#god my handwriting was terrible

[rocksanddeadflowers]

Is this the time of year highschoolers are reading The Odyssey? Every year around these couple months I feel a deep desire to reread and talk about it like. All the time.

So I remember when I read it for school I was embarrassed bc we were supposed to make sticky notes annotations and I had 3x the amount of sticky notes as my classmates despite desperately trying to minimize them.

Also I always make a joke and use the "Nobody/No one" thing and nobody ever gets it ..... oh the irony ...... I'm gonna go listen to UDAD now I guess.....

[metamatronic]

some of the old cast! it’s kinda crazy looking back at my old BATIM art, ngl. but it’s nice to see that i’ve improved!

[liltaireissocute]

caleb showing molly his scars for the first time

[lamphous]

me thinking myself clever for catching onto accidental foreshadowing before realizing in fact it was a memory as the-body-remembers-by-babette-rothschild. eleventh doctor so so evil to me. the way that I was down BADDD for alex kingston at age 13.

sorry there are approx. 7 more posts in the tags here

[rosalynib]

TW: poetry referencing gore and other depressive topics

Here's some of my poetry. I am very aware of how edgy a lot of it is. It might not be good, but these were wrenched from the depths of my Google Docs tab and my physical diary. I suppose one could say they were "written from the heart". I've a penchant for scribbling poetry into any available crevice when it pleases me.

I'll look back on these one day after I've long forgotten them. When I do, I'm sure there will be ones that I cringe at, and ones that I still think good of.

I hold these dear, regardless of my opinion on the writing itself. Wow, sentimental value is real.

no. 1 // THE HOUSE OF ROT

{I wrote this during some mental episode, it reeks of religious delusions. I'm very glad that I've not roped anyone else into them, and even more pleased that they haven't come about recently. I'm not sure if it's poetry specifically, but it exists, so it goes here. First page of my diary, oddly enough. The prose is extremely rushed, I was probably immediately sick of writing but needed the concept out of my head.}

The House of Rot is a place of deep hedonism and faux luxury. Insect colonies feast and breed as far as the eye can see; they are welcomed. Detachef faces line the halls, or the main hall, other halls having bloodied and rusted weapons lining them.

THE DEVIL REVEALS TO MY EYE

I HAVE INVOKED THE MORNINGSTAR TO DO HIS BIDDING AND ASCEND TO GODHOOD

THE FOUR-FINGWRWD SHIFTING HAND REACHES OUT TO MW

DOWN WITH HAPLESS HUMANITY,

RISE A NEW DAWN

THE MORNINGSTAR GUIDES MY HAND

I AM NYLASOR, THIS WORLD'S DARK MESSIAH

The Morningstar listens but does not guide my shadow, not yet. Shadow drags soul.

A flayed man hung by his own intestines and children and kids eating rotted meat.

no. 2 // Semicolon

{This one is drawn out and I have no explanation for it. Oh, wait, yes I do. I was high, apparently, as the page says.}

The irony of carving a semicolon into your own flesh is that it is a visual representation of a future that, for myself, is inevitable; i've promised myself to stay alive and heal. One of these days, I'll promise that to myself again, the next of my "last" times, I'll carve that oath a little too deep in a little too risky an area.

Then, it'll all be over. Everything ends, but I believe my end is the instantaneous beginning and end of my healing. It's not my way out, but a way forward. True peace exists only amongst the nonexistent, of whom lend it to us to do all the envying and fearing of their total nothingness. Soon, I will be envied and feared. Soon, "I" won't be "me" anymore.

Soon, it'll all be over.

Any day now.

Any day.

no. 3 // Stones and Glass Houses

{I randomly thought of the phrase "girls in glass houses shouldn't throw stones" and spiraled. I was high.}

There was a time in which I longed to be perceived. Oh, to be observed like a rare insect trapped in glass.

I know what it is like to live in one such glass enclosure. However, mine is a labyrinth of sparkling, perfect glass, not a jar or a bottle. I throw stones from deep wirhin my labyrinth; I await the day one of those stones are thrown right back. Will it bounce off, or will it leave an ever-expanding hairline scratch?

Perhaps my labyrinth will shatter upon impact. It does not matter. No matter the stone or the throw or the thickness of the glass, I will one day collapse under the oppressive, crumbling ruins of my crystalline haven. No matter whar I do, I am past the point of no return.

No matter how pitifully I weep, my body will soon be cut to pieces in my most sacred sanctuary. The stones I threw started out as innocent little pebbles. But, at my mature age, I have had a conflicting epiphany; perhaps I should have built a fortress out of stone and not glass... Perhaps I simply shouldn't have been throwing stones to begin with.

no. 4 // To Kill

{I was being a little mentally silly here.}

To kill is to offer assent and rebirth.

To bring new fire is to bring a new burden.

To die is to take on a new face.

To live is to rot.

To grieve is to sustain the burden of memory.

To forget is to steal away the joy of that which is demented.

To be bereaved is to be cast into uncharted waters, to become the cartographer of a new fate.

It is to create a new civilization, a new settlement.

It is to die and to be born again without resurrection, without reincarnation.

It is to sing sad poems from such an intimately familiar place, to writhe and to weep.

no. 5 // Run

Start running,

To the edge of that cliff,

Where no one will stop you from falling,

Where you will land on the bones of the decimated,

Where you will face the sin of creation,

The sin of destruction.

no. 6 // Pitiful Youth

Oh, the youthful need to be loved, used, and abused. Like a budding flower being plucked at the root before it ever has a chance to blossom, wilt, and germinate; never afforded the privilege of filling its surrounding environs with its sweetness; destined to die in a dusty, forgotten vase, a lost symbol of hope, light, and affection.

no. 7 // Brain Glitch Girl

With lips pressed to my ears,

Howling ragged screams,

My mind folds thrice over,

Failing to remember dreams.

'Tis my armor like a ripper to seams,

Sabotaging a library more vast than Alexandria,

An intimately familiar and ever-potent bacteria.

The salts sew and mend the seams,

But when all is said and done,

I've nothing left but daydreams.

no. 8 // Double Fissure, Single Suture

{I'm fairly certain this was to be a song at one point, but I'm too stupid for music programs and I smoke. It is about my delusions that there are multiple people occupying my brain.}

I need to crack open your ribs,

Sew my soul into your skin,

All so you can't part from me again,

We are inseparable, ineffable,

You are inevitable, stay the fuck out of our head,

Whisper-screaming and static-filled screens,

Would it kill you to remember my dreams?

We can't see hope or light,

We can't tell wrong from right,

But we can solve this with a blood sacrifice tonight,

We are inseperable, ineffable,

You are inevitable, why's there duality in my head?

Am I god?

Will I ascend?

Can I cause this secluded world to end?

Am I god?

I am God!

I'll show the burning world what I've wrought,

Is there a use for you?

Or are you just here to confuse?

I can't be fooled by my own psyche,

You can't bring about my expiry,

Stitch the body up,

I'll feel your sweet purity,

And I'll one day drown you in my obscurity.

[hurtspideyparker]

Peter places an envelope on Tony's desk.

Tony looks up confused, "huh? What's that for?"

"It's for you," he points awkwardly at the plain blue envelope, held closed with a Darth Vader sticker.

"It's not my birthday kid." He snaps the protective face shield back down as he picks up his soldering iron, sparks flying as he gets back to work.

"I know that I, uh. It's from, it's for. It's yours. I gotta go, see you later Mr. Stark!" Peter hikes his backpack up tighter as he skips out of the lab.

Tony grunts in acknowledgement without looking up, eyes focused on the searing metal in front of him.

* * *

"Tony? I thought you were gonna have dinner with me after Peter left," Pepper saunters down into the workspace in a flattering pair of jeans and baby blue blouse.

"I was. I am. He left like five minutes ago," Tony waves at her without taking his eyes from the computer he's typing on.

"Happy drove him home two hours ago. Come, have a nice sit down meal with me." Pepper wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind, kissing the top of his head.

"I can have a sit down meal. I'm sitting right now, bring the carbonara down here and it'll be a proper date," Tony replies.

"Yeah, you me and your computer. How romantic. Tony, come upstairs- what's this?"

Tony glances up to see her holding a blue envelope.

"Uh, it's the kids."

Pepper flips it around, "it says To Mr. Stark From Peter on the back."

Tony just shrugs and goes back to typing on his computer.

The delicate glue of the sticker is undone under Pepper's sharp nails as she opens up the envelope and pulls something from inside.

"It's illegal to open someone else's mail y'know," Tony teases.

"Tony this- god you are such an asshole!" Pepper smacks Tony on the back of the head with the envelope.

"Ow! What the- what did I do now! I was just joking about the carbonara thing... mostly."

Tony finally meets Pepper's eyes of scorn. She tosses something in front of him with a huff.

"Tony, he even used a Darth Vader sticker. Do you know how adorably geeky and topical that is? You have got to start paying more attention to the living breathing people in front of you instead of your machines. Dinner is ready, please come upstairs."

Tony watches her leave as the clack of her heels fade away with every step. He's not sure what Darth Vader has to do with missing dinner, but he's quick to get up and start to follow.

He pauses before he makes it out the door, turning to finish the last line of code before he forgets the function. He pushes something off of his keyboard to type and press save.

Tony can't remember the last time he looked up from his work long enough to consume solid food. He's so ready to carb-load with some Italian food, turning away from the computer and blue envelope.

Tony's eyebrows furrow. Hm. Darth Vader sticker.

Tony turns back around and picks up the envelope from beside his keyboard.

This must be what the kid was yapping about earlier. Tony sticks his hand inside and finds a card, pulling it out.

"Father's Day it is," the front says in bold lettering with a picture of Yoda crudely hand-drawn with a sharpie and green highlighter. Tony flips it open, "celebrate you we must" is written in the middle of the page.

Below is a message in smaller writing; "Thank you for everything Mr. Stark, we wouldn't be here without you!" with a blob of sharpie that looks suspiciously like it's scribbled out a small heart, then signed "From Peter, Dum-E and U" each name written in their own unique handwriting.

"Friday, what day is it?"

"It is Sunday June 16th, also celebrated as Father's Day in countries such as the United States, Canada, and the UK."

Hm.

Tony stands there and stares at the card for longer than he'd ever admit before looking up at Dum-E.

"You help with this?" he asks, pointing at the card.

Dum-E chirps happily, twirling his claw around.

"Your hand writing's terrible."

* * *

Peter enters the lab slowly, an unsureness to him that's out of character.

It's Wednesday, his usual day for coming over to Tony's workshop. He hasn't heard anything from Tony since Sunday, not that he usually does. Still, the quietness has unnerved him. He's not sure what he was even expecting from his mentor; silence is probably the nicest response he could hope for after embarrassing himself like that.

"Hi Mr. Stark," he greets once he spots the older man sitting next to a complicated tangle of wires.

"Hey kid, can you go to the computer and run the command I have open for me?"

"Sure thing!" Peter says as he dumps his backpack onto the floor and jogs over.

The two get into an easy rhythm and Peter's practically forgotten why he was nervous in the first place when, "hey grab us some sodas will you," Mr. Stark asks him.

Peter walks up to the fridge in the corner of the room when he notices something new.

In the center of the silver metal lies a single piece of paper, stuck to the refrigerator with a plain magnet seemingly scrapped from some old hardware in the lab.

Tony has his Father's Day card displayed like some dorky parent whose kid got a half-decent report card, showcased on a fridge like a toddler's finger painted masterpiece.

It makes Peter so happy he can't wipe the stupid grin off his face the entire time he's grabbing sodas and delivering one to Tony.

The older hums a thanks without looking away from his project, but as Peter turns away Tony's own face contorts into a pleased smile all of his own.

The two share identical smiles all afternoon, hidden behind soda cans and computer screens.

[silverheartsystem]

"Yeah I'm a pretty good writer 😏"

*proceeds to misspell every other word*

[wiishopwednesday]

longing for something you can never return to

[ID: a collection of images relating to nostalgia. the first image is a genius screenshot of the lyrics to car seat headrest's "famous prophets (stars)." the screenshot reads "We gotta go back/We gotta go back/We gotta go back/We gotta go back." the second image is the "we got the torture labyrinth tomorrow" meme template, edited to instead say "We got missing what we can never return to tomorrow/What?/We got the beginning of the rest of our lives tomorrow/Ohhhh/Okay." the third image is a discord screenshot, with the user's username and icon cropped out so that only the text is visible, and reads "Duuudeee you missed out on those 7 days where god created earth you are fucked LOL." the fourth image is a screenshot of a piece of text, which reads in bolder font "You can never leave home." underneath it, in normal text, it reads "You take it with you no matter where you go. Home is between your teeth, under your fingernails, in the hair follicles, in your smile, in the ride of your hips, in the passage of your breasts." the fifth image is a screenshot of a post made by tumblr user ryebreadgf, which reads "YOU CAN NEVER GO BACK! YOU CAN NEVER GO BACK! YOU CAN BITE AND SCRATCH AND BEG BUT YOU CAN NEVER GO BACK!" the sixth image is a screenshot of a piece of text that reads, "YOU KILL YOURSELF AND IMMEDIATELY WAKE UP AS A CHILD ON YOUR PARENTS BED. YOU'VE BEEN ASLEEP FOR HALF AN HOUR. THE SUN IS SHINING." the seventh image is a picture of two uneven dark yellow boxed next to each other on a off-white background. the first box reads, in handwriting, "I'm terrified of change." the second box reads, "I'm terrified of staying this way forever." the eighth image is a screenshot of a post made by tumblr user dakotajohnsongf, which reads "women be looking at pictures of their childhood selves and trying to find a way back to them." the ninth image is a screenshot of a post made by tumblr user bestofgentleearth, containing a screenshot from a forum of some kind. a line of text reads "(16 hours ago) butterfly said:" underneath, an indented section of text reads "today, the world looked beautiful again. i'm starting to remember what kept me alive last summer." the tenth image is another tumblr post by user cursedsuggestion, which reads "the friend you miss comes home for good. you never see another mirror. it's summer forever and that terrible thought you keep having finally disappears." the eleventh image is a screenshot of a reddit post, with the original poster's username and icon cropped out so only the text is visible. it reads "I'm not sure how to word this, but I constantly go through this deep sense of loss. I feel like I terribly miss something I love from the bottom of my heart, but I don't know what it is, exactly. Nothing in life satisfies me, nothing makes me content, but l wouldn't say I'm depressed either. There's just this endless search for something, and at times I feel I can catch a glimpse of it - different sceneries pop into my head at times, like of a particular beach at night, and I'm moved to tears. Or I remember a dream and all the feelings that were stirring while I saw that dream, and feel entirely connected to them." the twelfth image is a screenshot of a tumblr post, but the original poster is cropped out so only the text is visible, which reads "wait i wasn't ready. i never finished that game of tag. i still need to learn how to do a cartwheel. my friends and i never finished making that bridge over the creek. i want to go back. can you carry me to bed one last time? and maybe i'll wake up tomorrow in my childhood room with my pink walls and we'll laugh over this dream at breakfast." the thirteenth image is another tumblr screenshot of a post by user heavensghost, which reads "uhhh yh sure u can go back but no one will be waiting for you there."

the fourteenth image is a screenshot of a reddit comment, with the user's information cropped out so that only the text is visible, which reads "HIRAETH (heer-eye-th) 'A deep homesickness; an intense form of longing or nostalgia for a place long gone, or even an unaccountable homesickness for a place you have never visited. A pull on the heart that conveys a distinct feeling of missing something irretrievably lost.'" the fifteenth image is a collection of 3 rows of black boxes, with 3 boxes in each row. the first box has a white, vague form of a human. the second box pictures the human form stretching its arms and legs out. from the third box onward, the human figure starts to dissipate into white dots until it has completely disappeared and only dots remain. the sixteenth image is a tumblr post by user n1ntendos, which reads "I AM HAUNTED BY A PAST I CANNOT GO BACK TO !!!!!!! anyways." the seventeenth image is a screenshot of text that reads "I cling to everything - CDs that skip, rings that turn my fingers green, the dead ends of my hair, old love notes that turn my stomach over and over. And I'm not proud but there are still boxes under my bed. And I'm not proud but my closet is still running out of space. And nostalgia is a fucking waste of time but my heart is full with it. Tell me I won't hold this forever. Tell me there will be a day where I let gloriously go." the eighteenth image is an image of larger text that reads "It's a summer day, and I want to be wanted more than anything else in the world." the nineteenth image is a photograph of a large white dog standing in a dark, flowing river surrounded by a dark forest and green trees. the dog is facing away from the viewer with its mouth open. the dog appears to be glowing, likely due to a lens flare of some kind. the entire picture feels very melancholy and nostalgic. the twentieth image is larger text that reads "Nostalgia is the aching realization that you can't go back again. The longing, no matter how intense, can never be met." the twenty-first image is a screenshot of an instagram dm, with the user's username and icon cropped out so that only the text is visible, and it reads "well the time passes anyway so I have to." the twenty-second image is a screenshot of the spotify lyrics for gerard way's song "action cat." the lyrics read "Hey/Do you miss me?/'Cause I miss you/Do you miss me?/'Cause I miss you/Do you miss me?/'Cause I miss you/Do you miss me?/'Cause I miss you too." the twenty-third image is a screenshot of text that reads "YOUR CHILDHOOD DOG IS ALIVE. YOUR DEAD BEST FRIEND WANTS TO GET COFFEE. YOU HAVE BEEN KIND AND GOOD. THERE IS NOTHING CHASING YOU. YOU CAN SLEEP. WHAT DO YOU DO?" the twenty-fourth image is a continuation of the lyrics from car seat headrest's "famous prophets (stars)" that were pictured in the first image. these lyrics read "We've gotta go back/We've gotta go back/We've gotta go back/(Don't spend too much time on it)." end ID.]

[parisoonic]

Two insufferable idiots visit the library. Transcript below as my handwriting is really teeny tiny in that last panel.

Panel 1: Medic: So, we rounded the corner and all those idiots were bunched up around the kart. I pop, and Misha here swept his gun around like it was the hand of God. There was blood everywhere! A full team on one kritz! Hahahaha! What a day! You're probably thinking but Mr. Ludwig, wouldn't they all respawn at once? Yes. They did. It was terrible, but- Librarian (off screen): Sir. Sir please. Panel 2: Librarian : Okay, very good sirs. Your library books are still overdue and covered in...blood? Medic (off screen): And viscera! Panel 3: Heavy: Is OK. I will pay.

Panel 4: Medic: I really thought my enchanting anecdote would get those fines waived for you! Heavy: Is OK Doktor, story was good. You had to be there though. Thanks for coffee. Medic: Ja, you're welcome. It was the least I could do after ruining those books. Heavy: You...you said it was Pyro and Scout... Medic: I did?

[p0ckykiss]

to the moon and back - choi soobin

summary -> who is sending you these letters….they certainly know everything about you, more than you expected. perhaps a stalker?

warnings -> stalker soobin x female reader, yandere

the crinkling of the perfectly sealed envelope and the unfolding of the delicate paper with the most intricate handwriting. swoops and swerves and strokes marked with the darkest ink.

a secret admirer? you smirked to yourself. it sure was such a flattering thought to think you had a secret admirer. you began reading the beautifully crafted words.

dear y/n.

your beauty simply astonishes me. i want to run my fingertips along your smooth bare face and breathe in the scent of your lavender perfume. you’re running low on it, have you noticed? make sure to buy more. it’s simply my favorite scent in the world. the lasagna you made last night looked scrumptious. would you save a piece for me? you’re the most beautiful girl i have ever come across. love you to the moon and back.

a gasp. what in god’s name..? that certainly did not live up to your high expectations. the paper floated to the pavement like a snowflake falling from the sky. your shoes smacked against your long driveway as you bounded up to the front door.

the click of the lock and the shuffle of curtains closing all around the empty house. you grabbed your perfume bottle and threw it down. the glass pieces scattered across the dark hardwood floor, reflections from the sunlight cascading off of the tiny fractures.

lavender isn’t your scent any longer. not after some creep told you it was his favorite. were you being watched? what a creep. an actual stalker. just the thought sent a shiver down your aching spine.

days passed. nothing out of the ordinary seemed to make it’s presence known. no unwanted letters or mysterious envelopes with a pearly white lace trim. you actually allowed yourself to breathe a sigh of relief. you should’ve known to hold your breath

dearest y/n

oh how i’ve missed that sweet perfume of yours. are you sure you got all of the shards? they were quite plentiful. has that cut healed yet? i’d be more than willing to aid you back to good health. i know you keep the bandages under your bathroom sink. do you know i’m always thinking of you? that black dress you tried on looked magnificently ravishing. no date to homecoming though. let me know if you need a plus one. after all, i’m always watching. i love you to the moon and back.

a high-pitched, shrilling, terrible cry left your vocal cards and pierced through the frostbitten coldness of the afternoon sun. what kind of sick person would go to such lengths? your home, now a place you no longer feel safe in. a shame that is. it really is a beautiful house.

letter after letter after letter. the sender iust wouldn’t quit. the harassment continued and ebbed and flowed like curves in a river. a display of different emotions. happy letters, creepy letters, sad letters. and, your least favorite.

angry letters.

dear y/n,

aren’t you going to write me back? are you not the least bit curious as to who i am? such a shame, really. think you and i would really hit it off. you were getting close to beomgyu yesterday. just friends, you are? hm. it doesn’t seem so. the flirtatious touch of a boy and a girl, and all in front of me? you dare hold his hand in front of me? and to think i really liked you. well, i won’t stop so easily. i’ve got my eyes on you, my love. i love you to the moon and back. -s

a clue! a sign of the quote on quote secret admirer that’s been occupying your mailbox with stacks of words as tall as the highest mountain range. but just a letter. one singular syllable. s. s? s could mean a myriad of things.

another letter followed by a scoff. this guy really has the nerve. he doesn’t scare you anymore. you tore through the envelope, not even trying to be careful this time.

dear y/n,

you betrayed me. what did i say about beomgyu? now you’re taking him to homecoming? what about little ol’ me? you smile when you text him. ive noticed you never smile while you read my letters. is that because you’re not aware of my identity? it’s not like i hide it. you should know by now. i thought you were smarter than that. you’re wearing a new scent lately. lilac, was it? it soothes the nose. but i certainly miss the lavender. i cant wait to see you in your dress tomorrow night. i love you to the moon and back.

your head shot up from your burned gaze on the tear stained paper. he was watching you this whole time? was he watching right then? right now? how incredulous: you need to get out of here. your safety is on its last lifeline.

one more envelope. one more beautifully scripted letter. one last word vomit of all of the things he wanted to say. needed to get off his heavy chest and share with you.

dear y/n;

you’re not going to accept my love, are you? that kiss you shared the other night was a sight for sore eyes. you had to stand on your tiptoes to reach, even in your heels. i guess that’s your type. why isn’t it me? well, i suppose i should give up. he’s won. i don’t want you to feel threatened, so i won’t watch anymore. unlock your doors and leave your curtains undrawn. you’ll be just fine. but still, i love you to the moon and back. -soobin

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Rainy Season - Part 2

What You Gonna Do?

Azriel x Reader

A short follow up to Rainy Season since you all have been so gracious with your responses - Initially I planned a time jump for part 2 but decided to give a taste of the aftermath of her leaving. Things will eventually look up for our girl, she’s just going through it right now. Stay tuned for more! I’ve decided to make this a short series.

Part 1 Part 3

Warnings: cheating, language

Azriel

Who wakes you when the morning comes?

Azriel awoke to rays filling the room with brightness. Shit - he’d overslept. Why hadn’t Y/N woken him? He looked over to find the bed cold, as if it had been vacant for hours.

Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he wandered to the kitchen, lacking its welcoming aroma of fresh coffee and the sweet and savory aromas of pastries and bacon. No, it was totally empty.

Where was she?

“Y/N?” He groggily called out into the house.

Silence.

Slipping on a pair of pajama pants he wandered to the door. The chill of the house whipping against his bare, muscled abdomen.

Perhaps she was basking in the sunlight on the patio. He always loved how she looked in the morning rays - a deity in her own right. He should probably tell her that sometime.

Padding to the front door, two things caught his attention.

One, his clothes were strewn over top of his bag and two, a note was scrawled in her messy handwriting.

No - not a note. A list of rhetorical questions.

“Who wakes you when the morning comes?

Who gives you all she has to give?

Who fulfills all her promises?

Who sees the good in you?

What are you gonna do when I’m gone?

Where you gonna go when there’s nobody home?

Who’s gonna love you when you’re all alone?”

He dropped his head. Fuck - things were good last night. What happened? As he bent back down to clear up the strewn undergarments, the strong, sweet scent of Elain wafting into his nostrils.

No - those questions were not rhetorical. They were a plea. “Who?” Who is that person to him?

Clutching his chest he realized just how terrible a mistake he’d made when he fucked Elain.

—————

Y/N

The warm rays of the Summer Court and the overwhelming weight of crushing heartbreak greeted me bright and early. A mockery to the pouring rain I’d traveled through last night, showing up at my grandmother’s door like a drowned rat.

Instead of chastising me for how long it had been since I’d paid her a visit, her brown eyes only met me with compassion. She knew me well and every ounce of pain on my face spoke the words that I couldn’t get out.

She pulled me into a bone crushing hug, ran a hot bath and steeped a pot of tea before laying in bed behind me and running her fingers through my hair until my heaving sobs turned to shuddering breaths and eventually a deep sleep.

It was a strange feeling. It had been too long since I’d seen her and yet, she showed me more love and compassion in a span of three hours than I had in the last three years.

Thank the gods the rays woke me early as I had to make it to the palace in Adriata immediately.

“Leaving me so soon?” Grandmother asked as I hurried out the door. “Sorry! I promise I’ll be back before lunch.”

I’d only met Tarquin a handful of times but sensed that he was a kind, benevolent ruler. Still, I expected to meet with his officials before being granted access to his office but when he’d heard who was here to see him, he immediately made time for me.

By the end of our meeting, he’d granted me renewed citizenship in the Summer Court and wrote to Rhysand effectively barring Azriel from his court. Careful to not create tensions in the court, he revoked the current ban on Cassian so long as he could keep himself from destroying any more buildings within his court.

Despite my numb state, a small smile flickered across my face as I imagined Cassian’s reaction to the news. He wasn’t one to hold petty grudges but he certainly clung on to that of being banned from the Summer Court. I just hoped he wouldn’t be angry with me for leaving without saying goodbye.

Additionally, Tarquin discussed my skill set with me and by the end of the meeting I had been offered a paid position in teaching self-defense courses within the palace to a variety of age groups, primarily focusing on women and children. I brought few assets with me upon leaving the Night Court and my pride was too stubborn to withdraw any of the money from Azriel and I’s shared account when I left. No, I could do well enough on my own - thank you very much.

After the battle of Adriata, Tarquin had ramped up efforts of ensuring his citizens were better protected on all fronts so his offer was mutually beneficial for his court and me, ergo not solely extended out of pity. My pride beamed at that.

I gratefully accepted his offer.

—————

I returned home. Home? No, not home - to my grandmother’s house to find that my sister and nephew were there waiting for me.

“Oh my gods!!!!!” My sister Camila yelped. Practically tackling me.

“Gran! You didn’t tell me that Y/N was coming for lunch. You secretive old thing.”

Before he could say anything I swooped my nephew, Alex, up into my arms and - ouch, I was not as strong as I used to be because it was an effort to lift him. He’d grown at least a foot since the last time I’d seen him. A pang of guilt struck me out of my blissful state and back to reality at the thought. It had been far too long since I’d come to visit my family.

“Where’s Uncle Azriel?” he asked.

The question struck me like a knife. My expression faltering as I scrambled to regain composure. “He’s on a mission.” I lied.

My sister’s brows furrowed. She was always too good at reading me but thankfully she didn’t press further. I would talk to her when I was ready.

We spent the rest of the afternoon chatting and catching up. Alex animatedly told me of school and all of his friends - I couldn’t help but smile as the warm summer breeze whisped over my exposed skin. The tea tasted a little bit sweeter, the air a little fresher, and the company a little warmer.

—————

“Y/N?”

Rhysand’s distant voice echoed into my mind as I lay down for bed that night. I always forgot how far his daemati abilities could carry.

“Hello, Rhys.”

“I received Tarquin’s letter. Azriel has been on edge all day and…. Well, I’m not going to ask you to share anything you don’t want to but - it must have been bad. Take all the time you need.”

“I’m not coming back, Rhys.”

The words rolled through me so quickly that I almost believed them but I knew I’d need closure at some point. For now, I wasn’t ready for that.

Seeming to sense that exact thought Rhys only replied, “Write me or Feyre if you need anything at all.”

—————

Who cries knowing you don’t care?

Night time always brought out stronger emotions in me. I’d keep my emotional barriers held high all day but as the sun set, so did those walls. As I lay in bed that night the first waves of grief blew through me. Not a wave of my own grief which had been omnipresent within me but… Azriel’s grief through our bond.

Of course it took me leaving for him to feel anything toward me through our own mating bond. I shut it down as effectively as I could and cried. Tears of anger flowed as I realized that my presence was never enough but my absence was what it took for him to give a damn about me.

Who worries what the future holds?

I grieved the future that could have been ours had he only chosen me. I let the sobs pour out once again as his pain rolled through me in waves. He couldn’t even extend the courtesy of shutting down his end of the bond as he came to grips with the ramifications of his own actions. His emotions only brought me bitterness and maybe that was a flaw on my end but it sure as hell felt justified. I spent so long giving him everything and even now, I still receive only heartache in return.

Who’s tired of empty promises?

He swore he’d love me forever but forever only meant until someone better came along. Certainly it wouldn’t be long before he returned to Elain for comfort. Would he be courteous enough to shut down the bond then or would I feel the pleasure she brought as she soothed his emotional wounds then too? As he healed and made the same empty promises to her that he had to me? Hell, had he already made those promises to her? Would he hold to them for her?

What would he do now that I’m gone?

What would I do now that I’m gone?

———————————————

A/N brace yourselves, we’re getting a different character’s POV in the next chapter 😏 🔥

Tags:

@going-through-shit @kalulakunundrum @lisanna2000 @fxckmiup @sheblogs @emryb @one-big-fangirl @historygeekqueen @isa1b2h3 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @theravenphoenix26

[lnfours]

a nonsense christmas | l.n

summary: f1 heartthrob meets pop girlie central

face claim: sabrina carpenter

warnings: social media!au, language, this is my second ever social media au pls bear w me

y/ny/l/n 📍london, england

liked by landonorris, madisonbeer, zendaya and 1,200,732 others ‘sue me’ mv is out now! 💋 829,382 comments

zendaya i’m obsessed with you

y/ny/l/n

tell thomas to move aside bc im coming over.

zendaya

LMFAAOOOO

y/nfan1 lando norris??? what’re u doing here??

formulawhore

i was just about to ask the same thing 😂

madisonbeer i’m literally in love with you

y/ny/l/n

will u pls accept my hand in marriage?

madisonbeer

of course

landonorris london, huh?

y/ny/l/n

🫣

fan1

Y/N X F1 CROSSOVER??

danieleicciardo wait, landonorris, this is her?

dannyric3444

WHAT DO U MEAN DANIEL

landonorrizzz

WHAT DO U KNOW DANNY!!!!

landonorris

whatve you done, mate?

landonorris 📍london, england

liked by y/ny/l/n, oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell and 3,899,013 others home is where the fun is 😁 1,820,848 comments

maxfewtrell home is where i am, that’s all that matters

formulaonefan444

ur the best wag of them all, truly

landonorris

keep telling yourself that, mate 😅

y/ny/l/n as a wise man once said: london, huh?

landonorris

you can’t use the same lines on me that i use on you

y/ny/l/n

or what? 🥴

fan1

OH????????

danielricciardo

lando.jpg content??

landonorris

🫣

maxsredbull

OH YES WE WON!

madisonbeer

i didn’t know u knew how to dress 🤨

landonorris

funny 😐

madisonbeer

i’m ur fav 🥰

landonorris

ur just full of jokes today aren’t u

madisonbeer

ik where u live

landonorris

😰 uh oh

y/ny/l/n

📍london, england

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell, riabish and 2,031,672 others london is cool i guess 993,839 comments

madisonbeer one chance is all i’m asking for PLEASE

y/ny/l/n

u always have a chance 🥰🥰🥰

madisonbeer

TELL HIM TO MOVE THEN!!!!

fan2

HIM?? WHOS HIM???? MADS!!!

landonorris nice hat

y/ny/l/n

thanks 😁

oscarpiastri

didn’t know you had a new merch line out, mate?? landonorris

landonorris

FUCK OFF???

y/ny/l/n

oscarpiastri LMFAOOO

lewishamilton lovely to meet you ❤️

y/ny/l/n

you too!! 🥹🫶🏻

lando.jpg 📍london, england

liked by y/ny/l/n, danielricciardo, carlossainz55 and 1,210,039 others don’t let her fool you, she’s in her element 732,939 comments

madisonbeer she’s so pretty

y/ny/l/n

shut up i’ll marry you

madisonbeer

FINALLY

fan3

the way he captures her?? YOU CANT CONVINCE ME THEYRE NOT A THING!

landonorrizz4

oh they DEFINITELY ARE

dannyriccowboy

SHE WAS AT THE MIAMI GP!! IM CONVINCED THEYVE BEEN TALKING SINCE

formulaoneee

OMG SHUT UP!!!!!!

y/ny/l/n

hey, ur pretty good at this photography thing!

lando.jpg

helps when i’ve got a pretty good model

f1lewis44

SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

y/ny/l/n 📍london, england

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, madisonbeer and 2,673,482 others it’s cuffing season, or whatever sza said 914,444 comments

madisonbeer FINALLY!!!

y/ny/l/n

:)

lewishamilton 🥺🥺 the note

y/ny/l/n

I KNOW 🥺🥺

oscarpiastri i don’t think u understood what she meant by big boy

y/ny/l/n

oh no, TRUST me, i got it 😌

oscarpiastri

IM GONNA GO WASH MY EYES WITH BLEACH

danielricciardo

IM JOINING YOU oscarpiastri

charlesleclerc this is adorable, actually

landonorris whoever wrote that has terrible handwriting

y/ny/l/n

and no rizz 🙂

landonorris

now that’s a violation

landonorris 📍london, england

liked by y/ny/l/n, maxfewtrell, lewishamilton and 3,444,009 others tis the season 1,932,004 comments

y/ny/l/n love ur face 🤍

landonorris

love urs more ❤️

maxfewtrell that last pic 😭

landonorris

im honestly surprised she hasn't stabbed me yet

y/ny/l/n

sleep with one eye open tonight

landonorris

oh no

madisonbeer so like... hard launch of soft launch?

landonorris

both

danielricciardo FINALLY GOD DO U KNOW HOW HARD OF A SECRET THIS WAS TO KEEP

oscarpiastri

^!!!!!

landonorris

SORRY

charlesleclerc

what kind of cookies were u making tho?

landonorris

chocolate chip 😁

charlesleclerc

ayeee

f1fan04 I KNEW IT!!!

y/n/l/n 📍london, england

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo, riabish and 2,873,004 others wrote a cute christmas song about a cute boy, 'a nonsense christmas' is out now 🧡 1,229,983 comments

madisonbeer MY EARS HAVE BEEN BLESSED

y/ny/l/n

me whenever u release new music

landonorris 🧡 i love you

y/ny/l/n

i love u, too, my papaya boy 🧡🧡

fan5

‘my papaya boy' IM CRYING

maxfewtrell i don't know what i was expecting but it wasn't THAT MY GOD.

y/ny/l/n

🫶🏻

danielricciado 'im talking big snow balls' now...

charlesleclerc

i never thought we'd hear her sing about balls but here we are

oscarpiastri

idk how im supposed to look the two of you in the eyes ever again

y/ny/l/n

CAN YOU BLAME ME??? IM NOT GONNA APOLOGISE, I MEAN LOOK AT HIM!!!

landomclaren043

real.

[smilesrobotlover]

The dream about Colin’s wedding got me thinking about Ordon weddings in general so I made a comic about it. It was a fun idea and headcanon to play with.

Part 2

Transcript if you can’t read my terrible handwriting:

Page 1:

Josh: say, I hate to ask this, but why do Ordon weddings last for three days?

Uli: I don’t know, it’s just tradition.

Page 2:

Edmund: well, doesn’t Ordon come from Labrynna?

Rusl: yeah.

Edmund: well then, I may have an answer for you.

Link: oh boy. Buckle up for some yapping kids.

Edmund: SHUT IT! In Labrynna, we have a legend of when our god, Labryn, found his true love. She was a simple mortal girl who was the daughter of a rich noble. And he fell in love with her

Page 3:

Edmund: disguised as a simple commoner, he went to the noble to ask for daughter’s hand in marriage. The nobleman was of course disgusted that a commoner asked to take his daughter away, so he decided to test him. I’m the first day, he said:

Nobleman: go hunting and bring back the biggest boar you can find

Edmund; so Labryn went and found a boar as big as his house.

Page 4:

Link: you think that was Ganondorf?

Midna: PFFFF HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Ahaha! Sorry! That was good.

Edmund: ahem, anyways… he found a boar as big as his house, but the nobleman didn’t want to admit defeat, so he told Labryn:

Page 5:

Nobleman: a boar is no use to you if you do not know how to make it into a meal!

Edmund: and so, the nobleman challenged Labryn to make an elaborate meal from the boar… and it took all of the first night and all of the second day. When he was finished, a feast was prepared, and it fed the entire village. But the nobleman was still unwilling to give up his daughter, so he told Labryn:

Nobleman: a husband is no use to his wife if he has no stamina. Dance for her.

Edmund: and so, Labryn danced for the entire second night.

Page 6:

Edmund: the nobleman, now furious and humiliated, asked Labryn to do one more thing:

Nobleman: gift my daughter the most beautiful treasure in all the land!

Edmund: it seemed like an impossible task due to his daughter having everything she could ever want… but it did not stop Labryn. He took his knife, grabbed a lot, and widdled it down to create a golden goat, one so beautiful, not even words could describe the beauty.

Page 7:

Edmund: the nobleman finally gave up, offering his daughter to Labryn… and this was when he revealed himself as the God of War. On his knees, he asked the simple, mortal woman to be his wife. Not as the commoner, but as himself…

[thus-spoke-lo]

Dear Diary || Sanji x f!reader || NSFW [minors DNI]

CW: afab!reader (no pronouns used to describe reader), reader wears a skirt, masturbation (m), vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, creampie

WC: 3.6k

Read on AO3

It was an accident. 

Or at the very least, that’s the story Sanji had hastily prepared as he sat perched on the edge of your bed, your diary held tightly in his grasp. 

It was an accident, he’d say if anyone wandered in while he perused its pages—it had fallen on the floor and he was merely trying to find out who it belonged to, that’s why it was splayed open in his hand. Really, you see, it was completely innocent. 

But Sanji already knew it was yours, having seen you with it on the deck, ardently scribbling away day after day. He could never quite get close enough or squint hard enough to see exactly what you were writing, but you certainly seemed alarmed when you’d catch him meandering by, quickly shutting the little blue book and squirreling it away in your knapsack before he could ever get near. 

And now here it was in his perspiration-slick hands. He wondered what he’d find, if it was even worth it to sneak into your room, carefully closing the door behind him, just to get a glimpse at the thoughts that pirouetted through your gorgeous mind. 

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before cracking open the little blue book, quickly looking over the pages for any mention of him: A recipe for medical ointment and a quick story about helping Chopper with a project. A sloppily-drawn chart and notes about a conversation with Nami. Musings on something Luffy said at dinner. 

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” he muttered as he flipped through more pages, seeing line after line of casual observations and droll anecdotes. He was, of course, deeply and truly interested in your reflections on life with the crew, and would delightedly read just about anything you had written with your precious hands, but he didn’t have the time to peruse every paragraph. He was unsure of precisely when you’d be back with the rest of the crew, and his only goal was to find even the smallest talk of him in your handwriting—it would be enough just to see his name scrawled in these pages, enough to see that you even deigned to give him any mention at all. 

He scanned page after page until finally—there it was. His name, in your writing. 

He paused before he continued, taking in a shaky breath, wondering if he should read on, fearing the worst but his heart yearning for the best. 

Sanji, you’d written, Sanji, Sanji, Sanji. Sat in the galley to watch him cook today. He didn’t seem to mind me there, and he was humming some song I didn’t know. He let me taste the soup he was making, and told me I was perfect because of my “refined palate.” What a man, haha. 

He grinned as he continued to read: 

I'm glad he doesn’t mind me hanging around him, I could watch him for hours. His hands are so elegant.

I know it’s terrible, but sometimes I wonder what those hands would feel like on me.

Sanji stopped, using his thumb to hold his place as he set the diary down in his lap, his heart thrumming in his chest. He shouldn’t keep reading, he tried to tell himself—he got what he wanted, confirmation that he at least occasionally swirled around in your mind like a ship caught in a whirlpool, and that should be the end of it.

Right?

“Okay. Just a little more,” he uttered as he opened the book again, his eyes drifting back to where he’d left off. “A little more won’t hurt.”

God I bet his hands are so soft. I bet they’d feel so nice on my skin. Running down my arms. Tickling my neck. He’d know just how to hold me, touch me carefully, so he doesn’t hurt me, just make me feel good.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath as he flipped the page to the next entry. More about him.

Sanji made me tea today and brought it to me in my room. Ugh, he’s so fucking handsome. Hard not to tell him to set the tea down and give me something else hot. I bet he would, too. I bet all I’d have to do is ask and he’d have me bent over my bed, moaning his name. 

He slid his hand down to the front of his pants, palming the growing hardness that strained against the fabric. God he wanted you, and there was a painful desire roiling inside him knowing you wanted him too. And you were right, he thought as he throbbed under his hand—all it would take is one look, one pout, one soft “Please, Sanji?” and he would have you undressed in a heartbeat, writhing under him as he filled you to the hilt with every throbbing inch of him.

His hands, his hands, I’m telling you. I want him to finger me so bad. Maybe under the table while we’re having dinner. Just slide his hand up my skirt, push my panties to the side, start teasing my clit. Maybe he’d whisper in my ear that I’d need to keep quiet so no one would know. I’d just have to wriggle in my seat while he uses his fingers to tease me, and grip his leg to keep myself from screaming. 

“This is wrong,” he whispered, the words hitching in his throat. “This is so wrong.”

It was as if you could read his mind, he thought as he closed his eyes for a moment, grinding into his palm. How many times had he thought about placing a hand on your leg as you sat next to him at dinner, running his fingers up and up and up your velvety skin to the apex of your thighs, placing his palm against your heated cunt. He wanted to tease you through your panties, press his fingers against your clit through the silken fabric, making soft circles over it until you started to squirm in your chair and quietly beg him to stop. But begging, no matter how sweet and polite, would do you no good; no, if you loved his hands so much, then he was going to make you come on them. You’d have to sit there and be good and still and smile and laugh like nothing was wrong while he shoved his long fingers inside of you and pumped them in and out until you clenched and fluttered around them, leaving him a drenched and slippery mess. He wondered how flustered you’d become as he dragged his soaked fingers out of you and across your bare thigh, wondered if you’d look at him with your exquisite eyes, blinking away the tears of pleasure forming at your lash line, as you tried to keep yourself from falling apart in front of everyone.

He paused for a moment, listening closely for any commotion on the ship; there was only the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He quickly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, freeing his hardening cock and sighing as he felt the cool air of your room on his burning hot skin. He gripped himself gently, delicately—like he imagined you might with your soft, perfect hands—as he continued to read. 

I just need him. I need his cock in me. I’m sure he’d fuck me, but really want him to want to fuck me, you know? Not just because I’m another pretty face. I want him to want to fuck me, to need to fuck me. 

Sanji groaned as he read, his hand slowly working up and down his shaft, using his thumb to gather the sticky precum dripping from the head as he did, pretending it was your luscious slick coating the length of him. Oh and how he did want to fuck you, and he did need to fuck you. Not because you were just any lovely thing with a gorgeous face—he wanted you, every last bit of you. He wanted to taste the salt of your skin, and inhale your intoxicating scent, and feel every part of you crash into him like waves; he wanted to consume you, to have every part of you to himself, to wrap himself around you and bury himself inside of you until you were practically one.

I want him to shove his cock in me, and tell me what a perfect little slut I am for him and only him. I want him to kiss my neck while he’s thrusting into me, long and slow strokes, and tell me how beautiful I am with his cock deep inside me. I want him to lose control of himself and feel him slam into me nice and hard, and hear how he moans when he finally fills me up wi—

“Sanji!”

He quickly slammed the diary shut and threw his hands over his lap, trying to cover the glaring evidence of his arousal; he glanced up to see you standing in the doorway, mouth agape, eyebrows raised to the heavens. 

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” you asked, eyes wide, your eyes drifting down to his lap. 

“Oh, I was—well you see—so here’s the thing my dear—” Sanji stammered and stuttered, his perfectly crafted excuse slowly unraveling in his mind like an old sweater as you placed your hands on your hips—your luscious, grabbable hips, perfectly draped in a black skirt—and dragged your teeth across your lower lip impatiently. How is it that you could look so deeply and fiercely irresistible even when you clearly wanted to throttle him? How is it that his cock still throbbed even when you were probably ten seconds away from killing him where he sat?

You quickly closed the gap between you and stood before him and the end of the bed. 

“Give me that,” you spat as you snatched your diary out of his hand. “What were you doing with this?”

“My darling, please, I only wanted to—well I just—”

“You just what?”

He tried to find an answer for you, one that might make him appear even the least bit less debased and depraved than he must have seemed to you just then, but he was coming up woefully short.

“I just wanted to know,” he finally sputtered after a beat. 

“And what did you want to know, Sanji?” you asked, drawing out his name teasingly. 

He shifted, trying ever more desperately to hide his unyielding hardness from your gaze. “I just wanted to know if you ever thought about me.”

“How so?” you smirked. 

He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, the words sticking together in his throat as he tried to say them. “I wanted to know if you ever thought about me and you. Together.”

“Together?”

“My sweet, please don’t make me say it.”

“Aw come on,” you pouted. “Please?”

“I wanted to know if you ever thought about fucking me!” he exclaimed, his eyes clenched shut as the words burst forth from his lips. “There. Are you happy?”

“Oh Sanji,” you sighed, tilting your head to one side. You leaned forward and placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back onto the bed. He let his hands drift away from his pulsating cock, and you gasped a little at the sight of it, the head swollen and glistening with his arousal. You smiled and bit your lip as you straddled him, carefully placing your soft thighs on either side of his, too needy to bother even asking him to disrobe; Sanji felt his heart nearly crawl into his throat as he could feel the radiating warmth of your cunt, covered only in thin cotton panties, come to rest against his twitching cock. 

He choked out a gasp as you slowly started to grind against him, and he could feel the outline of your pussy lips through the soft fabric that barely covered them. You lowered your body onto him, your face hovering close to his, and moaned softly in his ear as you urgently pressed yourself into his lap; the sound you made, so melodic, so filled with yearning, made Sanji buck his hips up into you almost on instinct. He reached up and sunk his fingers into your plush hips, guiding your motions up and down his length, as he felt the precum that leaked out of his pulsing head start to coat your inner thigh. 

“Sanji, Sanji, Sanji,” you murmured, your lips so close to his he could almost taste your lusciousness. “If you wanted to know all the things I think about you—all the filthy, dirty things I think about when I lay in bed at night—why didn’t you just ask?”

Before he could answer, before words could even take form inside the lust-filled fog in his mind, your lips were engulfing his in a warm, honeyed kiss. He moaned into your mouth and parted your lips with his tongue, hungry and wanting to taste every bit of your deliciousness; it was better than he’d ever imagined, better than he could have dreamed, to have your pillowy lips against his, your tongues dancing. As he fed from the sweetness of your mouth, you reached down and pulled your panties to the side. You grasped his cock and dragged the head along the slickness of your pussy lips, as he groaned your name into the stillness of the room.

“Do you want me, Sanji?” you asked as you slid him past your lips, letting him feel your entrance pulse against his agonizingly sensitive tip, keeping the warmth of your wet walls just out of reach until he told you what you so badly need to hear.

“Yes, god yes, my sweet,” he answered frantically, his fingers grasping at your hips, trying to pull you down onto him, as he buried his face on your neck, his tongue tracing lines up and down your skin, his lips trying to kiss every inch of you that he could reach.

“How bad?” you continued, as you squeezed his cock, feeling it swell in your palm.

“I want you so much,” he whimpered, as his hips thrusted weakly upwards into your hand, so agonizingly close to being inside of you that he could practically feel your warmth surrounding his aching cock.  “I want all of you, every last beautiful bit of you. Now won’t you let me feel you, please?”

“Lay back,” you whispered, a drowsy smile on your lips, as you ran your fingertips down the sharp lines of his jaw. He reclined back onto the bed, and watched your eyes flutter shut and your mouth go slack as you lowered yourself onto him, and took his length into your waiting cunt.

Sanji gasped deliriously at the feeling, and the sounds of his bliss echoed in the room. You were better than he ever could have thought you’d be, better than he’d ever fantasized at night when he’d fuck his fist and wish so desperately it was you. Your velvet-soft pussy gripped him as you gyrated in soft, slow circles, and he slowly thrust up into you, matching your motions. He felt a deliriousness wash over him as he listened to you sigh his name over and over again, like a song he wanted to listen to forever, and he relished the weight of your body pressing into him as you placed your hands on his chest and took your pleasure from him.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he marveled, as his hands drifted upwards from your hips, exploring the expanse of your form.

“What, with your cock inside me?” you smiled.

“Exactly,” he grinned, his fingers tracing over every dip and curve of your body.

He reached under your shirt and caressed the contours of your breasts, gently kneading them in his palms. He brushed a thumb over your hardened nipple, and felt your pussy flutter around him as you whimpered in the most delectable way.

“Sanji,” you whispered as you rode him, your voice soft and wanting, “will you touch me? Make me come?”

“Yes, my darling,” he panted, running a hand down your body and slowly sliding it down your thigh. “Anything you want, anything you need.”

He pulled the dampened fabric of your panties to the side, spreading your puffy lips apart with his fingers, and found your swollen, tender clit with little effort. He tentatively pressed against it with the pad of his thumb and a needy moan escaped you; he made gentle circles over it, trying to match the speed of your gyrations.

“Like this, my dear?” he asked, his gaze fixed on you, watching every glorious expression you made as he set your core ablaze with his touch.

“Yes,” you answered through ragged gasps, “just like that. Just like that.”

“Good,” he panted as your breaths quickened and your motions began to slow as you focused on his ministrations. “That’s it, sweetheart, take what you need from me.”

He felt himself harder than he’d ever been, aching so much inside of you, as he started to feel you flutter around him.

“Sanji, I’m so close,” you keened. “Just don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

“Never, my dearest,” he said, desperate. “Not until you come for me.”

“Oh Sanji,” you cried, your eyes clenching shut, “Sanji I’m gonna—”

Your words were cut short by a sharp cry as you clenched tightly around him, your walls spasming as you cried out for him, your shaking thighs pressed tightly to his and your hands gripping frantically at his shirt. He was stricken wordless by the splendor of seeing you abandon yourself to pleasure, watching you convulse unabashedly and utter some of the most exquisite moans he had ever heard.

“Why don’t you let me do the rest of the work, gorgeous?” he uttered softly, as you doubled over and rested your head on his chest, your breaths emerging in stutters and gasps.

You nodded, only able to muster a weak “Mm-hmm,” and he gathered you up and helped you lay back onto the bed. He stood up, quickly undressing, overcome with an insatiable need to bury himself inside you again as quickly as possible. As he lowered his trousers, he noticed the fly and waistband of them were drenched, your juices coating the stiff fabric; he felt his heart skip a beat at knowing he made you do that, that he made you come apart for him and soak his clothes in your wetness.

He stood at the end of the bed as he stripped his shirt off, and took in the sight before him: your body splayed across the bed, panties discarded to the side. Your shirt pulled up over your breasts and your skirt still clinging to your figure, pushed up over your hips. Your legs spread apart and your pussy exposed with your swollen, sensitive lips coated in your glistening slick.

“Are you read for more, my darling?” he asked, barely waiting for your whispered answer before plunging himself inside you, feeling your copious slick coating his length as your walls quivered around him, aftershocks of your orgasm still rippling through you.

Sanji had wanted to take his time—wanted to make passionate love to you like someone as magnificent as you deserved, not just fuck you—but the way you clenched around him, the way you sighed so dreamily and so beautifully for him and only him—it was all but impossible to hold back.

He felt your legs wrapping around his muscled back, pulling him into you, as he thrust, driving him deeper into you.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his lips against your ear, “so beautiful. This is heaven.”

You moved together simultaneously, your hips lifting upward to his thrusting body, and you whimpered as his cock pulsed inside your needy cunt. You rocked against each other, bodies arching and colliding in perfect rhythm, his lithe frame almost elegantly hypnotic in his motions. He gazed down at you with adoration, watching your lips part to gasp with every stroke, and he found himself edging ever closer to his own release.

“Sanji,” you asked, your eyes glazed over and half-lidded, lips barely parted. “Will you cum in me?”

“Yeah? Want me to fill up that pretty pussy, baby?”

“Please, Sanji?”

“Anything for you,” he sighed. The sweetness of your voice, the way you said his name, was like a drug; it was all he needed, all he ever wanted to hear.

His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more erratic and frenzied, the feeling of your warmth wrapped around him becoming more and more euphoric with every stroke. At last, he groaned your name in blissful agony as his hips stuttered and he spilled himself into you, your greedy cunt pulling spasm after spasm from him, until he collapsed on top of you in exhausted bliss, your mingled juices slowly dripping out of you.

“Oh my darling, that was amazing,” he said through staccato breaths, his face buried in your neck, as he tried to regain his composure. “I don’t know how you’re even more perfect than in my dreams, but you are.”

“Was it everything you hoped for?” you asked, smiling as you ran your fingers through his damp mess of blonde hair.

“My sweet, you were spectacular,” he sighed, as he stroked your cheek gently with the pad of his thumb and planted a tender kiss on your forehead.

“Oh Sanji, you were incredible,” you grinned, tracing your fingers along the sinewy contours of his upper arms, before adding in a teasing whisper: “Can’t wait to tell my diary all about it.”

[gaysindistress]

Allies or Enemies - one

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

pairings: Dragonborn!bucky x f!reader

Summary: The reality of her cruel world is more evident than ever before when her stepfather sends her to her death under the guise of diplomacy. Y/n, the expendable daughter of a scared king, must find a way to secure her own protection among the Dragonborn and she will do that by whatever means necessary.

Warnings: mild cursing

Word count: 3.3k

series masterlist | main masterlist

taglist: @unaxv

“The king requires your presence.”

“But were I to require that he does not bother me, my request would be ignored. We cannot always have the things that we desire,” I sigh whilst continuing to read the journal in front of me.

The handwriting is terrible, so much so that I can barely finish a page in 5 minutes but given that the king has been demanding my presence at every chance that he gets, I continue with my struggles. An older woman stands in the doorway and I can feel her glare at me with a hatred that I imagine is reserved only for me. After all, my mother is the one who married her lover.

“Now.”

The finality in her tone would’ve caused a younger me to look up in fear but I’ve grown used to the stern reality of our world. As the eldest daughter of the queen, I’ve been educated in every form of manipulation that can be conveyed through the voice. As the child of the late king and the unwanted stepchild to the current king, I’ve been taught that I am the only protection that I have. No one will come to my aid or offer me guidance when I need it. No one will tend to my wounds when the cruel servants of the king lash me with their words. No one will care for me in the way that my younger sisters are looked after. No one would even bat an eye if I were to vanish into thin air. They might celebrate if that were to happen.

The woman whom I despise just as much as she me repeats herself with a heavy huff as if I have greatly inconvenienced her by breathing the same air as her or simply existing. Whether it be my existence or continued residence at the palace that is more vexing to her is yet to be determined I’ve decided.

The journal before me bound in precious leather and gold thread suddenly becomes unimportant. While it details the various races of creatures that occupy these lands and would prove to be useful in my studies, it will do nothing to shield me from the king’s wrath. My fingers drift away from the frayed edges and allow it to close by itself, prompting small dust specks to flutter around it. The black silk ribbon that I wound around the end of my braid is dangling above the curious journal, trailing its delicate ends over the monstrous illustrations hidden in its opulent bindings. The ribbon, much like my heart, yearns to open it once more and lose myself in its pages but is bound by duty to ignore such a yearning.

“Your highness,” she demands in a tight voice, “We are to leave now.”

Rolling my eyes would most certainly earn me a slap across the face but it doesn’t stop me from squeezing them shut in frustration. Standing up from my desk, I swipe at the dust on my lap, smearing gray streaks across the thick black fabric of my over skirt. She makes a small noise of disgust at the action, no doubt complaining loudly in her mind that being presentable is not something I know how to do. We make eye contact for a brief moment and she is quick to turn on her heel, forcing me to nearly jog to catch up so that I may follow this hateful woman to my certain death.

The Beloved King Anthony Starkov had been a wonderful king at first. After the invasion of the Dragonborn and the apparent failure by my father to protect his nation, Anthony seemed like a god sent. He rode in on a pure white horse with the head of the most fearsome Dragonborn knight on his sword as he declared that he was now king. My mother, the poor grieving widower queen, had no choice but to accept his proposal and promise to care for us. He’s doted on her, showered her with affection and gifts, and most importantly he treated me as if I were his own. Following my father’s death and living in fear of Dragonborn attack’s, a protective shield was all I prayed for. My mother could barely protect herself from the onslaught of the court’s cruel words and it became apparent that soon they would turn on me. It was not for a lack of trying surely but due to the fact that she was not a man. As the angry old woman who calls herself my advisor likes to remind me, a woman is only as powerful as the man that marries her and that meant my mother had no power until Anthony.

The moment that Anthony took the crown and later my mother’s hand, we’d all thought that this would be the bright moment in our bleak lives that we’d been looking for. The nation of York was at peace when it had been a foreign concept to me and many others after the Dragonborn had launched their attack. The love that Anthony and my mother shared burned brighter than the terror that my father had allowed into our land.

Until the rumors of his cruel actions behind closed doors began to spread.

The help always gossiped against themselves and no one truly paid any mind.

That is until evidence accompanies these rumors.

My mother did well to hide what she could but once again there was only so much that she could do to protect me. When my sisters came along, I presume that Anthony no longer felt anger towards her but instead towards me, the last reminder of the Failed King. I’d always had pitying stares and endured hushed conversations where my name slipped between their fingers as they whispered to each other.

Poor child.

I heard that she’s going to be married off as soon as possible.

I heard that she’s just as weak as her father.

Poor child.

I ignored them until I couldn’t anymore. I ignored them until I had been sent to live with a distant cousin to be “taught the art of diplomacy” and was told to never return to the palace. With this distant cousin, I did learn the art of diplomacy as planned but as the craft of cutting words and cunning actions. I’d grown rather talented at navigating the complicated relations of neighboring nations, so much so that foreign diplomats asked for me by name. My ability to seamlessly blend together warring cultures and broken bonds earned me fame beyond that of my late father. Of course like any wicked stepparent, Anthony demanded I return to court so that my talents may be best utilized to serve the nation.

What a wretched lie to shorten my leash.

So began my rebellion.

The older woman who is also my ill informed advisor, Pepper, stomps down the dim hall towards the grand battle room. Her reddish blonde hair hardly moves behind her as she makes a determined path to the king despite the curls it’s been styled into. It’s rather shocking to see her hair down at all considering she is usually the one to lecture me on the propriety of society and how as a member of the royal family, I must uphold that. After she’s red in the face and moments away from exploding with fury, I like to remind her that I’m the forgotten eldest daughter. No one thinks of me as the face of this family or that of modern society either.

Despite its name, the battle room cannot be considered grand by any stretch of the imagination. Much like the rest of the palace, it is old and worn from economic fatigue. Where gold used to be brushed across every inch, there are now only flecks of lackluster yellow. Where towering windows used to bathe the halls in sunlight, there are now curtains drawn to prevent the Dragonborn from seeing movement within the palace. There is no finery to be seen and what was once a regal sight to behold is the stark reminder that we are at war with enemies who have every advantage.

With a deafening boom, ragged guards who’ve past their battle prime push the battle room doors and alert the king to our arrival. Pepper stomps right to where the king is sitting among pillars of maps and letters and whispers something in his ear. I don’t need to know whatever lies she’s telling him because his expression tells me enough. His ever present scowl deepens when he looks up and settles his disgusted gaze on me.

Dust swirls from my skirts as I shift on my feet and hit the wood paneled floors beneath me with a silent loudness as he stares at me.

A single question hangs in the air as he attempts to peer into my soul, “Were you aware that the Dragonic bastards were planning to create an alliance with the Elven counsel?”

Of course no warm welcome or small talk. Straight to the heart of the reason he even dragged me back here in the first place.

“Was I aware of this alliance?” I calmly restate, arching a brow at the man who sits high on his worthless throne and judges me. “Had I been, I would have informed you the instant I knew, your highness.”

In truth, I had heard snippets of clipped conversations about something brewing between the two nations but nothing raised concern within me. Rather nothing could’ve convinced me to speak to this man willingly.

The throne is a disgusting sight to behold with its mangled wood and tattered black cloth that flows in the still wind behind it. Black as night and deafening as the ever present silence that fills when you’re dying, this throne is what haunted me as a child and whispers promises of my demise now as an adult. The throne smiles when it senses my anger and the man who is occupying it becomes a conduit for its emotions as that familiar sinister glint flickers in his dark eyes.

Anthony throws a glance to the dust that has fallen around me with disappointment before speaking, “Do not play games with me, child.”

My eyes narrow at his choice of words.

“I assure you,” I start as I take a step forward as the heels of my boots make light taps on the wood, “I am not playing games with you. As I said before, if I had heard anything about this rumored alliance then you would have been made aware as well but alas I did not know.”

Anthony’s hollow chuckle causes my hair to stand on end but my face is schooled into perfect indifference. I allow my expression to portray only mild concern for the safety of our nation and that gets under his skin more than anything.

“If that is the position that you wish to maintain, then so be it.”

I roll my eyes at him and his flash with rage for a brief moment. The king settles back into his chair as he smirks at me, “you are my most sought after diplomat, are you not?”

Where is he going with this? I think to myself while I nod.

“Of course you are. You have your father’s legendary silver tongue. I should think that you would be the perfect person to forge an alliance on the nation’s behalf.``

My heart stills while my body becomes completely frigid. Suddenly the thick fabrics of my skirts and tight corset are useless against the chill that has begun to creep up my spine. The king holds back an all out grin and clenches his jaw. The action tightens and sharpens his already pronounced jaw, giving him the appearance akin to a statue. A crown of graying black waves adores his head but it does nothing to soften the severe look on his tanned face. “I have arranged for you to travel to the Dragonic capital and broker a peace treaty of sorts between us and them. We cannot allow this war to rage on any longer if they intend to ally themselves with the Elven counsel. This nation will not survive.”

“You expect me to do what?” I snarl with a curl of my lip which sends the entire room on high alert. Pepper gasps as she steps behind Anthony and the guards have arranged themselves in a defensive circle.

The king on his feet in seconds, brandishing a dull sword and pointing it at me albeit still a safe distance away. My gaze makes a slow path from the pathetic sword to his furious face. It is not the first time that he’s drawn a weapon on me and I doubt it will be the least.

“Your father is the reason this nation is all but decimated and it will be you who corrects that mistake. You will do as I demand of you and you will do it well if you wish for your mother to live.”

“You would not dare.” I hiss at him as I step closer. He steps back and says my name but I interrupt him with a roar of anger.

“You cannot expect me to willingly walk into a viper’s den, provoke the beast within, and survive, let alone make it obey me. You must know that this means almost certain death for me and I will fail. It is an impossible task, your highness. I will not do it.”

He hesitates, something that I haven’t seen him do ever, and I want to take pride in being the one to cause his hesitation but it’s short lived. His lip curls up into a nasty smirk as he sneers at me and circles his desk to stand mere inches from me.

“We might share blood but you are not my step daughter or family in any sense of the word. You are an abomination, a blight upon this earth. You are a dark stain in the fabric of our history and one that I will spend the remainder of my reign trying to scrub clean. You are a beastly girl who knows no discipline nor manners and nothing can forgive the torment that you've put this court through. Understand that is a blessing and that I should sentence you to death outright for simply being the offspring of the Failed King.”

Too caught up in the king’s self-serving monologue, I’d failed to hear the sound of thundering wings and the dreadful slap of scaled boots marching towards the battle room. I’d missed how the palace seemed to shrink around us in fear while its enemy stormed its halls with permission. I’d missed how only Anthony and I remained while the others had fled for their safety. I’d failed to notice that the air grew hazy and thick with smoke instead of tension as I had assumed.

Just as I catch the scent of burnt embers, I turn to glance over my shoulder and see the most important thing that I had failed to notice; a knight clad in iridescent black armor who is standing just behind me.

Towering above everyone and everything in the room, the knight seems to be almost double the size of any mortal man I know. As I spin to face it, the hulking frame shrouds me in complete darkness. My eyes make the nearly seven foot long ascent to where a face might be if it weren’t for the helmet that chills me to my core as I recognize it.

It’s the helmet of a Dragonborn knight.

They all wear the same sleek black helmet that resembles their beastly forms; six large horn-like spikes that stretch from the sides and top while the chin comes to a narrow point like a dragon’s nose. The helmet is otherwise plain with engravings or markings to decorate it aside from two sets of ruby glass eyes that stare down at me. It covers the knight’s entire face and head, leaving not even a sliver of skin or strand of hair to be seen. Save for the nature creases where the armor is cut to allow for movement, it lacks any decorations or embellishments much like the helmet. I’d once been told that it’s iridescent quality was due to the fact it was made from their dragon form’s scales instead of metal like mortal knights’ but I’ve never been close enough to one to ask. This is the first time I've been close to a Dragonborn at all, knight or not. My father had allowed a handful of their diplomats into the palace before his death but they’d used they’re mortal forms and only stayed for however long was absolutely necessary. I scarcely remember them aside from their silently menacing presence that would engulf rooms before they walked in and the scent of burnt embers that clung to their skin. Aside from those few past encounters, my knowledge comes from the journals I’ve snuck into the palace but nothing would’ve prepared me for this moment.

The knight simply stares down at me with those double ruby eyes before lifting its head to look at Anthony. With its gaze off of me, I look around it to see that there are only three more Dragonborn knights. Given how hostile our nations’ relationship has been, I would’ve expected to see a small army. Instead it seems that their leader did not think they would face much resistance or maybe these knights are more vicious than I’d been led to believe.

Anthony lets out a shuddered breath before he speaks, “You will leave with them in two days time.”

The knight glances back at me. The clawed gauntlets that cover its hands make a small noise when they come to rest on the hilt of a onyx greatsword. It stiles a cord of deep rooted terror within me that I can’t stop from setting ablaze to my nerves.

they’re not like us

they’re not like us

they’re not like us

It echoes throughout my mind while we stare at each other. The knight cocks its head and I can only assume it's studying me as I am it.

Anthony’s unsteady footsteps stop me from getting caught up entirely in the knight before me.

“She’ll never forgive you,” I whisper without looking away from the knight. I don’t need to look to know that my cowardly stepfather is retreating to safety and leaving me with these monstrous knights.

“She’ll be more thankful that her true daughters are alive.”

The other knights approach us, causing Anthony to let out a shaky chuckle in fear and stumble as he steps back.

One speaks, his gravelly voice rumbles the walls of this weak palace and shakes dust all around us, “The binding ceremony will take place tonight. Have you made the preparations as requested?”

I hear Anthony mumble something along the lines of ‘yes’ with a rambling of nervous explanations. The only words I can focus on are “binding ceremony”. They fall off my tongue in confusion and disbelief without me realizing.

“For your protection,” another more guttural voice answers. It’s quieter, one could not call it gentle but the low tone might be considered such to their kind. The knight before me waits for me to say something and when I don’t, he adds, “you will be safe with us. No harm shall befall you under our guard.”

A sarcastic chuckle wants to spill out but I keep my lips sealed. Safety is an illusion for any member of the royal family and it’s one that I saw through many years ago. I have no doubt that the knights will protect me as long as I prove useful but the moment an alliance is forged, that protection will end. Anthony will kill me the moment I step foot back into his nation and I have no allies of my own to rely on me.

The reality of this cruel world is more evident than ever before; I must find a way to secure my own protection and I will do that by whatever means necessary.

[createdbytragedy]

FLOWERS FOR ME?

🍒 ‧₊˚🖇️✩ ‧₊˚ 🐇 ໒꒱Beautiful flowers for a beautiful boy

Pairing: Choi Beomgyu x Reader Genre: Drabble, fluff Inspired by this: Picture of Beomgyu

A/N: Don't mind me. Its just my warm up to get back to writing. srsly, i don't know why i bother doing polls when i'm just gonna write when the motivation strikes. sorry about that, jellies but i have a lot of free time this week so i'll probably be able to post at least 2 fics and a few drabbles. love you, bye

🍒 ‧₊˚🖇️✩ ‧₊˚ 🐇 ໒꒱

"Oh, those are for me?," Beomgyu's eyes grew wide in delight, reaching out to retrieve the bouquet of roses from the staff. The roses were wrapped in a brown paper with a silk red ribbon at the end to match the flowers. And it smelled great. The fresh essence of flowers mixed with a gracious tender scent he recognized all too well. Beomgyu examined the flowers, a smile tugging on his lips. He picked up the little light pink card tugged between the beds of flowers that has his name labelled on it. "Hey, what's that? is that from moa?," Soobin appeared, almost startling Beomgyu as he tried to look at the flowers in his hands. Beomgyu frowned, facing the other side to keep the flowers away from his uninvited friend. He wasn't in a mood to share happiness right now," No, its from (y/n)," "(y/n)?," Soobin repeated ," no wonder you're so stingy about it" And with that, he left Beomgyu alone, letting him appreciate your gift in peace. As Soobin exits the door, Beomgyu resumed his actions, carefully holding the bouquet with one hand and the card with another. His previous smile returned as he took a quick look at it. Beomgyu immediately recognized your neat handwriting, scribbled with a black pen. It read :-

Beautiful flowers for a beautiful boy I hope you like it Love, (y/n) And there was a small heart drawn beside it. Beomgyu was, joyous, to say the least. His thoughts immediately went to you, how you would look when you chose the flowers for him, the way your brows would furrow in concentration when you wrote the note and the thing that made his heart skip a beat was the fact that during all that, you were thinking of him. He felt a sense of satisfaction knowing he was on your mind even when you were apart. And, somehow, the flowers were so.....you. It smelled like you for some reason and beomgyu can't help but bring them to his nose every now and then to inhale what seemed like a part of you. God, now, he missed you terribly.