He complained, massaging his backside. “These trousers are so uncomfortable even during falls. They have got these stupid buttons on the butt. How will I be able to si-“

“Junpei!” She turned to him again, flames of an excitement he couldn’t interpret at all burning the grass in her eyes. “ Torno subito”.

“ What does it mean torno subito?!” He exclaimed in bewilderment, his jaw dropping at her blonde hair flying away from him, at her taking off at the speed of a butterfly beat. “Ohi, Izumi!” He called her, still struggling to walk properly and slowening down the pace of his brief march to the corridor. From there, he could hear her searching for something among a bunch of objects, opening and closing old drawers and making the stuff inside of them vacillate in the process.

She returned to him after not even a minute with a lovely-looking box in her arms. It was covered by a layer of colourful drawings featuring shapes Junpei couldn’t immediately recognize. By the time he did, -and he sent a chill down his spine right in that instant-, Izumi had already opened the box and had already revealed its content without explanation.

“Iz-Izuzu,” He stuttered as he joined her on the mattress in comical shock. His orbs seemed to enlarge before the view of that tidy kit or, more precisely, before the one of a pair scissors, a bunch of needles and pins, a traditional tape measure, a series of motley fabric rolled on themselves and, finally, also an object he thought he had never seen before.

“This is a thimble,” She pulled the cylindrical item out of its dug nest and showed him the easy way her index slipped in its empty cavity. She allowed him to try mimicking her gesture, but it wasn’t a surprise his fingers, -each of them, not only his index-, were too big and thick to fit in such a small spot. However, he kept on weighing and holding it in his palm to analyze it properly, gradually finding himself being ensnared by its minuscule engravings.

“A thimble keeps you from hurting yourself while sewing,” Izumi promptly clarified, getting silent yet vivacious nods from him. “My mother bought this one from Sardinia. We also have got a very old one whose top is totally pitted.”

His head continued swinging at every single letter her lips would weave. One after the other, they were making his heart drown in an endless stream of admiration, even though he wasn’t actually absorbing that treasure of knowledge she was sharing. And she did know it.

Actually, at a certain point, it became impossible for her not to begin giggling once more because of all that eager agitation next to her.

“You seem to have never seen a sewing kit in your life.”

“It’s kinda true, though?” He woke up from his dreamy trance and looked up at the ceiling, in search of possible memories he had buried somewhere, without actually wanting to. “My mother has always been too busy with her job to think about this stuff. If she happened to spot a hole in my clothes, she would throw it away and buy me something else. La Signora Orimoto is just another kind of mother, completely different from mine. I kinda…Envy you sometimes.”

Izumi wished she could bite her tongue with aggressiveness and punish her lack of tact with an unpleasant taste of blood in her mouth. Nevertheless, for her frustration, her coward teeth remained still on the scared muscle, convincing her to cross another route; one she surprisingly dived in without hesitation. Indeed, at the very first step she took in that direction, she felt a a beautiful sense of release.

“Well, now you have got a girlfriend who can sew and will hem your pants.”

”And-And-“ That name she had used to label herself made him gulp so loudly he almost got scared. “And I can’t just believe my-my-my girlfriend is as unpredictable as the wind for real.”

“I started learning from Mamma after I got into modelling. It would make me so satisfied to fix those dresses they would give me as presents. Most of them were so ugly, hideous, and they would have remained in my closet, if I hadn’t done anything about them.”

“You could become a stylist too!” He highlighted enthusiastically with a clap. “You can really be anything, Izumi. You aren’t only the most talented, charming, beautiful cook in the world! Now you’re also the most talented, charming, beautiful seamstress in the world!”

She bended forward to crack a smile at his delighted wonder.

“All this encouragement is making me want to fix your outfit too,” She reached out to fiddle with his tie. “I like this outfit but I can change some little flaws I’m not that convinced about. Or I could mind my business for this time, what do you think?”

“Again, what I think is that I hope you don’t want to replace my tie with a bow…That would make me look like an emperor penguin. Takuya and Kouji would laugh at me for the whole night, even Tomoki would. And I don’t want that.”

Making her attention land on her kit again, she picked a needle and her scissors, and put them near to her thigh. Once chosen the tools she would use, her hand kept on absently hovering over the opened box, but it wasn’t because she had just got a new idea out of blue.

“Where are you all going?” She asked him after having defeated a pang of jelousy and suspect. Discovering her closest friends, her family, were going to hang out without having invited her was incredibly demoralizing. She prepared herself to cross her arms and pout at Junpei for a whole day as a reaction to a predictable “It’s just a boys’ night”. In reality, though, she had already begun glaring at him. She couldn’t just help it.

“Well, y’ know,” He stood up to clearly avoid the mistral she was summoning over him. He fairly grew bashful, -oh if she could understand why he would!-, and even started finding it difficult to look at her in the eye, -otherwise why would he show his back to her and not face her like he was supposed to? “A dear person to me is starting working in a restaurant this Saturday night and we all are going to cheer for her during her first night there, eh eh.”

Her grip shaking a bit, she threw herself against his chest and grabbed his cheeks between her palms.

“You bought this outfit to impress me that night ?”

“And to impreff your magnificent food,” He merrily joked, his silver tongue weakening because of her affectionate pinches on his puffy skin. Then, it passed from sounding like a frail autumnal leaf to plunging in a thunderstruck mutism.

“You’ve dug your own grave, Great Detective Shibayama. Do you know that?” Her mint fused with her chocolate to give birth to the most distinctive flavour they both had ever tasted.

”Uh?” Dazzled, he protruded his lips in a restless expectation. He risked to lose his balance for a second time when she abruptly let him go.

“Listen: go to the toilet before I start, because I don’t want to hear you saying you need to go peeing while I’m at work. I don’t know how much it will take, ok?”

A change of heart told her she wasn’t going to keep her promise to mind her business any more.

[script-a-world]

Submitted via Google Form: Tropical Climate

Hi, I'm trying to build a world in a tropical climate that is always between 30-40 degrees year round. But I've never actually lived in such an area, although I've visited. It is crazy hot for me and even worse, there was barely any air con. I absolutely sweltered. Is it some kind of microevolution that allows people to live there just like people living in the Himalayas? But tropical climates are quite wide spread and aren't a niche like the Himalayas? Or maybe it's just me. Of course I know that there was no air con over 100 years ago, but global warming certainly warmed things up recently. I don't know but I always hear of people adapting to very cold weather, but nothing about the heat?

Feral: I don’t know that there’s really any microevolution involved, as that would imply a genetic, heritable change. 40C is pretty hot to be sure, but 30-35C is still within the range of normal for human habitation. That is, afterall, below the average human body temperature. Sweat will be the main physiological source of thermoregulation, so humidity will play a factor: the lower the relative humidity, the higher temperatures a human can withstand. There is definitely acclimation at play with hot temperatures, just like there’s acclimation with colder temperatures. Generally, if you are in an area of the world where AC is typical, you are acclimated to a temperature lower than what would be expected for that same area 100+ years ago (not accounting for climate change). 

I think a lot of adapting to hot weather is about adapting habits for regulating your body temperature, like water intake, clothing, and sunscreen. If you’re like a lot of people from temperate climates when traveling to hotter climates, you probably don’t drink enough water. You likely also dress mainly in synthetic fibers or cotton, which are not ideal. Linen, hemp, and wool are all hydrophobic fibers, which means they don’t absorb water, like sweat and the humidity from the air outside, allowing evaporation off the skin for natural cooling. Believe it or not, sunscreen doesn’t just help to prevent skin cancer; it also helps regulate your temperature while you’re wearing it by preventing the depletion of nitric oxide in your skin from UV exposure. People living in hot climates are also likely to have waking/sleeping habits that coincide with keeping out of the sun and not doing labor during the hottest parts of the day, for example, the Spanish siesta. Consider the natural food options people in hotter or tropical climates will have access to; you’ll notice that it’s not a lot of starchy root vegetables, which is fine because people there don’t need the extra carbs for the body to process for warmth.

But, of course, individual humans are going to have individual reactions. I’m from the American South, where it’s hot and humid. I’ll go outside in sweatpants in 32C weather, but that is not considered normal here. Nor is it normal in American Northeast, where my cousin grew up, for people to be outside in several inches of snow and still wearing flip flops, and yet my cousin does just that. We understand some factors as to why this is, but not all reasons are completely clear.

When dealing with tropical climates in particular where the humidity is much higher, the wind is a very important consideration for comfort. That’s why when we think of tropical climates, we’re often thinking of beaches, even though that’s not a requirement for climate. Human habitation is more likely to spring up around bodies of water that encourage breezes.

Something to consider is your climate. Do you have a wet and dry season? A monsoon? Or is rainfall steady through the year? If it rains at dusk like clockwork every day, people will adjust for that. If there's a dry season then water storage will be a big deal. If it rains constantly then that will leach nutrients from the soil, making agriculture more difficult - there's a reason the most agriculturally productive places in the tropics are volcanic or where rivers deposit silt, most rainforest soils are extremely poor. If there's a strong dry season and a strong wet season, or a monsoon, flooding is likely to be a problem.*

Speaking of, adapting our surroundings via the built environment is a major way humans stay cool. I’m not sure where you’re from, but you’ve probably noticed at least some the homogenization and globalization of architecture. I think of the American Suburban Home as the quintessential example of this. The ubiquity across a country with 9 climate zones (in the contiguous states) would simply not be possible without central air & heating and the precursors of the 20th century. 

Buildings used to be adaptations to the specific variables of the plot of land they were being constructed on. This is a factor in vernacular architecture. There are a few features common throughout much of the world based on climate factors.

Height: buildings where it is very hot are traditionally taller. There are a few ways this might manifest: steep rooflines, stilts which promote under floor board breezes (also important where it’s likely to flood), or sometimes narrow, even tower-like, structures. This helps to take advantage of the stack, or chimney, effect, which naturally ventilates the structure.

Width &/or Depth: buildings were it is very hot are traditionally skinnier in at least one of these dimensions, depending on the orientation of the lot. This allows for strong cross-breezes, as all windows, doors, and other ventilation points can be easily and uniformly placed across from one another. 

Integrated Exterior Shade: lanais, verandas, piazzas (of the Charleston variety), porches, and interior courtyards (like those found in riads) all help provide shade at those aforementioned ventilation points so the air coming through is cooled, not to mention preventing direct sunlight from heating the interior. They can also provide space for additional important functions like sleeping porches. 

Material: There are a lot of materials that are traditionally used based on the specific climate types (and therefore availability) to control the thermal mass; you’ll just need to pay attention to the thermal properties, like conductivity and diffusivity. Adobe, earth shelter, and logs will be found in hotter climates. And of course, the color of those materials will impact the heat absorption. It’s generally understood that white will reflect more light and therefore more heat than black, which will absorb it all and pass it into the interiors. 

For more modern construction, check out this brochure from the National (USA) Renewable Energy Laboratory.

*Thanks to Utuabzu for this paragraph.

Licorice: I used to live in a VERY HOT country in North Africa that was 30-40 for much of the year. For the local people, this was normal; they did not seem at all bothered by this heat and very few of the houses had air conditioning. When the temperature dropped below 25 they started putting on their winter coats and wooly jumpers. If you grow up in that climate and you’re used to it, it’s comfortable for you. 

NB This was a desert climate - hot and dry - rather than a hot and wet tropical country. But I’m sure the same principle applies: if it’s what you’re used to, it’s comfortable for you. 

[djpumpkinsoda]

OOOOOOK when i was in school i wrote a big ol dump of random theremind biology headcanons written in this sorta scientific observation soooooo imma copy it HERE and hope you guys like! nothing is written in a particular order, i just made this up as i went. Since Psychic Island is in space, naturally it gets very cold. This makes it rather strange that Thereminds have absolutely no hair or fur. The only known, and the most obvious, adaptation they have for this is the thick layer of fat under their skin. It is thickest on their abdomen and thighs, and thinnest on the top of their head and their arms. They are also able to regulate their own body temperature (warm-blooded). While lacking the Cold element seems like a plausible explanation for their smooth skin at first, this does not hold, since there are quite a few furry monsters that do not have the Cold element; Scups, Whaddle, and Flum Ox being the most notable. It is possible that, due to the presence of the Water element on Psychic Island and the Theremind's affinity with water, that they were once aquatic; evolving more fat instead of fur.

Now, you might be wondering how they fare in warmer climates. Once again, they can regulate their own body temperature, but it is a bit harder to cool down than it is to warm up. This is more evident by the fact that they do not sweat. What has been observed is that they drink lots of water, likely to keep their brain hydrated. Their tongues are very strange, almost resembling a chameleon's but with a small hole in the front that goes through the entire muscle. They use it to drink, and they can also eat by picking food up with their tongue and quickly swallowing it. Their lack of teeth and small mouth limit them to soft foods or small bites, but they manage. The most interesting thing, though, is the straw-like properties of their tongue. It is theorized that the way their tongue is shaped allows the water they drink to cool down the blood inside it, which then makes its way around their body. They have also been seen bathing in small pools wherever permissible when visiting islands outside of the climate they're used to. If you're wondering why they need so much water even though they don't sweat, the water seems to evaporate directly through their skin rather than coming out first and then evaporating. Obviously there are other ways they get rid of water, but that's for my good friend known as the Fucker of Minds to talk about.

As for other bodily functions, their eyesight is terrible, on account of their pupils being spiral-shaped and constantly spinning. Instead, they rely on both hearing and small psychic waves that they send in front of them, almost like echolocation. The psychic waves create a mental image of what is in front of them, allowing them to effectively "see" their surroundings. Their mouths are peculiar as well. They are very small, toothless, and almost sealed shut with just enough room for their tongue and whatever they are swallowing. Interestingly, their mouth is not part of their respiratory system whatsoever, and it is theorized that their flat noses and large nostrils are to allow easier access to the lungs, since that is the only way they breathe. While there is not much evidence behind this, they may also be able to absorb oxygen through their skin when wet, making them technically amphibious despite spending their lives on land. This may explain their affinity with water. However, contact with oily substances does not seem to hinder this. Very intriguingly, research has led to the discovery of vocal cords in their throats, hinting that at some point during the evolutionary process, they could speak and breathe with their mouth. Currently, they are considered vestigial parts, but an occasional, otherworldly squeak may be heard from them when they are caught off guard, suggesting that quick, sharp breaths are enough to make a sound.

The mouths that they summon with magic are solid for some reason, which may be a testament to the strength of their psychic power. They can perform almost every function of a normal mouth, with the only exception being eating and breathing since they are not connected to the body. However, they are primarily used for projecting the Theremind's inner voice, useful when singing or speaking to groups of people. When they are in a private conversation, they are more inclined to use telepathy since it uses less psychic energy. Keep in mind psychic energy is not the same as physical energy; a Theremind can still use their powers with ease after physical activity. After extensive use of their magic, however, they will need a break and may stick to just using telepathy. Levitating themselves does not require as much psychic energy as levitating an object or another monster, but a Theremind drained of their psychic energy may stick to walking against their wishes. It is unknown why they prefer levitation over walking, and the shape of their feet does not seem to be a hint.

To allow as much brain growth as possible, a Theremind's skull does not have a neurocranium (the part that protects the brain) and instead tapers off at the top of the head, just barely cupping the brain. The brain is not exposed, but rather there is a thin layer of fat (that somewhat obscures its shape) and a thin, sensitive skin, similar to the skin on the inside of their ears. While it does not grow much throughout their lifetime, they have physically adapted this as a result of their knowledge and psychic power growing stronger over time to the point that their brains could no longer be contained in a skull. The shape of their skull is rather interesting; it has a similar shape to a human skull (besides orifices and cranium) but their head appears rectangular due to the amount of fat and muscle obscuring what would be their neck. They can still look up and down, but their movement is limited. Their "chin" is made of muscle rather than being part of the skull, allowing more complex facial expressions in lieu of eyebrows. It is currently unknown how they keep small particles from entering their eyes, since they completely lack eyebrows and eyelashes. [soda note: yes i know i give them massive cartoonish eyebrows in my art but that's just to make their expressions easier to see, they don't actually exist]

But now for the question you've been waiting for: Without any bone protecting the brain, how do they protect themselves from head injuries? The answer is the psychic waves, the same ones that help them "see". Part of helping them observe their surroundings is detecting anything that might harm them in their immediate vicinity. The most intense waves are in front of them, but there are many all around the body, completely invisible but there thanks to the Theremind's psychic power. If there indeed is something in the way, these give them time to either move out of the way or use psychokinesis to stop a moving object. Psychokinesis is just one of their powers; they have quite a few different abilities (that have been observed). Some they use everyday are telepathy, summoning their outer mouths, reading others' thoughts and dreams, and self-levitation. They are constantly hearing others' thoughts due to their sensitive hearing, but most have the strength to tune it out and limit their focus to one or two monsters at a time. There are reports of Thereminds hypnotizing people and manipulating memories, but the often-malicious nature of these actions makes them rare to see. Contrary to popular belief, they do not use their eyes for hypnosis; that is entirely their mind. However, it has been proven that making eye contact with a Theremind for too long will cause a person to pass out. It has not been tested with monsters, and the people who have experienced this did not have any issues otherwise after waking up.

[deliriumsdelight7]

Baby, you need some reading comprehension skills, because for a fully grown adult, you’re severely lacking.

No one was victim blaming. Phoenixwrites was literally shipping Eddie and Erica and wanting smut of Chrissy at 16!!! With Eddie who was 30+… which is also statutory rape as well as pedophilia/hebephilia. And you’re just as disgusting as her for supporting that. She also said someone getting death threats sent to them was “karma” for saying that you shouldn’t ship Eddie and Erica OR 16 year old Chrissy and 30+ year old Eddie and wanting them to fuck, which they were absolutely correct about. Tell me what part of this is victim blaming. It’s not.

Sugar pie honey bunch, I already outlined this for you in my last response to you. Telling someone that they deserved a terrible thing that happened to them as a child, decades before they engaged in shipping discourse over characters who are fictional and do not exist, is victim blaming. The lived experiences of real people is, has been, and always will be more important than the imaginary lives of fictional characters. If that’s not clear enough for you, I’m not sure how I can spell it out for you. But apparently I’m a masochist, so I’m going to try.

My lovely, would you accuse everyone who listens to True Crime podcasts of being a serial killer? How about George R. R. Martin, who wrote a sex scene between a thirteen year old and a thirty year old in the first book of ASOIAF? Is he a pedophile? Or how about the Duffers, who wrote not one, not two, not three, but four gratuitous murders of teenagers in season 4 alone of Stranger Things? Are they teen murderers? They wrote a racist character. Are they racists? (And if so, shouldn’t you be boycotting it?)

The answer to all of the above is no. People can consume and/or create stories that do not embody their real life values. If we couldn’t, then your local library would be full of nothing but coffee shop meet-cutes.

I’m done talking about this. You have come to my inbox based on something you saw on my friend’s blog, which you only would have seen by hate-scrolling when you could be doing something productive with your time. Write a fanfic. Do some volunteer work. Learn a new hobby. Take a class. Hang out with friends. Life is too short to be spent hate-scrolling someone’s blog and picking fights over a matter that doesn’t have any impact on you.

So I’ll say again, hoping that the third time’s the charm: please, for the sake of your mental health and the environment of fandom, do better.

All future hate asks will be met with recipes, because I want this blog to be a positive space, and interacting with this negativity is, quite frankly, not how I would like to spend my time. So, as a soothing cleanser, please enjoy this recipe for a lovely lavender cold process soap.

Ingredients:

Distilled water: 6.8 oz. / 193 g

Lye (Sodium Hydroxide): 4.2 oz. / 118 g

Lavender infused Olive Oil: 8.7 oz. / 247 g (29%)

Coconut Oil: 8.1 oz. / 230 g (27%)

Tallow: 5.4 oz. / 153 g (18%)

Shea butter: 4.5 oz./ 128 g (15%)

Castor Oil: 1.8 oz. / 51 g (6%)

Hemp Oil: 1.5 oz. / 43 g (5%)

Lavender essential oil: 25 g

Patchouli essential oil: 6 g

Kaolin clay: 3 Tbsp

dried lavender flowers: 1 cup (~¾ cup for the oil infusion, 1 tablespoon for the "tea")

Optional: about 8 little lavender twigs or buds for the top

INSTRUCTIONS

Safety First: Put on googles and gloves, wear long sleeves and make sure you're not soaping around children and/or pets. Keep your space ventilated or soap outdoors

Measure out 8 oz. of distilled water (a little more than the recipe calls for) and boil it in a small saucepan. Add 1 tablespoon of lavender buds to the hot water, stir and let it cool to room temperature

Using a coffee filter, cheesecloth or fine sifter filter out the lavender

Weigh your water again and depending on how much has evaporated either add or take away as much as needed

Slowly and carefully add the lye, gently stirring until fully dissolved.

Place lye solution in an ice bath (if the lye water turns too brown it will color your soap brown as well)

Melt coconut oil, tallow and shea butter over low heat

Add hemp, castor and infused olive oil to melted oils

Add essential oil blend (lavender and patchouli essential oil)

Add kaolin clay and mix until there are no more clumps

When lye solution and oils are about room temperature combine the two and stick blend until medium trace (thin pudding consistency) is achieved

Pour soap batter into soap mold and tap it down a couple of times to release any air bubbles

If you wish to decorate the top with lavender twigs or buds, make sure that the soap is at VERY thick consistency at that point. For me that was 10 minutes after I poured the soap. This will prevent them from leaving brown marks on the top of your soap.

Insulate mold with a heavy towel to encourage gel phase, cut into bars after 24-36 hours and cure for 3-4 weeks

[caluski]

ive made myself hot chocolate wine. hot wine chocolate maybe. its mostly hot chocolate and some wine... i only added a little because i havent made hot wine in a long time now, i was worried id evaporate the alcohol and make it gross. but it turned out fine and its good, maybe next time ill make some with spices. maybe replace oat milk with some other one... i think cashew might be good, maybe if i spot it on sale somewhere. with cinnamon maybe, with slices of orange? orange matches both chocolate and wine, why wouldn't it work with both at the same time. i wish i could spend an hour or so in the kitchen, making different infusions that i could try with someone else. its always so much more fun to try new things with another person.

i dont really mind drinking alone, since i already usually do it while watching something or writing. but i do really really miss drinking coffee or tea with other people. i miss talking to people so very very much. i talk so much.. if one somehow hasnt figured it out yet from the absolute fucking abundance of long posts on my blog, but i really do love talking. my big problem is that i talk so much, that my hot drinks cool down before i get to take a sip or two. im really horrible at keeping that balance between being caught up with the conversation and drinking. although i never really have much to say, i keep repeating the stories ive already told a million times before, and i say silly stuff, and i complain about a lot of things, and i get sidetracked constantly. not really in like, adorable or quirky way, i can imagine it must be annoying for the other people in the conversation, especially when i get too excited and interrupt people and dont listen very well. i think its one of those things i wanna improve about myself.

yesterday, as i was walking home through the centre of the city, i was horribly in need of coffee, it was so cold and i was in a good mood, and i only had weak green tea that morning, and since it was still pretty early in the day, the cafes had some free spots. but i walked in, looked around, and walked out. its like everything reminds me of loneliness these days, and when i got inside, tables were all taken by couples or groups. i dont think it was a sign of anything, but it made me so awfully bitter. i know loneliness doesnt make me special, i know literally everyone experiences it to some degree, but god, it really hurts to look around and see that despite everything, people always have someone out there. a best friend, a significant other, family member, whatever.

theres that stupid thing everyone always repeats, "theres always someone out there who loves you, even if you dont know about it". i used to hold onto that desperately, but its so dumb. unrealistic and dumb. it makes you hope that maybe right now youre alone, but once you'll be at your rock bottom, SOMEONE will magically show up and say, i care for you, and i will be by your side to support you, or whatever. but then you hit the rock bottom and theres nothing, or better yet, someone you had hoped would stay with you suddenly says "i have anxiety and seasonal affective disorder, i cant be around you or ill get worse, too", and you dont want them to get worse because of you, of course you dont. theyre being reasonable, and you know that, and you cant do anything about it. even if you do guilt-trip them into staying, would that even really help, if they resented you for it secretly for the rest of their life.

a week ago or so ive walked into a cafe, as well, but i got so overwhelmed that i had to pretend to look around which tables are free, and left right away. just brought in mud and puddles, probably, since it was such a snowy day. i worry that one day ill be better, but i wont be able to step foot inside a cafe anymore, because it will remind me of nothing but the days when it was just me and self-loathing. not that i can really afford cafes anymore, but i cant think about that now. or worse, that ill never get better, and ill never get to experience it again, the presence of another person by my side, having coffee or tea or desserts, and talking and laughing and maybe even flirting. that thought makes me nauseous, but i know its likely. it kind of sounds like not much to wish for, but it feels almost too perfect to ever be possible - not only to have money for that in the first place, but also a person who cares for you enough to want to be around you, to want to talk to you or listen to you, a person who wont tell you "we can go out, but i have only an hour" and then leave after 20 minutes because it turns out in that hour was included their ride back home.

i keep thinking, one day ill find someone, one day i wont be lonely anymore and then ill let it all out of my system. but i know its silly, because by the time ill find someone, ill forget how to really be a person, how to have a conversation. i talk to myself a lot, in my head, but its not enough, it doesnt really feel like anything. i write a diary, i write short stories, i write posts on this stupid blog, but nothing feels like talking to another person, and its awful. my memory is far worse, i stutter more and more with each passing year, im being more and more awkward in such an uncomfortable and humiliating way, that it only makes my brain scream at me to shut up forever. i know why my family doesnt want to talk to me, im more unpleasant than ive ever been. i know its unfair to be blaming them for not wanting me around; they stopped asking about anything, recently, because i cant stop crying whenever they start the topic of job search. i cry too much these days. i had to stop showing up to my favorite grocery store, because theyve seen me too many times all wet-eyed. and i cant help it anymore! i know im still human, i know im not a victim, i know my suffering isnt greater than anyone else's. but something has changed and i cant imagine getting better, anymore. or at least going back to who i used to be. theres no hope anymore! and if theres no hope for me anymore, what do i do? "just surviving" isnt neutral, its horrible, its painful, its a nightmare. i dont want my life to look like this. i dont know what to do anymore. and ive said it a thousand times, i know, but its the only thing i have floating around in my useless empty head. i miss hope. i miss believing that i could still be happy, one day. and i know that was stupid, too, i can see it now, but at least it was something to hold onto.

i miss being around people. i miss it so much. i miss talking to people so horribly. i miss laughing and i miss being held. i dont need all this cortisol. i dont want to forget what it feels like to not be alone. but the more i want it, the more out of reach everything feels, the more unrealistic even the simplest things seem. i might as well be dreaming of living in alternate universe fanfiction.

[hyrulepublications]

The Cooking Pot- Small zine-type publication in the Hateno Area slowly gaining popularity. Unfortunately, the author shared WAY to much information...

For large family gatherings back in Hateno Village, my mother used to break out our expensive, authentic Goron Spice and used it to make the most wonderful curry. Everyone used to go absolutely crazy for it, and we’d always have to make multiple servings just so we wouldn’t run out! This curry is also perfect for cold weather and sick days, because it packs a punch that will both warm your insides and clear out your nose! Below I’ve written down the recipe so that you can make this for yourself, in the same format that my great grandmother wrote it down in. Just remember that you have to always use the freshest ingredients, and...

...check your spice level constantly! We have had many the occasion where people partook and then had to drink a bucket of milk! Most of the skills I discuss here should be remembered from previous editions of The Cooking Pot, so double-check those copies if you get confused! For new readers, I have included the skills below! I remember when Grandpappy Ragoll taught me how to fish, and harvest the meet for parts!

It all started when Grandpappy and I woke up in the dark hours before dawn, the beautiful stars and constellations leading us to the edge of Hateno Village and into the Hateno Bay.

"Lurelin village may have made fishing their trade, but nothing beats catching your own, Jalphie. Nothing."

He changed my whole world that day as we...

Recipe for Seafood Curry-Hateno Style

1 Large armored porgy 1 cup of hylian rice 3 teaspoons of Goron Spice(AUTHENTIC!) 1 cup of diced tomatos 1/2 cup of Hateno Soft Cheese 1/3 cup of milk 2 cups of water 1 large crab 2 river snails 1 small fortified pumpkin 3 thinly sliced endura carrots 1 sunshroom, thinly sliced. To Taste: Hylian Herb, rock salt, blue nightshade, pepper, saffron(breed of your choice, we prefer electric), and Mighty Thistle. Step 1: To begin, prepare all the ingredients. Pro-tip: Have them set out so you don't have to stop! Step 2: place crab(uncooked), and the skeleton of the armored porgy in the pot with the chosen herbs, barring Hylian Herb- this works best an an aromatic, and water! Step 3: Cook this untill the water has evaporated some, and the liquid more closely resembles soup stock. Then remove crab and fishbones, and add vegtables, tomatos, mushrooms, and the goron spice. Step 4: While these cook, take the pumpkin and bake it for around an hour. Step 5: Clear out the pumpkin of the meat, and add to the soup pot. Stir and mix thoroughly. Step 6: Add crab meat(not shell!) into the curry pot to combine with the other supplies. Remove the river snail shells. Add cheese, and melt. Step 7: Move stew into pumpkin to serve, and enjoy!

Written by Jalph Rozudo

[allbeendonebefore]

Its 29 degrees here in Ottawa on October 4th! And its been hot the rest of the year with heat waves, the Rideau Canal never opening and forest fires! Is Alberta also experiencing unusual heat?

It's 12 C today here which is I would say about normal for this time of year, usually a risk of frost overnight and even some snowfall in the mountain parks. That said, it is still dry af and the risk of fire is ever present. I had heard about similar heatwaves this week in the Montreal area as well, and it sounds absolutely awful. I remember September being that hot in Toronto when I was there too, which made me absolutely miserable even though I heard it hadn't been normal years ago.

We had our unusual heat much much earlier in the year, with comparable temperatures to what you are experiencing now in May. generally for us in Edmonton, May Long Weekend is generally is the end of our risk of frost so you can see how unseasonal an extra 30 degrees is :/

It really frustrates me that everyone's either quick to pass it off as a fluke or just accept that it's the new normal without doing anything about it. Western and Northern Canada have been experiencing these extremes for over a decade now, and it's frustrating that when Toronto had worse air quality than New York that their focus was STILL on "poor New York". Like, yeah, but poor all of us! My extended family had to evacuate twice this summer alone, towns and communities have burned to the ground in BC and Alberta and the capital city of NWT had to be evacuated and everyone's focus was on a goddamn baseball game? (and not to mention: out here they made the CFL play their classic labour day Battle of Alberta in 10+ air quality and then only afterwards thought "hmm maybe we shouldn't have done that...")

it's just so frustrating! and none of us have the infrastructure for this kind of weather! I had alerts for the possibilities of power grid blackouts here towards the end of August, which is normally when we actually start getting frost in the mornings. It's fucking insane and I hope that you're able to keep cool- none of my usual strategies worked in Toronto because I forgot humidity was a thing and completely changes how you experience heat because nothing evaporates, not to mention living in a dated apartment 30 floors up.

Even so (unsolicited advice time), if you have control over this: remember to keep your windows closed as much as possible during the day, as counterintuitive as it sounds. I don't have AC so I know how oppressive closed windows can be in that heat, and I remember that things tend not to cool off as much at night there, but honest to god sometimes it can be a 5 degree difference, and for me that's the difference between being able to concentrate and not murdering someone. There's just a point past 25 where you're only pushing hot air around, and with most buildings here being built to trap heat it's much worse. Also: avoid caffeine if you can - I drink cold barley tea when it's hot because it's got a nutty flavour that is similar to black tea or coffee so I can fight the craving. Hoping for fall temperatures for you soon ( ;~;)b

[miekasa]

Gojo when sick is the best worst cause he'd 100% be the kind to beg for cuddles and end up getting you sick too (and he wouldn't even hide being happy about it cause now you have to stay in bed with him until you feel better)

He'd try to deny being sick at first until he realises it actually gets your attention -> he then acts sick TM and becomes the most dramatic you've ever seen him "I think I've got a fever can you check ? Are you sure you got it right ? No no I feel feverish check again"

He'll also be super annoying the worse he feels "No I don't want to eat that" "It's too hot, gimme the blanket" "No now it's too cold *proceeds to push the blanket away til it's on the floor*" "Let's cuddle- what do you mean no ? Naaah I promise I won't get you sick don't worry" which ends up with a) him pushing you away when he finally falls asleep cause he got too warm and b) you waking up feeling sick thanks to his clingy ass

Also he always complains when he has to take his medicine

Satoru is absolutely the worst, most insufferable patient anybody could ask for. He rarely ever gets sick, but when he does catch something, it’s like he’s been run over by a truck—his fever is way higher than it should be for the average cold or flu, his stomach hurts even though it’s not a stomach bug, he’s coughing up a lung just breathing sometimes. You have to feel sorry for him… even if being sick does nothing to curb his over the top personality; if anything, all of his symptoms seems to only heighten Satoru’s need for attention and affection (and conveniently, he never seems to lose his voice).

And you’re right, at first he does try to play it off, but the inevitable will happen (he will start sneezing all over the place) and—oh, what’s this… are you doting on him over a few sniffles? The next few days might be hell for his body, but Satoru’s on cloud nine in his mind because he’s about to have your undivided attention. Life is good (actually, it kinda sucks because his stomach is beating him up from the inside out, but you’re rubbing his back and feeding him bone broth when his head is not in a toilet so life is actually great).

He’s insufferable because his tolerance for being sick is equivalent to that of a toddler, but also because he’s picky like one, too. “Do we have beef broth instead of chicken? Wait—how do you know you have to take my temperature under my tongue? What about in my—achoo­—in my ear, I’ve seen that, too!... That can’t be my temperature, isn’t that too high?” “No, I need more medicine, give it back! Didn’t you see I’m basically a volcano!” “Satoru, you whined about the taste before, and now you want more? You can’t just have it now, there are limits.”“I am going to evaporate.” “I am going to eviscerate you if you don’t sit down.” “That’s so mean, I’m dying over here :(”

All that to get you sick in the process and then act like all is well. “This is what they mean by in sickness and in health right, darling?” Satoru grins, far too happy for a man who’s been eating crackers and pedialite for the past 48 hours. You glare at him, pulling your shared blanket up to your chin. Of course he got you sick, too. Of course you fell for it. You can tolerate a cold, but you swear if you start puking, you’re going to kill him once and for all. Satoru pays no attention to your murderous glare, only laying his head on your chest with a sniffle, “It’s good practice for when we’re married, don’t you think?”

[pagesfromthevoid]

Leave Through the Lobby | p.p. | 3

Andrew!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.4K

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff. That’s it. It’s just so sweet honestly

Authors Note: I’m on a goddamn roll with this series and no one even asked for it. Enjoy part 3; you might need to read part 2 for some context.

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He would not be late for this date.

Absolutely not.

No asshole dressed like a scorpion was going to prevent Peter Parker from getting to that diner. He had done such a good job avoiding attacks and being stabbed, but the fight was dragging on because Mac Gargan —the guy who went by Scorpion —kept breaking through his webbing.

After the fourth attempt at trying to restrain him, Peter was getting fed up. He had latched onto a truck, dodging another swipe of Mac’s stinger.

“C’Mon man, I have dinner plans! Can’t you just chill for one night?” Peter called out, back flipping off the truck and shooting a series of webs in Mac’s direction, tying him down.

The villain just gave him a dirty look and swiped through the webbing without issue. “Aw, poor spidey has a date? When can I meet’em?”

Under his mask, Peter rolled his eyes and hopped onto another car, crossing his arms. “Preferably never.”

Never would be an ideal time, for sure. Peter looked around for a moment, considering his next option. Dismantling that stupid tail was his best bet, but Mac knew that and was smarter than he let on. Protected his weapon of choice well. But Peter was faster, and that he could use to his advantage. An idea struck him and Peter webbed up onto the nearest lamppost.

Mac whipped his tail up towards him but Peter was quick, and while Mac was distracted, webbed his feet to the ground. Mac snarled in anger as Peter then clamped the tail’s stinger against the lamppost, trapping it against the metal. With the tail out of the way, Peter was able to restrain Mac enough that the hero could leave the rest up to the police —who approached Scorpion with guns drawn.

“If you all have this handled, I gotta run,” he called out and took off swinging across the city.

Of course Mac had to bring the fight half way across the damn city. Peter couldn’t have any good luck, after all. Though perhaps he should be thankful that there wasn’t any issue near the apartments. If the clock on city hall was accurate, then he still had ten minutes to spare and Peter knew he could make it to his apartment, grab a change of clothes and get to dinner just in time.

And you know what? That’s exactly what happened too. Swung into the apartment, changed real quick, put some deodorant and cologne on. Grabbed the flowers he’d picked up that morning and put in a vase —and ran back out the door without any interruptions. No little old ladies needing help. No robbers breaking into stores or banks. Nothing stopped him as he practically slid to a stop outside the diner.

Peter took a deep breath, calmed his nerves. He fixed his hair in the reflection of the window, then pulled the door open. The hostess greeted him with an overly excited smile; turns out, Y/N wasn’t there yet. Glancing at his phone, it was just a little before 5 and he had no text from her —but he didn’t panic. Not yet, at least. He was always late for everything. Everyone was late sometimes. It was fine.

Except after fifteen minutes, two drinks down, he started to worry. She had called it date —maybe she forgot. But the night before, when they ran into each other in the lobby, she had mentioned being excited. What if something happened to her? What if she was in danger? What if —

“I’m so sorry I’m late!”

Peter looked up from his hands, the panic immediately evaporating as she hurried through the diner. She was yanking off her scarf and hat, stuffing them into the bag at her side. Her cheeks were flushed, though he wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or the cold. But it didn’t matter because good god, she was beautiful and she was there and everything was going right for once.

Shaking his head, Peter stood and pulled out her chair. He took her bag and set it in the chair beside her, checking her over for a quick second to ensure she was in one piece. When he determined that she was definitely okay, he sat back down and rested his arms on the table, smiling at her brightly.

She was flustered, trying to get herself settled in. When she finally looked up at him properly, and realized he had been watching her, Y/N dropped her hands into her lap and let out a small laugh.

“I am so sorry, I’m not usually late. Usually I’m early but I got caught up with rehearsals at school and —“

“I brought you flowers,” Peter interrupted, pulling the small bouquet from the chair beside him. He held the flowers between the two of them, smiling at her still.

For moment, she became flustered again, unprepared for his surprise. But she recovered, smiling brightly as she took them and pressed her nose to the top gently, inhaling.

“Oh, god. Thank you, Peter. I feel so bad.” She looked the flowers over carefully, as if taking in every little detail before her. Peter just watched her happily.

“You don’t need to worry —I am literally always late,” he reassured, resting his chin in his palm as he stared at her. “This is probably the first time in my life that I’ve been somewhere before anyone else.”

“I…I definitely believe that,” she admitted with a chuckle, setting the flowers to the side and finally looking at him fully.

He made sure to not get hit in the face today, because he knew that she would worry if he had cuts and bruises. And the ones from their first meeting were already healed over, which was great.

“I saw…” she paused for a moment, clearly thinking how to phrase what she wanted to say. “I saw Spider-Man on the news today, during my planning period. Fighting that Scorpion guy. I hope he’s okay.”

Peter looked down as he laughed quietly. “He’s…I’m sure he’s fine.”

The waitress came by and took their order, making sure to take Peter’s glass with her since he’d forced down yet another soda in his wait. A comfortable silence fell between them, much like the one they shared the other night. Peter couldn’t help but take in every feature of her, holding onto every detail to make sure he never forgot her. She watched him, resting her hand against her cheek as she did so.

When the waitress returned with their drinks, the silence broke when Y/N thanked her. Peter nodded in thanks, coming back into reality as he looked up at the waitress. In that split second, though, everything went quiet around him as the hair in the back of his neck stood up —his senses kicking in that something was about to happen.

He whipped his head towards Y/N, just as the wrapper of her straw hit him in the face.

His senses ceased and Peter sat there for a moment, caught off guard that he picked up on that, of all things. Then he started laughing, covering his mouth as Y/N also started laughing. The stillness of the diner was entirely interrupted with their laughter, though luckily there weren’t many others in there to be disturbed. The two continued their laughter, unable to control themselves. Peter unwrapped his straw and shot it at her, but she batted it away with a loud cackle.

When they finally calmed down, and their food was sitting front of them, the two settled into a comfortable conversation about their last couple days.

“You said you got caught up with rehearsals, what happened?” He asked, taking a couple of fries off his plate and eating them.

She covered her mouth to finish chewing, putting her fork down. “Oh, uh,” she swallowed and took a sip of her drink. “I told them I had plans tonight so we needed to wrap up a bit early, but I have a small group of them that love to ask me every question possible.”

“Oh? So you told them you had a date and they bombarded you?”

“‘Miss, who is it? Are they cute? How old are they? Where are you going? Are you gonna marry them?’“ She quoted, taking a fry off her plate and eating it with a small laugh. “You’d think for sophomores and juniors they wouldn’t be interested in my love life, but they’re obsessed.”

“It’s because you’re the pretty, cool theatre teacher. I’m sure they love you.”

She shrugged some in response, looking at him with a small smile. “I don’t like leaving until they’re all gone, in case something happens.” She explained, poking at her meal with her fork. “Or they need me. I guess that’s where you and I are similar; it’s just what we do, isn’t it? Help everyone we can.”

Peter nodded in understanding, smiling at the idea that she found another string to keep them together.

“It’s a blessing and a curse, caring about others as much as we do,” Peter offered in response. “But it’s worth it in the end. When the sun rises and we get to start again the next day.”

Y/N watched him for a moment, and Peter felt the heat rise up his neck as she looked him up and down. “I’m glad you asked me out tonight, Peter,” she finally said, pushing her food forward some and leaning into her arms on the table.

Peter nodded in agreement, mimicking her movements and leaning in. “I’m glad you said yes,” he started. “Don’t make fun of me, but I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to talk to you for months. More than just…you know, hey, how are you. It’s part of why I started using the lobby instead of just climbing through the window.”

She laughed again, shaking her head. “And here I thought you just changed your work schedule finally.”

“I mean, I kinda did.”

“Well, in that case, I’m flattered that you changed your crime fighting schedule just to see me,” she teased playfully.

“I’ll do whatever you want if I can see you again,” he said without hesitation.

The panic returned briefly, when he realized what he was saying. How forward that was; how weird it probably was to so bluntly say that. It was their first date; he shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have made it weird. He shouldn’t have —

“Anything, huh?” She asked, brow raised. Y/N leaned in closer, whispering now for only him to hear. “Even…take me on a sight seeing tour of the city with my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man?”

Peter leaned in closer to hear her, and smiled at her softly. He was reminded, suddenly, of the first time he took Gwen on a tour of the city using his powers. How magical it felt; how happy they had been. Peter wanted that feeling again, and he knew that Gwen would want the same.

“Not tonight, because it’s supposed to rain. Webs and rain do not mix well. But soon —absolutely. I would love to.”

The waitress cleared her throat as she approached, trying not to ruin their moment as she dropped the check and hurried away. They remained leaned in, neither breaking the moment the best they could. It was when she dropped her eyes to his lips then back up that Peter decided it was time to go; that if he was going to kiss her, it wasn’t going to be in the diner down the street.

Their date, unfortunately, was interrupted as Peter finished paying the bill. The TV in the diner had the news playing, and the breaking report was that Mac had broken out of his containment cell and was going after Jameson. Peter very briefly considered letting the guy have it; after all, his boss was an ass. But that wasn’t what he did.

Peter kept apologizing as they walked out and stood outside. He had an excellent excuse and she knew he wasn’t trying to bail. God, he was glad he told her now.

“Hey,” Y/N said. Peter was looking around to ensure that they were safe. She tugged on his sleeve, drawing his attention back to her. “We got through like 90% of the date. The only part we’re missing is you walking me to my door, and that’s not even a huge deal since we live in the same building. I’m going to call this a very successful date.”

Peter stared down at her with a sad smile, shaking his head. “You deserve 100% of a date, though. And I can’t always promise that —“

Refusing to let Peter make anymore excuses, Y/N grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him down into a kiss. It was a sweet moment; her lips were soft against his and with how close she was, he could smell the fruity perfume she had on. It knocked the wind right of Peter as he kissed her back, and he reached up to cup her face in his hands. He didn’t want another moment to end like the last few did, but the police sirens that sped by drew him away just briefly. But it was enough for her to pull back, and rest her hands on his chest.

“There, 100% of a date.” She grinned up at him, patting his chest lightly with her hands. “As long as you kiss me before you leave, it’ll always be 100%.”

Peter rested his hands over hers, lacing their fingers together. “I…I can definitely do that. I can promise you that.”

And he could. It was the easiest promise he could make; one he was happy to oblige. And maybe it wasn’t actually that easy, maybe it never would be. But for now —it was just what he needed.

“I have to go,” he swore under his breath, looking around as more police cars sped by. “Text me the second you get into your apartment, okay? Please?”

She nodded, but grabbed his hand as he turned to go. “I’ll leave my window unlocked if you need anything.”

Peter smiled at her, nodding before he looked around then ducked into the alleyway. She watched as Spider-Man took off into the night, chasing after bad guys to save the city.

Peter would soon find that every night, from that night on, her window would be unlocked for him. And that’s all he could ask for.

———

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[inkykeiji]

i have the warmth of the sun within me tonight

characters: takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut n fluff

notes: this piece was written with someone specific in mind, but i wanted to share it here, too!! this is, by far, the healthiest and most wholesome piece i’ve ever posted on my blog ehehe | title cred: the warmth of the sun by the beach boys

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, reader is extremely scared of thunderstorms, v romantic, shower sex, minimal prep, slight size difference/size kink

words: 4.6k

synopsis:

“Make it stop, Kei, please, m-make it stop, make it go away,” the words are nearly inaudible, wept into his chest and muffled by his jacket, snarled, snared, snagged on the choked sobs and gagged sniffles that scrabble and tear at your throat with their razored talons.

And even drenched, clothes sopping with rainwater, he’s still so warm, like he has liquid sun flowing through his veins, scalding waves of heat radiating off of his body and seeping into yours, cozy and consoling as it douses you, as it sinks into your skin, your bones, your soul itself and marinates there, twisting and twirling into a small ball of sunshine, of him, that sends pulsing zaps of warmth circulating through your flesh.

It’s dark. It’s so dark it almost looks like night despite the fact that it’s only late afternoon, heavy bloated clouds—charcoal and fluffy and overstuffed with raindrops—obscuring the safety of comforting golden rays from the entire city.

The torrential downpour feels endless, and for a brief second you’re terrified it truly may never stop, streets below having flooded with the rain, cars slowly wading through them, tires spraying out streams of water as they do.

Magnificent strikes of lightning crack through the dreary sky like thick roots snaking through the foggy canopy of smoke and steel, momentarily tainting them in shades of periwinkle and lavender and casting flashes of brilliant silver light across the skyscrapers and condominiums.

Their sudden presence makes you jolt, a rapid shudder working its way through your entire body, skin pebbling with chills in its wake.

But it isn’t the lightning that bothers you—not really, anyway.

It’s what comes after.

Rumbles of thunder so loud, so violent they cause the glass windows of Keigo’s apartment to quiver and the hardwood beneath your feet to tremble, roll through the sky, and you swear you can see the clouds ripple from the force.

Arms squeezing tighter around your body, your fingers curl in the material of your—his—hoodie, desperately attempting to resist the urge to grab your phone, to frantically scroll through social media as worried eyes scan for any mention of his name, for shreds of dreadful news, for things you never want to hear.

You hate it when he has to work in storms such as these. And you know, you know you shouldn’t be watching the sky, shouldn’t be searching the splotches of gunmetal adorning the atmosphere for a glimmer of scarlet and gold, shouldn’t be standing so close to the pristine glass windows that your uneven puffs of nervous breath cloud them, tiny blankets of condensation left by the hot air you exhale fleetingly staining the surface, evaporating into nothing just as quickly as they appear.

But you can’t help it. It’s a compulsion, almost—like some sort of sick obsession, some sort of twisted addiction you can’t control. Because—Because you have to know, unable to stand that feeling of uncertainty that gnaws away at your insides, incapable of handling the ambiguity and vagueness that comes packaged with the not knowing. You have to at least try—try to do everything in your power to stay informed, and if that means facing a vicious thunderstorm head on, with your cheek pressed against the cold glass as your gaze searches the tumultuous sky, then so be it.

You can brave it for him. You swear you can.

“Baby,” he scolds gently, his sudden presence surprising you, causing you to throw a quick glance over your shoulder. Topaz eyes observe you, overflowing with concern, pretty bowed lips turning down, soaked strands of gold hair sticking to his forehead, cheeks and neck. “How many times have I told you not to do this?” And although he’s reprimanding you, his voice is sweet, smooth and syrupy like the finest honey. “You know how much thunder freaks you out,”

You scoff, stiffening almost defensively as you turn your nose up a little, still avoiding his eyes. “It doesn’t freak me out,”

“Oh?” he laughs a little as he kicks off his boots, tension easing from his shoulders with every step towards you, every step further into the warm sanctuary of your shared home, wet sock-clad feet slapping against the hardwood and leaving gleaming footprints.

“Kei,” you whine a little, gesturing his dripping body. “You’re getting water everywhere,”

“Hey now,” a playful smirk spreads across his lips, and a sudden, sharp whoosh slices through the air as his wings spread, spanning nearly half the living room. He gives them one good, thorough shake, crimson feathers trembling and sending tiny droplets of water flying. “I wasn’t done,” he speaks over your squeal of his name, smirk growing into that trademark mischievous grin. “You shouldn’t just stand at the window and stare up at the sky—it only scares you more,”

“I’m not scared,”

Vicious growls of thunder roil through the sky before you’re even finished speaking, almost as if it’s laughing at you, mocking you, your body flinching as the sounds crash over you, curling in on yourself a little, face puckered up in a wince as your words stutter, catching on a gasp in your throat.

Exhaling a soft sigh, Keigo holds his arms open wide, wings still stretched to span them. “Yeah, right. C’mere,” When you don’t begin moving immediately, he sighs again, strong hands gently pulling you towards him.

Your body melts into his touch—an automatic and involuntary reaction, almost instinctual at this point—and you slump against his damp chest, nuzzling your cheek against the firm muscles.

“I’ve got you,” he says softly, arms wrapping around your body as he holds you tightly to his, voice reverberating against your ear. “The Big Bad Scary Thunder can’t get you here,”

Eyes rolling, you scoff at his playful teasing, a tiny smile materializing on your face as you pull away a little to look up at him, greeted with the sight of brilliant eyes—made of sunshine and liquid gold, you’re absolutely sure of it—gazing down at you, lips quirked in a cute little smirk.

His beauty never fails to knock the breath from your chest—it seems you can never be prepared for it; no matter how many times you’ve seen him, how many times you’ve been close enough to count the individual eyelashes lining those orbs, how many times you’ve been close enough to feel the inviting tickle of the short golden hairs decorating his chin—and you’re not sure you’ll never get used to it, either.

A peculiar mix of adoration and concern swirl in his honey irises, though you can see the mirth and amusement dancing just beyond that, thinly veiled by the love and worry.

“Oh, shut up—” another bang of thunder fissures through the sky, so raucous it makes the thick clouds waver and swell, your words morphing into a fearful little squeak, quickly burying your head back against the safety of his chest.

Fingers curl in the wet suede and you hug yourself closer to him, tugging him closer to you, body beginning to shudder.

He’s hushing you now, arms and wings curled around you in a defensive embrace as words of comfort pry past his lips, tender voice sheathing the armor of crimson surrounding you.

“At least they aren’t as bad as the ones back home, yeah?”

“I guess so,” you mumble, unconvinced, eyebrows knitted and mouth sculpted into a deep pout. “I still don’t like them, though,”

“I know, I know,” a warm hand rubs soothing circles into your back, voice only marginally louder than the next bout of thunder as it vibrates against your face, another quiet yelp clawing its way up your throat. “Shh, you’re safe, you’re safe,”

“Kei,”

The nickname escapes in a mangled little whimper, and you can feel it—fright, terror, dread—building in your chest, a strangling type of panic that weaves and winds itself around your windpipe and crushes; because they’re getting worse, they’re getting closer, growls and grumbles following the flashes of lightning almost immediately, roaring loud enough to quake buildings, your heart thudding so violently it’s almost painful. Tears sting your eyes, and you shake your head against him, as if trying to burrow into his chest, to carve out a little space in his ribcage, right next to his steadily beating heart, and live there.

“I-I take it back, they are as bad as the ones back home,”

Or, at least, this one is

Keigo doesn’t argue, all traces of amusement evaporated from his face, replaced by trepidation that mixes with his worry and pinches his features, eyebrows furrowed and lips downturned as he cradles you against him. Ferocious tremors course through your form, chest beginning to hitch with swallowed sobs, and he squeezes you.

“Make it stop, Kei, please, m-make it stop, make it go away,” the words are nearly inaudible, wept into his chest and muffled by his jacket, snarled, snared, snagged on the choked sobs and gagged sniffles that scrabble and tear at your throat with their razored talons.

And even drenched, clothes sopping with rainwater, he’s still so warm, like he has liquid sun flowing through his veins, scalding waves of heat radiating off of his body and seeping into yours, cozy and consoling as it douses you, as it sinks into your skin, your bones, your soul itself and marinates there, twisting and twirling into a small ball of sunshine, of him, that sends pulsing zaps of warmth circulating through your flesh.

“Okay, alright,” he’s saying as he rocks you gently, crimson wings wrapped entirely around you both, shielding you from the storm. The scent of freshly mown grass and sticky vanilla ice cream is nearly overwhelming as it washes over your senses, invading your lungs and smothering you in its embrace. It’s a welcomed feeling, the beautiful suffocation it affords you with, vibrant bursts of heat rushing through your veins, whole body flooded and thrumming with a deep-seated comfort—a special type of solace, of reassurance, of contentment unique to him, unfathomable and mystifying on all accounts, that soothes your frayed nerves and calms your irregular heart—because he smells like home; not your home halfway across the world, your real home, your forever home.

“Come,” he instructs a moment later, stern yet tender, keeping an arm draped firmly around your shoulders, one of his wings curving around the limb as he leads you away from the window, scarlet feathers obstructing your vision.

—

The bathroom—comprised of gleaming marble and shining chrome—is enormous, housing a mammoth glass shower that spans the length of the furthest wall, large enough to more-than-comfortably accommodate his wings, and then some.

Steam fogs the glass, and a soft hiss slips from between your teeth as he cages you between his chiseled body and the freezing marble, cold rock stinging your already heated skin, his wings spreading to mimic his arms, providing another layer of protection and entirely immersing you in him.

It’s your favourite when he does this, when he engulfs you in his grasp and creates a tiny universe where it’s just the two of you, whole world having fallen away outside of the barricade his thick wings offer—and you’ve never felt safer.

And it’s amazing, you’re thinking to yourself—or maybe you’re murmuring it, lips moving in a daze—it’s amazing how even after all of the rainwater pouring from the sky, all of the zipping through those dense clouds, all of the vicious wind that whips against him as he soars; none of it could ever manage to wash away, to ever dull, his intoxicating scent, not even for a second.

You’re completely overcome by him, vanquished by his enamoring eyes and his saccharine smile—drunk and high off of it all, addicted to him in the sweetest way—and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

But you’re leaning into him, closer and closer and closer, lips parted as you inhale deeply, filling your lungs, your chest, your heart and veins and blood with his aura, his essence, him. He conquers you, intoxicates you, poisons you in such a beautiful way, and you’re enchanted by it, yearning for more, a greedy and insatiable craving that will never be fulfilled.

And he knows it. He knows the effect he has on you by merely existing near you—his cocky smirk and dazzling gaze tell you so.

But then his eyes soften, glazing over with something else, lidded as they slowly travel across your body bared to him, and his mouth falls open only for his tongue to suck his bottom lip between his teeth, and his fingers reach to trace your features, the curve of your cheek and line of your jaw, the most gentle caress.

“You…Are breathtaking,”

And he really does sound out of breath, as if he’s in awe from your beauty, as if this is his first time seeing you, as if you’re some sort of goddess, having descended right in front of him, and it forces chills to erupt across your bare skin—damp and splattered with tiny droplets of water that gleam like morning dew clinging to grass—despite how boiling it is between him and the steam from the shower.

It’s a feeling you can’t quite explain, a feeling you’ve never really been able to find the appropriate words for, something that makes you feel simultaneously powerful and weak, a swirling concoction of contradictions that invade your bloodstream and travel straight to your brain, infusing the tissues with the potent mix and sending tiny sparks buzzing through your veins, collecting to flutter together in the pit of your stomach.

He kisses you slowly, tonight. He kisses you like it’s his last day to live, kisses you like it’s his first time, unhurried tongue deliberately exploring the concavities of your mouth—every nook and ridge and crevice—as if committing them to memory, as if attempting to leave his stamp, his mark, his claim, on the real estate there.

He kisses you until neither of you can breathe, lungs shriveling as your chests heave, exhaling into each other’s mouths only to suck breath from each other’s mouths a moment later. He kisses you until you’re dizzy from the lack of air and he’s burning and hard and pressed up against your thigh, leaking head rubbing against the supple skin, leaving the prettiest gleaming trails of cream. He kisses you until you’ve gone stupid from his spit alone, fervent in the way you swallow it greedily, in the way you attempt to suck, slurp, steal more from him as it surges to your brain, tissues and nerves vaporizing into nothing more than a dazed mist, spiked with him.

The kiss breaks with a sharp whoosh of air, his lids lifting to reveal glassy pupils outlined with the thinnest ring of amber. Your tongue darts out from your mouth to lick and lap at the stringy, viscous remnants coating your chin; starved, ravenous, and forever unsated.

The chuckle huffed out from between swollen, saliva-soaked lips is nothing short of sinful, makes your vision blur and your stomach swoop, a murmured tease following it.

“Eager, aren’t you,”

And you want to point out that you weren’t the one practically humping someone’s hip, but the words tangle in your throat, catching on a gasp as nimble fingers slip between the apex of your thighs, an involuntary groan spilling from his throat.

“Fuck,” his head falls forward, face buried in your neck, and sucks an inhale through his teeth. “How are you already this wet?”

He’s nearly whining as he dips two fingers into you, soft little sounds that fall from his lips and sop into your skin, his breath scorching—sizzling more than the steam in the shower—against your neck.

And those fingers, now plunging into you, knuckles curling the moment they’re deep enough to press moans from your chest and cries from your throat, feel so familiar as they stretch you open—the same fingers that pet your hair and brush away your tears and feed you pieces of fried chicken; they feel like home.

Yet as comforting as that is, as much as it has your chest swelling with something so large, so dense you’re terrified your ribs may shatter and splinter under the strain, they aren’t enough. Not right now, not today.

Because even with the water hitting the tiles and the exquisite symphony of his pants and your mewls, you can still hear it, menacing blasts encroaching on you, deep and heavy and threatening to split the little world Keigo has created, the small haven his wings and arms provide.

“Please, please, Kei,” you’re nearly wailing out, forcing bleary eyes to open, belated in the way they find his gaze. “I-I want you, I need you,”

“Sweetheart,” he starts—and you know that tone, stitched together with hesitation and concern and embellished with thin ribbons of patronization. “You know you can’t take me without being opened up at least a lil’ first,”

Another clap of thunder rattles the apartment, sounding as if it’s just outside the bathroom door, ranting and raging to get in, and both of your hands claw at his wrist, trying to pull his hand away as words bubble past your lips, high and terrified and desperate.

“No, Kei, not tonight. Please, baby, please, I need you now, right now, Kei, right now, pl-please,” and you’re nearly choking on the pleads as they barrel up your throat and out your mouth, all garbled together and stuffed with spit. “I can handle it, promise,”

A hoarse whine hitches in his throat, the worried knitting of his eyebrows carving creases into his forehead. With pinched features and a scrunched face, it looks almost as if he’s in pain; like it’s pure agony to deny you. And you can see it, can see the internal struggle reflected in his eyes, stare wrought with the tug and pull between desire and care. But that need is growing, spreading, curling around your organs in a tight embrace, suffocating you with its urgency.

A final please, Keigo, croaked out in a broken whimper and thick with the threat of tears, is what breaks him, shatters his resolve to a fine dust and whisks it away in one breath.

“Alright,” he’s murmuring, though his voice is strained, tense and gruff under the combined paradoxical weight of lust and apprehension. “Alright, hush now, I’ve got you,”

Then he’s hoisting you up, and your legs are wrapping around his waist, one hand clutching the top of the glass door, the other digging bruises into his neck as he buries his cock inside of you in one swift movement, a set of relieved gasps escaping you both.

It stings a little, sharp pinpricks shooting through your gut as his thick cock stretches you open, but they’re chased promptly by thorns of pleasure that dissipate the pain.

Because he feels so good, and you feel so full, and everything feels so perfect like this—everything feels right again.

But a boom of thunder explodes through this moment, blowing it to bits and pieces, and you reflexively jump, whole body flinching in his arms.

“Shh,” he’s whispering to you as he pulls you closer, chest pressed flush against yours. “Don’t worry, songbird, I’m gonna make it better, alright? Just focus on me,”

And so you do, eyes slipping shut as his hips begin to pump—slow at first, almost languid in the way they roll forward, each thrust thorough, cock nearly entirely unsheathed before it plunges back in, the head nudging your cervix, and you revel in the delicious cracks rasps—of your name, of curses, and praises—that fall from his lips with each rut.

“S’deep,” you mumble, words already jumbled from the carnal bliss, from the hedonistic decadence that surrounds you, emanating off him and percolating into you, instantly diffusing the tension and panic knotted like thick vines in your chest—even though he’s barely fucking done anything. “S’deep, Kei,”

“Yeah?” the word fans across your face, sweet and fragrant, hazy eyes opening to be met with glittering gold, strands of honeysuckle hair stuck to his forehead and temples, framing the dark gaze watching you, pupils almost voracious in the way they soak up your expressions, almost greedy in the way they scan your face as his hips move, looking for more. His forehead knocks against yours, penetrating stare boring into your face. “Good? My baby like it?”

“So good,” your head nods in small movements with the whimpered affirmation, bumping against his. It’s already beginning to build, smoldering deep in the pit of your stomach, the spark that had been dulled when you had begged him to stop, begged him to give you more—to stretch and fill and form you like your insides were made for him—reigniting, bright and scalding.

“More, please,”

It just slips from your lips, brain already beginning to melt as you allow yourself to be submerged, swallowed and consumed by him; an innate desire that swamps your mind and floods your senses, and you want it all.

But he complies without complaint this time, void of the usual teasing remarks and requests that you beg for it, because he can see how depleted, how drained you are, utterly exhausted from the terror of the storm, his understanding evident in a gentle confirmation tumbling from his lips.

And his groans and grunts are so beautiful, vibrating deep in the recesses of his chest, louder than any thunder as they rumble in your ears. You find solace in them, gulping them in as he pushes them out, letting them vibrate down the column of your throat and collect deep in your belly, kindling with the flickering embers that burn and glow and multiply with each thrust, furling together in a tense ball of churning heat.

The canting of his hips increases, faster and faster and faster with each rock forward, the escalating force resulting in your body to rubbing against the marble and glass, tightly curled fingers readjusting themselves, slipping a little from the foggy condensation coating the surface.

You don’t even realize that your sensitive skin’s been rubbed raw from the action, too tangled up in his noises, his pleasure, his cock, to notice, too tangled up in him to care at all.

“Here,” Keigo pants out, hips suddenly stilling. A low whine catches in your throat, eyebrows furrowing as you attempt to fuck yourself on his cock, a breathless snicker escaping his parted lips. “I know, baby, I know,” he’s telling you as strong arms readjust you, folded wings suddenly spanning, a gentle gust of air bathing your slick body in little goosebumps, before they wrap around him—around you—sheltering you from the glass and marble as they swoop under your ass and thighs, aiding Keigo in supporting your weight. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna take care of you, I promise,”

And it’s so much hotter like this, so much more intimate like this, uneven puffs of breath mingling as his forehead rests against yours, florescent lights reflecting off of his thick feathers and tinting everything—his skin, his eyes, his hair—scarlet.

The sudden snap of his hips startles a moan out of you, and he laughs again, carmine-tinged topaz eyes positively glowing. And he looks so gorgeous like this, looks like a fucking god like this, those fine gold hairs that cover his body catching in the soft light and shimmering.

He’s kissing, licking, nipping anywhere he can reach, stamping your flesh with physical manifestations of his love, pace never faltering as skilled, powerful hips continue to pound into you, cockhead dragging against that spot with every buck.

Your legs flex around his waist, muscles coiling as the sphere roiling in your stomach blazes, curled into a concentrated ball of fire. The heat it exudes is nearly unbearable now, heavy as it sinks into your gut, glowing orb spiraling as it coils, tighter and tighter and tighter until—

“Want you to cum for me, baby,” Keigo nearly keens, almost as if he’s begging you instead of commanding, voice cutting through the dense haze your brain has evaporated into. “Can y’do that for me? Be good and cum all over my cock?”

Yes, yes, yes, your head is nodding, emitting affirmatives in the form of high little mewls with each jerk. And it only takes two more sharp pistons of his hips before the fire-filled ball bursts, half of his name escaping your throat in a fractured cry as your entire body stiffens, cunt clenching so vigorously it’s almost painful.

Words start to spill from his mouth, an endless stream of praises, sandwiched between dark groans and broken whines and hitched curses; Y’so good for me, y’know that? Ah, f-fuck—So gorgeous when you gush all over my—my cock, baby, y’feel so good, I love you, I love you, I love you.

Hot, thick cum fills you suddenly, coinciding with his last choked out declaration of love, cock throbbing as it spurts rope after rope, taut stuttering hips pressed flush against your skin.

—

Everything aches as you unwind your limbs from around him, muscles sore and legs trembling as Keigo forces you to stand, propping you up against the shower wall and returning with the fluffiest towel only a moment later. Large hands pull you towards him, dragging you from under the shower head and into his arms, swaddling your shivering body in Egyptian cotton and strong arms and soft feathers.

He leaves the shower running on purpose, steady flow of water hitting the tiled floor and marbled wall, efficiently drowning out any roars or claps of thunder.

And you’re so tired, so pliant and boneless in his arms, barely able to keep your weighted eyelids from fluttering shut. He keeps you in his lap as he sits on the closed toilet, cradling you to his chest as best he can as he gently rocks you back and forth, whispering out praises—you did so well, you always look so gorgeous taking my cock—and avowals of his love, constant words oozing from his lips, sentiments cascading over your body like a stream of thick syrup.

Unconsciousness has you in its clutches, nearly slipping into the familiar embrace that promises the numbing ecstasy that comes with such an intense orgasm, until your tummy growls, and Keigo laughs.

“No, sweetheart,” he chides softly as you nuzzle into his chest, an indignant noise sounding at the back of your throat. “You have to eat at least a little before you can fall asleep,”

“Don’wanna,”

“I know,” he’s saying sympathetically as he stands, placing your feet on the floor a moment later. You wobble a little, eyes still shut, and he chuckles again, murmuring to himself about how fucking cute you are as he begins to dress you, tugging soft fleece that reeks of him over your head.

—

The rain has slowed to a drizzle by the time you’ve been clothed and fed, constant and leaking from the clouds overhead as you snuggle against Keigo in the plush sanctuary of your shared bed, tummy full and happy with roasted chicken and sauteed veggies. A deep contentment settles itself in your bones, weaving itself around the ivory in a protective glaze and imbuing you with a sense of calm, a sense of relaxation, a sense of relief, and you hum, Keigo’s lithe fingers trailing up your spine absentmindedly.

If you’re being honest, you’re not quite sure how he did it, how he slipped, slithered, seeped through the few cracks in your defence without being violent, without being forceful—how he tore down all of the barricades and shields you had built around yourself, hardened and firm from several years of paranoia and distrust, from the perpetual fear of being hurt again. It should scare you, really, how quickly he did it, how easily and inconspicuously he did it. But it doesn’t.

It doesn’t, because he did it with love; stripping those protective walls with genuity and sincerity, dismantling every brick and stone with gentle touches and soft kisses and tender words. He did it with respect, with patience, with passion and affection and devotion.

So it doesn’t, because there’s nothing to fear—because you’ve never felt more safe in your life, here enveloped by his strong arms and cozy wings, resting on his chest, legs tangled in knots together.

And as you drift off to the gentle pat-pat-pat of the raindrops against the windowpane and the steady thumping of Keigo’s heart echoing in your ears, you realize he’s your very own ray of sunshine, forever present to keep those menacing clouds and malicious thunder away, even in the strongest, the harshest, and the scariest of storms.