#i have to finally admit that no i cannot do this i cannot be a normal human person

[flying-fangirls]

As a music, religion, and literature nerd, the Dies Irae has been one of my favorite go-to pieces of trivia for a long time, which means that this line:

Has been driving me batshit BONKERS since part 42! And also as a semi-professional media analysis yapper, I figured I might as well dive into the exact reasons I jumped up and audibly gasped upon first hearing this line and have subsequently lost my mind since then. So!

Here is why I think that the Dies Irae is the perfect analogy for John and Arthur:

Religion

Let's start with the most straightforward meaning: "Dies Irae" is a Latin term, and it translates to the "Day of Wrath." Or otherwise known as the Judgement Day, the foretold second coming in Catholic canon, when Christ will "come again in glory to judge the living and the dead." It's at this Last Judgement where God will wield perfect justice to send the worthy to everlasting peace and the unworthy to everlasting punishment. (everyone say "thank you" to excessive childhood Catholic lessons for burning this into my brain)

There's a kind of irony to the fact that Arthur so vehemently rejects Christianity and religion as a whole, and that John spends much of his arc trying to distance himself from the role/identity of a god, yet both are given this incredibly religious title, effectively restricting them from ever forgetting the presence/influence of religion in their lives.

This title has a couple layers though, because we have to consider why it's the Day of Wrath specifically that represents Arthur and John. Now, I don't think I have to tell you that those two are bursting with anger 80% of the time. But I am going to tell you that those two are not just angry, but moreso "divine fury" incarnate.

The Day of Wrath, the Final Judgment, is the final and eternal judgment of God on all: "For now before the Judge severe / all hidden things must plain appear; / no crime can pass unpunished here." (Dies Irae, Dies Illa). The final Judge, the all-powerful God, can see the objective morality of every single person, and is thus the sole, rightful determiner of fate.

This assumption of their right to perfectly and single-handedly decide others' worthiness shows up over and over, not just John and Arthur's actions, but also in how they describe these judgments.

When Arthur kills the widow on the island, it's not because she was dangerous, but because she was a cultist who "deserved" to be punished.

When John and Arthur need to get rid of Mr. Scratch's stone, John says they should give it to "criminals" who are "deserving of this curse." Even though, just moments before, Arthur refused to give the stone to Oscar because to do so would be to cursing him to a fate of eternal suffering.

And I can't go into every single detail about the entire Larson plotline because this post would double in size, but it obviously needs to be included here. Possibly the strongest tie between this arc and the idea of the Dies Irae is Arthur's conviction through it all. Arthur vows that he is going to kill Larson in divine retribution not because he wants to, but because he has to. He even goes so far as to admit that killing Larson will be a mistake, a cruel and overly-bloodthirsty action that goes against his compassion. But killing Larson isn't a choice to Arthur, it is the unavoidable punishment for Larson's sins and Arthur is simply the enactor of justice. Just like the Final Judgment, there is no sympathy, no hesitancy— the judgment is absolute, divinely ordained, and cannot be stopped no matter how undeniably horrific it is.

If we look at the Catholic Catechism, principle 2302 states that it is sinful to kill out of desire, but that it is "praiseworthy to impose restitution" and use violence to "maintain justic." So even if Arthur has intent to kill, his actions count as divinely sanctioned. He is acting as the hand of God's punishment.

Over the course of Season 3 and 4, Arthur's fiery rage dies down to a more gentle simmer, but his conviction only seems to grow, and John follows suit. Despite previously reprimanding Arthur for his unquestioning wrath, John eventually becomes just as convinced that Larson "deserves" to face a wrathful reckoning. The "fact" that Larson is wholly unforgivable and is fated to receive eternal punishment becomes more indisputable in their minds, and they both stop questioning the morality of their intentions, entirely convinced of their judgment.

Throughout the story, Arthur and John insist upon the importance of kindness, compassion, and forgiveness, and say that these are the values that guide their every action. Yet, time and time again, they approach certain people with nothing but wrath and resentment. It's a sharp contrast to the benevolent figures they make themselves out to be, and Arthur and John are often blind to the contradiction because, in their eyes, they are still following those values in every action. And in the moments when they do recognize their horrific words or actions, they still cannot let their judgment go, convinced that it is their "duty" either way.

In Part 35, Arthur says "Just because you can't make the hard decision, doesn't mean it's wrong." This is exactly how John and Arthur view themselves. They know that some of their actions are harsh and violent and painful, but they are don't view that violence as wrong, because they are enacting that violence in justice. They move through life with carefully-selected destruction, culling the world of those they view as unforgivable sinners, and punishing them with divine righteousness. Arthur and John carry righteous fury in their every step, bringing the Day of Wrath down upon the world around them.

Now, there's already a ton of meaning just in this religious allusion alone. However, there's another application of the Dies Irae in modern culture, which brings us to the second side of this title:

Music

Back in the 13th century (sounds like a familiar setting...), friar Thomas of Celano wrote a poem for and about the Dies Irae. The poem was recited at Requiem Mass (church services to honor the dead), and it ended up being set to a Gregorian chant tune.

Over time, this melody has been used by a variety of composers, but the one we're focused on is Hector Berlioz. In 1837, Berlioz used the Dies Irae melody as part of his narrative symphony, Grand Messe de morts, in order to communicate that the main character had died. Then a lot of other composers saw that and said "Hey that's a cool idea!", and started also using this melody to represent death in their music. Nowadays, it's a fairly staple part of modern film and musical storytelling. If you've listened to literally any major soundtrack, then there's a good chance you've heard this motif (or a variation of it) used before. It's often subtle, sometimes loud and obvious, but no matter what, it reveals the inevitable presence of death. (essentially, the Dies Irae=death)

Now, obviously there's something tragically ironic about Arthur being likened to a musical motif when he tries so hard to distance himself from it, and there's something tragically ironic about John being associated with such a dark piece of music when he shows so much fascination and joy toward the art. Again, though, we've got some layers here. Yorick doesn't just compare Arthur and John to the Dies Irae, he literally defines them as the Dies Irae, a full embodiment of it.

Even before the story started, Arthur lost both of his parents, his friend and wife, his daughter, and his best friend.

John, when he was part of the King in Yellow, knew only how to harm and attack. In the Dark World, he falls back on this fearful lashing out with violence, harming even more people.

And throughout the story, John and Arthur seem to bring devastation to everyone else around them: Lilly the buopoth, Oscar, Noel, Collins, Daniel, Larson and Yellow.

The arrival of Dies Irae musical motif in a film always indicates that death is approaching or that is has already struck— a host carrying its blight to spread onto others. Just like the musical motif, the arrival of Arthur and John foretells the near-arrival of death. They play a duet together— John and Arthur, and death— always singing and dancing around and with each other.

These two never succumb to death, always finding a way to slip through its fingers and survive every situation. But they cannot escape death's presence because they are death's partner— singing the melody to death's subtle harmony. They cannot escape death because they are its host— destined to carry and spread devastation to death's victims. From the moment you meet John and Arthur, you know that death is inevitably approaching just a step behind, waiting to strike you down.

Whether it's the religious or musical side, we can see that John and Arthur are the literal embodiment of these allusions. They carry these powers and ideas in their every action and word, in their every step, in their very breath and blood.

Arthur and John. The hands of God's justice. The enactors of divine fury.

Arthur and John. The hosts of blight and destruction. The partner of death's song.

The man himself. The voice inside his head.

The Day of Wrath. The Dies Irae.

[novaursa]

Beyond Duty (marriage)

- Summary: Helaena refuses to marry Aegon because her heart was already given to someone else. You.

- Paring: brother!reader/Helaena Targaryen

- Note: @kmassey08 , here is the part 2 I've promised you. 🙂

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Previous part: 1

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The corridors of the Red Keep are eerily quiet as Helaena makes her way toward her father’s chambers. She can feel her heart beating wildly in her chest, every pulse echoing her nerves. This is something she has thought about for weeks, agonized over in the solitude of her room, in the quiet moments before sleep, when dreams of a future with him seemed both impossibly distant and heartbreakingly close.

She pauses outside the door to Viserys’s chambers, her hands clasped tightly before her. This is a bold step, bolder than anything she has ever done before. But she knows she cannot wait any longer, cannot stand by and let her fate be decided by others without ever voicing what is in her heart. She takes a deep breath, drawing strength from the memory of his smile, the warmth of his voice, the kindness that has always set him apart.

Raising her hand, she knocks lightly on the door. A moment later, the guard opens it, bowing low.

“Princess Helaena,” he greets her respectfully. “His Grace is within.”

She nods, stepping inside. Viserys is seated by the fire, a thick blanket draped over his shoulders despite the warmth of the room. His illness has taken its toll, his once-vibrant face now drawn and pale, but there is still a sharpness in his eyes, a flicker of the man he once was. He looks up as she enters, his expression softening.

“Helaena, my sweet daughter,” he says, his voice weary but warm. “What brings you here at this hour?”

She hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside, closing the door behind her. “I wanted to speak with you, Father,” she said, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her chest. “There is something I need to ask.”

Viserys gestured to the chair beside him, his expression curious. “Of course, my dear. Sit. What is on your mind?”

She moved to the chair, settling into it with a grace that belied the turmoil in her heart. She glanced at the flames, gathering her thoughts, then turned her gaze back to him.

“You told me I do not have to marry Aegon,” she began softly, her fingers twisting in her lap. “That I would not be forced into a union that would make me unhappy.”

He nodded, a look of concern crossing his face. “Yes, Helaena. I meant what I said. You are my daughter, and your happiness means more to me than any alliance or tradition. If you do not wish to marry Aegon, then you will not.”

She took a deep breath, the words she had been holding back finally tumbling out. “I want to marry Y/N.”

The room seemed to fall silent, the crackling of the fire fading into the background as her words hung in the air. Viserys blinked, his expression one of pure surprise.

“Helaena,” he begins slowly, carefully, “Y/N is your brother as well. This… this is unexpected. Why have you never spoken of this before?”

“Because I was afraid,” she admits, her voice breaking with the weight of her confession. “I was afraid you would not understand, that you would think me foolish or… or wrong. But I cannot stay silent anymore. I cannot pretend to be something I am not, to marry someone I do not love.”

Viserys’s gaze softens, the confusion giving way to a deep, abiding sorrow. “And what of Aegon?” he asks quietly. “He is your brother, too. He cares for you in his own way. This news about Y/N will wound him.”

She shakes her head, her heart aching at the thought. “Aegon does not love me, Father. Not in the way a husband should love his wife. He does not see me at all. We would both be miserable. I have seen it in his eyes, in the way he speaks. He would be as unhappy as I would, bound in a marriage neither of us desires. You did the right thing when you allowed me to reject the betrothal.”

There is a long pause, the silence stretching between them, filled with the unspoken pain of a father who only wants what is best for his children but does not know how to give it. Helaena can see the struggle in his eyes, the conflict between duty and love, tradition and the happiness of his daughter.

“Y/N is good to me,” she continues softly, her voice filled with quiet conviction. “He listens to me, cares for me. He does not laugh at my dreams or my thoughts. He treats me as an equal, as someone who matters. I love him, Father. And I know he loves me, too.”

Viserys sighs deeply, running a hand through his thinning hair. “This is not what I had planned, Helaena. You know the importance of our house, the need for alliances, for strength. I had different plans for Y/N. But I see now that I have been blind to what truly matters. I never meant to make you both feel as if you had no choice.”

Helaena feels a swell of hope, tentative and fragile, but there nonetheless. “Father, I know our family must be strong, that we must protect our legacy. But I believe we can do that and still be happy. Y/N and I—we can be strong together. Please, give us this chance.”

Viserys looks at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers, and then he nods slowly, a small, weary smile curving his lips. “You are braver than I ever knew, my sweet girl. And perhaps you are right. If this is what will make you happy, if this is truly what you desire, then I will not stand in your way.”

Tears spring to her eyes, a mix of relief and joy flooding her heart. “Thank you, Father,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “Thank you so much.”

He reaches out, taking her hand in his, his grip gentle but firm. “You deserve to be happy, Helaena. I only hope I am making the right choice.”

“You are,” she assures him, her heart soaring with the promise of the future that now seems possible. “I promise you, you are.”

And as she leaves his chambers, her steps light and her heart full, she knows she has done the right thing. For herself, for Y/N, and for the love that will now have a chance to grow and flourish, unbound by fear or expectation.

The day of the wedding dawns bright and clear, the sky above King’s Landing an expanse of brilliant blue, unmarred by a single cloud. The entire city buzzes with excitement, the streets filled with people eager to witness the union of their prince and princess. Banners bearing the sigil of House Targaryen—red dragons on black—flutter in the gentle breeze, and the bells of the Sept toll joyously, their ringing echoing through the capital.

Inside the Red Keep, the Great Hall has been transformed. The long tables are adorned with garlands of flowers in crimson and gold, and the walls are draped in rich silks that shimmer in the candlelight. The air is heavy with the scent of roses and jasmine, mingling with the rich aroma of roasted meats and spiced wine. A hush falls over the assembled nobility as King Viserys rises from his seat, a proud, almost serene smile on his face as he looks upon his children.

You stand at the altar, dressed in the traditional Targaryen black, your cloak edged in deep red. A thrill of nerves runs through you, but it is tempered by a fierce, unyielding joy. Today is the day you have longed for, the day when Helaena will become yours, and you hers, in the sight of the gods and all of Westeros.

The doors at the far end of the hall swing open, and all eyes turn as Helaena enters. She is a vision of beauty, her gown a shimmering cascade of white and silver, her hair, adorned with delicate dragon-shaped pins, falling in soft waves down her back. Her face is radiant, her eyes bright with happiness as she walks down the aisle, her gaze fixed on you.

You cannot help the smile that spreads across your face as she draws nearer, your heart swelling with love and pride. When she finally reaches your side, you take her hands in yours, feeling the gentle tremor in her fingers, a reflection of your own nervous excitement.

“You look beautiful,” you whisper, your voice meant only for her. “Like a queen of old.”

A soft blush colors her cheeks, and she smiles up at you, her eyes shining. “And you, my sweet prince, look every bit the dragon you are.”

Viserys steps forward then, his voice carrying through the hall, commanding and strong despite his recent frailties. “Today, we gather to celebrate the union of my beloved son and daughter. This marriage not only strengthens our family but also reaffirms the bonds of love and duty that bind us together as Targaryens.”

He pauses, looking between you and Helaena with a rare, genuine tenderness in his eyes. “May your union be blessed with joy, with strength, and with the fierce, unyielding love that is the hallmark of our house.”

With that, the ceremony begins, the Septon’s voice rising in the traditional vows of marriage, the sacred words echoing through the hall. You and Helaena exchange your vows, your voices steady and clear, despite the emotion thickening your throats. When you slide the ring onto her finger—a delicate band of silver, set with a single, perfect sapphire—you see her eyes shimmer with unshed tears.

“I will love you always,” you say softly, your voice full of promise. “In this life and the next.”

She squeezes your hands, her smile radiant. “And I will love you, my dragon, until the end of my days.”

When the Septon finally pronounces you husband and wife, you lean down and kiss her, your heart soaring as the hall erupts into cheers and applause. It is a soft, gentle kiss, filled with all the love and devotion you feel for her, and when you pull back, the joy in her eyes is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

The feast that follows is a grand affair, the tables laden with the finest foods and wines the realm has to offer. You and Helaena are seated at the high table, side by side, her hand resting lightly on your arm as you talk and laugh with your family and the gathered guests. The atmosphere is warm and joyous, the tension of the past few weeks forgotten in the light of this new beginning.

But of course, Aegon, already deep into his cups, cannot resist making a scene. He leans forward, a sly grin spreading across his face as he raises his goblet in a mock toast.

“To the happy couple!” he declares, his voice loud and slurred. “May their nights be as sweet as their words, and may our dear brother prove as... attentive as he seems so eager to be.”

The innuendo is clear, and a few nearby lords chuckle awkwardly, their eyes flicking between you and Aegon. Helaena’s hand tightens on your arm, her smile faltering, and you feel a surge of anger, not just at Aegon’s disrespect but at the thought of him making her uncomfortable on what should be the happiest day of her life.

You set your goblet down, turning to face Aegon fully, your voice cold and cutting. “Perhaps, Aegon, you should spend less time concerning yourself with my marriage and more with your own conduct. It would be a pity for your good name to suffer further from ill-chosen words and actions.”

The smile slips from Aegon’s face, his eyes narrowing as he realizes he has overstepped. “I meant no harm,” he mutters, his bravado wilting under your steady gaze.

“Then show it,” you reply, your tone leaving no room for argument. “Today is a day for celebration, not mockery. For once in your life, Aegon, try to act like the prince you are.”

There is a moment of tense silence, broken only when Aemond, seated beside Aegon, speaks up. “Our brother is right, Aegon,” he says calmly, though there is an edge to his voice. “Show some respect, if not for Y/N and Helaena, then for Father. This day means a great deal to him.”

Aegon scowls but says nothing, slumping back in his chair and reaching for his goblet with a muttered curse. Aemond meets your eyes, a faint nod of approval in his gaze, and you return it with a grateful smile.

You turn back to Helaena, your hand covering hers, your voice gentle as you speak to her. “Are you all right, my love?”

She nods, her smile returning, though it is a little shakier now. “Yes. Thank you, Y/N. For defending me.”

You lean in, brushing a soft kiss to her temple. “I will always defend you, Helaena. Always.”

The rest of the evening passes more peacefully, Aegon’s ill-timed comments forgotten as the festivities continue. The hall is filled with music and laughter, the joy of the day wrapping around you like a warm embrace. You dance with Helaena, the two of you moving together as if you were made for each other, the world around you fading away as you lose yourself in her eyes, her smile, her touch.

When the night finally draws to a close, and you escort her back to your shared chambers, you feel as if you are walking on air, your heart so full it seems it might burst. You close the door behind you, the world outside falling away, leaving only the two of you in the soft, intimate glow of the candles.

Helaena turns to you, her eyes shining with love and happiness. “I am so grateful, Y/N,” she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion. “For you, for today... for everything.”

You take her hands in yours, pulling her close, your forehead resting against hers. “It is I who am grateful, my love. For you, for your courage, for the gift of your love. I promise you, I will spend every day of our lives making sure you never regret this choice.”

She smiles, a tear slipping down her cheek, and you kiss it away, your heart swelling with love and tenderness for this beautiful, brave woman who is now your wife.

And as you hold her close, the world outside forgotten, you know, with a certainty that goes beyond words, that this is where you are meant to be—by her side, forever.

[milfhunter6698]

Under pressure pt7

synopsis: Upon joining the NYC firm as a new associate, you quickly find yourself facing the pressure of working under the firm’s star senior partner, Victoria neuman. With a reputation for excellence and an eye for potential, she was searching for a junior partner who can meet her exacting standards. You, with your impressive credentials and unwavering ambition, seemed like a perfect fit…until the pressure of meeting those high expectations started taking their toll. 

Warnings: 18+ eventual smut, no use of (y/n), cursing, no describing reader’s appearance, explicit language, fluff, angst, teasing, hurt & comfort, power imbalance, slight AU, some similarities to cannon, mentions of the boys characters (Hughie), slight age gap, rival associates, young!reader, older!Victoria, slow-burn, infidelity.

Notes: Woahh finally!! finally it’s happening the moment you’ve all been waiting for ;) whew i really need a cold shower now. This is pure smut (I’m talking the entire chapter) so be careful do not read this in public lmaooo don’t say i didn’t warn you. Anyways late night post because my sleep schedule is fucked, also don’t mind me i genuinely cannot stick with a header so ignore that, now happy reading! (And i really wanna say thank you thank you thank you for all the follows i’m screaming).

previous chapter

wc: 3.3k

You stepped out the car, as you reached your apartment building. You took the elevator up to your place, the silence between you comfortable now. Once inside, you wasted no time heading to the kitchen to grab two glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

You poured two glasses, filling them with a generous amount. You couldn't help but smirk as you handed one to Victoria, who eyed it with a raised brow. “You’re not holding back, are you?”

“You don’t seem like the type to go for anything light.” You replied shrugging. Victoria’s brows lowered in amused acceptance, with a nod she took a sip of her glass, the smooth burn visibly easing her.

Settling in the living room, she watched the relief on your face as you kicked off your heels, the sweet ache in your feet fading as you let out a sigh. You plopped down on the couch, leaning back, and swirling the glass in your hand. "You know, you could've kept the teasing to a minimum tonight. It was hard enough trying to keep a straight face without you in my ear.”

You watched her take another sip, a playful grin slowly tugged at the corner of her mouth. When her gaze met yours, she bit her lower lip, her voice a hint of a challenge, "Well, can't handle a little teasing now can you?"

You laughed shaking your head, “Oh, I can handle it. Just didn’t expect you to be having so much fun while I was sweating bullets.”

“Well, someone had to keep things light. Besides, you did great. Romano didn’t even see it coming.”

You shot her a glance, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you appreciated her playful compliment.

“You have to admit, though, you almost cracked when I mentioned the martini. That was close,” she added, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Her smile widened as she heard your laugh, it was contagious she couldn’t help but let out a chuckle of her own. Her heart warming at the knowledge that she was the cause of it.

“I knew that was going to come back to haunt me,” You said, taking another sip of your drink. “But yeah, I’ll give you that. You almost got me.”

There was a beat of silence after, as she leaned back on the couch, her hand resting casually against the armrest as she studied your apartment. Everything was neat, almost too tidy for someone who'd just gone through a breakup. A small part of her wished she could help you forget about it, ease your pain and make you feel better.

She inched closer, her knee grazing yours as she placed her empty glass on the table. A charged moment passes, your gazes caught in the room's dim light. Her lips parted, her eyes piercing yours, but her only response was a shake of her head, a coy smirk playing on her lips. "You're dangerous, you know that?"

Surprised, you arched an eyebrow, leaning in. “I think you might be the dangerous one here…”

Her gaze drifted to your moist lips, remembering their touch on hers. Your eyes, now dark with desire, held something unidentifiable. Without hesitation, your lips met in a kiss filled with only raw hunger and pure lust for one another.

She pulled you closer, urging you to straddle her lap. The moment your body settled, her head spun. It was as if every wish she’d had in that dream about you just a few weeks ago was now coming true.

Your dress unraveled further up your thighs, revealing more of your skin, her fingers slipped underneath the fabric. The kiss deepened, your tongues melting against each other’s.

Everything she’d fantasized about was happening. The intoxicating mix of your lips, touch, and scent was better than she’d ever imagined, It was almost overwhelming, each sensation swallowing her whole.

Her fingers traced down your back, the heat emanating from your skin making her bolder. Her hands roamed, and you didn't resist. She gripped your ass, her touch tight, strong, and commanding. A soft gasp escaped your lips, your reaction making her heart race.

She grinned against your mouth, before you pulled away, both of you gasping trying to catch your ragged breaths, as she panted your name.

Your eyes locked onto hers, and you reached for the long silver necklace, its chain dangling over her chest. You tugged, pulling her closer with it, as your lips met in another heated kiss.

The room spun around you, time slipping away as your hand continued to grasp her necklace. Your fingers worked their way to the buttons of her blouse, quickly undoing the first few ones. You broke the kiss raising up, your eyes lowered to Victoria on the couch, her legs spread apart, her blouse revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her black double lace strap bra. Her doe-eyed gaze silently pleaded with you, and her hand found its way to your lower back.

Your fingertips brushed against her cheek, she looked up at you as your fingers traced the edge of her jawline. She then stood, keeping your gaze before your lips crashed together once more in an intense, breath-stealing kiss.

Heavy breaths filled the air as you moved towards your dark bedroom, the smacking of your lips echoing. With the open balcony doors casting moonlight, you could just make out the path. Victoria followed, her strides leading her to your bed. Until the back of your knee collided with the edge, and you were spun around.

Her fingers undid the zipper of your dress, one hand circling your neck while her lips claimed the other side. Your head fell back, granting her deeper access as she explored your body with eagerness and passion.

She ventured down your neck, trailing kisses, leaving marks behind. Her body pressed against yours, an arm wrapped around your waist urgency building as she planted soft kisses behind your ear and along your jawline. She spun you around once again to face her, your lips crashing together, a feverish dance of lust and desire.

Your fingers trembled as you freed your arms from the dress, the fabric pooling at your feet. Her fingers roamed your back, seeking out the clasp of your bra. She unfastened it with a flick, letting it fall away, your lips never parting.

As she pushed you back onto the mattress, she felt the need to possess you completely, crawling on top of you. Your kiss continued, her heart pounding in her chest. Her head dove into your neck, relishing in the warmth and the alluring scent.

Her lips moved wrapping around your nipple, and her nose pressed against your silky skin. Her breath caught in her throat, you were very soft… very sensitive, very responsive to her every touch. And it all made her head spin.

With both hands now craving you, she gently squeezed your other breast, feeling the rapid beat of your heart beneath her palm. A soft moan escaped your lips as she left a trail of tender pecks all over your skin—from your collarbone to the valley between your breasts.

Her mouth trailed down your torso, pausing at your stomach. Her head rested between your legs as her fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear. Her kisses continued to explore, venturing up and down your inner thighs, savoring every inch of your skin.

With a final, swift motion, her fingers tugged at your underwear, sliding it down your ankles and leaving you completely bare and exposed to the night’s breeze. Your knees closed in, but she gently forced them apart, her touch eliciting goosebumps that rose under her fingertips. In the dim light, she devoured the sight before her. Your flushed skin and wet arousal, visible in the darkness, sent heat rushing through her.

Spreading your slick folds apart, she pressed her tongue flatly against your burning skin. A soft curse escaped your lips and your hand reached out to grab onto her head. Her tongue traced a path from your entrance, licking up to your aching clit. She swirled it slowly around your sensitive nub, savoring your response to her touch.

Meanwhile, her veiny hand found its way back to your breast, playing with your nipples, teasing them between her fingers. Your thighs wrapped around her head, holding her close as she continued to gently suck on the sensitive nerves, nibbling at times. The pain from your tugging on her hair only fueled the throbbing need between her own legs.

“Fuck… Vic— please,” You cried out.

She pulled her wet tongue away from your throbbing clit. With a slow, tantalizing circle, her thumb teased the sensitive bud. Your whimpers only intensified her desire. She slipped her middle finger inside you, the sight of you begging for more sending shivers down her spine.

A possessive need overcame her. She wanted to make you feel like no one else could, give you a night you’ll never forget.

Her index finger followed suit, gently but firmly pushing into your wet, welcoming depths. Her tongue joined the fray, humming in response to your mumbled pleas. She sat an unrelenting pace, her gut telling her your climax was already near. You squirmed beneath her, gripped the sheets, back arched, and moans growing louder with each stroke and thrust.

“Oh Victoria I can’t, I’m so—“

A wicked smile tugged at her lips as she pulled away, leaving her fingers curled inside of you, feeling the softness and warmth. Your eyes remained shut, your mouth agape in pure joy.

In her softest voice, she encouraged you, "Come on baby, you're doing so good. Let go."

Your cries filled the air, chest heaving with raw desire. Her tongue darted out, teasing your clit once more, sucking and licking with an intensity that matched your need. Your legs shook, squeezing tightly around her head, muffling your moans in her ears. With one final, deliberate flick, you were lost in ecstasy.

Your loud gasp reached her ears, your mouth wide open, as your head fell back into the pillow. She continued her rhythm, her tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony, feeling your walls clench and clit throb. Warm liquid gushed out, coating her chin and fingers, and she rode through it, determined to bring you every last wave of pleasure.

Your hips bucked forward and her arm looped around your leg, holding you steady as your body trembled with release. The taste of you, the sound of your cries, and the feel of your body convulsing beneath her sent a thrill through her, knowing she’d brought you to this point.

Her other hand gently massaged your thighs, calming you as the aftershocks subsided. "Easy... easy," she whispered, her voice soft and caring.

Slowly, she withdrew her fingers, her own arousal still burning. Licking her lips, she wiped them gently on her forearm, before sitting up. Your eyes met, once again she admired your beauty, your perfection. She wondered if you knew how breathtaking you were. Her trembling lips parted as her hoarse whisper shared her thoughts, "Do you have any idea how fucking beautiful you really are?"

“Oh shut up,” Your soft chuckle and the rubbing of your eyes only fueled her fire. Gently removing your hands, her eyes locked on yours. "I mean it, and I'm not just saying that," she confessed, her voice soft but laced with a playful edge.

Closing the gap between you, you shared a slow kiss. She felt your legs wrap around her waist, your fingers finding the back pockets of her jeans. She hadn’t noticed she’d been fully clothed till now, since she was too focused on giving you absolute attention and pleasure. That realization was all it took. You shed her clothes, joining the disarrayed pile on the floor, bodies tangled together as the night wore on.

You stirred awake, your eyelids slowly fluttering open to the soft glow of the sunrise. It was still early the distant sounds of the city's streets began to rise, the gentle hum of a new day starting as the soft breeze ruffled the sheer curtains of the balcony.

You let out a deep sigh, turning as the soft sheets brushed against your warm skin. Your gaze fell on Victoria, her peaceful sleep state filling you with a sense of calm. The morning light danced on her skin, her long hair splayed over the pillow. Her forearm covered her face, her chest rising and falling gently with each breath.

You couldn't help but press a few soft kisses on her cheeks, neck, and hand. But she barely stirred, lost in her deep sleep. Smiling, you gently placed her hand on her chest and slipped under the covers, lowering yourself and settling between her legs.

You showered her inner thighs with sweet kisses. The sound of her soft groan, whispering your name, filled the room, and you felt her hand cradle the back of your head.

With a playful tug, she removed the blanket, meeting your gaze. "Morning," you uttered, her head fell back and you saw the corners of her mouth tugging upwards. Your tongue found its way to her, eager to explore and awaken her desires.

She surrendered to the sensation, her sleepy eyes closing shut as you touched her. Her hand holding your free one, and you gently caressed her sensitive spot with the other, drawing tight circles with your thumb.

Her soft, hushed moans making your own desire grow, heating your body from within. That same hand interlaced with yours, guided you to the tender swell of her breast, your fingers encircled her nipple, you squeezed gently, feeling her body arch into your touch.

Lowering your hand, you grazed your own lips, gently sucking on your middle and ring finger. Fingertips traced slow motions around her slit, before dipping inside. Your thumb joined applying firm pressure, rubbing sensual circles against her clit.

Her mouth parted, and her brows furrowed as a soft moan escaped her. Your tongue met hers, mirroring the movements of your thumb. Your other hand cradled her breast again, teasing and pinching her nipple, eliciting a breathy "Fuck" from her.

You sat up, urging her to follow, your legs adjusting to fit perfectly together. Your lips met, her hands gripping your shoulders as she pulled you closer. You moaned together in each other’s mouths, the rhythm of your hips slow and unhurried, a deliberate contrast to the fervor of the night before.

Your groan filled the room as her plump, wet lips enveloped your breasts, sucking and teasing them. Your head fell back, and you bucked at the sensation, hips jerking into Victoria’s. Your thighs twitched, clit craving more of the attention.

She trailed chaste kisses from your breasts to your neck, ending with a final, lingering one on your lips. You took the lead, your body moving against hers, leaning back, using her elevated leg as an anchor.

She placed a lazy hand on your ass, guiding you into a rocking motion, her body trembling, and breaths coming in ragged gasps as your hips continued grinding against hers.

The sensation of your bodies moving together, the friction of your wetness, and the heat between you built to a fever pitch. Her fingers found their way to your clit, teasing it gently, and you cried out nails digging into her hips, your body arched into her touch, your release was already drawing near.

You moved in perfect sync, bodies slick with sweat, the room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, moans, and the soft rustle of the sheets as you moved against each other.

Victoria's cries echoed in your ears as you picked up the rhythm, your diaphragm in knots as your clit received constant pleasure from your grinding. Your moans overlapped, names a mantra of the passion.

Your heated bodies continuously rutted against each other, your hands roaming, exploring, and stimulating every inch of skin you could reach. Victoria threw her head back, her necklace dancing with each twist of her hips. Her intoxicating eyes, rolled to the back of her head, offering you a glimpse of her delicate neck.

Your head dived right in there, biting into the skin, as her mouth opened, moans escaping, a mix of pain and pleasure coursing through her. “God, I’m so clo-“

Her words interrupted by your fingers plunging in her once more. Her body jerked, vision blurring as your lips pressed against her throat. “ugh, fuc- fuck!”

Your back arched, body stilled, and Victoria shuddered, both of your orgasms crashing over simultaneously, your moans growing louder as you rode out the waves of pleasure. Her fingers gripped tightly into your thigh, her body chasing the delicious release.

Pulling away, gasping for air, she shivered as your fingers eased to a stop, slowly sliding out. Your eyes drifted shut as the aftershocks of your orgasms coursed through your bodies, leaving you feeling weightless. You collapsed onto the bed, limbs splayed, taking deep, slow breaths.

Victoria joined, her body beside you as you steadied your breathing. In the quiet, you spoke, "Wow.. that was..." Your breath hitched, and you licked your dry lips, unable to find words. But she completed your thought, "The best sex I've ever had in my entire life."

A pleased laugh escaped you, and then her lips met yours. The kiss was tender, tongues exploring each other lazily before she broke it, her breaths as ragged as yours. "I need to use the bathroom," she mumbled, and sighed leaning in for another quick, small one. You pointed the way smirking. "Just down there,"

You watched her slip on her blouse, her body a delight to behold, you shifted over the mattress resting on your stomach, your gaze following her as she sauntered down the hallway.

You couldn't help but smile to yourself once she left the room, covering your face with your hands, a giddy sensation bubbling within, much like the excitement of a teenager. You kicked your feet slightly, the happiness you felt completely unexpected, yet utterly welcome.

In the kitchen, you stood, spatula in hand, flipping pancakes on the pan. The rich aroma of coffee filled the room. Warm hands wrapped around your waist from behind, and you turned to see Victoria, a smile spreading across her face.

You leaned in for a tender kiss, and she pulled away, admiring the food-filled kitchen island. "You made all this just for me?" Her gentle chuckle followed. As she sat on the counter's edge, snatching your cup of coffee and taking a sip, her eyes glinting.

"Guess I'll be here more often if that means you'll be feeding me these goodies," she added, you turned around and caught a sight of your mug and began, "Hey, that's my-" but she quickly shoved a strawberry into your mouth, laughing as she cut you off.

You couldn't help but smile as you turned to pour another cup, teasing her, "Very funny."

She let out another huffy laugh, snorting this time, before sighing softly and taking a sip of her coffee. You shook your head, closing the gap between you. For a moment, Victoria's expression changed; her smile faded, her brown eyes trailing down to your lips before meeting your gaze.

Slowly, she pressed her lips against yours in a long, passionate kiss like she didn’t wanna let go. Your stomach fluttered, the surreal feeling that this was what you’d both been fighting, for so long. It all seemed normal, right, like you belonged together.

You let out a contented sigh as she pulled away, only to meet her soft smile looking down at you. Leaning in for a quick peck, she then hopped off the edge and sat on a chair across the counter. You handed her a plate, and she accepted it with a playful smile, as you sat and shared your meal together.

[hstayafanart]

Farmtale Sans! Not totally happy with him but I've been poking at him all week and I'm over it haha

I was aiming for a chubby farm cat. I was trying to make him a warmer brown but I just couldn't get it looking good. I considered ginger but I don't think Crop has ginger cat energy haha

Click here for all my UTMV kitty designs!

Sorry I haven't been posting much, I cannot begin to tell you how busy this course is keeping me. Still working on the fic as well, about a third of the way through my initial draft (I can't really call it a 'first' draft: I go through and edit the other chapters before writing new ones).

TMI - discussion of medical issues below

(bittersweet!) Personal Update

I must admit I'm falling out of the fandom a little - partly because I've been working on a personal project. I'm definitely finishing the fic - and I may keep drawing kitties/adding to the Down Under AU, but I think I'll be taking a break after this last story is done. Writing got me through one of the hardest points in my life, and I think part of the reason I'm ready to finish things up is because my life is so vastly improved.

107 days sober from skin picking, anxiety attacks are way less common and less severe when they do happen, I've halved my anxiety meds, and I've finally found something I truly love doing in bush regeneraton.

On top of that, after 11 years of trying to get doctors to believe my crippling period pain and suicidal depression during PMS, I've finally found a gyno willing to give me a hysterectomy. I've wanted this since I was 16. Having your pain believed makes such a difference.

My ulna nerve pain is under control, my mental health is under control - things are going so well I feel like I'm dreaming.

Fanfic things:

The final excuse reason the final story is taking so long to draft is because I want to wrap things up in a satisfying way. I want to give them a happy ending, but there's a lot of relationship issues between different parties to iron out first. There's a bit more focus on Ink & Error in this one, and a little on Nightmare's issues with other Outcodes too (I'm less interested in his relationship with Dream - I don't feel I have anything to add to a fandom gloriously saturated in them).

And! A bit more on Killer, too. A lot of fandom interpretations of him have him feeling, but I'm trying to stick a little closer to canon, as fun as those readings of him are. Working out the emotions of a monster incapable of feeling without having a complete breakdown is fun. :)

[alrightyfruits]

my theories of what will happen (spoilers/leaks below the cut, don't read if you don't want to be spoiled)

rio/death and her dynamic with agatha - some known facts about death from the comics that I find intriguing (taken from here):

death cannot die

death can also reverse that passage and return a being to life, but that rarely happens

unlimited ability to manipulate reality, time, space, matter, energy, or magic for any purpose

deaths relationship with thanos in the comics:

death lured thanos to the dark side, encouraged him from an early age to kill. she became his 'confidante', being the only one to know of what he was doing

thanos fell for death, but death rejected him. however, their bond grew. she tried to convince thanos that he enjoyed doing these horrible things, which he admitted

eventually, death reciprocates these feelings

why this applies to my theory:

I think they've mixed it up for the show, making agatha the focus for death instead of thanos

like thanos, agatha craved the power, and went to the extremes to gain more, to the point where she killed her own mother (like thanos did) for her power

I think that rio/death is mesmerised by agatha, by how far she will go for her own gain. I do think however, like thanos in the comics, she encouraged this darkness in her

I believe they had a relationship, and even had a child (which I'm gonna headcannon for now she gave to agatha with her powers)

death continued to watch in awe as agatha craved more and more power, plotting together to get the darkhold

they went down the witches road together with a coven, and got to the end of the road

there was the choice to take what they wanted most (the darkhold) but whoever was bargaining with them (I think mephisto) wanted nicholas to be his agent

I think that the trade was rejected by agatha, but death didn't intervene.

I think that death always knew the outcome of this, and knew she couldn't change the course. she knew that if they went on the road, there would be a trade, something she didn't tell agatha. but, as death, she couldn't intervene as it goes against her rules.

so despite the rejection, mephisto does the trade anyway, destroying agatha. agatha and death inevitably separate, explaining why agatha is so full of anger with her.

death still longs for agatha, and when agatha goes off the rails after losing her son, agatha craves the power, causing more death and destruction, bringing death back into the picture regularly.

Which brings me to my final part of the theory: Nicholas Scratch

he became an agent of mephisto, mephisto wanted him due to his powers. after all, he's the son of the most powerful dark witch (before scarlett witch) and death (if my theory is right)

he will be teens boyfriend. (I know this sounds unhinged but hear me out)

he was sent to keep an eye on teen (billy) and agatha. remember, if correct, billy is wiccan, son of scarlett witch, making him extremely powerful. to further add to my theory, boyf has been cast and is due to appear.

could mephisto want teen to be his agent of chaos too? using boyf as the one to encourage him?

could mephisto himself have put the spell on billy so agatha can't figure him out?

anyway that's what I'm feeling will go down, we'll have to see lol

[anonymocha]

finally coming out as a dyke in 2023 is realizing i dont need to pretend to simp that Guy just because everyone else in my friend group does

[muirmarie]

thinking about if tos mccoy had died before romulus was destroyed, tos spock could've been carrying his not-quite-a-katra during the events of the aos movies

[pardonmydelays]

my job makes me want to kill myself but maybe spending all my money on theatre tickets is the way

[naivety]

very weird to frame your abuse apologia as being aware that the writers intended to illustrate a mutually harmful dynamic and not an abusive one. when the writers in question also wrote the line 'once you put it out there, they [the audience] decide what it is' because nothing you ever create has any innate definition. when the writers in question decided to racebend major characters and then showcase them being harmed by white or nonblack characters in a repeatedly racialized pattern when they Did Not Have To Do That and then genuinely or disingenuously decide to dialogue about their directly or indirectly illustrated racialized dynamic of intimate partner violence within and outside the narrative. like to be quite honest it does not matter what they intended because this is what they made and this is how it Looks to a notably large amount of people. who just happen to be interpreting it wrong? according to what metric? the very metric they say Doesn't Work in their own fictional creation? ok

[hella1975]

i have such a reputation that four separate people incorporated pringles into my birthday gifts. be that girl

[beautifel]

i. hate that i cant ignore any longer how fucked up i am

[theinfinitedivides]

i've screamed about this before several times during the (rather minimal) promotion period but. there's something so !!! about Rubi lashing out with the stem of a broken champagne flute flipping a man over her f*cking shoulder and Pathaan going '....oh' but that 'oh' is actually '....oh. ma'am if you would be so kind as to f*ck me—' just not in so many words and i think that's so iconic of him

[k0kichiimagines]

i hate writing cvs and teachers r useless at help i love them and i appreciate it but "i have no skills to put on my cv what should i put" - "aww no everyone has skills just think of something"

[lieutenant-amuel]

Why have you stopped writing was born to lead?

I… didn’t want to answer this question. But it seems like you misunderstood me a little, because I’ve never said I’m stopping to write WBTL. It’s on hiatus now, it’s not abandoned.

Anyway, I admit I had a lot more dramatic~ answer to this question in my head when I first saw it, but after all I realized the main reason I’m stepping away from publishing the chapters is… life.

There are too many external factors that prevent me from being as productive as I’d like to be and given the fact I’m a lot more emotional than I think I am (damn it), I know I’ll be way too harsh on myself for not updating often (I update almost every month now, which, I think, is often enough, given how long my chapters are).

But I write this fic for joy only. And I want it to bring me joy only. The way to achieve it is to write it for myself. But I want to assure you that the fic is not abandoned. I just stop publishing the chapters until the entire story is finished.

I have no idea when I finish it. But for now, I just hope I’ll manage to do it.

I’m actually on hiatus now (and no, this is not some summer vacation hiatus, as I said I won’t publish the chapters until I finish the story, so it’s going to be quite a long lasting hiatus) and I won’t write anything for at least a month (unless I’ll get hit by some extremely cool idea that I’d want to write down right away), because I have some big plans in terms of outline and editing.

But that’s actually a good thing, because it means WBTL is not escaping from my head. If you want to send me my characters for the OCs ask games, or give me suggestions for the story, or simply talk about it with me, please do. I won’t mind. On the contrary, I’ll be extremely happy to know that any of you are still interested.

I hope it clears things up and you understand why I’ve made this decision.

[kraviolis]

why did i immediately cling to the most psychologically unwell characters in nopixel. what does that say about me

[renniferno]

i am not my body

being this weird. meeting of so many disabilities and being queer on top of it has done some really fucky things to my identity and concept of self.

My thoughts on what makes someone who they are as an identity is that it's all choice. You are who you CHOOSE to be. You decide if you like or dislike something, from things as simple to taste in music, all the way up to where you stand on global current events. (I'm not getting into any of that right now, that is not the point of this post.)

Like, who I am in as much as who I have decided to be is someone that tries really hard to make a positive impact on the lives around me. I try to compliment people if I see something worth complimenting, like an outfit or makeup or how they've done their hair. I try to smile when I accidentally meet eyes with a stranger. I try, very hard actually, to be a force of what I perceive as 'good' in the world.

Take that, and wrap it up in also all the choices that make up taking care of myself. I want to be able to have a positive impact on the lives around me, and to do that, I have to be a minimal type of functional. I need to eat or my body breaks down. I need a social life or my mind breaks down, etc etc.

But then you throw in these things that people see as me but are not choices: I did not choose to have adhd. I did not choose depression, or anxiety, or ptsd or the events that lead to it, I did not choose to have a body so full of errors in the code that it is literally falling apart.

So I have this disconnect from who I am and what my body is like. My body isn't me because my body wasn't my choice. There are things I can do to change parts of it, but I can't fix that I have a genetic disorder that said 'hey fuck your connective tissues.' or that my body will attack my intestines if I eat gluten.

I accept that my body is mine, in as much as it is the only way I have to interact with the universe, but it isn't me. I use it to move around, I use it to converse and create, but it's a tool. People see it and assume they see me, but I really don't feel like they do.

I look at my body and see something to hate, something that hurts and moves incorrectly sometimes and does things it shouldn't. I see an identity that people have assigned to me, but not myself.

I feel like other people look at my body and see things that they assume is me. They don't feel the way it malfunctions, they don't know that I can feel my knees grinding together with every step, they aren't in my head when the brain fog kicks in.

It's infuriating because they're using the same senses as me to determine the correct and polite ways to address me, but it really does feel like they're talking to the body, and not me. They see the body as part of who I am, and that's not their fault.

But I am not my body. I'm just the pilot. I don't understand what makes people feel like a gender, fuck, I don't even understand what gender is. I know it's an important part of identity and that people feel very strongly about it, but I have no real way to work the idea in my head. Gender feels like such a body thing.

It feels easier to think of it as a meat mech I have to keep functional as my only point of interacting with the universe at large, something that enables me to take in information.

I didn't really have anywhere I was going with this other than 'im agender because i identify as literally anything other than the meat of my physical form, because i am the choices i've made and the actions I commit myself to and not the broken down form that is my only way to interact with the world' in this weird overlap between disabilities and queer-ness.

and it can't even eat normal bread. like. c'mon. you're going to make me deal with all that AND take away sourdough english muffins? what the fuck.