#don’t mind me i am reading the lost book of the white | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tinytinyblogs · 8 days ago

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Do it again, and things will get ugly.

Yandere skz not pleased with your little habit—make sure you understand that.

Hyung line, Maknae line

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Han

You’re completely immersed in your book, the world around you fading as you turn the pages. Reading is your favorite escape, a quiet comfort that brings you peace. But just as you’re sinking deeper into the story, a hand suddenly snatches the book out of your grasp. You blink, startled, realizing that Han is standing in front of you. Without warning, he hurls the book across the room with a force that sends it crashing against the wall, the loud thud jolting you out of your peaceful reverie. The book lands on the floor, pages crumpled, and for a moment, you’re too stunned to speak. “Have you even noticed I’ve been here this whole time?” His voice cuts through the silence, filled with a sharp edge of anger that makes your heart skip a beat. “Are those stupid words more interesting to you than me?” There’s frustration in his tone, but there’s something else too—a raw vulnerability, as if he’s trying to mask his own insecurities with anger. You look up at him, seeing the mixture of hurt and irritation in his eyes. It’s more than just frustration; it’s a deep-seated insecurity that rears its head every time you lose yourself in your hobbies.

He hates the way your books seem to draw you away, making him feel like an outsider, as if he’s competing with words on a page for your attention. And no matter how much he tries to ignore it, it eats at him, making him question how much you truly care. He lets out a harsh breath, running a hand through his hair as if trying to steady himself. “Do you even care that I’m here?” he demands, his voice breaking slightly. “Or am I just supposed to sit around, watching you get lost in your own world, feeling like I don’t even exist to you?” His words hang in the air, heavy and filled with an ache he can’t fully hide. You open your mouth to respond, but he continues, the frustration spilling over. “Maybe I should just burn all those books—would that finally get your attention? Make you look at me, instead of always burying yourself in them?” There’s a desperation in his voice now, a vulnerability that’s almost painful to witness, as if he’s baring a part of himself he doesn’t want you to see. For him, it’s not just about the books or your hobbies—it’s about the fear that maybe he’s not enough to hold your attention, that he’ll never mean as much to you as those stories do.

And as he stands there, waiting for you to say something, you can see how much this truly bothers him, how much he longs for reassurance that he’s not invisible to you. "If you want to keep those books, you'd better not get too lost in them," he says, his voice low and firm, each word measured and carrying an unmistakable warning. He steps closer, his gaze never leaving yours, trapping you between his arms as he braces himself on either side of you. The intensity in his eyes pins you in place, leaving you feeling cornered, as if there’s nowhere to escape his scrutiny. "I don’t like it when you ignore me," he continues, his tone tinged with a simmering frustration. His eyes are dark and unwavering, searching yours as if demanding an answer, needing to know that you understand what he’s saying. There’s a raw, almost possessive edge in his voice, a silent insistence that you remember he’s here—that he’s the one who should have your attention. He leans in slightly, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, his presence consuming the space between you. “Make sure you’ve got that in your mind,” he says, his voice soft yet laced with a hint of a warning, as if he’s daring you to look away or challenge him.

Felix

Felix’s grip on his glass tightens so much that his knuckles turn a stark white against the dark wood of the bar. He watches you, his gaze unwavering, stormy, his jaw set hard as if biting back words he doesn't want to say. Every so often, he brings his drink to his lips, taking a slow, controlled sip, but his eyes never leave you. His attention is riveted on you, locked onto the way you throw your head back with laughter, the way you lean in, smiling, as you engage with the people around you. He’s watching every detail, every casual brush of your hand, every animated gesture, every sparkling smile you offer to those sitting beside you. The laughter surrounding you fills the space like a bright, airy melody, but in Felix’s mind, it’s a sound that grates on his nerves, reminding him of something he hates to admit, something he can’t help but resent. He watches you throw yourself into every conversation with that effortless charm of yours, capturing everyone’s attention without even trying. It's something he’s never understood about you—the way you seem drawn to the energy and approval of others, the way you seem to thrive under their gaze.

And you do it all so naturally, like it’s second nature to you, as if it’s simply who you are. But the thought gnaws at him, unsettling him in a way he can’t control. Why do you care so much about what they think? He wonders why his own presence, his own attention, doesn’t seem to be enough for you. Isn’t that all you need? He’s always been there, always the one standing closest to you, watching you, knowing all the little things that make you laugh, the ways your eyes light up, the little gestures you make when you’re deep in conversation. But as much as he knows you, as much as he feels connected to you, this part of you—the part that shines for everyone—remains just beyond his grasp. As soon as the two of you were alone, he grabbed your arm and dragged you back to his place, his grip firm and unrelenting. The door slammed shut behind you, echoing through the room and leaving a tension that was thick and unsettling. His sudden change in demeanor left you feeling uneasy, a knot forming in the pit of your stomach. He fixed you with a cold, penetrating stare, his gaze so intense it felt like it was stripping away every layer of defense you had.

"Is it fun getting their attention?" he asked, his voice low and laced with a quiet rage that made his words all the more frightening. The question hung in the air, his deep voice dripping with accusation, making it feel like he could shatter you with just a look. "Is it fun to bask in anyone else's attention but mine? Because from where I’m standing," he continued, his eyes never leaving yours, "it doesn’t look like there’s anything ‘good’ in you having me but acting like you’re so starved for attention that you have to seek it from anyone else, like some lonely soul without a lover." He took a few slow, deliberate steps toward you, each one calculated, closing the distance between you as his towering frame loomed over you. The intensity in his eyes didn’t waver, and you could feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe. "This is my warning," he murmured, his voice chilling and measured. "Consider yourself lucky. If I find out you pull something like that again, I’ll make sure you never have the chance to grab anyone’s attention. Ever again." The promise was dark and unmistakable, sending a shiver through you as his gaze held you firmly in place, every word he said echoing in your mind.

Seungmin

It felt profoundly unfair to Seungmin when you didn’t show any gratitude for all the effort he poured into everything he did for you. Every small gesture, every thoughtful act, meant the world to him, yet your indifference stung deeply. He couldn't shake off the frustration that churned within him, particularly when he sensed your ignorance of all his hard work. As you simply nodded at the dessert he had painstakingly learned to make once he discovered it was your favorite, he felt a flicker of anger ignite inside him. The spoon he held felt like a fragile thing in his grip, and he squeezed it tightly, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to contain his emotions. Moments later, unable to bear it any longer, he slammed the spoon onto the table with a sharp clatter that broke the silence, the sound reverberating in the air like a sudden thunderclap. He stood up abruptly, the movement sending a ripple of shock through the room, and began to circle the dining table, his frustration palpable with each stride he took toward you.

He stopped directly in front of you, his expression a mix of hurt and exasperation. “Do you even realize how much I put into this?” he demanded, his voice low but charged with emotion. “I wanted to do something special for you, and all you can do is nod?” The tension between you crackled, and he could feel his heart racing, caught between his desire to express his feelings and the hurt that came from your apparent indifference. His hand trembled with barely contained anger as he faced you, the tension in the air thickening with each passing moment. “All the things I do for you...” he began, his voice strained, carrying the weight of his frustration. He stopped for a moment, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath, trying to rein in the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to spill over. He needed to calm himself, to gather his thoughts before he let his anger get the best of him. “All the things!” he continued, his voice rising slightly as he struggled to keep his composure. “Can’t you at least say a damn thank you?” The plea hung in the air, echoing with a mix of desperation and hurt.

He looked at you, searching for any sign of acknowledgment, any hint that you recognized the effort he poured into every small gesture, every thoughtful act he had done for you. "Eat this. Now." Seungmin’s voice was low but laced with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. His eyes held a stern, unyielding gaze, the kind that left no room for argument. He leaned in closer, his tone taking on a dangerous edge as he spoke, "And from now on, you’re going to be more aware, more grateful for every single damn thing I do for you. Understand?" He held out the spoon firmly, his grip tightening as if daring you to defy him. The way he looked at you made it clear that he expected nothing less than compliance. His expression was a mixture of frustration and something else, something deeper, that sent a chill down your spine. "You wouldn’t want to see me mad again, would you?" he added, his voice dropping to a quiet but potent warning. The threat lingered in the air, a reminder of the weight his anger carried, and his gaze bore into you, making it clear that he expected you to listen.

Jeongin

He gets visibly frustrated whenever he sees you stumble or drop something, his eyes always drawn to your every clumsy move, each one stirring his concern. Ironically, he’s just as prone to accidents himself; he knows firsthand how easy it is to get hurt in a split second. Perhaps that’s exactly why his frustration with you grows—it’s not just annoyance but genuine worry because he knows just how much a small misstep can lead to something serious, as he's experienced so many times himself. To keep you safe, he’s become hyper-vigilant, watching over you more closely than you might like. He practically has eyes in the back of his head, always noticing when you’re about to trip or reach for something potentially hazardous. Sometimes, his protectiveness feels almost smothering; he keeps such a close watch that you feel he’s always in the room with you, guiding your every movement, as if trying to control every factor around you. Even when he’s not physically present, you’ll receive a flurry of messages, checking in on what you’re doing and reminding you to be cautious.

Just as your fingers hover over the knife handle, his hand darts out, intercepting you with a firm grasp. “How many times have I told you not to cook by yourself?” he says sharply, his tone tinged with impatience and a protectiveness that feels like it’s crossed the line into control. His gaze is unwavering, locked onto you with an intensity that leaves no room for argument. You let out a sigh, a flicker of frustration and defiance slipping into your voice as you answer, “But I want to. I can handle it. I’m not as helpless as you think.” His expression doesn’t soften for a moment. If anything, your words only seem to harden his resolve. “Just because you want to,” he begins, his voice a low, steady warning, “you think that means I’m going to stand by and let you mess with something that could hurt you?” His eyes flash with an almost parental authority, a refusal to back down. “That’s not how this works.” With a purposeful motion, he nudges the knife away from your reach with the toe of his shoe, making his stance clear.

“If I say no, it’s no,” he states firmly, his voice carrying an edge that’s impossible to ignore. He grips your wrist with a sudden, unyielding force, his fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to make you wince. The pressure is intense, almost as if he wants to leave a lasting mark, a reminder of his control. His gaze is sharp, locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach churn. “Understand?” he asks, his voice low and clipped, each word carrying a weight that makes his intentions unmistakably clear. “You’re going to do exactly what I tell you,” he continues, his voice tightening. “If I ever catch you doing something I told you not to…” He pauses, allowing the silence to hang between you, thick and charged. His eyes hold yours, unblinking, dark with a fierce resolve that sends a chill down your spine. “I’ll make sure you learn to obey me.” The words linger in the air, a promise and a threat, making it clear that he won’t tolerate any disobedience. His grip remains firm, unyielding, almost daring you to defy him as he lets the message settle in, making sure you know exactly what he expects from you.

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moniquill · 7 months ago

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youtube

Watership Down - first the film, then the book, is one of the most formative media influences in my life. I’ve written about it briefly, here https://i-blame.tumblr.com/post/69030937937/moniquill-moniquill-kucala-moniquill

but having watched the above video essay, I want to say more.

The first time I saw a deer up close was in my grandfather’s back yard; I was about four years old. I don’t remember the reason that my mom dropped me off at my grandfather’s house for an afternoon, but I know that it was unplanned - because he was in the middle of processing a deer. It had been field dressed, organs already removed, and was hanging by its ankle tendons from the t-shaped steel pole at one end of the backyard clothesline. I was startled, worried, concerned that the animal was hurt. There was blood! There was flesh!

My grandfather responded by calmly explaining what he was doing, step by step. Explaining why he was skinning the deer, and quartering it, taking it from this https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White-tailed_deer to this https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Venison

He talked about hunting, and about gratitude, and about humans and our proper place in the world - what meant to live in a good way.

By the time my grandfather was cooking tenderloin medallions and plating them up to me with grape jelly (don’t knock grape jelly on meat until you’ve tried it!) and instant mashed potatoes, I wasn’t startled or concerned anymore. I had a deeper understanding of the way the world worked, of my role as a consumer, a predator. Of the responsibilities that entailed. I couldn’t have explained it then, of course, with my 4-year-old mind and vocabulary - but Philosophy had been set into motion. This is a core memory for me.

I did not have nightmares about the butchered deer.

I was six when I first saw Disney’s Bambi. I DID have nightmares about that; between Bambi and The Land Before Time, I was absolutely convinced that my mother was going to die. That I was being presented with these media themes to educate and prepare me for that eventuality. I am the youngest daughter of a youngest daughter, and I have an extended tribal family. My grandfather died when I was six. His was one of many funerals I attended at that age; his generation succumbing to age and illness. I was aware of mortality.

I wasn’t a ‘normal’ child, by the standard of the community that I went to school in. I was too poor, too indigenous, too very obviously autistic (without being diagnosed). I had very different media influences and interests than the other kids at my public school. No one else was deeply obsessed with David Attenborough’s documentaries (Life on Earth 1979, The Living Planet 1984, Lost Worlds, Vanished Lives 1989). No one else had even heard of Dot and the Whale. No one else in my class had Lifeways Lessons classes, because they didn’t have tribes.

I wasn’t terribly interested in most media intended for children; it was boring because it was simple. I didn’t feel motivated to watch Disney movies over and over. Don Bleuth films had more staying power in my mind; An American Tale, All Dogs Go To Heaven, The Land Before Time. More complex stories, stories that confront suffering and death. My mom read me CS Lewis and JRR Tolkein, Jack London and EB White - lots of other stories that were not ‘age appropriate’, stories that were written for People, not Children.

I watched Watership Down for the first time when I was about five, and my mom read the book to me when I was about six. I was not disturbed by the violence, being far more interested in the themes explored in the video essay above. I had, by this time, seen a rabbit skinned IRL. I’d eaten rabbit stew.

I did not have nightmares about Watership Down.

I failed to make friends with the kids at school, for the most part - I primarily socialized with my cousins. In fourth grade (age 9), my class did a unit on tropical rainforests, and I brought in this video: I did not think that there was anything at all controversial about it, but at about 32 minutes in David Attenborough talks about the Guarani people and their traditional ways of life. There’s footage of an unclothed man climbing a tree. His penis is briefly visible. THE CLASS WENT WILD, and the teacher rushed to turn the video off, and I was sent to the office. It caused a school-wide incident, and bringing in videos was thereafter banned. I was deeply, deeply confused by this series of events. The video had come from the public library - how could it possible be offensive? But the incident became a vector of bullying that followed me until middle school - the adults had confirmed to the kids that I had done something taboo, that I was fundamentally wrong in some way. I quietly came to the conclusion that Most People(™) are very stupid and very reactionary, that one has to carefully coddle and explain things to them.

It took me many years to only mostly overcome that conclusion.

Later that same year, I had my first real success in making a childhood friend - someone who came to my house after school and had sleepovers and such. She had transferred from another school and didn’t know I was THE WEIRD GIRL the way my other classmates did. I remember trying to introduce my favorite movies to her, as she introduced her favorites to me. She was a Horse Girl(™) and much more interested in Age Appropriate Girl Things than I was, but we shared a love of My Little Pony - I had a bunch of episodes on VHS, recorded off TV. She thought that https://mylittleponyg1.fandom.com/wiki/Rescue_at_Midnight_Castle was ‘too scary’ and preferred https://mylittleponyg1.fandom.com/wiki/My_Little_Pony:_The_Movie.

I showed her Watership Down. She freaked out about it. It gave her nightmares.

She was, as many people, deeply disturbed by the violence of the film. She had not, at the age of nine, seen animals butchered. She didn’t seem to care about the deeper meanings and philosophical treatises presented; the fact that there was violence and death was too shocking.

I’m not sure how to conclude this essay, except with this: Watership Down is now a litmus test, for me. If a person is aware of it and appreciates it, we’re intellectual compatible. If a person’s whole reaction is shock and disgust and cries of ‘nightmare fuel!’ then we are not.

#watership down #media censorship #media for children #media for adults #Youtube

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chososlittlecrybaby · 1 year ago

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just discovered you and I am obsessed, so here’s a request! (does that rhyme lol)

ony and connie’s reactions to us giving them the upmost disrespect 🤭.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊, 𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆!

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝⚠︎

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 ♡

You were driving home after a long day of work. Having to deal with rude customers and on top of that you stayed over time to take in 4 more clients because your coworker called in sick.

Once you were right around the corner from you and Connies shared house, you pressed the button on the garage door opener remote that was clipped onto the mirror visor. You seen the garage opening from the distance.

You sighed. You really wanted a bath and to just lay in your boyfriends arms. its was 10:46pm so you knew he was on the game waiting for you.

“God dammit.” You whispered, dropping your head down to the steering wheel before backing up into the garage setting your white Honda Sonata next to your boyfriends Mercedes-Benz.

You got out of the car and grabbed your Tote bag shuffling your hand around in the cup holders to find the key since your car didn’t need for you to put it in, in order for it to start.

Once you found your key you got out of the car and locked it. Dragging your feet towards the door that connects to the house, you wanted to fall and go to sleep right then and there.

You opened the door and made your way towards the kitchen to set your things on the island. You seen your boyfriend in the living room playing ‘Call of Duty.’ He had his headset on and he was yelling every curse word in the book.

You chuckled to yourself. That man was going to get hurt one day having those headphones on. He didn’t even hear you come in. Then again, where theres Connie there is always a gun nearby.

You walked over to him standing behind the couch. You bent over and tried to plant a kiss on his cheek but he moved away. He removed one of the headphone muffs from his ear. “Hey baby.” Was all he said before turning back to the game. You stood there dumbfounded.

“That’s it?” You said, slightly confused. “What do you mean?” He said, turning his head slightly to you and then back to the game. “I come home after like 10 hours and all I get is a ‘hey baby’? Don’t even ask me how my day was.” You said, anger fueling in your system. “Too busy trying to suck on your friends dick and play that fuck ass game.” You said. Now it was Connies turn to get mad. He quickly muted his mic and turned off his game.

“You lost your fucking mind.” He said. “Bring your ass over here.” He glared at you. You walked to the other side of the couch, not wanting to push him anymore, but you still had a right to be mad.

Connie was in a manspread position. You stood in between his legs as he looked up at you. A stern look plastered on his face.

“You wanna embarrass me?” He said, voice low. He gripped your waist with both hands and yanked you onto his lap. You stared at chain he had on, that read your name.

“My eyes up here. Look at me when im talking to you.” He said with venom laced in his voice. He gripped your throat and forced you to look up at him. “Whats your problem mami?” He said, taking his free hand and slapping your ass. You jolted up, the stinging sensation going straight to your head causing your eyes to water.

“Nothing papi, im just tired.” You said, voice shaky. “Tired my ass.” He said, another slap landing onto your ass. You jolted up and again, causing a laugh to come out of connie. “Not finna lie, you got me fucked up. Get off me and turn over, im finna tear your ass up.” He chuckled.

You got off of him and went to the opposite side of where he was sitting. You laid there looking at the patterned carpet. You knew you were going to be on bed rest after this.

𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐎𝐏𝐎𝐍 ♡

You were laying down with your back resting on the headboard and Ony in between your legs. Your long nails massaging his scalp as he played a mobile game.

“At your big age you playing games on yo phone?” You said, a laugh coming from your chest. “Its not about my age ma, its about uhm” he stopped for a second. “Its about the what?” You laughed again. He slapped your thigh and went back to playing his game.

You picked up the remote and went to Spotify on your TV. You picked a different playlist (the starting song being)

‣ 𝐘𝐎𝐔~ 𝐋𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝♫

“Pa, I need my hair done oh my God.” You said, looking through your best friends highlights. “No.” He said. You sat there with a confused look plastered on your face. “No?” You asked. “Yeah, no? I’m pretty sure I said it loud and clear.” He said, his gaze not leaving his phone.

“The hell? Get the fuck off of me.” You said, shoving him off you. He looked at you, like he wanted to kill you. “You mad or sum? why you suddenly got a attitude?” He asked you, turning his phone off.

You knew these were rhetorical questions. At the end of the day, he pissed you off. “Yeah I got me an attitude? I didn’t even do anything so why you acting like a bitch right now bro?” You said. You got off the bed walking downstairs into the kitchen, Ony following behind you.

Before you could even make it to the kitchen, Ony grabbed the back of your neck yanking you back causing you to turn and face him. He slowly slid his hand from the back of your neck to grab your throat.

“You got 20 seconds to figure out who the fuck you talking to and walking away from.” His eyes piercing straight through you. “You got me fucked up calling me a bitch and think you finna get away with it. Get yo ass upstairs” He yelled at you in your face, throwing you to the side.

You walked upstairs, your arousal leaking onto your panties forming a wet patch. You took your time getting up there scared for what was in store.

“Hurry the fuck up Y/N!” He yelled, causing you to jump.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 1.9𝐊

𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐅𝐔𝐍 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 ♡

𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐏 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄!

𝐌.𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓☯︎

#connie springer #black reader #aot smut #onyankopon #onyankopon x reader #connie x reader #𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐛𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐢

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lo-vearchive · 1 year ago

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Forgive Me (Pt. 2)

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x female reader

Summary: After reconciling in your bedroom, Miguel disappears on you for a week. Giving up on any hopes of romance, your friends plan a night out for you to cheer up. Too bad your boss makes an appearance and catches you with an attractive stranger on a stormy night. Read Part One: here

Word Count: 4463 words

Content: Miguel being a rude bastard, Miguel asking for forgiveness (again), arguments, possessiveness, alcohol consumption, tobacco consumption, 18+ (minors DNI), no p in v but things get spicy at the end, female fingering, finger sucking, misogyny, insecurity, swearing, hurt and comfort, office sex (no p in v), questionable Spanish

Note: ANGST! Got carried away once again. Lowkey not proofread. I love angst and Miguel being vulnerable. If you are into angst, you will enjoy this. Feel free to correct my Spanish and ask for any other cw to be added. Thank you for the 1K+ notes on Pt. 1. Have fun, horndogs ;)

It has been seven days since you last saw Miguel O’Hara.

After spending a full 48 hours by your side, he had gone back to work. You decided to join him at Alchemax the next day but found his office empty. At first, you thought he was occupied with Spider-Man business, so you kept yourself busy with answering his overflowing email box. Slowly the sun set behind the skyline of Nueva York and the messages ran out, leaving behind a feeling of uneasiness in your stomach.

You [sent Friday, 6 pm]: Hey, are you coming to work today?

You [sent Friday, 10 pm]: I’m going home for the night. Call me when you are home. I miss you :)

You [sent Saturday, 5 am]: Are you okay?

You [sent Saturday, 1 pm]: I’m getting really worried. Where are you?

You [sent Saturday, 5 pm]: I emailed you in case you lost your phone. Call me asap.

You [sent Sunday, 7 pm]: I’ll see you at work tomorrow.

You [sent Monday, 9 am]: Lyla said you’re okay but won’t tell me what’s going on. Says I don’t have clearance. Please call me.

You [sent Monday 10 am]: Are you actually ignoring me?

You [sent Tuesday, 1 am]: My best friend you’re an asshole and I should never let you near my pussy ever again.

You [sent Tuesday 1:23 am] Are you ghosting me? You know we work together, right?

You [sent Tuesday, 3:30 am]: I hate you Miguel O’Hara.

Friday rolled around and your best friend had enough of your drunk late-night facetime calls. She gathered a group of your high school girlfriends and decided a night out in the town would be the perfect remedy. “Fuck him, babe,” Katy states, sliding a shot glass across the table. “You should report him to HR for being an ass.”

You laughed and tipped the glass into your mouth. The tequila burnt its way down your throat. “I’m just going to find a new job. I can’t be dealing with this shit right now.”

Your friend Soo let out a burp. “Did you let him hit it?”

You shake your head. “No,” you cough. “We came close to it, like above the pants stuff— do you think that’s why he’s ignoring me? Because I didn’t put out right away?”

“Bitch,” Katy chides, slapping the tabletop, “be fucking for real. You look like a busty, hot secretary from some comic book. He should be lucky you let him touch your tits!”

Your friends nodded along in agreement. Katy grabs the sides of your chair and spins it around, facing you to the restaurant bar. “You see that guy there?” she points at a man with messy blond hair in an open-collar white shirt. “He’s been eyeing you all night. Go talk to him right now.”

The tequila must have heightened your bravery as you found yourself walking across the dimly lit restaurant and to the wall. Stealing a glance at him from the corner of your eye, you ask the bartender for, “a rum and coke please.”

“You can add her drink to my tab,” the man says just like you hoped he would. “I hope you don’t mind. I saw your friends fussing over you earlier and you looked like you needed a drink.”

“Is it that obvious?” You ask, letting out a laugh. “You’re right, I do need a little pick-me-upper tonight.”

“My name is John,” he says.

You introduced yourself and slide in the empty seat next to him. “So, what’s going on with you?” he questions, sipping his beer.

You carefully lift your drink from the bar top and circled the rim with your index finger. “I’m not sure if I wanna’ trauma dump on a stranger.”

“Sometimes talking to strangers helps.”

You contemplate his words and sigh. Your friends would kick you if you said the name Miguel O’Hara again in their general vicinity. You chose to divulge a little to the mystery man. “Things got a bit complicated with someone I really cared about. Everything was going well and then he disappeared suddenly, and I don’t know why.”

John listens to you carefully, nodding to himself. “You know what I do when I’m confused?”

“What?”

“I take a smoke break to chill out,” he answers, standing up. “Care to join me?”

You downed the contents of your glass and follow him out a door that open to a back alley behind the restaurant. Rain pours down heavily, and you both huddle under a dingy metal shed. The cold air bites your arms sharply as John lights the end of his cigarette and brings it to his mouth. “It can be frustrating when you’re left without answers but a girl like you has nothing to worry about.”

You smile at his words. You take the cigarette off his hand and take a drag. The smoke fills your lungs, making your head spin a little. The light-headedness reminds you of how you felt last time when Miguel was in your arms. Airy, free, and light. No matter what you do, all your thoughts lead back to him. You shake away the memories and pass the cigarette back to John.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” a stern voice asks.

A man melts out of the shadows in the alley and into the light shining from a streetlamp above. You recognize him. “Miguel?”

He doesn’t look at you and keeps his eyes focused on John. “Who is he?” he asks with a deep frown.

“Listen, I’m off work right now,” you clear your throat, sticking your nose up in the air. “I don’t have to explain��”

“Look, man,” John interrupts, “no need to get all worked about this. We are just talking.”

Miguel lets out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, right,” he spits and gets in his face. “You could have done that at the bar. Why the fuck are you out here alone with her? What were you planning on doing?”

“Mr. O’Hara!” you exclaim, stepping in between them. “You are out of line!”

He raises his eyebrows at your formality but keeps his attention on John over your shoulder. “Buddy,” John says, wrapping an arm around your waist and moving you to the side. “She is allowed to talk to whoever she wants. I suggest you leave us alone now.”

The touch doesn’t go unnoticed by Miguel. His nostrils flare and his eyes turned red with anger. He steps closer to John until he is looming over the poor man. You often forget how big your boss is compared to everyone around him. The scene looks almost comical with how John tries to puff out his chest. “Te calmas o te calmo,” (Calm yourself, or I’ll calm you down) Miguel snarls.

Whatever John sees in his face is enough to make him reconsider. He holds his hands up in surrender and backs away slowly. Stopping in front of you he pushes the half-burnt cigarette into your hand and whispers, “If this is the guy you were talking about, then maybe it’s a good thing he disappears. I’ll be inside if you still want to talk.”

He walks away from the alley and into the restaurant, leaving you with Miguel alone in the alley. You watch in silence as his body trembles, and you can’t tell if it’s from anger or the rain hammering away at his back.

He breaks the silence. “So, you’re letting strangers into our private business?”

You snort loudly. “You don’t get to speak to me like that,” you tell him, taking another drag. “Especially after disappearing on me. You can’t just strut back into my life and tell me who I can confide in.”

“I was tending to some urgent matters,” he says, brushing his wet hair away from his forehead. “So I took the time to handle them. I can’t be around you every second of the day acting as your lap dog.”

The heat from the cigarette burns your skin. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you raise your voice, throwing your hands in the air. “You’re acting like I want you on a leash! I just wanted to know you were okay.”

“Clearly I’m okay,” he replies, rolling his eyes.

Your lips tug into a deep scowl at his tone. “Did you ever stop to consider how your actions affected me? How lost and confused I felt waiting by the phone every day?”

“It wasn’t intentional,” Miguel matches your tone. “You know I am a busy man, and that I have responsibilities. But you’d rather live in some fantasy land where I’m just some monster out to hurt you! You can’t begin to understand the weight I carry on my shoulders.”

Anger surges through your body. “How am I supposed to understand when you don’t tell me anything? Hell, your AI knows more about you than I do. It’s like you only care about missions or work and nothing else—”

“Sometimes in life, personal matters have to take a backseat,” he cuts you off, harshly. “Not everyone can put on a short skirt and high heels, waltz into work, type a few memos and then call it a night.”

“You misogynist fuck!” You scream back at him, resisting the urge to slap him silly. “I hate you!”

“I hate you too!” he yells back in your face with bloodshot eyes.

You spin on your heels and begin walking towards the main road. Rage begins to bubble inside you and reaches your throat. You turn around just as you reach the sidewalk and call out, “You know what? It doesn’t matter if you disappear again because I have hated you since the moment I met you. I hated you when everyone at work warned me about you. I hated you all those times you dismissed me like an afterthought. And I hated you when you came to my room that night begging for a second chance. So, I don’t care if you hate me, or think I’m useless or unimportant cause have hated you longer and harder and for better fucking reasons!”

You take another drag from the cigarette and then crush it underneath your pretty high heels. You make a right at the end of the alley and begin walking up the street. Warm tears spill down your face as you shiver in the rain. Katy was right, he was an asshole. An asshole that made you feel dumb for having a normal job or human emotions. But maybe you were just an idiot for falling in love with a man who didn’t respect you. Love wasn’t supposed to be this hard, but here you were feeling small and crying at the side of the road.

The sound of screeching tires brings you out of your self-pity. A sleek black car pulls up on the other side of the road and the passenger window rolls down. Miguel’s face emerges from behind the glass. “Ven aquí!” (come here) he calls out.

You ignore him and keep walking ahead. You have no idea where you are going, but you would rather eat rocks than speak to him.

From the corner of your eyes, you see Miguel make a sharp left, almost hitting oncoming traffic and pulling up beside you. “Get in the car!”

Your feet don’t stop moving so he slowly inches his car to match your speed. “Estoy harto. (I’m sick of this) Let’s talk!”

Honks and yells filled the night as people grew frustrated with his speed. “Stop,” you hiss, bending down to the window. “You are embarrassing me!”

“Get in the car then,” he says, with a clenched jaw. “You’re gonna’ catch a cold in the rain.”

“Stop pretending like you care,” you snarl, kicking the side of his car.

“A-YO LADY!” a man yells out of his yellow cab. “Get in the damn car! Your boyfriend is holding up traffic!”

A pleased smirk spread across Miguel’s face at the man’s remarks. You let out a frustrated grunt and yanked the door open, slipping into the passenger seat. “Put your seatbelt on,” he says, picking up speed.

You begrudgingly obey but wished that his car would get rear-ended so hard that his fat head would go through the windshield. “You look like you want me dead, babe,” he commented with a nervous laugh.

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, adjusting the belt over your soaking dress. “Where are we going?”

“Back to Alchemax,” he points at the GPS screen. “The freeway flooded, and it will be a while until it clears up. I have a spare set of clothes I keep in the office for overnighters. You can change while we wait for the storm to blow over.”

“I don’t want your charity,” you grumble, crossing my hand over my chest.

“I know,” he says. “I just want to take care of you.”

You disliked how your stomach felt at his words. “I left my bag behind at the restaurant.”

“I picked it up, it’s in the back seat.”

“I didn’t pay my tab.”

“It’s taken care of. Your friends know you’re fine, too. Just relax.”

Miguel leans over to turn your seat warmer on and warmth spreads across your chest and down your limbs. He drives in silence with only the soft white noise of radio static playing in the background. Occasionally you tear your gaze away from the furiously working windshield wipers and steal glances at his face. The headlights from other cars make the slopes of his cheek and the plumpness of his lips visible even on a stormy night. His warm complexion has turned pale, and you ponder if it was because of your interaction earlier.

You both pull up into the Alchemax parking lot and get out of the car. The security team must be watching through the cameras, wondering why one of their lead engineers was coming into work late at night with his drenched secretary. You quickly follow him into the elevator and up to the floor with his office. He opens the office door, and you slide inside into the dark space.

“Lyla,” he calls out and the room illuminates on command. “Lights.”

Miguel walks up to a storage cupboard and retrieves a towel in one hand and fresh clothes in the other. He passes them to you, and you quietly enter the adjacent washroom to change. You peel your damp dress off your skin and shiver as the chilly air hits you all over. Rubbing the towel quickly over your cold skin, you slip into an oversized t-shirt and shorts. It takes two knots of the drawstring, but you manage to keep the waistband tied around your naval.

You find Miguel waiting for you outside. He had changed into a shirt that hugged his slender waist and pants that hung dangerously low under his taut stomach. He pulls the towel out of your hand and drapes it over your head. His hands gently rub the threads against your wet hair in soft, circular motions. You lean into his touch involuntarily. “I can do it myself,” you complain but made no move to reach for the fabric.

“I know,” he replies. “I want to do it for you.”

“Please don’t.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re doing that thing again,” you said, “and it’s messing with my head.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you start acting kind after being mean,” you explain in a small voice. “I don’t like it. It’s confusing”

He tugs the towel back so you can look into each other’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” he speaks, gently. “I just lost my shit when I saw you with him.”

“You cut off all contact when all I wanted was to know if you were okay,” your voice shakes as you stare at your feet. “You left me all alone, what was I supposed to do? Wait for you to change your mind?”

“I know I messed up, baby. I was wrong” he sighs, inching down his forehead to meet yours. “I should have communicated with you, but sometimes on missions, things get complicated. I don’t always like the things I have to do, and recently I’m having a difficult time making peace with it. It’s like the harder I try to do the right thing, the more damage I do. So sometimes, it’s just better to be alone rather than pretend I’m okay around other people.”

His words hurt your heart. You knew that his missions take a toll on him. In the past whenever you tried to inquire about its contents he wouldn’t answer. You wouldn’t push, afraid that he’d pull away, but it seems that he was pulling away regardless.

“When you’re gone,” you clear your throat, trying to speak through your narrowing trachea, “I worry that you might be laying dead in some universe, and I’d be none the wiser. I know that being Spider-Man is a sacrifice, but I don’t care about the world. I only care about you. So, when you treat me this way, it’s like I can’t breathe.”

He cups your face and places a soft kiss right on your cheekbone “Forgive me.”

“You say that a lot,” you remind him with a frown.

“I know,” he nods, “and I still mean it. I’m just an idiot who doesn’t know how to find the balance in life. I love that you care about me, and I want you to continue caring about me.”

“I don’t know, Mr. O’Hara,” you said. “I can’t ignore the way you speak to me at times. It feels as if you think we’re not equals. I am not some idiot. I am not beneath you just because I work under you.”

He groaned at the sound of his last name. Every time you called him that, it made the space between feel bigger. “I have seen a million universes, nena, (babe) and you are not beneath me in any of them,” he curls a damp strand behind your ear, “Unless we are in bed, then you’re definitely under me.”

“Miguel!” you chide, punching him in the stomach. “No es broma! (It’s not a joke) I’m being serious!”

He lets out an oof and backs away. His fangs poke out from underneath his curled lips and in that moment, he looks as carefree. He wraps his large hands around your arms and holds your attention. “I know broken trust isn’t easily mendable, but I’m going to try my hardest. I won’t leave you out in the dark or make you feel small. I’ll think twice before I open my stupid mouth. I’ll even ask Lyla to give you full access to my missions. Wh-when you see what I have to do- what I must do, please don’t hate me.”

“Miggy,” you pout, reaching for his face. “I was really, really angry when I said those things to you. I can never hate you. My heart won’t let me.”

His toothy grin appears again, and Miguel draws you into him. His smooth lips find yours and he cranes your head back to find the angle that leaves you breathless. You run the pads of your thumb gently across the slopes of his cheeks. It never ceased to surprise you that his skin was so soft under his stubble. Without breaking your kiss, your shuffle back and walk him to his desk chair. You smile into his lips as he shakes his head when you move him back and down to sit. His hands wrap around your wrists. “D-don’t leave,” he cries out.

You shake your head and take a seat on his lap with your legs dangling off the side. Miguel’s hands find your jaw and he turns your mouth to his. You wrap your fingers in his hair and tug him closer. You let out a content hum as his fangs softly dig into your lips, breaking the skin. The taste of metal fills your mouth, and you pull away to look at him. He sits in your embrace, with red-stained lips and is just as breathless. “Sorry,” he sheepishly says. “I usually have them under control. It’s just you’re in my office and in my clothes. It’s making my head spin a little.”

You laugh at his words and gently pull his hair back. Pressing a wet kiss to his exposed throat you ask, “Miggy, how come we haven’t had sex yet?”

“Honestly?” he lets out a choked moan.

“Honestly,” you hum, licking his jaw.

His hands suddenly grab you by the elbows and spin you around on his lap, so his chest is facing your back. His warm breath hits the nape of your neck. A shiver runs down your spine. “I haven’t fucked you yet because once I’m inside you,” he whispers into your ear, “I’ll never want to be anywhere else. I wouldn’t want to eat, sleep, work, or be Spider-Man. I think I’ll just want to stay buried in you all the time.”

“Miguel,” you moan, clutching your thighs together.

“Tsk-tsk,” he clicks his tongue. “Don’t hide from me.”

His large hand slips between your thighs and pushes your legs apart. He turns the chair around until you’re both facing his work desk. “Up,” he commands, slapping the side of your thighs.

You gingerly obey and place your bare feet on the edge of his desk. His hands slip under your shirt, and he fumbles with the knot. Impatient with the knots, he uses a sharp claw to cut through the drawstring. Your breath hitches as he pushes the loose shorts down your legs and off your feet. He wraps his fingers behind your knees and draws your legs apart. He puts his chin over your shoulder and bunches your shirt up to get a good look at your pink underwear. “Baby,” he coos. “You gotta’ let me have this once we are done. A little souvenir for when I’m away.”

Your stomach tightens at his suggestion. You glance at him and then the office door,. “Someone will see us,” you nervously gulp.

“You let me worry about that,” he says and presses a kiss to the side of your forehead, “and just relax. I’m not gonna’ let anyone else see my girl spread out like this.”

He runs his knuckles down your bare stomach and across the clothed cunt. Electricity shoots up your body and you almost curl up in his arms. Miguel’s fingertips find a quickly dampening spot on the fabric. “Huh,” he huffs. “Is this me or rainwater?”

You cry, arching into his touch.

“I guess it’s just me,” he grins against your shoulder.

He slides your underwear off your legs and tosses it on the table. It lands on a pile of paperwork you had put aside from him earlier in the week. Miguel stops breathing at the sight of your glistening, swollen pussy. A loud moan escapes your throat as his fingers part your folds and glide back and forth. You were sure that the security guards patrolling this floor would have heard you down the hallway. You almost miss his question over the sensations of pleasure spreading through your body.

“Do you want my finger inside you?”

You nod against his cheek and reach behind to clutch a fistful of his hair to brace for impact. He lowers his down until his thick, middle digit is nudging your opening. You must have been soaking his thighs with how easily his digit sinks inside. You bit your lip harshly to contain the sounds threatening to escape your mouth. It’s your turn to hold your breath when Miguel’s other hand begins to stroke your clit. Once, twice, thrice.

When he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “You clench around my finger every time I flick your clit.”

Not that you needed proof, but Miguel does it again and you shake with pleasure. “See?” he gasps, and captures your lips in a sloppy kiss.

He he pulls back to hold your eyes and you breathe his shaky breaths in. You close your eyes and imagine how it would look to hold his hard cock in your hands while he played with your pussy. He tears you away from your fantasy by hooking his fingers inside on an angle. You almost arch completely off his lap. He moves his free hand away from your clit and presses you back into him. His hard bulge pressed into your ass.

“Here?” Miguel moans and licks your lips. “Tell me where? Right here? Ah, here.”

His fingers find that spot again and he massages his fingers against it. You nod furiously and my hands move to claw forearms. He softly bites your shoulder in retaliation and his free hand resumes working against your clit, picking up rhythm. “Can I put another finger inside?” he asks, breathing hard. “I promise it will feel good.”

“Oh-kay,” you gasp, rocking your hips on his hand.

His index finger slithers into your pussy, and you forget how to speak. You begin to twist and turn in his lap. He pulls away from your clit to press down hard against your stomach so he can keep you in place. You slide your ass over his crotch with every movement of his fingers.

“Mig-Mig-Mig,” you pant, moving your hips to his set rhythm.

“Good? I bet that feels so good.”

“Gah—”

He presses soft kisses onto your cheek as you sink into his arms. You begin to tighten further around him. You realize that this is exactly how you always want to be—full of Miguel’s fingers, touch, and love. His tongue slips into your mouth as his fingers begin curling into you faster. Your moans and groans echo through the office. His left hand leaves your stomach and reaches for your clit again. It takes seven swipes, one for each day he left you alone, for you to seize around his finger. His mouth never leaves yours as he drinks all of your pleasurable cries.

Slowly, the current leaves your body and you’re able to take in your surround. Your cheeks burn with realization. Miguel had just fingered you open on his desk at your workplace. The very same desk you set up for him every morning. Your fingers slide up to his hair and you hide your face in the crook of his neck. “Don’t be shy now,” he chuckles, “One day I’ll fuck you all over this office, nena.”

You shriek and lightly slap his arm. Miguel gently slides his fingers out of your cunt, eliciting a soft groan, and brings his to his mouth.

He hums with eyes closed at the taste. “You taste so good,” he mumbles around his fingers.

“Ugh,” Lyla gags at a distance. “Be glad I activated noise cancellation.”

A/N: Thoughts?

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womenloverlmao · 1 month ago

Text

13 Days of Halloween - Day 1

Carrie - Charlie Walker X Reader

Charlie loved you, and everything about you. He loved your looks, your mind, your heart. He even loved your weird obsession with books, one that is known among quiet teenage girls. His favorite thing about that, though, was when you were done and he got to watch the movie adaptations of the books you read with you. When Twilight first came out, you read it, and he got to see it with you. There were many other stories like this, but with the speed at which you read, it was too many to name.

Recently, you had read Carrie for the first time. You enjoyed Stephen King as much as the next person, but you weren’t a huge fan. You knew the general plot of it before you read it, but you were pleasantly surprised when you read about it despite its anti-religion connotation. You loved the book, and this time you were happy to be able to watch this movie with Charlie.

You got to snuggle up that night with a couple snacks and watch a movie together like you did once or twice a week, depending on how you felt. It was a fun event for both you and your boyfriend to enjoy. You never really pointed out the book vs movie stuff, feeling no need to cause an argument between you and Charlie even if it was all in good fun. Carrie was no exception.

As Halloween started to come up, you knew what you were gonna be. You loved the book, and you liked the movie, so you knew that you were going to be Carrie White. You told Charlie that you were going to go as her, and he didn’t think much of it. You were specifically looking forward to doing a book accurate portrayal of her, because you didn’t like that they got it wrong in the movies. I mean, that’s what the whole point of a film adaptation is, isn’t it?

You were gonna go to one of Kirby’s parties and bring your boyfriend with you, and so you got ready on your own before you would go to pick up Charlie. You were wearing the red dress, you had managed to thrift one that didn’t look exactly as described–specifically with the sleeves–but was good enough. You had put some fake blood on your face, but not much. You put the crown on and then added some on there too, letting some get into your hair. It was gross, but you knew that you had succeeded and this was one of the best costumes you had done.

When you went to pick Charlie up, he was confused. “I thought you were being Carrie White?”

“I am Carrie White,” you told him.

“But her dress is white…?”

“No, that’s only in the movie. I guess it’s supposed to portray an innocence or some sort in the movies, but actually, Stephen King had originally mentioned that it was red and actually went into detail about what the dress was supposed to look like. In the movie, they don’t follow any of it. I actually don’t really like it, and I don’t like a lot about how the movie was made, but still…”

“Why would they need to portray innocence if she was just going to kill everyone anyways?”

“Well, you know how the pig's blood gets poured? When the red gets on her, that symbolizes that innocence being lost.”

Anyways that conversation went on all the way to Kirby’s, and as soon as you saw her, she immediately said. “Damn, girl. You’re beautiful, I…am gonna assume you’re Carrie?”

“Thank you. And, yes. As of tonight, that’s my name,” you said with a smile. “Charlie doesn’t believe that I’m Carrie because my dress isn’t white.”

“Don’t get me involved in one of those conversations, I heard it happen about Eragon back in like…Freshman year.”

You laughed, but you looked over at Charlie. You gave him a smile, one that said I win.

Anyways, you had a lot of fun with your boyfriend that night. After winning that little dispute, it truly was a Happy Halloween for you.

#rory culkin #charlie walker #charlie walker x reader #charlie walker x you #scream four #scream #rory culkin scream #scream 4 #scream franchise #13 days of halloween

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esther-dot · 11 months ago

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Do you think Jon and Sansa will meet again at Castle Black, and from there, they will plan to take Winterfell? Or will Sansa take Winterfell on her own and reunite with Jon along the way? I’m of the idea of two lost souls who, when united, find the strength in each other to take the land of their family. But I don’t know, I haven’t finished the books yet so I need guidance on this.

I don’t consider myself an ASOIAF expert, anon so I don't offer guidance, but I will def share my thoughts with you!

In order to talk about this, I'm afraid there are some ADWD spoilers, though. If you mind that, maybe revisit this post after you've read it? Short version, I agree with you. Sansa should be involved in retaking Winterfell because we need a Stark there:

Battles had been fought at Winterfell before, but never one without a Stark on one side or the other. (ADWD, Jon VII)

but I think the reunion happens first because of the The Girl in Grey theory. I'll explain more below the cut due to the major Jon spoiler.

In ADWD, a character named Melisandre tells Jon about a vision she has:

She stood beneath the scorched stones of the Lord Commander's Tower, cloaked in darkness and in memory. The light of the moon was in her hair, her red hair kissed by fire. When he saw that, Jon's heart leapt into his mouth. "Ygritte," he said. "Lord Snow." The voice was Melisandre's. Surprise made him recoil from her. "Lady Melisandre." He took a step backwards. "I mistook you for someone else." At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red. He did not understand how he could have taken her for Ygritte. She was taller, thinner, older, though the moonlight washed years from her face. Mist rose from her nostrils, and from pale hands naked to the night. "You will freeze your fingers off," Jon warned. "If that is the will of R'hllor. Night's powers cannot touch one whose heart is bathed in god's holy fire." "You heart does not concern me. Just your hands."

"The heart is all that matters. Do not despair, Lord Snow. Despair is a weapon of the enemy, whose name may not be spoken. Your sister is not lost to you." "I have no sister." The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? Melisandre seemed amused. "What is her name, this little sister that you do not have?" "Arya." His voice was hoarse. "My half-sister, truly …" "… for you are bastard born. I had not forgotten. I have seen your sister in my fires, fleeing from this marriage they have made for her. Coming here, to you. A girl in grey on a dying horse, I have seen it plain as day. It has not happened yet, but it will." She gazed at Ghost. "May I touch your … wolf?" The thought made Jon uneasy. "Best not." "He will not harm me. You call him Ghost, yes?" "Yes, but …" "Ghost." Melisandre made the word a song. The direwolf padded toward her. Wary, he stalked about her in a circle, sniffing. When she held out her hand he smelled that too, then shoved his nose against her fingers. Jon let out a white breath. "He is not always so …" "… warm? Warmth calls to warmth, Jon Snow." Her eyes were two red stars, shining in the dark. At her throat, her ruby gleamed, a third eye glowing brighter than the others. Jon had seen Ghost's eyes blazing red the same way, when they caught the light just right. "Ghost," he called. "To me." The direwolf looked at him as if he were a stranger. Jon frowned in disbelief. "That's … queer." "You think so?" She knelt and scratched Ghost behind his ear. "Your Wall is a queer place, but there is power here, if you will use it. Power in you, and in this beast. You resist it, and that is your mistake. Embrace it. Use it." I am not a wolf, he thought. "And how would I do that?" "I can show you." Melisandre draped one slender arm over Ghost, and the direwolf licked her face. "The Lord of Light in his wisdom made us male and female, two parts of a greater whole. In our joining there is power. Power to make life. Power to make light. Power to cast shadows." "Shadows." The world seemed darker when he said it. "Every man who walks the earth casts a shadow on the world. Some are thin and weak, others long and dark. You should look behind you, Lord Snow. The moon has kissed you and etched your shadow upon the ice twenty feet tall." Jon glanced over his shoulder. The shadow was there, just as she had said, etched in moonlight against the Wall. A girl in grey on a dying horse, he thought. Coming here, to you. Arya. He turned back to the red priestess. Jon could feel her warmth. She has power. The thought came unbidden, seizing him with iron teeth, but this was not a woman he cared to be indebted to, not even for his little sister. "Dalla told me something once. Val's sister, Mance Rayder's wife. She said that sorcery was a sword without a hilt. There is no safe way to grasp it." "A wise woman." Melisandre rose, her red robes stirring in the wind. "A sword without a hilt is still a sword, though, and a sword is a fine thing to have when foes are all about. Hear me now, Jon Snow. Nine crows flew into the white wood to find your foes for you. Three of them are dead. They have not died yet, but their death is out there waiting for them, and they ride to meet it. You sent them forth to be your eyes in the darkness, but they will be eyeless when they return to you. I have seen their pale dead faces in my flames. Empty sockets, weeping blood." She pushed her red hair back, and her red eyes shone. "You do not believe me. You will. The cost of that belief will be three lives. A small price to pay for wisdom, some might say … but not one you had to pay. Remember that when you behold the blind and ravaged faces of your dead. And come that day, take my hand." The mist rose from her pale flesh, and for a moment it seemed as if pale, sorcerous flames were playing about her fingers. "Take my hand," she said again, "and let me save your sister." (ADWD, Jon VI)

The vision keeps coming up and dictates some of Jon's decisions. Jeyne Poole (Sansa's friend) was forced to marry Ramsay in the guise of being Arya, she escapes, and people expect her to reunite with Jon and be the girl in grey (escaping a marriage, she was pretending to be his sister). Others point to Alys Karstark who runs to Jon to escape a marriage. The problem is, Mel doesn't know who it is, she only knows sister. People pick Jeyne because of the Arya connection, but neither she nor Alys are Jon's sister. And Jon has another sister, Sansa.

I would argue the reason that the girl in grey is Sansa (ie Sansa will flee North to escape LF's plots and reunite with Jon before Winterfell is taken/she is in a position of power), is if you read Jon's passage about the girl in grey, Jon being dead is written all over it. His white breath, the reference to him as a stranger, Jon telling himself he isn't a wolf...you see, here is the major spoiler...

Jon is assassinated at the end of TWOW.

Now, he may not actually be dead-dead, some of us have said he might be in a coma like Bran, but a) we believe he warged into Ghost (I am not a wolf--he will need to come back to himself, not lose himself in Ghost), b) the stranger = Jon is dead, c) the white breath = his body being cold cuz he's dead etc. The other side of this is, the way Jon sees Mel and remembers a different redhead can be viewed as foreshadowing for recently undead Jon seeing a redhead and mistaking her for Ygritte. The description of Mel's words like a song made people think of Sansa (it's been speculated Sansa's singing will help Jon remember things post rez/help him return to himself), and Ghost's strangely positive reaction to Mel may foreshadow how he reacts to Sansa as a familiar person. So, when I read that passage, it sounded to me like Sansa and Jon will be reuniting shortly after his rez, or even perhaps before his rez, so yes, I imagine that happens at the Wall.

Way back in 2013, a famous Jonsa essay predicted that Jon and Sansa would be reunited first of all the Starks, and then in 2016 that happened on the show which spurred a lot more discussion in the Jonsa fandom about Sansa being the girl in grey in the books as well.

I'll link some additional posts with various thoughts on how it might go.

Jon as the Stranger, Sansa as a silent sister. Pertinent quotes:

Then one morning she spied three women in the cowled grey robes of the silent sisters loading a corpse into their wagon. (ACOK, Arya VII) The women in grey bowed their heads. The silent sisters do not speak to the living, Catelyn remembered dully, but some say they can talk to the dead. (ACOK, Catelyn V) Grey was the color of the silent sisters, the handmaidens of the Stranger. (AFFC, Brienne VIII) When we find the Imp, we will find the Lady Sansa too. She is not dead . . . but before I am done with her, I promise you, she will be singing to the Stranger, begging for his kiss." (AFFC, Cersei IV)

@loveroflemons wrote a post in 2017 talking about Mel's prophecy and the map of the North to explain why Sansa is the Girl in Grey here. @une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir has a post explaining that Sansa is Ned's narrative heir and her path North will follow his here, and some general ideas for her TWOW story here.

@istumpysk talks about The Girl in Grey foreshadowing here. @aegor-bamfsteel tried to give us a time table here, @redteabaron has talked about the possibility that Sansa will be hunted by Ramsay for some Red Riding Hood parallels here, That and Sansa meeting Ghost while Jon is still out of it is discussed here as well. And this post talks about Jon saving Sansa from Ramsay while warged into Ghost using some king’s prize/thief quotes. I also found a Tolkien poem (Martin is a massive fan) that has Girl in Grey vibes here (not proof, just fun).

Anyway, it's a very popular Jonsa theory, for many of us, a given at this point. For a different ask i scrolled some BNF blogs and they mocked it a lot, called us delusional because they can point to the other girls as fulfilling the prophecy, but to me, that prophecy takes up too much space for it to disappear without a real payoff. It makes sense to me that Martin would use that vision to prep us for Sansa arriving in the North.

Let me know what you think after you read ADWD!

#soon i'll post links for book verse girl in grey fics anon #not meta but jonsa fics have a funny habit of predicting things to come!#jonsa #dot chat #the girl in grey

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deesseshesca · 4 months ago

Text

PAC :What are they gagging about u, again ?

Again… A fucking again. Nothing new, nothing changed.

Good morning, pretty souls, today we are diving into the same mess people keep their mouth running regarding you. What’s the remix this time ? What have you done to upset the haters ? Like WTF do they want now ?

FLASH SALE

For the next 2 weeks all readings on my ko-fi is 20$, only

GIVEAWAY

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To participate: You must reblog, like and comment.

Choose the image that’s speak to you and allow yourself to soak ONLY what’s reasoning with YOUR SITUATION

Rules and Disclaimer

I am the type of tarot reader to say as it is. Nothing is sugar coated but everything is sent with good intention. If you are not ready to face some truth, you should vagabond somewhere else.

TW: PANIC ATTACK

Pile 1

Check in : y'all come from a rich abusive household. You are about to run away. Or some of y’all might actually just move.

What’s the gag ?

King pentacles

People are yapping about you, are your classmates or close friends . Y’all come from an abundant family heritage and are living the dream some will never get to even grasp. Let’s not forget your amazing composure. You can get anything you want whenever you want. Probably walking around with an Amex card. Book a ticket overseas at least 4x a year. Whole education in private school even high profile nanny. If you are black, u hear often … « you talk white … ». I fucking hate that statement because what is that supposed to mean 😑… LOSER . They think u must have a very traditional way of thinking. Especially if u are white, they think u lean more towards far right ideologies. And the fact that u call your parents « papa » or « mother » is not helping your case.

What’s actually gagging ?

8 swords

Y’all are going through it with your family. I don’t have any vision regarding what’s going on behind closed doors. But I see you pulling a big bright smile after closing the front door of your house. I see y’all acting literally like a robot. The second that your parents ask for something. You do it. No question or critical thinking involved. Y’all are literally suffocating in your household. This time no amount of money, clothes or first class trip is cutting it.

Bonus💌333, The universe is advising you not to run way. They know you are an individual with good values and you hate acting out of character. But they are giving you the green light to act like a spoiled child and throw a fit. So you can get your own apartment and enjoy a semi independent lifestyle before blowing the big gun. They will hate to see struggle in the real world when u already been through hell in your own home.

FLASH SALE

For the next 2 weeks all readings on my ko-fi is 20$, only

GIVEAWAY

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To participate: You must re-blog, like and comment.

If you want to choose the subject for the next reading make sure to vote on the poll at the end of the post.

PILE 2

Check in : You guys recently got a face piercing. People around u wondered if u are a sex worker. You come from a small town. Y’all have the perfect hourglass figure or peach. Anyway, your ass is fat.

What’s the gag ?

Judgment (reverse)

They feel like too many bad things happen to you. Everyone in town is in your business. Which is not surprising. Like nobody actually minds their motherfucking business ( I’m sorry … I hate when people are in people's business, especially mine . Since I’m a toddler my fav sport is to mind the thinking that pay me … is so annoying when I run around individuals that fucking don’t This is why I never over read in y’all energy even in a collective setting. Like c’mon). I’m sorry pile 2, y’all lost u’re high school sweetheart. Y'all got married but it all scrambles down. They feel like you need Jesus. They think u are bitter, old and alcoholic women. You need to give your heart to God and turn your life around.

What’s actually gagging ?

Queen swords (reverse)

They are partially right (and i oop-). Nah, I have to stay serious. This is a serious matter. You lost the only good thing in your life. I would be turning bitter myself 2. In that nasty old town, where people never let you be in peace. First because of your mom's reputation then because of your beauty. Out here making fun of u because u gain weight. Bitch people are at the gym killing themself to have your curves. Some are dying on the bed of doctor Miami… for what ? I sense that it is constantly like that. Since you’ve been young they made smart comments about you. When they realize, u only get prettier from there… game over. Now they are calling you fast. Then calling you old, they wish. Y’all are between 25-27 like… ok, yeah ok, pipe down bitch (meme reference). You are pondering on doing a 360 of your life right now. You spend all this time trying to please people around you and acting according to people's expectations. Now you want to live in a rather carefree lifestyle. Moving to the big city, where nobody cares about you and nobody deem to care. You might want to be a stripper. Not because you are missing funds or don’t have an education. You just want to go wild for a bit. Seeing if you still got it.

Bonus💌777, When you are ready to share your story that's when great success is going to find you. You might documente your grief on social media or give guideline for other to heal. Some may write a book to help individual going through the trials and tribulations of loosing their ultimate soulmate. Y'all other going to share all the secret tip and tricks of being a stripper.

FLASH SALE

For the next 2 weeks all readings on my ko-fi is 20$, only

GIVEAWAY

There’s one spot left for a free full audio reading

To participate: You must re-blog, like and comment.

If you want to choose the subject for the next reading make sure to vote on the poll at the end of the post.

PILE 3

What’s the gag?

King cups (reverse)

Y’all must be athletes. The people gagging are your teammates. They finally saw you crack. Some were even questioned if you were a human being. Because you are always put on a straight face no matter what. I sense that you had a panic attack in front of them. That was the only time you showed emotion and it was this intense.

What's actually the gaging ?

Queen swords

You’ve been carrying a deep sadness since childhood. You guys are extremely disciplined and private. Y’all also give amazing advice. They think you lost it but you actually lost your mind Because you never really had your emotions under control. You barely know how to cope. The only time that this insanity seems to leave you is when you are practicing your sport. You are actually pouring all you have to the only thing that gives you peace. They will never know that.

FLASH SALE

For the next 2 weeks all readings on my ko-fi is 20$, only

GIVEAWAY

There’s one spot left for a free full audio reading

To participate: You must re-blog, like and comment.

If you want to choose the subject for the next reading make sure to vote on the poll at the end of the post.

#tarot reading #tarot cards #tarot spread #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #pac reading #pac #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick a pile #pick a card #pick one #pick a card reading #tarot #free tarot readings #tarot blog

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oncamelliastreet · 4 months ago

Text

⋆｡‧˚ʚ ❀ hi!! i’m r, and i’d love to be friends ❀ ɞ˚‧｡⋆

here’s a little about me:

in general:

i am a minor, i’m fine with 18+ just don’t be…weird

my pronouns are she/her

i’m bi and somewhere on the ace spectrum (people are pretty but ew)

i’m an infp and a february aquarius

i’m obsessed with camellia flowers (and not because it’s a luke hemmings lyric, that was just a delightful coincidence)

please don’t bring any drama or any negative energy anywhere near my blog

tv & movies:

stranger things

fav character : max and mike

fav ship : byler

dead boy detectives

fav character : charles and jenny

fav ship : charles and edwin

gilmore girls

fav character : luke and jess

fav ship : rory and jess, luke and lorelei

ted lasso

fav character : colin and sam

fav ship : roy and keeley

heartbreak high

fav character : spider and any

fav ship : spider and missy

the bear

fav character : richie (cousin)

fav ship : i don’t really have one?

outer banks

fav character : jj

fav ship : jj and kiara

young royals

fav character: wille

fav ship: wille and simon

shadow and bone

fav character: nina

fav ship: nina and matthias

school spirits

fav character: wally

fav ship: maddie and wally

criminal minds

fav character : spencer

fav ship : jemily

sitcoms

new girl

parks & rec

the office

brooklyn 99

superstore

mcu

fav characters: bucky, wanda, loki

other fav movies

10 things i hate about you

the breakfast club

the bikeriders

grease

elvis

music:

5 seconds of summer (my favorite artist)

luke hemmings is my lane and also my favorite human ever :)

my fav album is youngblood, fav song is lie to me

luke hemmings

fav album is wfttwtaf (fav album of all time too), fav song is garden life

taylor swift

fav album is midnights, fav song is yoyok

reneé rapp

fav song is willow

chappell roan

fav song is naked in manhattan

one direction

fav album is four, fav song is what a feeling

harry styles

fav albums is harry’s house, fav song is lights up

louis tomlinson

fav album so fitf, fav song is angels fly

note: i am not a larry

niall horan

fav album is heartbreak weather, fav song is science

conan gray

fav album is superache, fav song is movies

olivia rodrigo

fav album is guts, fav song is teenage dream

sabrina carpenter

fav album is tied between short n sweet and eics, fav songs are vicious, juno, and exhale

ruel

fav album is 4th wall, fav song is lie

ashe

fav album is ashlyn, fav song is loose ends

maisie peters

fav album is the good witch, fav song is lost the breakup

madison beer

fav album is silence between songs, fav song is king of everything

florence + the machine

fav album is ceremonials, fav song is breaking down

paramore

fav album is after laughter, fav song is fake happy

i am also an enthusiast of 80s music :)

hobbies:

art:

i love to draw (graphite)

i dabble in watercolor

i do some digital art but nothing too complicated, mostly i just make wallpapers and turn albums into books

writing

nothing completed or posted anywhere because i procrastinate until i lose interest :)

reading

romance books mostly, my fav author is emily henry and my fav book series is once upon a broken heart

other fav books: six of crows duology, dance of thieves duology, abby jiminez’ most recent series (yours truly, part of your world, just for the summer), i’ll give you the sun, all our broken pieces, i’ve read most fluffy gay romances (red white and royal blue, boyfriend material, her royal highness,

⋆｡‧˚ʚ ❀ and that’s all!! i’d love to be friends, feel free to message me anytime! ❀ ɞ˚‧｡⋆

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velvetvexations · 3 months ago

Note

RE: Lovecraft's racism

I don't have anything meaningful to add, just some personal anecdotes.

I started reading Lovecraft from some selected works books, and I didn't see any issue for most of it. I didn't know his reputation, and also I am European so race is not something that I am actively aware about (because POC here are extremely rare and mostly are rich tourists and exchange students rather than minorities). Up until he described Inuits as "dwarfish creatures who call themselves Eskimos".

Later I have read complete collections of his works and saw some absolutely horrific racist sentiments, and also now that I am tumblr-level socialist I can see all problematic innuendos in selected works as well, so it's in no way defense of Lovecraft. Just my addition.

P.S.: I also think that people calling Lovecraft exceptionally racist just didn't read a lot of popular USAmerican fiction of the time. Burroughs is IMO worse, or at least more obvious about it.

P.P.S.: There was a popular joke some time ago like "Lovecraft would go insane if he met me" that was made by white neurodivergent queer people, and I feel that it's weirdly tone deaf. We don't know Lovecraft's opinion on homosexuality or transgenderism, at all. He probably was at least somewhat homophobic considering times, but we just can't prove that he wouldn't have changed his mind if presented with science-based arguments, and autism is definitely not what he considered scary mental illnesses. His entire deal was being racist, not just generally bad person.

P.P.P.S. (wow): Also, not enough people talk about him describing political system of Great Race of Yig (or whatever they are called) as "a mix of socialism and fascism"

Actually, we DO know how he felt about queer people!

From a letter to J. Vernon Shea:

I guess it is true that homosexuality is a rare theme for novels—partly because public attention was seldom called to it (except briefly during the Wilde period) until a decade ago, & partly because any literary use of it always incurs the peril of legal censorship. As a matter of fact—although of course I always knew that paederasty was a disgusting custom of many ancient nations—I never heard of homosexuality as an actual instinct till I was over thirty…which beats your record! It is possible, I think that this perversion occurs more frequently in some periods than in others—owing to obscure biological & psychological causes. Decadent ages—when psychology is unsettled—seem to favour it. Of course—in ancient times the extent of the practice of paederasty (as a custom which most simply accepted blindly, without any special inclination) cannot be taken as any measure of the extent of actual psychological perversion. Another thing—many nowadays overlook the fact that there are always distinctly effeminate types which are most distinctly not homosexual. I don’t know how psychology explains them, but we all know the sort of damned sissy who plays with girls & who—when he grows up—is a chronic “cake-eater”, hanging around girls, doting on dances, acquiring certain feminine mannerisms, intonations, & tastes, & yet never having even the slightest perversion of erotic inclinations.

Even worse, from a letter to James F. Morton:

Have you seen that precious sissy that I met in Cleveland? Belknap says he’s hit the big town, and that he’s had some conversation with him. When I saw that marcelled what is it I don’t know whether to kiss it or kill it! It used to sit cross-legged on the floor at Elgin’s and gaze soulfully upward. It didn’t like me and Galpin—too horrid, rough and mannish for it!

The idea that this fucking dweep saw himself as the alpha male in the room is dadgum hilarious.

And yet, R. H. Barlow and Samuel Loveman (again) were gay. Did Lovecraft know? He met the aforementioned "precious sissy" at a gathering Loveman had taken him to. R. H. Barlow wrote a story lost to us called "I Hate Queers" which Lovecraft read that certainly sounds psychologically revealing, but his brief commentary on it really tells us nothing about the content and if it made Barlow's closet more transparent or not.

Derleth said Lovecraft "seemed" to be unaware they were gay, but what the fuck does that asshole know? Lovecraft personally explained the ideas behind his stories to him and he still fucked up the Mythos for decades with his bullshit. On the other hand, Derleth was bisexual himself, and I don't know how Lovecraft couldn't have picked up on it from this letter he sent him:

I can understand your detestation of sex irregularities in life as violations of harmony and I here fully agree with you. I had previously misunderstood you to mean protestation from a basis of morals, and on this basis I would have stood squarely opposed to you. I have known and still know many people who are sexually irregular, both homosexual men and women, and except for three cases out of perhaps 21, I have always found these people highly intellectual, fully aware of what they were doing, and in all cases quite helpless. Speaking perspectively and in the abstract, I could as easily conceive myself entering upon a monogamous homosexual relation as a heterosexual one—though perhaps practice would change that point of view. To quibble about mere words, I should not say that perverts necessarily lived inartistically.

As to if Lovecraft would have accepted scientific evidence in favor of queer validity, maybe. He was becoming a full-blown Actual Communist towards the very end of his life and his racial views, while still preferring to keep cultures separate, had gotten to the point where he believed a Chinese baby raised by White parents would be essentially the same as a White person, which is, uh, technically progress?

#hp lovecraft #lovecraft #cthulhu mythos #history #racism #cw homophobia #cw transphobia #cw pedophillia

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violettduchess · 2 years ago

Note

Gilbert's POV around the MC 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

A/N: I AM DONE GRADING and I can finally breathe again. How better to celebrate the return of (some) free time than with the Prince of Obsidian?

Gilbert x f reader, Gilbert's POV

WC: 707

I know where you are, Häschen. I know where you like to go when you are done with your studies. How you walk the same path to the palace library every evening, the tension of your day slowly melting away like drops of sunshine as soon as you step through those double doors and surround yourself with the familiar, comforting sight of all those books. Then your face lights up and I watch the way your smile reaches your bright eyes. You are at peace now, walking to your favorite sitting chair, the book you have been reading on the small wooden table, a white silk ribbon your book marker.

You’ve settled in, eyes already greedily consuming the words right where you left off. You’re lost, sinking into the starry mist of whatever world is laid out before you, page for glorious page. This is why my presence startles you. The tap of my cane, done with intentional emphasis, rips you from your book, scatters the mist and leaves you wide-eyed and vulnerable. Don’t think I miss the way your gaze darts towards the double doors, which I have conveniently pulled closed and barred. No one will interrupt my meeting with you tonight.

Your voice flutters like a moth trapped under glass as you ask what I am doing here, in the library, so late in the evening. I turn, gesturing with one hand to all the books that surround us, my smile fixed in place. Why, I’m here to read, same as you. My words are no comfort to you. I can tell by the way you glance at the door, the white-knuckle grip of your fingers on the table’s edge. But you are too polite, too petal-soft, to question me, even as I stroll to the shelf, walking my leather-clad fingers over the embossed spines of all the books, finally stopping on a treatise on hunting.

Fitting, I suppose, under the circumstances.

The irony has me grinning as I sink down into the chair next to yours. You expected me to sit across from you. I enjoy not meeting your expectations. From my spot next to you, your scent reaches me. That undeniable mix of rose and lavender. When I learned that you mixed oil from both blossoms, I had several vials made for myself. Just a few drops and you are there. My handkerchief. My pillow. My bath.

I open my book, reading the page once and it is committed to memory. But you don’t know that about me yet and so I linger, acting as though I am a slow reader so that I can take in the sound of your breathing, too quick to be relaxed, and the feel of your gaze as you steal quick glances at me. You are also only pretending to read.

“What do you want?”

Ah, the bunny has found some courage although your eyes are still on your page, as if avoiding eye contact with me somehow keeps you safe.

“What do I want....?” A thousand answers flood my mind.

I want to sweep the books off this table and lay you down on it.

I want to press your soft body between the hard wood and myself, feeling the surrender in your muscles as you go lax under my touch.

I want to hear you whimper my name among all of these hallowed tomes, to bring a soundless room to life with your gasps.

I want to lose myself in the feel of your skin, the taste of your mouth.

I want to devour you until there is nothing left.

I want to feel your fingernails rake the skin of my back and leave proof of your desire.

I want to bite you, your sweetness on my tongue, and leave proof of mine.

I want to wrap you in my arms, to hold you as tightly as an oyster guarding a precious pearl.

I want to protect you from every sorrow, every pain, every bruise that life may try to mar you with.

I want to keep you all for myself. No other eyes should ever rake over your form. No other touch should ever grace your skin.

I want to smother you in my love.

I want to drown in yours.

“I want....to be your friend.”

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @joiedecombat

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri gilbert #gilbert von obsidian #ikemen gilbert #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #character pov #otome fanfiction #otome fanfic #violettwrites

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moodymisty · 9 months ago

Note

So work has been slow, and I've been thinking a lot about the Lorgar series you have going on and I was wondering, do you think that Lorgar's first experience with craving sexual intimacy is with reader ?

I'd imagine the cult of the Powers probably had some texts about sensuality and such, since one of the Powers is Slaanesh with a different name. Maybe scripts about things like ritualistic tantric massage. It's oddly cute to imagine Lorgar not giving those particular books much thought, until he starts having Thoughts™️ about a certain mortal that just won't fade. And then he soon has a pile of every old Slanat ritual book he can find near his desk, reading (and re-reading) them and looking at the illustrations with a voracity that surprises even himself.

Kor Phaeron is disturbed and baffled at Lorgar's new unexpected interest.

Also fun to think about: Reader being a virgin, and Lorgar's corruption kink just going feral and gnawing at the bars of its enclosure when he finds out he was the first to give her pleasure in that way. He'd be swinging between good ol' religious guilt ("I've sullied this Divine that walks upon us in the guise of a mortal, inflicted upon her my base desires.. I am more filthy than any beast...") and being Incredibly Horny that the two of you fell into "depravity" together. Or maybe even pride, that out of every person in the galaxy, He was chosen to lay with you in such a way, that He gets to be the one to experience your love.

I dunno. Just.. The Lorgar brainrot is REAL for me lately.

The Lorgar brainrot is real for us all, homie.

TW for like, virginity talk I know people don’t like that sometimes, and religious trauma

---

I think you could go either way. Given Lorgar’s power and position it wouldn’t be too off to say that there’s more than likely been many people willing to keep his bed warm for a night, and nothing more. In that way his time with you would still the first time it goes beyond just a basic human itch he wanted scratched.

On the other hand, you could say he’s never, and that his knowledge is purely theoretical. I’m sure not many people would be willing to proposition a man such as him and risk religious execution.

Either are fun, but let’s go with the ladder.

Everything is going to be looked at in an entire new light, now. Religious texts with romantic implications, or straight up Slaneesh books like you said, all read very differently now that he’s fallen for you. He can’t help but picture you in those moments. What were once normal passages now make his mind wander to darker places, less able to maintain his composure.

As for Kor Phaeron, I think that he knows that his son is getting lost in more primal, human desires, though he knows that he can do little to stop it. It angers him to no end, that he's loosing his grip on Lorgar thanks to something as simple as sex.

And if you’re a virgin to top it off, he’s going to fucking lose it. His corruption kink is on fire. His religious trauma makes him swear and scold himself the entire time he ruins something so pure. His shame burns at him like hot coals, as it nearly hurts from how much he wants you. Expect to hear mutterings about how you've given so much of yourself to him, how it's like you were made for him, how he ruts into you like a beast and tarnishes you. Though he would never dare to stop.

And if you wore a white dress/robe for him? The whole thing just about ends in moments. He's gone.

#Misty’s book club #Lorgar x reader #reader insert

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mueritos · 9 months ago

Note

Hello., sorry if this is random, I found your blog awhile ago and thought your art was so cool, I love your style a lot 😭 , but I lost it and only recently found it again!

I am a trans man from Australia and I was wondering if you knew any good reads for lgbtq+ history or anything similar, I am white but I would love to see some more by creators of color and experiences around that but I’m not sure which books are best, regardless I hope you’re having a great day ! I feel I need to read more in general.

And I’m loving your posts and hoping you’re doing okay! Your art is so inspirational , things are more than rough atm and even though it’s all right here (kind of) I am hoping that shit starts getting better , the world really needs to be helped right now and there is so much suffering, your posts are very informative , too, and I’m glad to see it , too with all the helpful links, much appreciated -

Thank you again !! And thanks for reading even if you don’t reply, I don’t mind :]! /genuinely i word things awkwardly so I hope you don’t mind -

Hi there! glad you found me again :) This is quite convenient because I actually made a queer theory folder for my classmates/professor after chatting with them about queer theory. You can find it here full of readings and suggested books. A lot are more academic than others. I also realize I forgot to put the download of female masculinity in the drive so I'll try to do that later. I'm adding stuff as I find more downloads and related titles, but if anyone has an recommendations/links I can add them to the additional resources list.

Anyway, I'm glad you like my art and the stuff I post. Things are extremely rough and I cannot deny that it has been affecting me. I can only hope to contribute to any feelings of joy and solidarity with others.

hope that was useful! have an epic day :)

#muertoresponds #queer theory #also one file is from jack halberstrams essay on queer isolation something like that #for some reason it says its from tel aviv and i have no idea why #nor do i remember downloading that file #so i have no idea what thats about but its from 2008 #anyway jack is anti zionist if that provides any relief so yay

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bootleg-parable · 1 year ago

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Guilty Tango ; A Parable Progression

It was another Tuesday.

Somehow, this book had yet to grow old, and here User sat, reading it for the seventh time since his arrival to the office. Something about the writing always reeled him in. Something about the atmosphere, the characters, the irony. It was a good book to get lost in. With ease, it always took his mind off of everything else when he needed it, and it kept him from constantly bothering–

“User?”

. . .Teller.

Two hands settled gently upon User’s shoulders and spun him 180 to be facing away from the desk at which he was sitting. User closed the book and rested it in his lap as he looked up to meet an expecting smile. He stared into the glowing opacity of Teller’s glasses as blankly as he could manage. He often wondered what the older man’s eyes looked like beneath the shining glass shields, but alas, there was no way around them, and User wasn’t one to pry.

“Did you need something?” He asked quietly, and briefly he turned his chair’s swivel to put the book on the desk. He had the feeling he’d be leaving it soon.

Teller took hold of User’s arms. “I am officially–” He paused to hoist the other to his feet. User did not protest. “Off the clock.”

“And only one hour later than yesterday. You must be so proud."

“Ahem. I. . .I apologise. Sometimes things get a little too busy around here.”

And yet User has never seen another person in this office building aside from Teller and-

...

He didn’t want to think about it.

“I’m here, now.” Teller’s glove brushing up against the unwrapped side of User’s face made him bristle. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

User squinted. “I was kidding, Teller.” He swatted the eldest’s hand away. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“The way that you looked at me said otherwise.”

User’s facial expressions didn’t typically change. He didn’t think it had then, either. But perhaps Teller saw something that User didn't feel or care enough to realise. Even so, nothing came to mind, and he knew that Teller was insistent, almost to a charmingly annoying degree.

He only shrugged. Teller frowned with nothing more to say, and User, admittedly, was growing cold under that empty stare of his. Another reason why he wished that Teller would take those glasses off at least once. It was uncanny to look at his face and see nothing but two strips of beaming white glass where eyes should be. Glasses didn’t come like that. . .But he supposed he wouldn’t really know. He couldn’t remember anything before the office, and any memory that sprung to life in his mind always died and vanished soon after. Nothing was left for him. Not while he was here.

Is this even the real world? Surely it couldn't be. Not if Teller was capable of "respawning" in every instance after death. But maybe all of these people weren't actually Teller. Perhaps it was a title. Perhaps User never met the man he thinks he has.

In his spiral of thought, User didn’t even notice that Teller had gotten alarmingly close to him, with a grasp on his arms again, and was humming a tune to the both of them as he swayed in place. User stumbled, startled, and once his mind kicked back into functionality, it only got worse. Teller was trying to dance with him. User didn’t fancy the idea all too much.

“No–” He stuttered, leaning back to put distance between them. His voice got closer and closer to a whisper the more that he spoke. “Teller, I can’t– I don’t know how to dance.”

Teller only grinned. “How painfully stereotypical of you.”

User had seen this before. Every reset followed the same set of events, no matter how much time it took to reach certain ones. They couldn’t do this. User was trying to stop the loop, not entertain it. Oh, but how was he going to explain this to Teller without just hurting his feelings? Or without spilling the truth of this reality to him? Was there any way around this without looking like the bad guy? Maybe that’s something he’d just have to live with.

“Shit.”

He was so bad at it, too. You’d think with how many times he’d repeated this exact moment that he might’ve been better at dancing. But he kept tripping up. He stepped on Teller more than once now, but as always, the other’s patience was endless. Maybe User could just step away. Maybe Teller wouldn’t be bothered.

But what if he would?

“Sorry–”

He stepped on his friend again. Damn it, why couldn't he get this down?

“You are a terrible dancer, dear boy.” Teller insulted, but he laughed, and in that, User knew he was only teasing.

He tried to hide his embarrassed smile in Teller’s coat. He didn’t need to be seen grinning like that. He didn’t want to get close to this version of this man. It would make his death a lot easier to take if User couldn’t prevent it- to know that they were never as close as his previous selves were.

Hm.

Teller was so warm. It never occurred to User that he’s never actually hugged Teller until it was too late. Every embrace was never returned. Instead he always spent his final moments in a loop hanging on to something dead. Someone dead. This might not have been a hug, per say, but it was a welcome change of pace. To be this close to Teller while he was still alive.

While he was. . .

“Let go.” He pulled himself free. Teller might have blinked with surprise, but User couldn’t tell. He tried to think of something to cover up his abruptness. “I told you, I can’t dance.”

“I can tell,” Teller shot back. User couldn’t read it as playful or not anymore. That made him ache. “I stopped counting your fumbles after the tenth one, snrk–”

Teller didn’t usually take things personally.

That was a relief, and User sighed to acknowledge that. Teller rubbed the other’s shoulder.

“Oh, I’m only poking fun at you, User.” He reassured, having taken the sigh as despondency. “You were doing fine.”

User gave him a look. There were far more troubling things to get twisted up about. Teller’s silly little insult was far from being one of them. And speaking of which, he had plans to write out. He couldn’t stand around humouring this game anymore. Lucky for him, Teller picked up on User’s wanting to be left alone.

“If you need me, simply shout for me,” He announced his departure as he started off down the hall. “I will be in the library, reorganising.”

User nodded once and watched him disappear around a corner. He didn’t like being alone very much, even less so knowing that Teller was alone. Anything could happen. He didn’t know if that damned 8-Ball would wait for everything to play out as it typically did. Maybe it had fun watching User scramble around for solutions with the time provided. Maybe it would catch him off guard and take Teller away from him while he wasn’t looking. There wouldn't be any light steps taken about this subject. Even if the end never truly was the end, User didn't want it to happen.

There were so many ways that this could all go wrong.

There were so many loops that all came to the same conclusion, no matter how hard he tried.

There were so many memories that only he retained and couldn't share.

User didn’t like being alone very much. . .

. . . There was a sound from the library. A loud, devastating sound. Something in User’s stomach dropped, and before he could even process the situation or his feelings, he was already mindlessly running down the hall. His heart was racing.

He was right.

The worst had come ages before the suspected deadline.

Teller.

#the stanley parable #tspud #narratorverse #bootleguser #tsp stanley #tsp narrator #bootlegstoryteller #writing

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