#i make a wrong choice at a fork in the path and just know that he's going to cut me off with no way of blocking him this time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

keirareidss · 1 month ago

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the road not taken - s.r

♡ summary: you and Spencer argue about the meaning of a poem pairing: spencer reid x mean!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI,smut, kind of OOC spencer, wc: 1.3k request here

It wasn't supposed to go this way. This was supposed to be sometimes sweet shared between the two of you. It was supposed to be a delicate moment, maybe a conversation or a light debate. Maybe a shared kiss or two I'd you disagreed with each other, as if to say 'agree to disagree' or 'i love you, but no'.

Spencer had brought home a poem that he read that day, showing it to you. He'd said that he found it really interesting and the meaning of it was appealing to him.

"The meaning of it?" You'd asked.

"Yeah. It's about a choice. The author is making an important choice and the poem is about the two possible outcomes depending on which choice he makes."

"Well... I guess that's one meaning of it."

"What are you talking about?"

"There are many meanings to the poem. Like, for example, it could be a celebration of nonconformity, how taking the less traveled path could lead to a greater reward in the end, or it could be a reflection of our own self-deception where, in reality, both path's lead to the same place but we choose the believe that we have a choice." You explained. Spencer shakes his head.

"The author only gave one meaning to it, he even uses the specific metaphor of a fork in the road when one has to make a decision." You could tell Spencer was getting a little argumentative and this is normally when you'd back off and let things simmer down but something, maybe the argument itself or just the mood you were in, made you keep arguing back.

"I don't think it's that simple. It's more than just the metaphorical meaning behind the words, it's about the emotional response you get from it. That's the beauty of it, is that it resonates with so many people because it can be interpreted in so many different ways depending on how it makes people feel." Spencer shakes his head, his eyebrows furrowed but you cut him off before he can speak again. "No, you just don't get it Spencer, because you're basically a robot. You don't have the emotional capacity to understand something like this."

You don't realize what you've said until it's out of your mouth and you can see, from the look on Spencer's face, that he's hurt.

"I- I'm sorry." You said weakly. He shakes his head, looking down.

"No, it- it's fine."

"No, Spencer, it-"

"It's fine." He mumbled, standing from his spot on the chair and heading towards the bedroom. You call after him but you don't follow him. You know you made a mistake. Everyone always told you you were too mean to him. You thought he liked it, no, you knew he liked it. But that was when you were being endearingly mean. When you were giving him compliments veiled in degradation. But he didn't like this. This pure sting of wickedness.

You knew you had been wrong to snap at him like that. To take one of his worst insecurities and use it to fuel your argument. You shouldn't have said it and you didn't mean it. But you knew he needed space. When something got too upsetting or overwhelming for Spencer he retreated into the bedroom, pushing himself into the corner of the bed and curling up in a ball. You didn't know if he was overthinking or forcing his mind to go blank. You only knew to give him space for a while before addressing it. So that's what you did. You waited about half an hour before gently knocking on the bedroom door.

"Spencer? Spence, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Can I come in?" It was a few moments before you heard a reply.

"Okay." He called softly. You slowly opened the door, peering into the room. He was where you'd expected, curled up in the bed, his arms wrapped around his knees.

"Hey." You said gently, walking further into the room, letting the door close behind you, leaving the two of you in the dark room, only lit by the warm bedside lamp. "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." You stepped closer, kneeling on the bed next to him.

"It's okay." Spencer said but there was a strain in his voice.

"Baby, it's not okay." You put a hand on his shoulder. "It's not. I didn't mean it. It's not true." Spencer sniffled, avoiding eye contact. "Look, I know I can be a little mean sometimes, trust me, but that was over the line."

"It's not that." He mumbles.

"Not what?"

"I don't mind when you get mean. I just... you're so smart." You scoffed.

"Honey, you're the one with the 187 IQ."

"No, I mean... you were right. Studies have shown that people with a higher IQ will often have a lower emotional quotient and-"

"Spencer, come on-"

"No, it's true! There are instances in which-"

"Spence, hey." You said firmly, cupping his face and forcing him to look in your eyes. "I was wrong. You're not a robot and you aren't emotionally unintelligent. Babe you cried at the life insurance commercial."

"It was created for that purpose! It's supposed to-" He tried to defend himself and you chuckled.

"Spencer, what I'm saying is that just because you're incredibly smart and brilliant, that doesn't mean you're any less emotionally capable than anyone else." He looks away, blushing.

"I think I like it better when you're being mean." He mumbles.

"Oh yeah?" You grinned. He blushed more, shifting in his seat. You tugged his legs down from where they were pulled up against his chest, laying them flat on the bed. You climbed onto his lap, straddling him as he awkwardly kept his arms by his sides. "You want mean? Then behave and you'll get it." You said, undoing his pants. He wanted back against the pillows, sucking in a breath when your hand found his hardening length.

He whimpered, his hips bucking up when your thumb circled his tip and you stopped your movements.

"I said behave, didn't I? I thought you were smart."

"I- I am. I'll behave." You picked up your movements again, stroking his length, using his precum as lube. He struggled to keep his body still, to let you do what you please with him, but he forced himself to. Every time he so much as twitched, you stopped and gave him a knowing look and he stilled again.

"Please please please." He chanted, begging for permission to release.

"Please what Spencer?"

"Please, I need to come. I- I need it." He whined, his eyes squeezed shut.

"I don't know, I think you can hold it for longer, can't you?" You mocked, tilting your head.

"I- I-"

"Or are you too desperate and needy that you can't control your own cock?"

"Ah- I'm- fuck." He cursed and you let out a laugh.

"Who knew you had such a dirty mouth?" You smirked. You continued pumping his cock with your fist and he whimpered, squirming under you as he got closer and closer to the edge.

"Please, I need to cum, I need to- please." He whined.

"Okay, you deserve it, baby, come for me." He moaned as he let go, white streaks spurting over your hand. He twitched and writhed under you until you took your hand away, licking up his release. His eyes were still closed as you laid down next to him, letting him curl into you. He wrapped his arms around your middle, burying his face in your neck. From the crying and the orgasm, he suddenly felt exhausted. You pressed a kiss to his head.

"Rest, Spencer." And he did, falling into a deep sleep with dreams filled with you.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood, And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay, In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh, Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Taglist: @totallynotabuckybarnessimp, @perfectgoopfishuniversity-blog, @superbeaglewitch, @dramioneforevertilltheend. @cynbx, @redorquid

#criminal minds #♡ keira's fics #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst

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elysiadjarin · 2 months ago

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I’m probably completely wrong, but I think there’s an arguable three-way parallel with the new Even In Arcadia album tying together the underlying themes of hurt and healing in all Sleep Token’s music, Vessel’s vague lore with Sleep, and the plot of the Teeth of God graphic novel.

They’re stacked on top of each other, follow me here for a minute.

Vessel’s basic lore with Sleep as far as we know from official statement and what’s made clear in the music is that Vessel is a mouthpiece for Sleep to convey the deity’s message. Willingly or not, Vessel is in fact a vessel for Sleep and is constantly fighting against the inherent bliss of surrendering one’s self into the hands of another and drifting versus the instinctive want to preserve self-identity and free will. So again, we boil it down to fight for self vs surrender all identity.

A lot of the underlying message in all of the albums revolve around some type of deep hurt or trauma (relationship or what have you) and the journey to healing and the struggle it is to gain any ground in that journey. It’s like drowning in cycles of being dragged back and fighting towards healing. Repeat of fight for healing vs surrender to the wounds of trauma.

And then there’s the Teeth of God graphic novel where the whole point of the sci-fi type plot (slight spoilers) is figuring out what the earth has become and what that means for the survivors. It’s essentially a tale of choosing to fight to stay human vs surrendering to change into something else.

I think the whole House Viridian vs Feathered Host doesn’t actually have a “correct” side to choose. I think EIA is actually making it clear that it’s not as simple as a matter of staying in the past vs moving forwards. I think the point is that it’s a fork in the road that each person is going to individually choose to take: either you pick House Viridian (fighting to go back to who you were before the pain) or you pick the Feathered Host (surrendering to the hurt and allowing it to transform you into something beyond the pain).

Tl;dr: I think there is no “correct” choice between House Viridian or Feathered Host because they’re just two different ways to deal with personal trauma because healing isn’t linear and everyone takes a different path to get there. EIA is an album about healing anyway, regardless of the method or path. Both have their own challenges, and that’s why regardless of your choice, The Battle Continues for everyone.

#because vessel is an evil genius #he’s cackling and rubbing his hands like a conniving fly #I just know it #sleep token #sleep token vessel #sleep token band #even in arcadia #teeth of god graphic novel #vessel

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back2bluesidex · 11 months ago

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Dear Darling - JHS [Chapter 1]

Pairing: Serpent king (imoogi)!Hoseok X Human!Reader

Theme: Angst, dark romance, smut, fantasy au.

Wordcount: 3.1k+

Summary: After his bride flees from his clutches and reaches the realm of mortals to reunite with her lover - Hoseok has no choice but to chase her. Upon his arrival to the land of obnoxious humans, he crosses paths with you. You are a small, driven mortal who walks with a load of despair on her back. You are nothing but a delicious meal to him and he wants nothing more than to suck your life out of you, find his runaway wife and return to his kingdom. But much to his dismay, you ruin his plans, make him do what he never imagined doing in 600 years of his life - like making him fall in love and keeping him bound to you.

Warnings: Toxic family dynamics, reader is depressed, mentions of self-harming and su*cide. NSFW!!

Accepting Taglist Requests.

A/N: Let me know what you think of it.

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue

Masterlist | Patreon (Early access to the chapters)

People say snakes are the most poisonous creatures in the world.

They actually haven’t seen or met your family. For that, your own family members, your own blood, are the most poisonous creatures you have ever come across.

Your sister taps the butt of her fork on the glass table making an awful sound. Why is she doing so? Of course because she knows you have misophonia and these kinds of sounds trigger you badly.

“I should get going now” you announce, taking a last sip of your orange juice.

“Why so early, Y/N? It’s only ten in the morning!” your sister says in a whiney voice.

“I have work, unnie.” you reply calmly but don’t forget to emphasize ‘work’ because that’s something your sister lacks in life.

“Only if you listened to me and got married like your sister, you would be living a much more comfortable life.” your mother objects from the other side of the table.

“Mother, I am more comfortable in my lifestyle than I ever had the privilege of being. Yes maybe, I don’t have a hefty paycheck, or shiny cars like you all. But I earn, all by myself, and don’t have to beg my father or husband for parking fees.” The last part of your statement was directed to your sister.

She is way too proud of her beauty, her popular state among the wealthy-family-community. She often bragged about how she had thirty-two suitors at one time who were ready to bring her the moon if she had asked for it.

And she chose the most humble man among them (aka the wealthiest one).

Your sister scoffs at your accusations, “admit that you are jealous, Y/N. I at least have a husband who is ready to worship the ground I walk in. What about you? You are 28 and still alone? No one even approaches you since you decided to become independent. If I am not wrong, you had to buy yourself a cake this year on your birthday. Have you forgotten that already?”

Your grip on the glass goes tight at that. She is not completely wrong. You lost most of your friends one-by-one since you moved out of the house and denied inheritance over your father’s business. All of the guys who approach you knowing your family’s status are either unaware of your situation or just want to use your name as a pawn.

As a result - you are left alone.

Completely alone.

There are days when you think you should just end it all. Jump off a bridge and no one would actually care.

There are also days when you feel hopeful, when you like to believe that you, too, will find someone to love you, to call you their home.

There are days when you accept your fate of being alone. An unsupportive family, mean friends, unfaithful partners have already taught you enough lessons about how cruel life can be, so it’s better for you to just accept it all and move on - even though you hardly know where to move on, where to go, if there is anything to look forward or not.

“Move back to the house, Y/N. Listen to us and I promise I will revise my will.” Your father chimes in with his suggestion. His voice is so soft that anyone would think he is actually concerned about you.

But that’s a facade.

He only wants you back so that he can sell you off to a wealthy guy just like your sister. His business, which is a few steps away from being a conglomerate, will grow much faster. And that will be his key to more power, more money.

“If I had wanted your money from the start - I wouldn't have moved out in the first place.” you offer your final statement as you take your bag and storm out of the dining place, and then the house.

One more moment in this house with these people and you might kill yourself.

As if your family wasn’t enough to annoy you, now everywhere you look, all you see is: Couples.

Couples of various ages, various stages, but all lovey-dovey and cringey.

Reminding you how you are 28 and still so partner-less.

You usually love this little walk from the bus-stop to your workplace. You get to enjoy the fresh air, get to witness the changing colors of seasons, the setting-sun while coming back home and the stars if you end up over-working.

This is one of the few luxuries, feel-good materials that you allow yourself.

Other than these small things - there is hardly anything that excites you, makes you happy.

You shove your hands inside the pocket of your jacket and focus very little on your surroundings. Just when you are a couple of feet away from the building, you see a tall figure standing in front of the entrance, very probably, checking himself out in the glass exterior.

He is unfamiliar. So you initially decide to ignore him and walk past him to enter the building. But as you take a few more steps towards the man, you notice his side profile, his tall, lithe body, fitted dress suit and heeled boots.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat as you drink him in little by little.

He is immensely beautiful.

His chiseled jaw, perfectly mounted nose, sharp eyes, immaculately styled dark hair and full lips - everything makes him the most handsome man you have ever seen.

He is glistening in the sun.. as if there is an invisible outer layer added to his skin.

It’s not that you have never seen handsome guys - Kim Seokjin from the finance department and your uni friend Kim Taehyung are the epitome of beauty but you have never seen anyone as beautiful, majestic as this man.

You feel an instant, unexplainable pull towards him.

It’s something that drains all of your feminism out of your body. You want to walk up to him and sacrifice yourself on his feet even though you don’t know who he is.

Probably upon feeling your burning stare on his face, he turns his head to look at you. And he looks dead into your eyes. His stare is so intense that it feels he is reading you out like an open but untouched book.

You stand there dumbly, holding a boiling eye-contact with him, not knowing how to walk forward or how to even use your legs anymore.

The pretty heart-shaped lips of the man soon turn upwards, bending into a smile. A smile so beautiful, so addictive, so hypnotic that you find yourself gulping a lump that you never knew formed in your throat.

That’s when you realize that you are ogling at an unknown man like a creep. When men stare at you like you are their next meal in public places - you hate it. But the undeniable beauty of this has turned you into one of those people you hate.

So you gather your wits, look away from him and try to walk away from the man, only for him to stop you with his smooth voice, “Miss, are you an employee here?”

Your steps halt as soon as his words enter inside your ear. “Are you talking to me?” you ask dumbly. Of course he is talking to you, there is no one else close enough for him to direct his questions at.

But he seems to be kind. The man nods and murmurs a little, “yes”

“Yeah. I work here. Are you looking for someone?” you offer, trying not to choke on your own spit.

He steps closer to you, sun rays playing on his dark orbs.

Fuck! He’s even more beautiful up close!

“Not particularly. Can you, kindly, tell me where the executive office is?” He answers your query.

“Executive office?” you frown, “there is no such office but there is an entire floor for executives. Do you want me to take you there?”

“Yes. I’d be grateful if you would lead the way.” he replies softly.

Your heart leaps a little at his gentle voice. You can hardly remember when for the last time anyone has been this gentle to you.

Giving him a small smile you start walking towards the building.

During the small walk from the entrance to the elevator, the mysterious stranger gets all the attention of the spectators. You find some of the front desk employees squealing like high school girls.

Even though you cringe at such reactions usually, this one time you know it’s justified. You were very much spellbound a few minutes ago.

Thankfully the elevator is empty when you get inside it with the man following you closely behind. But all of your thankfulness vanishes as you stand there alone with the enigmatic man inside the metal confinement.

His fragrance envelops you.

Fuck. he smells so nice. You think. But it’s not the kind of smell that you usually get a whip of. Neither he smells earthy, nor like aftershave, nor he emits the strong manly fragrance.

He smells kinda sweet - no, not floral or fruity. It’s something you can’t quite explain. It’s hypnotic - dizzying.

“Are you here to see anyone?” You break the silence. Because you might faint from the overwhelming attraction that has started clouding your judgements.

“I am here to report to work, Miss.” he replies simply without even looking at you, while you are staring at his side profile as if he is one of those modern abstract arts pieces in art galleries that you find a hard time understanding.

“Report? W-who are you reporting under?” Is he reporting to someone from the executive floor? Then is he an executive himself? That makes sense because he is wrapped up in wealth from top to bottom - his suit dress, his shoes must cost six months worth of your paycheck.

“Min Yoongi himself.” he whips his head towards you and gives you one lopsided smile. All of a sudden your knees feel weak to withstand your own body weight.

You only nod, reluctant to say anything when he clearly isn’t much interested in conversing with you.

The fifth floor approaches, the elevator door opens with a ding.

“This is my floor, I must get to work now. You need to get out on the seventh floor. I have already pressed the button so you don’t have to.” you bow a little. When you stand straight you find him regarding you with those dark eyes. His irises are shining like black pearls.

“It was a pleasure to meet such a kind soul. Thank you for the help, Miss….” his sentence doesn’t end completely.

You take the hint and say while stepping out of the elevator door all while facing him, “Y/N. My name is Y/N.”

“Y/N” he says with a breathy voice. The fine hairs at the back of your neck stand in protest, “I am Hoseok… Jung Hoseok.”

“Hoseok…” You murmur under your breath, your heart rises inside your ribcage. Your chest feels tight, stomach feels light as you keep looking into his eyes until the elevator door shuts, parting you from the mysterious man who has very clearly encaptured you unlike anything you have ever experienced before.

Hoseok’s heeled boots clink against the expensive marbles of the executive floor. For a moment he dares to compare the interior decoration with his own palace. But the Mins would surely go penniless if they start decorating their office with the priceless stones and gold that serpent king Jung Hoseok’s palace boasts.

The receptionist at floor entry has shown him the way to Yoongi’s room and his super powers easily help him glide around the corridors without having to make him look like an unearthly creature.

So he finds the room rather easily.

He knocks before pushing the door to enter like the human he is pretending to be.

When Yoongi sees him, he stands up abruptly and bends half in a deep bow, “My king, you have arrived.”

“I have.” he replies, “so healthy, full of life and above all so pure, would make a perfect meal for me.” he speaks with a smile tugging at his lips as he recalls your face - a beauty indeed.

“May I have the pleasure of knowing what you are referring to, my king?” Min Yoongi gestures to Hoseok to sit down on the luxurious sofa before he takes a seat himself.

“I had the opportunity of coming across one of your employees. She lent one kind hand to show me the way.” Hoseok pauses and recalls your face, your eyes, the purity that spills through them, “I must admit, she is the purest creature I have ever found. You know Min, my lifespan can get longer with such purity. I need to feed on her, suck her sweet soul out of her body. Will you allow me to do so?”

A smug smile tugs at the corner of Hoseok’s lips. He knows there is no way his obedient servant will not allow him, he is just enjoying the flustered state of Min Yoongi’s pale face that his proposition created.

“Th-that goes without saying, My lord. You may do anything you please. This lowly creature is no one to object. However..” Yoongi bows his head a little more and continues, “May I ask who the employee is?”

“Her name is Y/N. Such a kind human she is. She lent me her lead and showed me the way around this building. But I could see her true self. How unhappy she is with the way this world works. So I have come to this decision of setting her free by feeding on her.”

The smile that now envelops Hoseok’s entire face is nothing but evil. Just the thought of having your soul and being able to live more, rule more already excites him.

He hasn’t felt this excited, enticed in a long time - not even when he found his perfect mate, Soojin. It was probably when he defeated the king of Gumiho and conquered his kingdom, that was the last time he vibrated with this much excitement.

Serpent king Jung Hoseok’s visit to the mortal world is going quite well so far.

“What do you think it is?” Segyeong asks from the seat beside you. You only shrug as a reply as you focus on the stage.

Every team lead and managers have received an email this noon informing that Min Yoongi has an important announcement to make. Hence, everyone who receives the email has to be present in the auditorium before 3 pm.

Since you are leading the strategic planning team of Min corporation - you were automatically invited.

You wait patiently as your colleague goes on and on about her boyfriend, his annoying habits and how much she loathes her life right now.

You are a good listener - you know. But there are occasions when you wish you could stop listening to everyone. You are their outlet, but who is yours? Who listens to you? Whose arms do you fall back on? To whom you go seeking warmth, some comfort? No one.

When will you have someone to love you? When will you fall in love?

Suddenly the question paints a very vague picture of someone in your eyes. It remotely looks like the man you met this morning. It remotely looks like Jung Hoseok.

You shake your head to get rid of the desire that has started bubbling inside your chest since the moment you have seen him.

All the chatters of the auditorium come to a stop when Min Yoongi walks inside the room and stands on the podium.

He clears his throat before starting with the announcement, “Good afternoon everyone. I hope your work has been going well. Today is a special occasion and even though I know it’s sudden, I couldn’t help sharing a very good news with you all.” he pauses for a brief second, as if scanning the room for once then he finally continues, “As you know, the position of Vice President is vacant for a couple of months now after Mr. Choi’s sudden demise. While the board of directors have tried to choose an eligible candidate to grace the position, there have always been one fall out or another. But finally we have come to a conclusion and chosen the next vice president of Min Corporation.” The room grows kind of loud with noises of surprise and whispers. You, too, can’t help but wonder who is going to be the next president. Segyeong is the office-gossip-queen. So, if there was an election going on, she would have known and naturally you would have known as well.

“However, the thing is that… he is not anyone from the company itself. He has been requested to take up the position because the Min Corporation you know would have been nowhere without his help. He is a close friend of mine, a mentor, a genius. Please raise your hand in applause and welcome your new Vice President Mr. Jung Hoseok.”

Your mouth opens on its own accord, your eyebrows shoot up to reach your hairline. Why hadn’t it clicked before? Hoseok said he is reporting directly under Min Yoongi! That definitely was enough of a clue.

Your brooding session comes to an abrupt halt when you feel Segyeong holding your arm in a vice grip threatening to cut blood circulation at any given moment.

“Fuck fuck fuck, Y/N! Who is this Greek god???” she squeals without averting her eyes from the stage.

A loud thunder of claps ring as you look at the man, now standing on the podium.

There he is, Jung Hoseok, standing as if he owns the world. His sharp features, expensive dress suit and million dollar shoes gleaming under the blaring lights.

“Good afternoon everyone. I am Jung Hoseok, and I am honored to be taking up the position of Vice President of Min Corporation. First of all thanks to Min Yoongi for thinking of me to be capable enough. Secondly, thanks to you all for joining me and accepting me. I am grateful to you all.” Hoseok dips his head in a small bow.

When he strengthens his posture, you find him looking directly at you, despite you sitting on the fourth row, despite the dim lighting of the seating area.

“Let’s get to know each other so that we get close.” he concludes his speech with a blinding smile. Something floods in your chest as you feel those to be oddly dedicated to you.

Permanent Taglist:

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#bts angst #hoseok angst #bts smut #hoseok smut #bts x reader #hoseok x reader #jhope angst #jhope smut #jhope x reader #bts x you #bts fanfiction #bts fantasy au #bts

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panlight · 4 months ago

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Something that's bothered me is how the imprintees are pretty much ordinary people. They're mortal and can just die long before the wolf even does unless they make themselves stop phasing (which apparently is hard to do) and the gene is hereditary, so it's not like they can be turned. In fact, the whole "imprinting = higher chance of more wolves" theory gets rendered useless if the imprintee can easily be turned into a vampire and killed just as well.

In the House of Night series (enjoyed it when I was younger, but re-reading it in recent years, ugh the writing is just Not Good), imprinting is also a thing there, but they make it so the imprintee's blood doesn't really appeal to the vampires (or "vampyres", as they're called) other than the one who imprinted. (At one point, the vampyres try to feed on the imprinted human's blood, but complain that it "smells/tastes wrong".) Also, at least in this imprinting there's no loss of free will....

I would've loved for something similar in Twilight's take on imprinting. At least let them have some edge to maybe get any vampires that might feed on/turn them to back off or avoid them (kinda to parallel how the werewolves' existence is connected with the vampires). Heck, they could even just be poisoned by venom instead of turned just like the wolves! It's weird just how..."helpless" the imprintee is; they're just regular people but with a wolf who's head over heels for them.

I've often wondered what would happen if one of the imprintees were turned into a vampire. Would it break the bond or is it so unbreakable that the wolf wouldn't care? Pre-BD I thought for sure it would ruin it, but now that Jacob imprinted on someone who was BORN half-vampire I'm not so sure.

It genuinely makes me worried that if any of the unimpirinted wolf pack members were to meet Nahuel's sisters they might imprint. I hesitate even to speak this into existence. But all the other imprintees are descended from or related to past shifters except Nessie, but as a hybrid Nessie also has the same number of chromosome pairs as the shapeshifters do, which SM went out of her way to tell us. She seems to imply it makes them genetically compatible and if that's desirable to imprinting magic then there are other female hybrids out there.

(Of course, there's also Leah and Nahuel but as far as we know Leah is infertile and they presumably crossed paths when he was there at the end of BD and she apparently didn't imprint).

On the one hand I do kind of like the other imprints are just normal people; one of the ways imprinting makes the most sense to me if it's to help ground the shapeshifters to the real world. They are functionally immortal and invincible as long as they keep phasing; it would be easy for that knowledge and power to corrupt someone just as it corrupts vampires. They start seeing non-shifting humans as inferior, as less than, they lose focus of their role as protectors and let the power go to their head. But if they've imprinted on a regular human, if that human is the center of their world and their #1 priority, it keeps them from straying too far into supernatural land.

(but again . . . not a factor with Jacob and Nessie!)

But on the other hand, I agree that it's frustrating they are so vulnerable. When someone has that kind of power over someone else (the center of their entire universe with no free will), it makes them a target. The Volturi, for example, know all about this now, since Aro touched Edward and Nessie at the confrontation. So if Aro wanted to try and force the shapeshifters to do pretty much anything, all he has to do is threaten or kidnap or whatever the imprintees. What wouldn't Sam do for Emily? Jared for Kim? Paul for Rachel? Quil for Claire? They wouldn't even have a CHOICE about it! The WHOLE PACK tolerated a dozen vampires visiting Forks the sake of Jacob's imprint, after all. The girls are helpless against vampires. It really puts them in a dangerous spot, so even something like "they smell unappealing to vampires" or "their blood is also poisonous like the shifter's" or "like Bella immune to all vampire powers" would help protect them a little bit.

#asks

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anamericangirl · 10 months ago

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This is coming out of nowhere but I wanted to ask a Christian blog a question. I am a Christian. I just want to hear someone’s perspective/explanation on something. God created humanity with free will, because He wanted us to choose Him and not just be robots (as the analogy goes). But isn’t it a Hobson’s choice? Die to yourself but receive an eternity in Heaven vs burn in hell for all eternity. No one asked to be born, and yet everyone is given this ultimatum. Right? It’s technically free will and yet…I know as created beings we don’t get to say what’s fair and what isn’t, but this has been such a struggle for me in my mind. I know I sound a bit cynical right now. Maybe I just need some truth and encouragement.

You're definitely not the only one struggling with ideas like this and free will can be a challenging topic at times.

But no I don't think it's a Hobson's choice although I can see where you are coming from. This isn't a case of a choice between something or nothing, it's a choice between following God or not following God.

It's more like coming to a fork in the road and having to choose which way to go. You can go left or right. You only have two options but it's not an option between something or nothing, it's an option between two different paths.

We can't help or change the reality of the world we are born into, but we are still subject to the rules of the world we are born into and choice does exist in that world. We can make whatever choices we want, which is where the free will is, but what we can't choose is the consequences of those choices. And we are very blessed that God has already told us the consequences of choosing not to follow him.

Just because you have to make certain choices to get certain results or to get a certain place doesn't mean the choice doesn't actually exist.

Like, for example, let's say you want to go to the beach but there is only one road you can take that will get you to the beach. But even though you want to go to the beach you don't like to drive that road because it's long, there are speed traps everywhere and the traffic is crazy.

There's another road a short distance away from that road that is much more pleasant because the traffic is light, there are no cops on it and it's an easy drive but there's just one problem: that road will not take you to the beach.

You are still perfectly free to take that second road, but you are just going to have to be ok with not ending up at the beach because that road goes to a completely different location.

And that's more like what the choices are when it comes to free will. There are good choices and bad choices, wrong choices and right choices but still they are all choices you are free to make. At the end of the day, not all your choices will put you at the same destination, which is why it's important to use our gift of free will to follow God because that's not him just trying to give us the illusion of free will, he's literally given us the instruction Manuel that tells us how to use our free will to spend eternity with him. The rules he gives us aren't for his benefit, they are for ours. If we follow God it's going to make us to only be beneficial for us.

So you have the choice to ignore all this and do whatever you want but you just have to understand you are also choosing the destination this way.

You can choose God or you can choose to live your life separate from God and if you choose to live separately from God he will honor that choice and you will have eternity separate from him as well. And that's why hell is so bad. It's complete separation from God.

If you want to go to heaven and spend eternity with God there's only one way. Only one road will get you there. You are free to take other roads but they don't go the same place.

I hope that was helpful I feel like I went a bit all over the place.

#anon #answered

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mimicha-arts · 2 years ago

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Starry, Starry night

This new picture for the upcoming episode has been released, let's talk about it. Please remember, I live in delusion.

There are several posters on the wall, and the one next to Cheng Xiaoshi - 星空，refers to the film with the same title. Starry, Starry night is a 2011 Taiwanese drama based on a novel by Taiwanese author Jimmy Liao.

Hsieh Xin-Mei used to live with her grandparents up in the mountains. Then she moves to the city to live with her parents, but her family situation is not very good, and she tries to hide from reality in the world of her own imagination. One day, a new student was transferred to her school - a boy named Zhou Yu-Jie.

Despite the misunderstanding at the beginning, both of them are lonely and feel like outsiders in their own lives, befriending one another. When reality catches up, they try to escape to a world that belongs only to them, to see the stars. Do I have to tell you that this story is about grief and sorrows, "the end of summer", journey to adulthood, love across time and distance? About an accidental meeting and fate.

I think it's worth your time to watch, this film is very heartwarming.

You can read the full plot description on Wikipedia, although it will not convey the full meaning, since the film has many artistic images and interesting decisions that convey the story sensitively. If you want to watch it yourself, read no further.

Spoilers … And References. And some beautiful moments that make me THINK.

1. Time

One of the themes is time, the hands of the clock often tick in the background, and at some point the numbers themselves, which indicate train departures, not just stop - freeze.

18:42 - 18:50 - 18:55

Do I believe in coincidences? No.

2. Journey

Their path - an escape to their dream world - passes through a tropical wild forest. On their journey, they try, despite the difficulties, to find the right path to their dream.

Since s2e1, I've been thinking about how much the forest in the back of that vision, ED/OP, is a real forest, a real tunnel, not the symbolism of the "journey". But now, if such a choice is not accidental, I have received answers to my questions, at some point.

In fact, I lost my mind at the moment when they came to a fork in the road, they had to choose their path - they took the wrong path, and were forced to face the same choice, choosing a path, for the second time. Again.

But in the end, the path to the stars ends in a life-threatening situation where they have no choice but "return". Although they both know that this is the end for them, the end of their journey, and the end of their "summer".

3. Puzzles

This story is about art, not about photography, but about paintings and puzzles. Puzzles literally act as moments of remembrance. Although these are not burning photographs, deep in her sleep, Hsieh Xin-Mei follows the image of Zhou Yu-Jie in the night forest, and the entire world also collapses when the end comes.

When Hsieh Xin-Mei woke up from her dream, Zhou Yu-Jie was no longer here.

The search for the missing part for the puzzle based on the painting "Starry, Starry Night" - is fundamental, literally the core to the plot.

The connection of everything, through the years. It's like a promise, it's like an eternal memory of that time.

There are more things I could write about, but I don't want to make this post too long… Just. There is always something about stories with a sunshine-like person, curious, breaking boundaries, talking non-stop, and about a person who quietly looks at the first one, listening to everything with a smile. And it becomes life-changing. I would like to remind you that these are just my thoughts, I'm having fun, maybe seeing something that isn't there. We will see anyway.

But. For real. Put a detail like that into an episode and expect me to ignore it? No. Huh.

I'm just overthinking once again, but Interesting choice :)

#link click #shiguang dailiren #shiguang #mimicha.lc

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092040 · 7 months ago

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The Great Loves - Part 3

It was your birthday a few days ago, K. Happy belated.

You are the one I continually write about through these words and thoughts in cursive, the one tied so close to the cosmic longing so far out of my reach in this lifetime, emotionally. I sometimes wish you would find these confessions and letters to you and confront me, the coward, and ask me why I didn't just speak up when I needed to.

I met you here, of all places, connected through writing and sharing silly posts. What a time it was to be alive, silly teenagers spending late nights dreaming of futures yet to come, to hold each other in the palm of our hands, through audio and cellphone waves. To dream of a potential future then—we were so naive, yet so in love.

I never forgave myself for the decision I made based on my so called "righteous" decisions then. I made a mistake, I admit it. I broke you, I broke us, I broke me. Even then, I was too ashamed to apologize and to ever speak the words that would make the 'could have been' been. You are so close, yet your heart now so far like the cosmic longing I feel buried deep inside my soul.

I wonder where we would be, if I had the courage to pick up the phone, apologize, and selfishly asked for your hand. The would be and could be possibilities fill my body like insects eating me from the inside out.

We will never know, will we?

We were just teeangers when K and I met, coincidentally on Tumblr.

Living in different time zones, good mornings and good nights became a usual thing, like lost souls reaching out into the darkness, holding onto whatever we could at the time. We turned the dark into our comfort, voices comforting one another.

Patiently naive, maybe even dumb, dreaming of one day meeting. How silly, two broke boys so far apart, clinging on to a promise not yet made, silly but still free.

We both felt it when I said those words. I remember your voice your words, and they repeat through my head, even over the years as we have spoken, you joked about it, but I could still hear the hurt in your voice. That was our time, probably our only time, when the stars aligned, when life placed me a fork in the road, I made the wrong choice. Things ended.

We watched as each other burned, rolled around in the fire of others, hurt, never speaking what we both knew were at the tips of our tongues, riding on our lips. Were you also scared K, or was it just me? Were you just waiting for me to apologize, to say sorry, to ask you to do the unthinkable and ask for you back? Or is this just all delusional fabrication of my mind, to make up for the shitty asshole of a person I am? Probably the latter.

It hurt, when you were hurting. When I could not do anything. It was like seeing you walk away slowly, chasing after you, but never catching up, wishing you would turn around, but you never did, did you? Or maybe you looked over your shoulder when I had stopped to catch my breath. I don't blame you K, what I did then was stupid.

We went on through constant cycles of one person being single while the other wasn't. Kept in touch through distant messages, checking up on each other once in a while. Phone calls while chained, unable to speak our truths.

K, I hated myself for letting you go. I can never forgive myself.

Through heartbreaks in New York City, I called you in the middle of the night, in silences, crying, selfishly, without a reason, you listened, you never asked, just waited until I stopped, and we'd hang up. During these nights, I wanted so bad to tell you K, that I wish things were different, that if I wasn't so stupid, so naive, maybe then, we would be on the same paths.

I never worked up the courage to tell you through the tears and I'm sorry.

Even now, though all tears have dried up, when I think of you, you are the only well of tears that are infinite.

I took you for granted K. I don't expect you to forgive me, as I won't forgive myself.

I wish you nothing but the best, the happiness you deserve.

I miss you K. Thank you for loving me and letting me love you from afar. The lesson of us has guided me to this day, to love unapologetically, to hold on dearly to someone because life is fleeting, moments woven in space, two threads momentarily crossing.

Thank you again.

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cassiasalas · 1 year ago

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❝ HOW DO I KNOW WHAT’S REAL WHEN I DON’T EVEN TRUST MYSELF ❞

STATS:

Name: Cassia Salas

Age: 31

Face Claim: Priscilla Quintana

Occupation: Paramedic

Neighborhood: Wrightsville Beach

Gender & Preferred Pronouns: Cis female & she/her

BIOGRAPHY:

trigger warnings: drug use, underage drinking, parental neglect

Every now and then the cosmos aligned just right and a soul was born into a name that proved fate to be something real. Cassia was born to Lara and Alejandro Salas, a couple who had married right out of high school and were going nowhere fast. The two couldn’t seem to figure out adult life and how to live efficiently; money was often squandered too quickly, often as soon as it hit their pockets or bank account so that they could enjoy young adulthood, forgetting they had a young child who needed proper attention and consistent care. Cas or Cassie as most called her, spent much of her time in the care of a neighbor while her parents worked and then burned through their paychecks. A latchkey kid was what she would soon become, finding she had personality traits all too similar to her parents — addictive like her father and hedonistic like her mother. Alejandro had a gambling habit, known locally as a bit of a card shark that would occasionally take a trip to large cities to hit up bigger games and bigger jackpots. Her mother, Lara, was into anything that made her feel good; whether that was dabbling in drugs and drink or getting in a fast car with a man that wasn’t her high school sweetheart turned husband, she was game for it.

It was two weeks before Cassia’s fourteenth birthday when her father never returned home from a weekend rounders trip up in New Jersey. Missing persons reports were filed and investigations eventually went cold after a month of not so hard looking around. Apparently Alejandro had a reputation in Jersey City and Atlantic City which caused the police to tell Cassia and her mother to expect the worst — he was no doubt gone and not meant to be found. Of course the young teen was devastated by the disappearance and permanent loss, though perhaps not so much as she could have been given the lack of depth to her connection with her parents. They had always been somewhat distant and absent, loving but too invested in themselves rather than creating a wholesome family like much of her friends and classmates at school had. Instead of grieving heavily, Cassia opted for fantasy, imagining that her dad was some explorer or an archaeologist working on a dig in some foreign and far away land. She did it because even then Cassia had the thoughts that there had to be more to life than this.

Coping well wasn’t something her mother did when it came to the loss of Alejandro. It surprised Cassia, she had believed they pretty much lived separate and distant lives. Given that she was the only parent now to put food on the table and provide for Cassia, Lara stepped up and cleaned up her act a bit. Nothing was given up in entirety, things simply slowed and didn’t happen as often. The absenteeism of boundaries and structure in her life set Cassia on a crash course for destruction and ruin for her own life, as it seemed every time life led to a fork in the road she always took the path less traveled — always made the wrong choice and went the wrong direction. It seemed she was determined to learn things the hard way, through mistakes and major fuckups. She wasn’t yet fifteen when she gave into experimenting with drugs, and like her mother — anything that got her heart racing. But Cassia always seemed to get caught or into more than she could handle.

After getting caught drag racing cars, it was determined by the state that she wouldn’t be able to drive a car legally until she was eighteen. Despite it being an ‘oh shit’ moment and quite the wrench in her youth, the minor brush with the law couldn’t set her straight. No, she continued to make bad decisions. At seventeen, Cas was expelled from high school for drug possession and if her own vices weren’t bad enough, the young brunette’s attractiveness also turned out to be a problem. She knew how to use her pretty green eyes, sun kissed skin, and sweet talk coming from glistening rosy lips to get just about anything she wanted from someone. Usually it was for a fix or a drink, older men always being the best targets — no matter her goals and dreams in life, Cassia just couldn’t seem to get it right. Holding down a job was laughable, giving up on her own hedonistic indulgences generally always turned out to be too big of a sacrifice, so Cassia went on bouncing through life one or more problems at a time.

The town just seemed to get smaller and smaller, too many people knew her and not in a way that would have Cassia holding her head high when sober. Her mother long gave up on her so the official freedom of eighteen sent the girl to the beach, finding Wilmington to be cozy and a fresh start. She managed to get her GED and enrolled in college, though again, a normal social structure and schedule was too hard to maintain and it took longer than the average for Cassia to earn an associate’s of arts in art — one of her dreams being a painter. It was during her time in college that the Salas began to pull out of society’s labeled boxes. College was also a time where dating a woman opened up to her and just another avenue of life she walked down the path of. Men and women were fun to entertain on the art scene. For some time, she was hardly around, traveling with other artists led her to adventures she wouldn’t soon forget. Such as the trip in New Orleans where she got mugged, or the sex party she somehow ended up at while in Los Angeles — the paths were never clear how she got from one place to the next but it sure as hell wasn’t the rational part of her brain that made the decisions.

Eventually when back in Wilmington, her addictions got her in trouble once again and with the threat of jail time looming over her head, Cassia yet again made a one sided pact with God that if he helped her out of the mess she would go clean and straight. The lesson would have been to take the consequences, sell out her dealer and do a little time then work to live life responsibly. She was beginning to edge near thirty and still hadn’t really begun living properly, something that had festered under the surface and nagged at her in the back of her mind. The DEA had another plan for her, one she stupidly took, and that was no jail time if she worked as an informant. What she didn’t expect was that she would find such a kindred spirit and someone she felt the need to help and take care of but also a man she would fall crazily in love with. Partly, she would tell herself that it was the drugs and the partying she did with him but Cassia had gotten very good at lying to herself. Eventually being between a rock and a hard place, she cracked, the pressure from the DEA and the love she had for the dealer sent her running away. She fed the DEA some fairly useless information and made up the rest, keeping all of the dealer’s secrets before leaving town for a couple of months.

It was one thing to break her own heart over and over again in life, it was another to have someone else’s heart in your hands and to take advantage and hurt someone you loved. Her new vow was to get her shit together, to finally live life as a real adult in the world should. When she came back home, Cassia put herself back into college while working as a waitress to barely make ends meet. She had all the credits needed already to meet the educational requirements as a paramedic, she needed course specific classes and training. When it came to it, Cassia actually surprised herself that she was good at it. She filled out her degree and earned an associates in paramedicine. For someone always on the go and needing such a constant state of stimulus, working in emergency and trauma care was a good fit, but it also was quite a bump in income going from waitressing to EMT and paramedic. With the means to do so she was able to move from her roommate situation downtown to her own place in Wrightsville Beach. Still without a clue what life is all about or how to navigate it, Cassia at least and finally had something going right and well for herself.

#wnc.intro #introduction — cassia salas.#biography — cassia salas.

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seydaseven · 1 year ago

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❝ HOW DO I KNOW WHAT'S REAL WHEN I DON'T EVEN TRUST MYSELF ❞

STATS:

Name: Cassia Salas

Age: 31

Face Claim: Priscilla Quintana

Occupation: Paramedic

Neighborhood: Wrightsville Beach

Gender & Preferred Pronouns: Cis female & she/her

BIOGRAPHY:

trigger warnings: drug use, underage drinking, parental neglect

#wnc.intro #introduction — cassia salas.#biography — cassia salas.

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adcaelums · 4 months ago

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TANIA HARDJA: NO, I DON’T THINK I NEED TO BE LESS AGGRESSIVE

Tania Hardja on being part of the Red Bull family, stepping into a senior role in Racing Bulls, and their personal story — or lack thereof.

By Claire Imondi Photography by Antonio Accardi February 27, 2025

“How much longer until you get here?” is the greeting I get when I answer the call through my car’s phone system. That’s Tania Hardja, one of the top 20 drivers in the world. They’ve been a Formula 1 driver for four years now. Today, I have the privilege to sit and chat with them.

There’s a fork in the road, and when I take the path leading left I have my destination locked in: I’m headed for the city of Faenza, home to the lesser - known Italian Formula 1 team of Visa Cashapp Racing Bulls, often referred to by personnel and fans alike as VCARB, and formerly known as Scuderia AlphaTauri, or Scuderia Toro Rosso, or perhaps, even farther back, as Minardi F1 Team. They have a lot of history.

In all honesty, Tania is only just one piece of the puzzle. Any long - time fans of the sport, or of the team, can probably attest to that. But there’s something about the 26 - year - old’s unique off - track attitude and approach to racing that has led to a lot of attention, both on them and on the team. Maybe they’re just the right cog for the Racing Bulls machinery.

Later, when I sit down with the Indonesian - Italian driver, fitted in Racing Bulls’ trademark white - and - blue fireproof undershirt and race suit hanging around their waist, they tell me, “I mean, it’s not something I think about. I’m here to race. What the viewers think is up to them.” It’s so brazenly unapologetic, as is the rest of Tania, but it still takes me aback.

In a sport like Formula 1, — where everything is for the fans and the public eye — Tania’s lack of care for the media circus sets them apart. Even scoring this interview feels more like them doing me a favour. When I ask about fan engagement, they say, “It’s not really in the job description, is it?” One of the VCARB team members hovering over Tania laughs. I watch the two of them exchange a brief look I can’t entirely make out before Tania addresses me again. “I come, I race, I leave. People seem to like that.” They’re not wrong. Even with the brashness, it’s obvious that their team likes them.

Fans also think Tania is a breath of fresh air. I’ve heard some call them a remnant of another time, something akin to the James Hunt of the modern era. Tania disagrees. “I’m not trying to be anything,” they say. They’re expertly pulling their hair into a single, tight braid as we have this conversation, as if eager to get back into full racing gear and jump into the car as soon as we’re done. There’s a balaclava sitting on the coffee table. I have to remind myself that this is all just for show — all part of the photoshoot that Tania has agreed to take part in. “That’s what everyone gets wrong,” they add. “People like James Hunt had a story to tell. I don’t.”

I’ve done my research before visiting the VCARB headquarters in Faenza. They may be no [Cassius] Fulgora, but I know fans covet the story behind Tania Taviani - Hardja. That’s why I’m here instead of in the small town of Maranello. There has to be something. I tell them as much.

Tania snorts, tying the end of their braid with a plain black hairband. They stand up, and I have no choice but to follow suit. “Sure,” they say, “If you think so.”

The team personnel in the room stand, too. They’re now ready for the photoshoot half of this session. I’m no closer to that story, but I get to have another crack at Racing Bulls’ senior driver with a couple more questions as we head out to watch Tania pose in front of the VCARB 01.

on being part of the Red Bull Junior Team…

“There’s not a lot to say.” There’s a shrug before Tania tucks their helmet under their arm. They’re half - sat on the front of VCARB’s car from last season, just shy of being camera - ready. They turn to look at me instead of the camera, then add, “I mean, all my thanks to those guys up there. Chose me, sponsored me, got me here — but I’m no longer part of that.” It’s true enough. I remind them that they’re still a part of the Red Bull family, to which Tania replies with, “Yeah, but I’m first and foremost a VCARB driver.”

on stepping into a more senior role at Racing Bulls…

“It’s natural progression, right?” they say. “I’ve been here, what? Three full seasons now, and then half of 2021.” They’re starting their fifth season with Racing Bulls in 2025 — an unusual but not unheard of story with Red Bull Racing’s sister team. “The team expects me to play a more senior role. I do, too.” It almost sounds like an interview - ready answer until they add, “It’s not that big of a change.”

Obviously, being the more senior of the Racing Bulls duo when it comes to experience is a big deal. Tania doesn’t say it, but I don’t miss the way their chest puffs out a little when they switch the helmet over to their other side. The curl of their lips look proud. “It’s natural progression. I know my way around here enough to help develop the car. Just kind of a build up of the past four years.”

on the comments about their racing aggression…

“No, I don’t think I need to be less aggressive,” Tania is quick to answer. “I don’t race dirty.” From anyone else, it might sound practiced. Tania just sounds honest — a little defensive, maybe, but who wouldn’t be with a question like that? Pundits from all over have talked about their tendency to go full throttle and hit the brakes as late as possible, sometimes with very little regard for the other car. In Miami last year, it almost took out their fellow VCARB driver. It’s not the only time last season where they’ve been criticised for unnecessary on - track action.

But Tania shrugs it off. They clarify, “I really don’t think I’m aggressive. My job is to race. Drive fast. Get through the corner first. That’s exactly what I do.” And maybe that’s part of their charm.

on getting a promotion…

“Yeah, well, I hope so.” This is probably the most vulnerable they have been throughout this entire interview. There’s a lull between the photos taken, and someone is fussing over the placement of Tania’s braid over their shoulder. They’re paying no mind to any of that, eyes honed in on me. It almost makes me feel a little shy for asking it. “That’s the goal, right? Get a seat with one of the top teams. It’s not just me.” But not everyone is in the unique situation that they’re in. They grew up in Red Bull’s academy and is now occupying a seat in its sister team. Surely the goal here is Red Bull Racing’s main team. Tania says, “If I think about that too hard, I’ll lose what matters. They’ll promote me if I race well.”

on life outside the track…

It takes them a moment to answer this one, opting to pull on the balaclava and tucking the braid inside before they look at me again. “What do you want to know?” they ask. A lot, actually, but I don’t have time to go through my list of Tania’s favourite things. There are things that I’d rather know about than their favourite colour, or their favourite food. I ask them what a regular day looks like for them when they’re not in the factory or attending a race weekend.

They look almost confused. “The same thing a regular day for anyone else would look like?” they answer, except it isn’t really an answer. It’s a little endearing. “I don’t know. Depends. I eat, I work out, I go on walks.” Tania tells me that their regular residence is only a few towns over, in the city of Bologna. “I play games. I go shopping. Sometimes I see my family. Let people come over. There’s no set regular day.” I tell them that makes sense, because that makes them a regular person, to which I get an acknowledgment of, “Yeah, maybe.”

After that last answer, they tug on their helmet over their white balaclava. I got the signal. Interview over. But there’s a couple more photos that Tania needs to take in their full gear, and I’ve been invited to watch until the shoot ends.

I can’t see their face from this angle, but I don’t need to. I need no more than thirty seconds watching the Indonesian VCARB driver, face angled down and shoulders squared, — looking more race - ready than they are camera - ready — to know that this, too, is not for show. This is just Tania Hardja, in all their full honesty. It’s glorious. There’s a story there somewhere, but maybe what we’ll see when they go racing again in Australia is really what we’ll get.

#calm like a bomb. / tania hardja.#graphics. / tania hardja.#writing. / tania hardja.#f1verse.

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quietbluejay · 7 months ago

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Angel Exterminatus Take 2 #15

this time: as usual, both Bluejay and Perturabo want Perturabo dead, and we get the grand reveal about what's going on with Perturabo! (I mean. the fatigue. there's a lot of stuff going on with Perturabo)

time to flash back to the cliff

you know, from when his memory starts

buddy perturabo: maybe i should have just died as a child it would have been a net benefit for literally everyone especially me where do i even start with this

YOU IDIOT, YOURE GOING THE WRONG WAY oh actually fun fact this actually came up recently in a letter from the one substack i follow i don't remember the actual name for this fallacy but it's the "since what i'm doing is HARD that must mean it's the moral/correct choice, right?" "if i'm avoiding everything that could make my life easy, that's the best path"

Sky: Maybe the fact that Dorn didn’t engage in bloody trench warfare to the point of wrecking his legion should have been a sign to Pert that he didn’t need to and shouldn’t spend the lives of his sons like water? Bluejay: seee but that would have required actually thinking and changing course which is not something Perturabo knows how to do

"do you get it TRENCH WARFARE REALLY SUCKS" Perturabo's deeply salty that also nowhere in there were the IW commemorated by artists etc the Fists were, though! the one case was er

im laughing out loud for real here

incredible and that last line…

you mean, the past you're constantly haunted by?

perturabo's thoughts: i was heeding the warnings of the dead YOU'RE NOT, YOU DIMWIT

TemplarWarden: The funny thing is, could Fulgrim have escaped if he just abandoned him it's silly multidimensional stuff Bluejay: that's a good question

me about perturabo right now:

im rotating him in a microwave with a fork Perturabo meanwhile is pondering "she who thirsts" because

i- you know what, the jokes just write themselves i don't need to say anything is anyone surprised this is the case in the gamer legion Perturabo's reached the bottom though but not rock bottom! it's very pretty

very cool looking in various ways

oh yeah

green sun

this came out in 2016 we know McNeill is a weeb but was he also a homestuck? (i'm not saying this as an insult being both a weeb and former homestuck here)

Perturabo finds Fulgrim staring at the green sun

yeah im feeling some homestuck vibes here

i am the x. it is me.

back upstairs, forrix is fighting the ghosts and not doing super well

a thing of beauty when we've repeatedly talked about how ugly it is sure, whatever helps you sleep at night and it probably does! they're fighting like a well oiled machine but one that's starting to break down just like this metaphor oh okay, that's kinda cool Forrix tanks a tank

Forrix does almost die to a flamethrower though but Vull Bronn saves him at the last minute and it's time for Toramino to show up! but we're cutting back to the drama underground Fulgrim has started floating that's never a good sign he tells Perturabo that he always lacked vision which is correct

however, his terrible fatigue and weakness are back bro, i feel that

maugetar means harvester, it turns out yes as was foreshadowed, the stone has been draining him of energy this whole time!

Sky:

Perturabo Mightiest of us all

Wut Perturabo is a lot of thing, but the most personally powerful of the Primarchs???

Bluejay: he's got the most life energy that's what he means either that or Fulgrim just. miscalculated. perturabo isn't usually the first one who comes to mind when you think of endurance and internal reserves though yeah Sky: …but life energy in 40K is just either bioelectricity or warp energy Bluejay: of all the 40k rules this book has broken w.r.t. the Eldar, you think it's going to be consistent here? Sky: okay fair

Checkerheart: Fulgrim isn't usually the first one who comes to mind when you think of math skills and logical reasoning Bluejay: hey, fulgrim would like you to know he's smart! he knows what a fibonacci sequence is and everything second response: he's still smarter than perturabo

Sky: I’m just going to assume Fulgrim is lying again because it amuses him, and the real reason is that Pert was just the only Primarch dumb enough to be convinced to make this trip

Why is Fulgrim not using that to mock Pert? IDK, he’s on warp drugs or w/e

TinyGladiator: I could see if Fulgrim literally just doing this to fuck with Perturabo's ego

this is funnier because every time Horus thinks about Perturabo in these books he's going "ugh, him"

Sky: Lol imagine if Pert had died here

I don’t think Horus would be personally upset at losing Perturabo but he would definitely be upset at losing a Primarch and a Legion

And cracking Terra without Pert is…not impossible, given how much warp nonsense Sol was drowning in by the end of the Siege, but definitely harder

Bluejay: it's just funny he goes for Perturabo as being valuable because of being important to other people when he's the one that no one really cares about perturabo is also still dealing with the serious fatigue

Fulgrim: yeah so i'm not the same person you knew Fulgrim: it allll started with the Laer Fulgrim: turns out the gods they worship are real!

lol lmao also calling a keeper of secrets a god Fulgrim: yeah so i got possessed by one Fulgrim: ew Fulgrim: we eventually learned…compromise

fulgrim is now t-posing in midair and all the soulstones in the walls start flying towards him because that may as well happen with an effort, Perturabo manages to get to his feet, he'd rather die standing up and you know what, if i have suffer this so do you it's not that i think it's badly written per se but it makes my skin crawl

fulgrim, i'm begging you to be a little less weird about this

also i'm thinking about "why perturabo, specifically" a) he's dumb enough to fall for this b) he did in fact need him for labyrinth thing c) discount Ferrus

back on the surface, Forrix gets trapped under Perturabo's exploding car at least that's what i think is going on yep juuust as Toramino starts firing at them

you know, I genuinely thought Forrix died first time around I didn't know he had plot armour next time: some focus on my beloved son going full Khorne, and not one but TWO meme edits. Check out the next Iron Warriors Comedy Hour for more bad jokes and also Fulgrim caressing Perturabo's face before stabbing him. Maybe eventually we'll get to thanksgiving turkey soulstone fulgrim, but that's still a bit of a ways off.

#bluejay reads warhammer #warhammer 40k #horus heresy

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poetry-by-quinn · 9 months ago

Text

To Be Determined

By Quinn B

I can tell I’m in the midst of beginning

A new stage of my life.

While I am anxious about

What my future may hold,

I’m also very excited

To see what is in store.

Not too long ago,

I felt as though I stood at a fork in the road

With infinite choices of paths to take

Countless different careers exist

And I can only pick one at a time.

Due to my habit of indecision,

Along with my consistent worries

That I’d choose wrong & waste time

As well as my pessimistic self expectation

That I’ll give up when things get difficult

(Grown from my past tendency of doing so)

I felt stuck in my feelings of inadequacy-

Believing myself incapable

Of commitment and success,

But I realized:

While these feelings were genuine,

They were mostly unnecessary

I was trying to find something

I never personally sought

Because I felt external pressure to achieve

More than I honestly wanted out of life

So I tried to rush the process

Of finding my way in the world

And just stressed myself out.

While the eventual choice

Of a more serious career

(And my frets and concerns

Surrounding my shortcomings),

Aren’t necessarily gone,

I recently came to understand:

I have already been walking

The way I want to go

For a good while,

And sometimes the best path for now

Is the one we have grown used to.

I don’t need to worry yet

About what to do next in life,

Although I do know I don’t like to stay

Stagnant for too long,

Because I do know I can get bored

And that often leads to impulsive behavior.

But I don’t feel that way here,

And I won’t invent a problem to solve

When there really is none.

There’s no need to search

For something new and better

When I already have

A functioning means to an end

That I’m perfectly content with.

I have decided to invest

A bit more time into

Working and making money

Than I’m usually used to,

But I know I’m more than capable

Of rising to this self imposed task.

In order to not drain my energy

And allow my positive attitude to dwindle,

I’ll be pickier with my free time:

I will only do things that I want to

As long as they also serve me.

No more drugs except weed,

And no smoking until I’m done for the day.

No more all-nighters.

No more hookups,

Unless I have the time and energy,

And even then I’d rather not risk it.

Romance will be on the back burner

(Where it’s mostly been recently),

And I’ll only nurture the friendships

That bring me consistent joy.

I used to lack the willpower

To maintain a healthier lifestyle,

But I recently realized:

The only one who can live for me

And make my life what I want it to be

Is me.

If I rely on others to dictate my choices,

Or if I make choices that actively defy

My best logic and forethought,

I’ll ultimately just be miserable.

All I want

Is to be happy and spread love,

So I’ll only make the choices

That will enable me to do so.

And while I’ll never be rid of

My worries and anxieties,

I can learn to manage them,

And use them as tools to better my life

So I don’t get stuck in my negativity.

There is no way to avoid negativity,

So my best option is to

Find the best thing to do with it.

So I’m excited and anxious

For what may come my way soon,

And I’m glad to say:

I truly believe I’m well on my way

To where I’m meant to be,

And I couldn’t be happier for myself.

I have no clue where I will be,

Or even an idea of what I hope to be doing

In five to ten years;

But that’s okay with me for now.

If there’s anything I’ve learned

From my elders, peers, and experiences,

Nobody has their life figured out

Until they suddenly do,

And even then

The story isn’t over.

There will always be things to experience

And people to love along the way.

Life goes on,

And since I’m here, I too shall persevere.

And I will strive to do all I can healthily do

To be and feel the best I am able to,

And make life as beautiful as I can

For myself and everyone I meet

While I have the fortune to exist as

The collection of experiences that I call me.

July 2024

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ohleander · 1 year ago

Text

7.8.24

Been thinking a whole lot today and also feeling a whole lot today. Mostly I am so tired and I just need to drop this odd filter I keep on myself. The more I try to delve, the more I realize how untapped and restricted I've kept myself. Its been challenging changing my own ways, and its got me real tired but also I know its gotta go back up soon. It always does, its my nature. Coming to terms with my realities and simply sitting with them for a while without trying to hurriedly manipulate or change them because I am ashamed to have them. I've always been ashamed of being flawed and yet.. and yet I really am not flawed. Whether one realizes it or not, as young as you begin, you start walking one way in the woods for a really long time, and things seem to be going well and just fine, but you're not arriving at any destinations.. its the same scenery over and over for a good long while.. at some point in the past, you took one side of the fork and today you realized that maybe this path wasnt the one.. maybe you realize you've got to back track some because you left something behind, or you're not feeling as whole as you would have liked to. Its frustrating to have to sit with that kind of realization and feelings of remorse and mourning for the time spent and the mistaken thoughts.. its not really mistaken though... time spent is simply time spent.. I have no idea what my goals are. I have no idea why I'm walking the way that I am so why do I mourn the "mistakes"? Why is backtracking so shameful? Why is it so bad to be wrong or to have made the less correct choice? Is it because at one time it felt unsafe? Yes, definitely yes. I've been walking with feelings of worry and fret for quite a while. Its nearly as if I suspected it all along and either wouldnt speak up or wouldnt listen to myself.. I didnt trust myself to be a safe space to feel my own thoughts. I treat meyself how I am treated, I mirror and I copy and this realization is extremely heavy to hold. But its okay to rest for a while. Still, I need to rest with it for what it is. I copy and I mimic and I pretend and I imagine sooo well.. I wonder why and I wonder what benefit this has for me. Being such a mimic but also being someone who is so fiercely independent.. Which one is the side I'm overcompensating with? I teeter back and forth between thriving alone, feeling the most myself when I'm alone and needing a very specific connection. Who is it that I miss? Is it me or is it someone else? Someone else I know but have never met? What makes me so nervous to simply be myself. Why cant I recognize when I am safe?

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synthetickitsune · 3 years ago

Text

Crescent Moons | Gumiho!Lee Soohyuk | [s]

Requested prompts: ➢ “Your heart is beating so fast right now.” ➢ Scaring them ➢ Supernatural/Monster!AU ➢ You have always wanted to caress every monster. ➢ I confuse instinct for desire - isn’t bite also touch? Word count: 4.7k Warnings: suggestive, blood & blood drinking, mentions of scarring ♫ The Fox's Wedding - Hatsune Miku & Gumi ♫ Supermassive Black Hole - Muse

The sun is setting, the evening getting darker. Purples and blues paint the sky, making it difficult to see. Therefore once you reach the fork in the road, you opt to walk the path along a meadow where the sky remains visible, and once the sun disappears, hopefully the moon will guide your way.

It’s quiet, the birds don’t sing and neither do insects perform their music. You’ve been taught that nature is never silent. If it is, you need to turn back to where you came from and run.

You don’t.

The unnatural silence nor the darkness stop you, you walk on, prompted by your curiosity. You wonder whether he’ll make the joke about the cat should you meet him. You think you might not, or maybe he’s just taking his sweet time.

The moon is weak. Its light does not suffice to guide you and you stumble. It’d be wise to turn back while you still can, but you’ve made enough bad choices today, so you keep going.

You keep going even as the silence deepens, so much so it’s deafening. You’re almost tempted to hum to yourself, if only to make sure you can still hear. To feel something other than the cold.

And you keep going even when you feel a sudden rush of air brush against your body. Not a leaf moves, there’s no breeze. Then it happens again and you hesitate. The third time there’s something solid nudging your body, featherlight and if you weren’t so hyper aware of your surroundings, you might’ve dismissed it as hallucination. It’s scary, of course. Nothing is quite as terrifying as trusting blindly - because what if you’re wrong. What if this is not him.

Your heart races in your chest, breathing becoming fast and shallow. Your body is ready to attack or to flee. Yet your mind remains curious above all, strong enough to will your body to keep walking slowly.

You don’t stop even as the blue fox fires appear and illuminate the path. You let them hover closer, trusting their wielder not to harm you. That might be the worst of your today’s choices yet.

“If they touch you, you’ll be burned to a crisp in a blink of an eye,” the gumiho speaks, his deep voice resonating somewhere above your head in the trees, “Body and soul.”

“Are they warm?” you smile, hand reaching towards one of the little flames. Despite the bravado, you’re trembling. There’s a hiss, and the fires disappear. All but a few that float around the figure you’ve been searching for.

He looks scary in the darkness like this, sharp features illuminated by fire only. Yet his eyes are as warm as ever - as warm as a fox's eyes can be.

“It’s nice to see you,” you greet the spirit, standing still. You never dare to make the first move.

“Clearly,” he scoffs, “Did you miss me so much you’d risk your life?”

You note the angry undertone in his voice. Soohyuk may try to seem cold - and he can be, sometimes - but most of the time all the complexities of his words and actions make you wonder whether it’s real. Maybe that’s the mask he chose for himself, or maybe that’s him. Either way, you live.

“I was just asking, I didn’t plan on touching the flame,” you sooth, smiling at him gently, “But I did miss you.”

He perks up, the black fuzzy ears on top of his head moving cutely. You don’t comment on it, though, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate it. His tail is barely visible in the darkness too, further blending in with the dark robe he’s wearing. You wouldn’t notice it if he didn’t slowly sway it to the other side of his body.

“Did you?” he hums, and he seems almost satisfied to hear that, “The little human got lonely? How’s that, when you’re surrounded by so many others.” You watch as he makes a couple steps closer to you, allowing you to see him better.

At first you thought he must be shy, talking to you without showing his face the first couple times you’ve crossed paths. Now you’re not that sure. It’s just as well possible he simply likes acting mysterious and playing with you. You must admit he does a great job keeping you on edge.

“There is such a thing as missing a particular person,” you answer, “Don’t you remember?” If he wants push and pull, you might as well play along. He smirks, circling you like a hawk. His fingers dance playfully along your bare arm as he passes behind you.

It’s especially nerve wracking, not being able to see him. And you know he takes pleasure in that.

“I’m not one for sentiment,” he shares, dipping his head to speak right into your ear. You doubt it. It’s yet another foolish act, to try to analyze his behavior and make assumptions about his true character, but you’re not afraid to make mistakes. You’re biased too, you admit, however it’s impossible not to be when the subject in question is Soohyuk.

“Then you’ll just have to take my word for it,” you shrug, suppressing a shiver as he finally stands in front of you, looking down into your eyes. His fingers slip down your arm, curling around your wrist to press on your pulse point. He studies you, tilting his head slightly for a second. Your heart is beating rapidly, your breathing signals fear too. But you’re not afraid.

"You should be careful. There's more of my kind roaming around than you know," he tells you as he lets go of you.

"I thought you said you were a solitary kind, and this is your domain, isn't it?" you ask. You don't dare suggest it should be safe for you then, because it isn't.

"Solitary doesn't mean we don't crave company, occasionally," he sends you a playful look. “Or that we don’t like causing mischief, provoke each other.”

“You should watch your tongue,” you hum, returning the playfulness written on his face, “If you don’t, you might make it sound like some rogue fox killing me would be asking for trouble, not a dinner invitation.”

“Wouldn’t it?” he wonders, “Other humans might come look for you and disturb me.” You laugh. You can’t take him seriously when he observes your reactions so closely. It’s almost like he wants you to take offense at his nonchalance. Then again, he is a trickster spirit. You never know whether he means his words or not.

“I’ll be careful,” you promise, “You made me swear only you would be allowed to feast on me anyway.” It’s his turn to laugh. The sound used to be tainted with malice, and perhaps it still lingers somewhere, but lately it just seems relaxed. Comfortable.

“Did I?” he tries to recollect. Truth be told, he doesn’t remember these details. With eons of memories and only so much will to collect them, he needs to choose wisely which to keep. And these words, this promise, it didn’t seem important back then. “Is that what you came here for? To be my dinner? What would you offer me to feast on, hm?”

“My body,” you answer, watching Soohyuk watch you. His eyes scan your figure as they did so many times before. Always with the same hunger. He licks his lips.

“And if that’s not enough?” he challenges. Even if his face remains stoic, his tail betrays him. It flows behind his body, but its tip is curling from one side to another. What is it that he’s feeling that won’t allow him to relax?

“Then my flesh,” you offer, “My heart, if you’d accept it.” His eyes squint, darkness threatening to overtake them before the usual teasing glint returns.

He moves faster than you can see then, and when you focus on him again, he’s so close. He swoops in front of you, his hands embracing your body so you can’t escape, can’t even take a step back. You wouldn’t try anyway, but it’s comfortable to have him hold you. He’s warm, and you might have underestimated the chill of the night.

"Ah ah ah, love," he chides as he tilts your head up with his fingers, "Haven't you heard? Foxes like to snack on livers."

He holds you gently, one hand on the small of your back, the other trailing down until it’s absentmindedly drawing patterns on the right side of your torso, just under your breast. Where your liver is.

He says that, but you know any piece of your flesh would satisfy him.

All the books you’ve read said that the gumiho are evil beings, man-eaters. Sometimes it could pay off to believe fairy tales.

You try to even out your breathing, but you were never good at controlling how your body reacts. Much less around him. You know you’re breathing ridiculously quickly, shallow breaths filling your lungs with his scent. The fox seems to enjoy it, watching you with a glint in his eyes. You’ve learned he likes to study all your reactions closely. It’s almost eerie, the way he’s aware of the effect he has on you, what the tiniest touch or any single word does to you.

He knows what to expect. So he’s already smirking, one sharp fang pulling on his lip, when you jump slightly as he caresses your bare ankle with his tail. He steadies you as you grab onto his clothes, pulling you closer until your chests are almost touching. His hand is still separating you, stroking from your ribcage to the center of your chest, resting there.

“Your heart is beating so fast right now,” he says with a voice that doesn’t match his expression. He looks playful, almost teasing, but his voice is soft and betrays his inner feeling of wonder. Affection, almost. “Are you scared?”

“You scared me before,” you chuckle, a little breathy, “But I’m not scared of you. You should know that already.”

“Prove it,” the challenge is whispered as tenderly as his question earlier.

You smile up at him, letting go of his clothes to lay your hands on his chest. He’s doing it again, you notice. Standing straighter, posture tense like a warrior ready to strike. You don’t know where his tail is, only that it lingers somewhere around your legs. He’s tripped you like that a couple times before, and while there is a possibility of him doing it again right now, you doubt he will.

You lean closer, but as you do, you feel his claws extend. Their sharp tips dig into the flesh of your chest only slightly, nowhere near enough to so much as tear your clothes, even if it'd be very easy for him to do. His eyes remain stoic, merely observing. Playing games as always. It’s nothing you’re not used to, and maybe you should’ve learned. Maybe you’ll wish you did.

Without hesitation, or anything that he could consider a warning sign, you lean further into him, your hands sliding up to cup his jaw. There’s pain, only for a second. You hear fabric being ripped, and in the back of your mind you realize you’ll miss this piece. You feel as your skin dents, and then the tips of his claws puncture the tissue and stab into the layer underneath. But as quickly as it all happens, he also pulls his hand away. Only five crescents where blood begins to pool left as a memory of his touch.

It stings a little. Then again, you’ve cut yourself deeper when cooking. Is it that you’re that bad of a cook or is he deliberately avoiding hurting you?

Now it’s you holding him, his hands wrapping around your wrists with utmost tenderness as he signals for you to let him go. His eyes fall to the front of your shirt, a couple red specks appearing. It’s only bleeding lightly. The cuts are not even that deep. So why does he look so panicked for a second before he blinks the feeling away?

He could easily free himself, your fingers are merely tracing his jaw and cheeks. Yet he doesn’t dare to part from your touch. His eyes glare at you, yet their fire is extinguished.

“Now you look like you’re scared,” you say to him gently, not missing the way his gaze hardens for a second. His ears twitch on top of his head. Perhaps you’re being too cruel. You know a lot about his kind, he’s explained enough to you. You know that what you’ve done was dangerous, after all you feel the blood trickling down your stomach. And with the way he visibly tries to hold his breath and not sniff around, you wonder whether perhaps you really will regret your actions.

“Foxes are unpredictable,” he’s told you once, “We’re always hungry. Blood drives us crazy.”

“Why would you do that?” he says, voice on the edge between fragile and hungry. But he’s made that joke enough - that you could very well end up in his bed or on his plate. So far he’s always let you go. Maybe you’re getting tired of that.

“Didn’t you say so yourself?” you smile gently, fingers never ceasing to caress his face, “That once I approach a fox of my own will, I must be ready to embrace death?”

Soohyuk hums, remembering the memory faintly. That was when he had no expectation of you ever coming back to this rarely traveled road after he appeared in front of you, much less of meeting you time and time again, and then the impossibility of… well, perhaps that’s better not said.

“Why lean into it?” he inquires, his ears twitching again. Remembering their softness, you long to touch them. They’re sensitive too. Maybe what you really long for is any sense of control. Maybe you just hope to see him vulnerable too.

“I was curious what will happen,” you admit, hands sliding down to his neck. He growls quietly, a soft rumble in his chest. Why do you risk so much this evening? You’re not sure yourself. “And what you will do.”

Your hands wrap around his neck. Not enough to choke him, but you’re surprised he lets you anyway. Perhaps he’s curious too. You trace the outline of his windpipe with your thumbs, grazing his Adam's apple with your nails. You still don’t use any pressure in your touches.

“And what do you think I did?” he says. You can feel the vibrations of his voice in his throat.

“I told you, didn’t I?” you chuckle softly, “I think you got scared. Just for a second.”

“And then what?” he muses. Much like you did, he also leans forward. You follow the movement, never allowing your hands to press on his neck. Your lips quirk up, eyes falling from his gaze to your hands. He offers you his vulnerability. Nonetheless, even in this position it seems like you’re just a helpless prey. You run your thumb over his Adam’s apple, acknowledging his gesture before letting your hands slide back to his hair. You won’t hurt him.

“Then you wanted to reach deeper, didn’t you?” you whisper, pulling yourself closer to him. He lets you, his own hands falling to your waist and wrapping around you. “You wanted to hold my beating heart in your hand.”

“Why would I want that?” he asks lowly, his lips brushing against your ear in this new position. If you a tremble didn’t pass through your body at his voice, it would at the light scratch of his claws on the small of your back.

“Because it’s the nature of foxes,” you murmur, “To hunger, to crave human flesh. Or maybe you just want to feel someone so close and so intimately you don’t know how to go about it any other way.”

“And that doesn’t scare you?” you hear the playfulness in his voice, but the caution too. It’s comforting. You close your eyes and lean on him more.

“Why would it? It’s you. It’s your nature, it’s just how it should be,” your hands travel up, carding through his hair until they brush against the base of his ears. He purrs, resting more of his weight on you. You’re careful, only delicately stroking the black fur of his ears with slow motions. “You warned me. That’s already more than I could ask for. Being scared of you would be just like being scared of the rest of the world. Anything I do or encounter in this life might get me killed. You’re at least honest about it.” He scoffs.

“It’s really more like poking a sleeping tiger,” he counters, “You’re bound to get eaten.”

“Then why’d you get scared?” you hum, a faint smile on your lips when you feel his body tense. It passes so quickly you’d miss it if he wasn’t leaning on you as much as he is. You feel the muscles moving his ears strain with effort for them to stay still. “You never once denied it.”

“What does it matter anyway?” his voice is light, unconcerned, “Haven’t I told you before? Everything’s just a plaything for foxes.”

“You don’t get attached to playthings,” you almost sound like you’re scolding him, “And you can’t get scared if you’re not attached.”

“What do you know, little human?” he huffs, “You’re still so young. You don’t know about the world.”

“Perhaps,” you accept. He might be right, or he might be defensive. Either way, you allow it. You let go of him too, giving him the freedom to pull away. He does eventually, after a few more seconds.

“What you’re doing is dangerous,” he warns again. His arms remain wrapped around your waist. “It will get you killed.”

“Eaten?” you smile. He watches you, mischief sparkling in his eyes as he grins right back, self-assured.

“Naturally,” he agrees, “You can never know what’s going on in a fox’s mind. Especially in one that’s clouded with the scent of human blood.”

“I can’t,” you admit, “Tell me? Teach me?”

His lips twist in a smirk. His eyes fall to the crimson patch on your chest and he raises his hand, using it to cover the spot. He pushes only gently, but it makes you grimace anyway.

Then, suddenly, he smooths his robe back and fixes his posture. Without breaking eye contact, he kneels in front of you. It surprises you, and he chuckles lowly at your reaction. He doesn’t let you step away, both hands holding you in place with a firm grip on your waist.

“Don’t run away from your lesson, little one,” he scolds this time, “You asked me to teach you, after all.”

You relax quickly. This is what you talked about. It’s just the way he is. It’s his nature to be unpredictable, and you accept it unconditionally. You nod at him, telling him you’re ready to listen.

“Some part of me wants to tear you apart,” he sighs, nuzzling into your chest, ruining your clothes further, “And the other wants to heal you.”

“I can imagine the pleasure,” a purr rumbles in his chest as he speaks. You feel it in your fingertips as you run your hands over his back. “Maybe I’d shift into a fox. Snuggle to your bleeding chest and soak my fur with your blood as I lap it up.”

“Perhaps I’d eat your liver first,” he continues, his voice getting thoughtful, if only for a second, “Then your lungs, the intestines, until you’re hollow. I’d crawl inside you, curl up there and sleep peacefully.” Your hands move higher, playing with his hair as he speaks. He’s rubbed his face against your chest enough for his face to be decorated with streaks of your blood when he looks up. His eyes are so dark and wide, almost entirely black. He’s not trying to cover his fangs anymore. You can’t decide whether he’s looking at you like a fool in love or a lunatic about to devour you.

“It’d be so warm. So safe,” he whispers while looking straight into your eyes, “After so many centuries, I’d feel at peace.”

You almost pity him. Such a powerful being, centuries or millennia old, kneeling in front of you. Your hand falls from his hair to his face, brushing away stray strands with all the love you have for him. You brush away the blood too, collecting it on your thumb before offering it to him, the digit resting on his lip for just a moment before he sucks it into his mouth. His eyes close, brows furrow, and when he lets go, he sighs as if he’s feeling pleasure. Yet he looks like he’s in so much pain.

“Why don’t you do that, then?” you ask, nothing but genuine curiosity and sympathy lacing your words. The gumiho leans into your hand that lingers near his face. Sometimes he really does resemble a little fox. Even his ears flatten against his head. You can’t resist running your free hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. Then you rest your hand on top of his head, carefully stroking the rim of one of his black fuzzy ears.

“What if I’m just confused?” he hums, nudging his nose against your hand, asking for more attention. It’s so strange to see him like this. Almost like he’s at your mercy, when it’s really the other way around.

“Confused about what?” you ask, gently stroking his cheek with the back of your hand. He enjoys your touch for a beat longer before his eyes open again and meet yours. You remember a biology lesson you’ve had years ago.

Foxes are predators.

“About the obvious, my dear,” he says, patiently, as if it really should be clear to you. His hands travel from your hips, up towards your waist and higher still. All the way up to where the fabric of your top was torn. His gaze turns questioning. Wordlessly, you give him your consent.

His fingers curl around the fabric before he tears it in half, cleanly from top to the bottom. He smirks at the gasp that falls from your lips. You shiver as the night air envelops your bare skin. Strangely, you trust him. You know he’ll take care of you, should you survive the night.

But while the shivers caused by the chill of night could be easily overcome, nothing could stop the tremors and shivering he forces out of your body with his mouth on your skin.

He laps at the drying droplets of blood, massaging the skin on your stomach and chest with his tongue to clean up the redness. He fights to keep his eyes open at the taste.

“What I’m confused about, precious,” he mouths against your skin, “Is how exactly I want to eat you.”

“But then again,” he sighs, chuckling a little, “I suppose it’s the same with your heart.”

“My heart?” you ask, nearly breathless. The tenseness in your abdomen tightens at the mirthful look he gives you.

“Your heart,” he confirms, something between a loving smile and smirk on his lips, “I contemplated whether to eat it or to cherish it.”

He hums as he returns to his task, licking up until he reaches the little crescent stab wounds between your breasts, right above your heart. “I took so long thinking about it that before I could make a decision, you just gave it to me. All pretty on a silver platter.”

“And what about now?” you swallow, somewhat uneasily, “Do you know what you’re going to do with it?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” he nuzzles into your skin, kissing all around the wounds. It's a sensitive spot, even more so now, and you hiss with each of his kisses. His tongue presses into the semi circles, drawing more pained whimpers from your lips. His hands sooth over your waist as he pulls away. He admires his work, both the moon-like indents in your skin and the blooming marks around them.

He looks hungry. Blood stains his lips, and you wipe it again once more with a patient smile. He seems amused by it. The smirk present on his lips even as he licks the ruby liquid off, tongue wrapping around your finger.

“You should taste it yourself,” he suggests, resting his chin on your stomach, looking up at you, a satisfied expression adoring his face.

“I know what my blood tastes like, and it doesn’t bring me any pleasure,” you shake your head.

“How ignorant,” he sighs, leaning back to look over the marks on your chest once more. You see something you haven’t seen before in his eyes. You can’t describe it, and you’re sure he wouldn’t answer if you asked. It’s a warm feeling, however, you’re sure of it.

“Let them scar,” he whispers, raising his hand towards the shallow cuts left by his claws. He runs his fingers over them gently. “So you’re always wearing my marks.”

“Does that mean I’ll get out of the woods alive tonight, Mr. Fox?” you tease, unwisely, “Does it mean, perhaps, that you’ve decided to cherish my heart?”

He smirks, tilting his head slightly. You recognize the fondness in his gaze, even if it only flickers there for a second.

“No, not tonight,” he tells you. Laughter spills from his lips as your face pales instinctively. Yet he knows you’re not scared - not as he wants you to be, not as you should be. He wonders how come you’re so ready to accept death at his hands. Why you’d risk your life, why you’d embrace him so. Perhaps one day he’ll ask you. Perhaps he’ll devour you right after getting his answers. Or perhaps he’ll spend the rest of your days pondering the unspoken questions by your side.

“Tomorrow morning, maybe,” he thinks aloud and takes a moment to take in the way your breathing quickens, “If you’re lucky.”

“There’s something I’m curious about though,” he continues with his fingers still caressing over the marks, “Can you make it until I make these into the phases of the moon?” You feel a shiver run down your spine at the suggestion, at all its implications.

“That would, of course, all depend on you, Soohyuk,” you reply, and this time it’s him who feels his body react to your words, to his long forgotten name being said aloud. You caress him again, fingers tracing his jawline. How is it that you don’t fear him? “As you said, foxes are fickle creatures and their moods can be dangerous. I’m a guest in your world, and I’ll only stay as long as you allow me.”

He smiles, closing his eyes and you know it’s so that you don’t see the emotion in them. For such a long time he was alone, without the need to hide his feelings, so now that there is that need, he lacks practice. It’s endearing. All the more so as he once more leans into your touch. His lips press a kiss into your palm.

“You’re a welcomed guest. For the time being,” he says. Is it a threat? Is it reassurance? Is it a fact? Or is he trying to persuade you of it, or maybe even himself? You’ll never know, but it doesn’t matter.

What does matter is him shifting forward, lips attaching to your bare stomach again, and his claws resting softly on your waist. His teeth graze your sensitive skin.

Fox’s hunger is hard to satisfy.

In the sky, the moon is waning. Ready to die and be reborn.

You watch it as he guides you through the woods. Maybe you’re the same, both dying tonight.

The memory of the moon as well as the night remains permanent on your skin. The fox makes sure the cuts he made above your heart decorate your body forever.

You leave his den with the sunrise, wearing his robe and his marks.

#lee soohyuk #lee soohyuk x reader #lee soohyuk scenarios #lee soohyuk imagines #fanfic #suggestive #requested

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spyglassrealms · 3 years ago

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apotheosis

/əˌpäTHēˈōsəs/

(noun) - the ascendance or elevation of a person to divine status.

They say I saved the world.

I have tried to tell my people that the world is not safe; that no world is safe. That no world could ever be safe, not forever. Safety is a tranquil pool through which the river of history flows. I know the truth, or at least part of it, thanks to the man I met that day. No one else knows about that man, and he may not have even been real, but I must speak of him all the same, for he taught me something I will never forget. He imparted to me, in a sense, the meaning of life.

He arrived, perhaps against his own better judgment, in a flash of light at just the right moment. And judgment it was, indeed; I had been given a choice that I could not bring myself to make, and he showed me what I had to do. He helped to fix the mistake that I had made, but he seemed so forlorn while he did so. I could not help but to ask him why: why he was helping at all, and why it made him sad. And when I did, he turned to me, and he told me a story.

Long ago, and very far from here, there was a man who lived on a small blue-green planet, under a small yellow sun, lost in the endless cosmic night. This man was gifted; his work alone accelerated the scientific advancement of his world by hundreds of years over the course of his lifetime. To his beloved people, he brought peace, health, safety, comfort, and most importantly knowledge. But it was not enough for him.

He did not seek power. He did not wish for domination, not over his fellow man or even over nature. What he sought was knowledge for its own sake -a nobler pursuit than power and control, but still dangerous. And as must always happen, one day... something went horribly wrong. He did not speak of what happened, not in detail, but in tinkering with the very fabric of reality, he became... sundered, splintered, undone, and then suddenly… remade.

He could, all at once, perceive the whole of infinity around him. He saw the great nothing at the bottom of everything, and the madness at the top. He experienced every iteration of every universe; all of time and space happening at once in an endless forest of infinitely-branching cosmic trees. He saw the space between and could channel the limitless energy from that aether to reshape reality as he pleased. He was, in an instant, more powerful than any god -truly omnipotent. He understood the meaning of existence and he knew, with omniscient certainty, that there was no meaning. There was no reason for existence at all, no purpose within being. Reality simply is. How does someone, formerly finite and mortal, cope with infinity in every direction, when there is no meaning behind that infinity?

The answer, he said, was joyfully simple.

Existence, he told me then, is a blank canvas upon which to paint meaning. And he added another revelation to help me paint my meaning: existence is not unknowing and uncaring, for we know that we exist, and we must resolve to care. We are each the universe made conscious, he said to me with humble awe in his voice, and the only thing missing from a universe without consciousness is compassion. Only that which has the ability to know and understand, can know and understand others. It was so clear to me in that moment: that consciousness exists to be the door through which meaning enters the universe, and that meaning must be kindness.

I asked him, then, why he was sad, for what he had said brought me tears of joy. He told me that every instance of an event with more than one outcome is another node in the tree, another fork splitting into new branches, each one with their own branches, unto eternity. There is no one true timeline, no one correct path. For him to create a new one through intervention was merely an infinitesimal drop in the aether, and he could see all the futures in which I had made a choice. He knew what would have happened without him -if, that is, the choice had been left to me, in my ignorance. He grieved that he could never ensure the permanent safety and happiness of a world, for that would be a task of infinity against infinity. To forge a new path for a world through kindness may not change much, he said, but it is noble.

But then he smiled, and he told me his secret: his purpose. For all his power and knowledge, for all his eternity, he confided in me that he was not infallible. The meaning he ascribes to his everlasting life, therefore, is to strive to be better, for this is a task wherein the goal is always one step further. The quest for compassion is as endless as he and the whole of existence. So, too, is his other task: to maintain the integrity of all universes -as he has seen, there are always some rare few who would seek nothing but destruction. He cares for every infinitely-branching tree of spacetime in Eternity, tends to their ills and encourages their growth.

He told me, then, that his work in this time and place was complete, for now, and wished me well as he left the same way he had come: in a flash of otherworldly light. But I have thought about him every day since then, as my world slowly heals, and I have come to appreciate who and what he really is. He did not create existence, but he bears its responsibility as though he did. He wanders the grand cosmic forest of times and spaces, sowing kindness where it must be sown and fostering compassion across the whole of existence, in hopes of watching it bloom like flowers in an endless summer sun.

I never learned his name, but I know what I will call him.

I will call him the Gardener.

#spy writes #had an existential spiral this weekend and banged this out in a couple hours #it's actually about a character of mine #not the narrator #I left the narrator vague on purpose #no the Gardener is a character of mine #spyglass’ realms #sphaeraverse #worldbuilding #writing #apotheosis

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the-swedes-knees · 4 years ago

Text

Time in A Bottle (Agent Mobius x Reader)

Summary: Everyone has a guilty pleasure. For Mobius, it's a slice of pie in a very specific slice of time.

Word Count: 1.8k

Located in the middle of Downtown, bordering on the corner of old-time druggies and newly gentrified condos was a moderate sized building with an exorbitant monthly rent.

It was a theme restaurant, if the theme was 'we opened in 1953 and we'll be damned if we change the decor'- done up in chrome and frosted glass windows that clashed against the surrounding brick and mortar. The neon sign bearing the establishment's name had burnt out years ago, but it wasn't the type of place one would seek out.

Unless you were Mobius, that is.

[09:45:00]

Technically, he shouldn't be here.

His unit was nearly a mile out, or, more accurately, they would be within the hour. Dates like this, where a simple flap of a fat pigeon's wing could ripple into Nexus event after Nexus event had a name. A proper designation in their severity and frequency of necessary resets.

But he just always referred to them as 'a real pickle'.

You glance up at the front door as the brass bell affixed to the frame jingles loudly. The man that enters looks around the place before making eye contact with you and smiles. He points to the empty bar and you nod your head.

Once you finish refilling the other customer's drink, you see that he's made himself comfortable in the middle stool.

"Hey there." You greet from the opposite side of the counter. He offers a sheepish greeting in response as you set a water down in front of him, balancing a plastic straw on the rim of the glass. "Can I start you off with some coffee? Just made a fresh pot."

"That'd be great, thanks."

You place the mug and matching saucer in front of him and pour. For a moment you look up at him, and he's smiling a very genuine smile- something very rare these days.

As soon as it's full to the brim you're reaching under the counter and grabbing a clean glass sugar pourer, placing it right next to his cup.

"How'd you know?"

"Customer service intuition, I guess." He thanks you before unfurling the napkin containing his flatware. Like someone with real proper manners, he drapes the napkin over one of his legs before stirring an ample amount of sugar into his drink.

You can't help but notice just how much he fits in to the whole aesthetic with his well fitted brown suit and slim tie. New York offered a multiplicity of personalities, and you'd become quite numb to anything and everything that would walk through that door.

Yet, someone about this man was intriguing, familiar in a way. Like in the past life he was a PI that you hired to confirm your husband's affair.

Both a confidant, and a stranger.

"Feel free to take your time, but, do you know what you'd like?" You note his closed menu pushed to the side. He raises his eyebrows and nods while mid-sip, and you pull out a notepad and pen from your apron.

"Sure do, could I get two slices?" He points the vintage rotating pie cooler to your left and specifies his selection.

Easy enough. You put two generous slices onto separate plates, and he declines your offer of whipped cream or ice cream on top.

"Good choice, this one's my favorite."

"You don't say." The knowing twinkle in his eye wasn't noticed as you busied yourself with refilling his coffee. He holds his hands up in mock defeat and sighs. "Well, I guess you'll have to join me." The ceramic scraped against the quartz tabletop as he pushed one of the plates across the bar, directly opposite himself.

"I'm on the clock-"

"Don't worry, another customer doesn't come in for-" He pauses to flex his arm, riding his jacket sleeve up just enough to check his wristwatch. "12 minutes and 43 seconds."

[09:52:16]

"Am I supposed to trust you on that?" You raise an eyebrow, and his only response is a slight head tilt and pushing the second slice a nudge closer to you.

It wasn't every day courteous men offered you a break in the form of your favorite desert. Your face screwed up in contemplation as you looked at the only other two patrons in the diner before giving in and grabbing a second set of flatware. "Well, it is slow-"

"For a Friday?" He has another bite before setting down his fork and dabbing at his face with his napkin.

"Is it Friday already?" You sigh, bent over the counter to take a bite of the pie. Delicious as ever. "Hardly feels like it, all the days are melding together."

"I think this one will stand out."

"What is the date, anyway?"

"May 4th." You make a hum of acknowledgement and he gives you a lopsided grin. "2012, incase you forgot the year too."

"I'll mark it in my calendar," You laugh, using your hand to cover your mouth as you continue to chew. "'The Day I Met-'"

"Mobius." He introduces himself, extending his hand over the counter and you shake it. His grip is firm, authoritative. Before you can reply with your own name, he refers to you by it while maintaining perfect eye contact.

You can't explain why, but it feels so right when he says it. Like it was perfectly made to be pronounced in his charming Texan drawl with just the faintest hint of gravel.

While you're fixed in a stunned silence his eyes deliberately dart to the lapel of your uniform. You follow his gaze and laugh at yourself for neglecting that you were indeed wearing a nametag.

"So Mobius... like, from maths?"

"Yeah, like math." He eyes his untouched water and picks up the plastic straw. His fingers move carefully, removing the straw from the perorated paper. You watch with curiosity as the man twists the paper once and pinches the two ends together with his thumb and index finger.

Mobius holds his opposite hand out to you, confident, waiting. With a bemused smile you allow him to guide your hand. His skin is warm, presumably from the way he had cradled his coffee mug, but it's comforting in a way. His rough hand guides you, your finger tracing the geometry of the paper-straw shape.

"A path that twists and turns... but always ends back at the same spot."

"I wasn't very good at math." You admit, and gesture around as if working in a place like this was a testament to that fact. "Why does it matter that it always ends where it began?"

"Well, that all depends on perspective. Maybe it doesn't matter. But to the one who observes it, it makes all the difference." You quirk an eyebrow, silently pressing him to elaborate. "Maybe that point's... where you got your first kiss, the feeling when your favorite football team scores a winning touchdown, a perfect sunset-"

Mobius catches himself trailing off, and looks down at his plate. He puts another bite onto his fork and cheers it to you.

"Or having pie in good company."

You look around the mostly empty diner before bracing your arms against the counter, leaning in as if you were to whisper some great secret.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a bit odd?"

[09:59:06]

"No-" His eyes crinkle as he laughs. "No, that's a new one. But you find it charming." He winked, actually winked, and leaned back in his stool, smirking into his coffee.

Your fork was halfway to your mouth as your just stared at him, frozen. You feel your mouth open and close a few times as you try to think of a somewhat dignified response.

"How would you know that?"

"I just know things." He shrugged.

"Like what?" You challenged.

"How about, Paul- over there." You crane your head to follow his line of eye, your coworker currently bussing a table that had just left. "Worked in this place five years, loves Coke- from the glass bottle, nothing else. Has a girl on the Upper East Side and runs a decent sized internet radio station out of his apartment."

"You're one of his listeners." You narrowed your eyes at him, a perfectly reasonable explanation.

"Oh, no. Hyperpop... not my style."

"Alright, BBC Sherlock-" You countered. You give a subtle head tilt to a woman sitting in a far off booth, papers spread out on the table around her pancake combo. Whoever she was, she definitely wasn't a regular. "How about her?"

"Mrs. Braverman. Youngest of eight siblings, English teacher at the charter school up the avenue. Actually prefers imitation maple syrup to the real thing."

You know very well Mobius could be talking out of his ass. But he's confident, nonchalantly so- like this was a game to him and he was obviously winning.

"What about me?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Your anticipation is palpable as he swallows his final bite, taking the time to wipe his face of crumbs before smiling softly at you.

"You are... a poem of a person. Charming, capable, when you walk into a room people notice- even if you convince yourself that they don't." His gaze is steady, patient, and he's looking at you as if you're the only person in the universe. "You have big dreams, far beyond all... this... and you're gonna make it."

[10:04:59]

The sound of the door chime breaks you out of whatever hypnotic state you had found yourself in. Sucking in a breath and blinking away the very beginnings of tears in your eyes you tell the new customer to sit wherever they like.

Mobius took this chance to check his handheld, sighing at the time and the ever-growing slope of the branch variation.

The reset charge would be set soon, with or without him there.

"Look at that. Duty calls." He stands up and pulls a billfold from his jacket pocket, not even counting as he puts the cash down on the counter.

Mobius turns to leave, but hesitates. He turns back around to face you and places his hands on his hips. Allowing himself to play into the fleeting illusion just a tad longer.

"One more thing I know about you-" Mobius rubbed his chin in careful consideration. "You have a date tonight."

"Ah-" You wag your finger at him and shake your head side to side, "got one wrong."

"Did I? Ah- well... How about we change that?"

You pause. The plates you had been holding found their way back to the counter as you set them down slowly. Once again in a very short time span, he had left you speechless.

"That... was possibly the lamest pickup line I've ever heard." Though you mean it to be snarky, it sounds more like praise coming from your smiling lips. "I get off at 6:30."

"Alright." He looks perfectly pleased with himself as he lightly knocks on the counter with his fist. "It's a date."

Walking out the door, Mobius gave one last look at the diner before reporting to the event site.

He knew would see you again, always at 9:45.

#agent mobius #mobius #mobius m. mobius #agent mobius x reader #mobius x reader #loki series #loki #marvel #marvel x reader #sorry for the interruption from my usual content #but I love time traveling men

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