#it's not like. a driving force at the moment. it's not propelling me it's not doing anything it's just a constant scab yk

[thedreadvampy]

unfortunately the world is too fucking messed up so I am currently unable to give a shit about how messed up everything is because it's all too big and if I get upset about any of it my entire ability to be a person will come crashing in

normal service will resume as soon as possible

[allaboutthemoonlight]

How to Build Self Discipline

Cultivating self-discipline is the way towards personal growth and achieving long-term goals. To me, it’s really all about making choices that honor your well-being and identity.

Understand that self-discipline is about self love and respect

It’s not about punishment or deprivation, but rather caring for yourself enough to make choices that align with your long-term well-being and goals.

You’re showing yourself the respect you deserve by honoring and committing to changes you want to make.

It’s all about recognizing your worth and having the motivation and courage to pursue what’s really best for you, even when it requires a lot of effort and decision-making.

Frame your identity in a way that includes discipline

How we act directly ties to our identities and how we believe we are. If you believe you’re a successful individual, you’ll live a life framed by confidence and determination. If you believe you’re someone who is lazy and unmotivated, you’ll struggle to find the drive to pursue your goals and aspirations.

Gaining discipline is all about acting as the person you believe you are and moving through life in a way that’s consistent with your determined identity. The key here is to try to imagine who you are at your highest self in a disciplined state of mind.

To start this, ask yourself these questions and slowly arrange your life in a way so there’s no distance between who you are now and your highest self:

What does your day look like

What do you eat

What do you wear

What does your week look like

What does your work day look like

What hobbies do you have

What’s your morning and night routine

Who are you surrounded by

What do you say yes and no to

Have systems in your life

I recently wrote a post about habits and mentioned the idea of systems versus goals. Here, I want to delve a bit deeper into that concept within the context of self-discipline.

To me, another way to truly live a disciplined life is to establish starting systems, something that will propel you past hurdles and reduce the friction that accompanies change.

Let’s say you want to improve your eating habits and cultivate discipline in consuming less sugar while incorporating more whole foods into your diet. You could begin by implementing a system of prepping healthy snacks or meals in advance at the start of each week, or however you see fit. By having these snacks readily available, you eliminate the need for decision-making, making it easier to adhere to your goal.

Anything that serves as a reminder or facilitates consistent action toward your desired outcome is a valuable system in your life.

Be okay with not doing something and embrace the mindset of small wins

This may seem paradoxical in the context of developing self-discipline, but being okay with not doing something is crucial. There are times in life when we need tough love and motivation, but there are also moments when compassion is the driving force that propels us forward.

When you don’t follow through with something, whether it’s going for a run or preparing a healthy dinner, it’s important to be okay with it. You don’t need to shame yourself or feel guilty for not taking action because that will only reinforce negative thought patterns, making it harder to create the change you desire.

Consider this: if you miss a planned run and spiral into self-criticism, you’re more likely to avoid running altogether. However, if you approach the situation with understanding and compassion, you’ll be more inclined to try again next time.

This is where small daily victories come into play. Sometimes, all we need is one small step forward to develop a new habit and maintain consistency. Whatever you're striving to improve or change, if it feels daunting, tell yourself, "Just for today, I'll do a 15-minute workout instead of the full hour," or "Just for today, I'll read 5 pages instead of the entire chapter," and celebrate these as small victories. Doing so not only helps you establish new habits but also allows you to acknowledge the progress you've made and the trust you've built within yourself.

—Luna

[erideights]

Little pieces here and there (3)

Pairing: Buggy x Fem!Reader (One Piece Live Action)

Chapters: one, two, four, five

Word Count: around 2K again.

Warnings: minimum context of the arlong park part of the story (background), MUTUAL FLIRTING, forbiden pinning of them both, Buggy has his body back *wiggling eyebrows*, sexy times

A/N: devil works hard but i'm working harder, every 5 free min i have from work/class/practices i'm writing on my phone, i'ts actually insane and i love it (ROAD TO CHAPTER 4?? If you like this one and want the next one, please let me know!)

Oh, he was mad. He was really mad.

Maybe "sexually frustrated" was a way more accurate term given the circumstances but the feeling was so strong, so visceral, he was sure he was reaching a point where jumping to the sea to end that agony -even if a bit exaggerated, like him always, everywhere and for everything- was justified.

Somewhere in Arlong Park, Buggy could feel the boner pressing his pants, demanding to be satisfied; dirty talk was one of his true passions and when (Y/N) played that card on him, being capable of picturing himself with her on his lap, that damn woman so -actually- close to his face in that moment he was already tasting her lips, her low, smooth voice driving him insane, he could not help it, but get turned on so easily and so strong is been hours, and he's still mad, incapable of stop thinking about that.

That is, perhaps, the reason he feels relief as soon as the sun rises and Usopp is back on the helm again, asking for directions as Buggy, in fact, demands to go faster. Like instead of slicing and dicing his body, his power could control the wind that propelled the boat or the force of the waves against the hull.

(Y/N) ran away just after such a -even if brief- conversation. She may have broken his balls with that dirty trick, but she was equally a victim of her own game. She knew what to say to push Buggy and leave him so stunned -to speak- that the poor clown didn't have the chance to fight back at that moment, not without his body to help him keep her in that kitchen, lift her up on the counter, force her to back down, regret even thinking she could do that to him, and then, only then, yes, fuck her until she wakes up the rest of her little and - according to him - pathetic crew with her moans.

Or so the girl imagined, leaning against the door of her room, eyes closed, heart slightly racing, fighting the temptation to lie down on the bed and masturbate thinking about what had just happened.

Which included him. Him!! What the hell, was she actually losing her mind? All that damn flirting had really gotten into her, for fucks sake, because regardless of her finding him quite interesting when they met, this attraction was something else.

Lately everything around her was something else. Did she really think through the decision of leaving her mercenary life behind and follow those kids to the Grand Line? Did she really think through the decision of flirting back with a psychopath clown?

Because in the end it's just that, right? Flirting. Was nothing else, is nothing else, and will be nothing else. She doesn’t want it to be something more, that's for sure; there's no need for unnecessary complications and extra headaches. In the meantime, it's fun, a bit of a backfire kind of situation, a bit -sexually- frustrating, but fun.

After a good ol' resting night and already some hours into the new day, (Y/N) notices that it's been a lot, since their encounter in the kitchen to be precise, that Buggy not only doesn't flirt with her, but doesn't talk that much or even look at her as amazed as before. Of course, he is, also, way less annoying, which Zoro subtly points out clearly pleased with how calm, nice and silent this morning is.

At some point she shakes her head, knowing, or at least guessing, the reason for this behavior, so she decides to check no one's around and the rudder is locked in the right direction, and then goes to where the bag with his head is, closed probably by the sniper when he got the last indications he needed from him. She opens it, lowering it until the clown's head is free on top of that barrel.

"How are you doing, Bugs?" she starts with a funny little smile, looking intently at him as she leans her back forward to leave her face level with his. "It's been hours I don't hear your raspy voice, I'm starting to miss it."

Silence. Absolute indifference besides the sidelong glance he gives her because let's face it, Buggy is annoyingly proud, extremely, exaggeratedly, but he loves attention. He likes nothing more than receiving it, no matter where, when, and from who, and she could see it as soon as they met.

"Also your silly nicknames for me" She grants, giving in. She would also be mad as hell if someone leaves her as horny as she knew she left him, so she doesn't have any problem being the one to start the tug-war this time.

"Already tired of the shidiots?" He finally asks, almost drily, after a minute; now he is the one to play difficult, huh? "No wonder, they don't even know where to start being pirates."

"Oh, of course, because no one compares to the famous Buggy The Clown, the colorful nightmare or the East Blue." Playful, she retreats a bit, resting her hip in the barrel, arms crossed over her chest.

"Quit the sarcasm doll, you know I'm right." Well, he was, in fact, right. None of them had real experience in the whole i-wanna-become-a-pirate thing, still, they were doing pretty good to be newbies. She was quite proud of them.

"I cannot wait to have my body back" he then murmurs, adding before she could say anything else about her new friends. "To do what?" She asks, you know, like she didn't know.

"Take a guess"

"Recover your spotlight? Find a new crew and a way to enter the Grand Line to go search the One Piece and be the king of the pirates?" (Y/N) mocks, clearly enjoying being the annoying one this time.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah'' Buggy rolls his eyes, scoffing. ''All that, but not before making you regret what you did last night." To that accusation she gasps, resting her right hand over her chest "What did I do last night?"

The clown falls silent again, but his mood is completely different. Right now he's not pissed off, it's obvious that this time, instead of flirting with her in a casual and natural way, he’s thinking what to say, choosing carefully his words to return a fraction of the effect she had on him hours ago.

His eyes darken, and his voice goes octaves lower and raspier. "Sweetheart, there will be no possible escape from what I plan to do with you. At the slightest opportunity I will make you cum on me so many times you will be the one to find the One Piece without needing to go to the Grand Line, but first…'' He pauses, breathes, and lets it go calmly, like the intimidating, psychopathic calculator she saw at the circus and not that flirty cartoonish version she got to know on the ship. ''you will beg for it."

She knows she shouldn't surrender to this type of tease, but she also can't and doesn't want to avoid it. Getting heavily carried away, without thinking about it twice, one of the girl's hands slides to the back of his neck, slipping under the bandana, and tugs his hair aggressively as she leans in again to speak close to his face. He grunts in pure satisfaction, closing his eyes for a second. Of course (Y/N) is, once again, taking advantage of the fact that he cannot defend himself no being more than a head, and the fact is that he enjoys like a condemned bastard those small but intense gestures the girl has given him since they met at the circus.

He can't wait to break a woman like her. And oh, he will.

"Are you sure about that?" Hearing distant steps, someone from the crew coming out on deck and climbing the stairs, she gets some distance from him, acting naturally, closing the bag again around his head. "My expectations just skyrocketed, I hope you don't disappoint."

By the end of the day, the Konomi Islands begin to appear on the horizon, and as soon as they set foot on them, shits get really serious. The situation of the poor people who live there is heartbreaking, so for two days, no one dares to make a single joke, Luffy's usual energy and bubbly positivity is nowhere to be seen, and of course, the interactions of (Y/N) and Buggy are reduced to = 0. The clown's head is no longer of any real use to them, and it’s poor Sanji, the new recruit, who’s carrying it around just in case.

At least until they reach Arlong Park.

Again, (Y/N) is not exactly the type of mercenary expert in martial arts and although she knows how to defend herself, fighting like Zoro or Sanji is, in few words, impossible. Her only advantage is being very, very fast, and knowing how to use the scenery to her advantage, so it doesn't take long for her to hide here and there among the different tents and attractions in the area to get rid of the most straggler fishmen, with a knife she got long ago during one of her jobs, capable of cutting their tough skin easily.

Everything happens so fast and is so chaotic that apart from some screams and blows in the background and having seen Usopp running towards the forest, (Y/N) is completely unaware of what is happening in the main complex.

A strong pull on her left arm activates her flight or fight response as one last fish falls dead to the ground in front of her. Raising the knife, in a quick movement, she tries to defend herself by aiming at the stranger's neck, although in vain; a pair of lips whose red has already been worn for days impact against hers, stealing her breath, a small moan escaping her. Eyes wide open, she barely registers the blurry color of Buggy's nose when two strong hands squeeze her hips as if the life of the clown depended on it, pushing the girl against the wall of the building behind them, cornering her without any type of delicacy.

She hadn't heard from him since they reached the island. Hell, she didn't even know he had got his full body back and was already so close to it that air was unable to pass between each other.

Of course, the moment the clown's head joined the rest of himself -the feeling much better than he remembered- he fucked off his captors and decided to flee. Not before making a vital stop along the way.

The ideas about how to proceed with her once he was whole were very, very different in his wild fantasies, but when he saw the girl's back, he knew that the only thing that would -partially- calm his yearning would be to kiss her before disappearing as fast as possible. To taste her lips, to feel her warmth.

Still not recovered from the shock of the kiss, Y/N doesn't remove the knife from the clown's neck, but he couldn't care less; quite the opposite. He is so turned on and waited so much -again, exaggerated- for this he doesn't know yet how he will be able to break the kiss, take distance from her, and run away.

Passionately carried away, moved by his most primitive instincts, Buggy sneaks one of his legs between hers, pressing in between them as Y/N inhales through her nose and her free hand flies to his vest, pulling it a little.

It wasn't the time, nor the place, to think about fucking that asshole, but damn, after all the teasing and the tension and the adrenaline of the fight--

And just when she starts fully giving in to him, he retreats just enough, panting a bit, and looks at her now red, stained lips, eyes darkened and full of lust. Just like hers.

"Hate to leave you like this sweetheart but I have things to do and places to go. I don't want people relating me to Arlong, I would hate the bad press on my persona." He whispers, cracking his usual cruel, playful smirk when he finally puts some distance between each other.

‘’It's time to exit stage left.’’ Buggy adds, theatrically raising both hands in the air. ‘’I promise I’ll see you around.’’

And like this, he stars running away again. Where? She doesn't know, or even guess at this moment, too busy registering the kiss in her memory, the way his lips felt on hers, how his nose pressed her cheek the entire time, or his hands grabbed onto her for dear life.

Bastard.

''You better'', she whispers to herself.

[gensideas]

CASE CLOSED: LOVE ON TRIAL.

✎summary Y/N Rodriguez discovers her boyfriend Matt’s infidelity and redirects her focus to law school and her career. With resilience and support, she triumphs, passes the bar, and finds a healthier, more respectful connection, turning heartbreak into empowerment.

✎features cheater!bf Matt x Law!student reader.

I sat alone in the dim light of my desk lamp, drowning in case briefs and mock trial notes. The weight of my law school aspirations pressed heavily on my shoulders. The bar exam loomed, suffocating my nights with endless study sessions.

My phone buzzed. It was Matt. “Busy night, babe. Work event. See you tomorrow?”

My chest tightened, but I pushed the feeling down. “Sure. Good luck,” I texted back, my fingers trembling slightly. Lately, he had been distant, and even his words felt perfunctory. But there was no time to dwell on it; my future demanded all my attention.

Across town, Matt mingled at a swanky networking event, laughing a little too hard at Erica’s jokes. The red-haired marketing executive exuded confidence, something Matt found intoxicating. When Erica brushed his arm, a flicker of guilt surged through him—but not enough to stop

Weeks passed, and the cracks in our relationship deepened. I couldn’t ignore the growing distance. Matt’s once-frequent texts were now sparse, and his excuses for canceled plans piled up like unread notifications.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised one night after bailing on dinner. His voice was rushed, almost mechanical.

I sighed, clutching the phone tighter. “It’s fine. I have plenty to do anyway.”

But it wasn’t fine. Late at night, when my textbooks blurred into meaningless lines, I’d stare at my phone, willing it to buzz with something—anything—to reassure me.

My best friend Sofia wasn’t convinced. “He’s acting shady, Y/N. I don’t trust him.”

I shook my head. “We’re both just busy.”

“Busy isn’t the same as distant,” Sofia muttered, her concern deepening.

One afternoon, Sofia’s voice on the phone was sharp. “I saw Matt downtown. With someone else.”

My breath caught. “What?”

“Here,” Sofia said, sending a photo. The image hit me like a gut punch: Matt and Erica, laughing together in a way that once belonged to me.

That night, I confronted him. “Who is she?” My voice cracked, betraying the storm of emotions I’d fought to contain.

Matt faltered. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Don’t insult me,” I snapped, tears streaming down my face. “I’ve sacrificed everything for us, Matt. I deserved honesty.”

His apologies came too late, his words hollow. The betrayal was a knife that cut deep, shattering the fragile balance I had clung to.

The days after the breakup were a blur of tears and sleepless nights. My chest felt perpetually heavy, and every corner of my apartment held echoes of Matt. The pain was relentless, threatening to drown me.

Sofia’s support became my lifeline. “Cry it out,” Sofia urged. “But don’t let him destroy you. You’re stronger than this.”

I threw myself into my studies, using my heartbreak as fuel. The ache in my chest became a driving force, propelling me through tort law and late-night mock trials. Still, there were nights when I crumbled, staring at my empty bed and wondering why I wasn’t enough.

Matt’s voicemails went unanswered. I couldn’t bear to hear his voice, the same voice that had whispered promises he couldn’t keep. My journal became my sanctuary, a place to pour out the grief I hid from the world.

Months later, I passed the bar exam. The moment should have been euphoric, but it felt bittersweet. I had reached my goal, but the scars Matt left still lingered.

At my celebratory dinner, Sofia raised a toast. “To Y/N, who refused to let anyone dim her light.”

I smiled, but my chest tightened. The triumph felt hollow, as if part of me was still piecing itself back together.

At a networking event, I met Daniel, a fellow attorney with kind eyes and a gentle demeanor. “I’ve heard about you,” he said. “You’re incredible.”

I wanted to believe him, but doubt lingered. My trust had been broken, and I wasn’t sure I could give my heart again.

As I walked into my new office, my diploma in hand, I stared at the empty walls. I had achieved so much, but the weight of my heartbreak still clung to me. The future was mine, but it felt fragile, like a vase I was afraid to drop.

That evening, I opened my journal, flipping back to the entries I had written during my darkest days. Each page was a testament to the pain I had endured—and survived. Slowly, I began to write again, this time not just about heartbreak, but about hope. I penned down my dreams, my aspirations, and the person I was determined to become.

Days turned into weeks, and the office walls began to fill with memories of my victories, both big and small. I took on cases that challenged me, and with every win, I felt a piece of myself returning.

Daniel’s kindness remained steady, and though I kept him at arm’s length, I found myself opening up little by little. One evening, as we walked out of court, he said, “You’re stronger than you know.” For the first time, I believed him.

One year later, I stood on the steps of the courthouse after winning my first major case. Sofia was there, cheering me on, her pride evident. As I looked around, I realized something important: I had built a life that was entirely mine. It wasn’t perfect, but it was authentic.

Matt was now a distant memory, a lesson I had learned the hard way. I had found strength in my struggles, and though the scars remained, they were a part of me—a reminder of how far I had come. As I stepped into the future, I carried with me the unshakable knowledge that I was enough, and I always would be.

© gensideas 2024

[agent-grey-fics]

Who we are | Paul Lahote | Part 4

Paired: Paul Lahote x reader

Wordcount: 2500

Summary: In a small town nestled between the towering pines and the crashing waves, Y/n finds herself entangled in a web of secrets and supernatural mysteries. A chance revelation from Paul propels her into the heart of the Quileute tribe's ancient tales and the enigmatic force of imprinting. As the bonfire's glow illuminates the hidden stories of destiny, Y/n is caught between the echoes of legends and the complexities of her own heart, unsure if she can navigate the shadows of a world she never knew existed.

Writers note: Here is part 4 of 'who we are', part 5 coming soon ,

Previous parts: part 1 | part 2 | Part 3

You can keep your distance. His words kept echoing through your head as you made your way over to Jacob’s place. The drive to Jacob's place felt longer than usual, the weight of Paul's words hanging heavily in the air. Your mind raced with conflicting thoughts, torn between the desire to confront Jacob about the supernatural world he was part of and the uncertainty of how to handle your complicated feelings towards Paul. The engine hummed beneath the hood of your car as you pulled into Jacob's driveway, and you took a deep breath to steady yourself before stepping out into the cool evening.

The familiar scent of pine and damp earth surrounded you as you approached Jacob's house, its warm glow spilling out from the windows. The front door opened before you could even knock, revealing Jacob's concerned expression.

‘Hey,’ he greeted, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what was bothering you. You didn't waste any time. "Why didn't you tell me about the supernatural world, Jake? Paul said to keep my distance. What's going on?’ Jacob sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. ‘Look, I wanted to protect you. It's not an easy world to understand, and I didn't want you to get involved. But with you being his imprint he had to tell you.’ You raised your eyebrow, how did he know? It seemed to be an intimate fact that he wouldn’t share with everyone, so how did Jake know?’

You crossed your arms, frustration bubbling within you. ‘Protect me? From what, exactly?’

Jacob hesitated as if debating how much to reveal. ‘We’re not the only supernatural beings y/n. Remember our tales, you have us but there are also cold ones, and other creatures out there. It's dangerous, and I didn't want you caught up in the middle of it.’

A shiver ran down your spine at the mention of cold obes. It felt like you had stepped into a fantasy novel, and reality was slipping away. ‘Xold ones?’ He nodded. ‘The blood-sucking kind, vampires.’ You didn't know what to say for a moment. ‘Vampires?’ He nodded. ‘What kind of shit show have I gotten into?’ He laughed. ‘You’ll get used to it.’ A soft sigh left your lips. ‘Paul said I should stay away from him. What's that about?’

Jacob's expression darkened. ‘Paul imprinted on you. It's a wolf thing. He can't stay away, even if he wanted to. Imprinting is like a soulmate bond. He can't help how he feels.’

Your eyes widened at the revelation. It still sounded like something out of a supernatural romance novel, not reality. ‘But we're just friends,’ you insisted, trying to make sense of it all. Jacob nodded solemnly. ‘It doesn't always start as a romantic connection, but it can turn into one. It's complicated, I know.’ Frustration and confusion churned within you, the weight of the situation sinking in. ‘So, what do I do now? Do I just avoid Paul? Do I date him? Do we become good friends?’ Jacob sighed again, his gaze sympathetic. ‘It's not that simple. Imprinting is powerful, but it doesn't guarantee a smooth journey. You need to talk to Paul, figure out what you both want. Ignoring it won't make it go away.’

'Doesn't his behaviour make sense now? That he always got mad when I put my arm around you, for example?' And then it clicked. You had simply shoved off his behaviour because you didn't understand him. But now you saw that it was jealousy. 'Shit, now that you mention it.' Jake laughed. 'I often did it to tease him. I like to tease him.' You rolled your eyes.  You decided you didn't want to talk about it anymore and changed the subject.  'Okay, something else because I don't want to think about it for a while. It confuses me.  Can we watch a movie?'  ‘Sure, whatever you want y/n/n.’  The room filled with the cozy glow of the TV screen as you and Jacob settled onto the couch. The weight of the earlier conversation about Paul still lingered in the air, but you both decided to shift gears for a while.

After a brief discussion, you settled on 'Grown Ups' with Adam Sandler, a choice that promised laughter and a carefree atmosphere. As the movie began, the opening credits rolled, accompanied by a catchy soundtrack. The comedic antics of the characters on the screen provided a welcomed distraction, offering a temporary escape from the tangled emotions brought on by the discussion about Paul.

Jacob's presence felt reassuring as his arm found its way around the back of the couch. You nestled comfortably against him, appreciating the familiarity and support of your best friend. The shared laughter from the movie served as a comforting soundtrack, momentarily easing the confusion that had clouded your thoughts earlier. For that brief moment, the camaraderie and simplicity of watching a movie provided a reprieve, allowing you both to enjoy the present without dwelling on the complexities of the supernatural world that had come to light.

As you left Jacob's house a couple of hours later, the night air whispered through the trees, carrying with it the scent of uncertainty. The drive home was filled with contemplation, your mind grappling with the newfound knowledge of the supernatural world and the enigma of Paul's imprinting. Jake had invited you to the bonfire where his dad told the tribe stories. This way you could look at them from a new perspective

When you arrived home, you found yourself standing in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection. The reflection of a person caught in the crossfire of something beyond their comprehension. The journey ahead seemed daunting, but one thing was certain – you couldn't keep your distance forever.

That night, as you slipped into the embrace of sleep, your dreams went straight to the supernatural world. The moon hung low in the obsidian sky, casting an otherworldly glow over a dense forest. The rustle of leaves underfoot echoed through the silent night, and a cool breeze carried whispers that seemed to beckon you deeper into the shadows.

Amidst the towering trees, eyes that glowed like embers peered out from the darkness. Silhouettes of wolves moved gracefully between the trunks, their fur blending seamlessly with the shadows. Their presence seemed both mystical and familiar, as if you had stepped into a world where secrets whispered through the rustling leaves and moonlight.

As you ventured further into the mysterious forest, a figure emerged from the shadows. Paul stood before you, his eyes reflecting the same mysterious glow as the wolves around him. The air crackled with an unspoken energy, and the forest seemed to pulse with a hidden power.

Without uttering a word, Paul motioned for you to follow. Together, you traversed through the moonlit labyrinth of the dream, the enigmatic wolves accompanying you like silent guardians. The path ahead was shrouded in mist, adding an element of mystique to the journey.

The dream unfolded like a cryptic dance between reality and fantasy, leaving you captivated by the enigma that surrounded Paul and the wolves. There was a sense of purpose in the dream, a connection to something beyond comprehension, yet undeniably powerful.

As you reached the heart of the dream, the moon above reached its zenith, casting an intense glow on a hidden clearing. In the center, a pool of reflective water mirrored the celestial canvas above. The wolves gathered around, their eyes fixed on the pool, as if it held the key to a secret known only to them.

Just as you leaned in to catch a glimpse of the mysterious reflection, the dream began to dissolve. The wolves faded into the shadows, and Paul's figure melted away, leaving only the echo of their presence lingering in your mind.

As you woke, the memory of the dream clung to your consciousness, leaving you with a sense of both wonder and intrigue. The enigmatic world you had glimpsed in your sleep lingered like a tantalizing mystery, inviting you to unravel the secrets concealed within the realms of dreams.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple as you made your way to the beach for the Quileute bonfire. The rhythmic crash of waves against the shore created a soothing backdrop to the gathering, and the scent of burning wood filled the air as the bonfire crackled and roared.

Billy Black, adorned in traditional Quileute regalia, stood near the flames, ready to share stories that echoed through generations. As the night settled in, the community gathered around the fire, forming a circle that seemed to unite everyone in the warmth and glow. You felt like an outsider, everyone here was family or grew up that way. You were the only one who came from outside the reservation. You didn't have much time to think because Jacob waved you over. It was a spot between Jake and Paul, perfect. ‘Hi,’ It was an awkward greeting and you threw Jake an angry look. When you were seated between the two men you tried to take as little space as possible and made yourself as small as possible. But it didn't matter, you felt Paul's thigh against yours. A sigh left his lip when you didn’t pull away. The touch was electric, a warm feeling spread throughout your body.

Billy's voice resonated, rich with the weight of history, as he began to weave tales of the Quileute tribe. The firelight flickered across his face, casting shadows that danced in harmony with the ebb and flow of his words. The stories spoke of legends and spirits, of wolves that walked as men, and the sacred connection between the tribe and the land. Around you, faces were illuminated by the mesmerizing glow, their expressions reflecting a mixture of reverence and fascination. The crackling flames seemed to carry the essence of the tales, filling the air with a sense of mystique that bound the listeners together in a shared experience.

As the stories unfolded, the night embraced a magical quality, and you found yourself captivated by the ancient wisdom woven into the narratives. The legends came alive, painting vivid images in your mind, and the sound of the waves seemed to harmonize with the heartbeat of the stories.

In the midst of the gathered community, the bond between the Quileute tribe and their ancestral tales became palpable. The bonfire served not only as a source of physical warmth but as a vessel for the preservation of cultural heritage and the passing down of knowledge from one generation to the next.

The bonfire crackled, casting a warm glow on the faces of the gathered Quileute community as Billy Black continued to share tales of their rich heritage. His eyes, deep and knowing, met yours briefly, and a subtle shift in his expression hinted at a story that carried a weight beyond the flickering flames.

‘Now, there's something more, something that ties our hearts to a destiny that can't be denied,’ Billy began, his voice taking on a solemn tone. The surrounding chatter hushed, and all eyes turned toward the tribal elder.

‘Imprinting,’ Billy uttered, and the word hung in the air like a mysterious incantation. ‘It's a bond that's been woven into the very fabric of our tribe, a connection that transcends time and space.’  As he spoke, you couldn't shake the feeling that his words carried a peculiar weight, as if they were meant for you alone. Uncomfortably, you shifted in your place, sensing an invisible spotlight on you as Billy continued. You could feel Paul's body stiffen beside you. To reassure him a little you pushed your leg against his, which seemed to work because he relaxed instantaneously.

‘In our tribe, imprinting is a sacred bond that occurs when a wolf finds its other half, its soulmate. It's an unbreakable connection that goes beyond the physical and the mundane,’ Billy explained, his gaze once again settling on you, or so it seemed.

The implications of his words settled heavily in the pit of your stomach. The mention of imprinting felt like a revelation, and a chill ran down your spine. The bonfire's warmth seemed to wane as the tribe's collective attention seemed to hone in on you, amplifying the feeling of being scrutinized.

‘In times of great need, the imprint bond can become a source of strength, a guiding force that helps our people navigate the challenges that life throws at us,’ Billy continued, his eyes still fixed on you. ‘It's a power that resides within us, connecting us to something greater than ourselves.’

As Billy delved deeper into the intricacies of imprinting, you couldn't escape the feeling of being caught in the crossfire of something beyond your understanding. The firelight danced on Paul's features, casting shadows that seemed to mirror the uncertainty playing out in your mind.

Billy's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, a knowing glint in his eyes, before he shifted his attention to the flames. "Imprinting is a force that binds wolves to their destined partners, a connection forged by fate itself. Sometimes, it happens when you least expect it, and it changes everything."

The air around the bonfire became charged with an unspoken tension, and you felt the weight of eyes upon you. Both Paul and Jacob seemed to sense your discomfort, their expressions reflecting a mix of concern and understanding.

Paul's hand found yours, offering a reassuring squeeze, while Jacob shot you a supportive glance. The trio of friends exchanged glances, their unspoken connection echoing the tales Billy shared.

‘In times of great peril, the imprint bond has guided our tribe to safety, ensuring our survival through generations,’ Billy continued, his voice resonating with a blend of reverence and caution. ‘It's a force that cannot be ignored, and it shapes the destiny of those it touches.’

As the stories unfolded, you couldn't shake the feeling that the ancient tales had taken a personal turn, focusing on the very bonds that connected you to Paul. A subtle murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, but your thoughts were consumed by an unsettling realization. The idea that you were entangled in the mysterious web of imprinting weighed heavily on your mind. 

As Billy concluded his stories, a collective sigh seemed to ripple through the assembly. The embers of the bonfire glowed, casting a subdued light on the faces of those who had listened with rapt attention. The night had woven a tapestry of shared history, connecting the present to the timeless narratives that echoed through the lineage of the Quileute tribe.

[sowasntme]

| 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄

• Author note Hi, this is my first time posting on tumblr so bare with me

• Pairing Oc! Kaesion Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen, Oc! Kaesion Targaryen x Alicent Hightower, Oc! Kaesion Targaryen x Aemond Targaryen.

• Summary Kaesion steps up of being a father in place of Visery and takes things into his own hands when he hears of Aemond’s accident.

• Warning Blood, knife, swords, gruesome scenes.

𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍

Kaesion, fueled by a sense of duty and compassion that ran deep in his Targaryen blood, took it upon himself to fill the void left by his brother's absence in the lives of Alicent's children, observing how his brother, Viserys, played no role in the upbringing and care of his nieces and nephews, Kaesion stepped in to take on that crucial role, becoming a pillar of support and guidance for the young ones. He embraced the role of a surrogate father with unwavering dedication, showering Alicent's children with love, guidance, and protection. To them, Kaesion was not just an uncle but a beacon of strength and stability in a world marked by uncertainty and turmoil. His presence brought warmth and light into their lives, filling the void left by their absent father. When news of Aemond's accident reached Kaesion's ears, a primal fear gripped his heart, driving him to a frenzied state of desperation. Without a second thought, he raced through the corridors of the castle like a man possessed, heedless of the chaos and commotion he left in his wake. Guards and maids alike were jostled aside as he barreled forward with single-minded determination, his only focus fixed on reaching the side of the injured child. Finally, bursting into the room where Aemond lay, Kaesion's heart clenched at the sight that greeted him. The boy sat unmoving, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the hearth, his eyes devoid of life or vitality. The once vibrant and spirited child now appeared as a mere shell of his former self, lost in a world of pain and darkness, it was as if his whole world just stopped in a click of a finger, “Mother of dragons have mercy on me if I slit someone’s throat.” Kaesion mumbled under his breath as his weak knees dragged him towards the boy he saw as a son.

𝐌𝐘 𝐀𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐌, 𝐌𝐘 𝐀𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐌 𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓.

As Kaesion's world seemed to freeze in that moment, time itself appeared to slow down, the event unfolding before his eyes etching itself into his memory with painful clarity. The weight of the situation pressed upon him like a mountain, his heart heavy with the gravity of the scene playing out before him, "Mother of dragons have mercy on me if I slit someone’s throat," Kaesion whispered, his voice barely more than a breath escaping his lips, with unsteady steps, Kaesion moved closer to Aemond, his movements almost mechanical as if his body was on autopilot, propelled by a mix of shock and determination. Each step felt like a heavy burden, a weight he had to bear as he approached the fallen figure, standing beside the motionless form of the boy, Kaesion's gaze turned sharp and accusatory, his eyes locking onto Rhaenrya's children with a fierce intensity. In that moment, he needed no confirmation or explanation; he knew in his heart who was responsible for this act of violence, who had shattered the fragile peace he had tried so hard to maintain. The silence that hung in the air was suffocating, the tension palpable as Kaesion stood there, his presence a mix of sorrow and simmering rage. His mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, grappling with the enormity of the situation and the choices that lay before him. The line between justice and vengeance blurred in his mind, his inner turmoil threatening to consume him whole. In that frozen moment, as the world seemed to hold its breath, Kaesion stood as a figure caught between two inexorable forces, his next actions poised to shape the destiny of all involved. The weight of his decision bore down on him like a mountain, his resolve tested in the crucible of circumstance. And in that stillness, amidst the chaos and the turmoil, Kaesion knew that the path he chose would echo through the annals of time, defining the legacy he would leave behind.

𝐈 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍.

Kaesion stood in the midst of a tempest of emotions, his blood simmering with a volatile mix of anger, frustration, and a deep sense of betrayal. The words of his brother, Visery, cut through him like a blade, each syllable a reminder of the divide that had formed between them over the fateful events that had unfolded, “He is your son, Viserys. He is your blood," Kaesion's voice thundered through the chamber, the weight of his words laden with a plea for justice, for acknowledgment of the ties that bound them as family. His eyes blazed with a fierce intensity, a fire fueled by the raw emotions coursing through his veins, Visery's response was swift and sharp, his own voice rising in a rare display of authority and command. "Kaesion, do not question your king's choices," he retorted, his tone firm and unyielding, The rift between the brothers widened with each passing word, the chasm of disagreement growing deeper and more pronounced. But Kaesion refused to back down, his resolve unshaken in the face of his brother's rebuke. "Avenge your son, Viserys! He deserves revenge for what has happened to him," Kaesion's voice echoed through the chamber, a call to action reverberating with a sense of urgency and righteous fury. His words carried a weight that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room, a declaration of intent that brooked no argument. As he took a step forward, his gaze locked on Rhaenrya and her children, a palpable tension filled the air, the atmosphere charged with the promise of confrontation, The guards moved closer, a silent barrier between Kaesion and his perceived targets, their presence a stark reminder of the volatile nature of the situation at hand, “Kaesion, enough," Viserys's voice boomed, a command laced with warning and authority, a plea for restraint in the face of escalating tension. The threat of violence hung heavy in the air, a specter of impending conflict that loomed over them like a dark cloud, “An eye for an eye," Kaesion's words cut through the silence like a blade, each syllable laden with the weight of retribution and consequence. The room seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with unspoken tension as the brothers stood at an impasse, their divergent paths laid bare before them, each decision a turning point in the unfolding drama of their lives.

𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐒𝐓.

Kaesion's smirk spoke volumes as he gazed at Rhaenrya's children, a glint of determination in his eyes that belied the gravity of the situation. With a calculated calmness, he reached for the knife concealed in his pocket, the metallic whisper of the blade sliding out sending a shiver of apprehension through the room. Eyes widened in shock and fear as the glint of steel caught the light, the tension in the air thickening with each passing moment. Kaesion's actions hung in the balance, a silent threat that reverberated through the chamber, a test of wills that had the potential to shatter the fragile peace that remained, “KAESION!" Viserys's voice pierced the air, a cry of horror and desperation that echoed off the walls, a plea for reason in the face of impending chaos. The weight of the situation bore down on them all, the specter of violence looming large in the room like a dark shadow, but Kaesion was no monster everyone through he was, he wouldn’t take a child’s eye, his knife quickly found its self to his face and he dragged the shape blade across his face and into his eyes, he gushed out his own eyes infront of everyone, screams of horror from their mouths, his blood soaking his clothes as it dripped from his face, he through the knife across the floor and held his eye hall in his hands, “like I said an eye for an eye.” Kaesion voice poisoned with death as he through his eyeball on the floor, it rolled before dropping in front of his brother.

[dabilove27]

Character: Joey Wheeler

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Public masturbation, Male Masturbation, Joey is depicted as 21+, Not Beta'd. If I missed anything let me know!

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Hello hello! So this is a bit different from what I normally do so please excuse it if it's horrific. This comes from a lovely requester who wishes to remain anonymous. Here is the request: "For my request, can you write a oneshot featuring Joey Wheeler (aged up) but with public nudity please? In the story, he gets the idea to try walking through downtown Domino City late at night wearing nothing but his birthday suit. You can decide on where he'd go, but I'd like it if Joey was focused on walking through without anyone catching him also masturbating/cumming along the way." I hope you like it!!

other a/n: my dumbass had to keep editing this aye aye aye

Joey perceived himself as a daring risk-taker, always ready to face danger with no second thoughts. As he entered adulthood following high school, he remained labeled as reckless by others. However, as Joey entered his early adult years, he carried a secret within him. His constant drive to push his boundaries led to a diminished excitement for ordinary experiences.

Joey was uncertain about the process through which he realized that this was his area of expertise.

It started on a scorching summer day when he set out for the pool unaccompanied. The sparkling sun drenched the area in a golden light, its rays softly brushing against his skin. Lacking ambitious aspirations, he merely craved the soothing comfort of the sun. Strangely, not a single person was there on this beautiful summer day.

Rather than going into the bathroom to change, Joey took a risk and changed right there, in the open air. A powerful voice of persuasion boldly called to him. A combination of fear and excitement filled him as he removed his clothes.

Joey's heart throbbed as he rapidly stripped off his shirt and shorts, attempting to be swift and unnoticeable. A surge of adrenaline washed over him as he reveled in the thrill of engaging in forbidden activities. The voice he heard in his head gave him confidence that he would go unnoticed.

After changing and getting into his swim trunks, Joey felt sweat rolling down his forehead. With a nervous glance, he quickly checked to see if anyone had caught sight of his unconventional actions. The pool remained quiet, with no one in sight.

Despite feeling uncomfortable and always being concerned about getting caught, Joey found a sense of liberation. Being bound by societal expectations had been his reality, but this rebellious act briefly liberated him. His inner voice muttered words of encouragement, compelling him to embrace his genuine self.

With a surge of confidence, Joey descended to the pool, prepared to express his true self. With the weight of secrecy gone, he felt a newfound sense of empowerment. He finally accepted that the little voice in his head had been right all along. He was ready to face the consequences of his actions, knowing that he wouldn't be discovered.

As Joey leapt into the invigorating pool, he could feel a surge of courage and determination propelling him forward. The voice in his head had become a powerful force, motivating him to break free from societal conventions and embrace his true identity. From that moment forward, he embraced the voice that resonates deep within him, promising to follow its guidance as it led him towards a life of genuine purpose.

It was a sequence of events that led Joey down an unexpected path, eventually resulting in him finding refuge in an alley where he could savor the refreshing coolness of the evening air in Domino City.

Something had unexpectedly motivated him that evening, which led to his actions. The voice he heard at the pool years ago might have caused this sensation. In a swift motion, he untangled himself from his jeans and allowed them to cascade down, landing softly on the earth, all while the crisp air of early fall danced teasingly across his legs.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through Joey, making his heart pound. Intensifying the sensation, the cool air sent shivers down his spine. A surge of electricity seemed to have sparked his senses, awakening every nerve ending in his body.

With his jeans pooled around his ankles, Joey stood there, overwhelmed by the weight of his past and the uncertainty of his future. The memory of that voice, from two years ago, lingered in his thoughts, urging him to heed his gut feelings, abandon the ordinary, and embrace the unexplored.

As the city lights shone brightly, the alley came to life, with long shadows that waltzed gracefully across the brick walls. Excitement and a touch of anxiety made Joey's legs tremble as he stood there, bare-skinned. The sensation of the crisp air on his skin was both invigorating and unsettling, a physical manifestation of his decision to step outside his comfort zone.

Joey's inhibitions gradually faded away with every passing moment, leaving him with a fresh feeling of liberation. Allowing himself a moment to take a deep breath, he embraced the coolness of the evening air that entered his lungs, providing an additional boost of invigoration. By placing his jeans on the ground, he metaphorically shed the weight of societal expectations, visually expressing his yearning to embrace the uncharted path that lies ahead.

In the alley, Joey's veins pulsed with a wave of courage and determination. The chilly wind acted as a catalyst, igniting his spirit and increasing his curiosity. Wasting no time, he took off his shirt and boxers. Aware of his vulnerability, he realized that this moment held the potential for self-reinvention and the revelation of his deepest desires.

As the days grew shorter and autumn arrived, the gentle breeze continued to brush against his legs, as if inviting him to embark on fresh adventures and explore his true self. Joey closed his eyes, fully immersing himself in the sensation, and silently vowed to obey the persistent voice that had haunted him for years. With a fresh perspective on life, he courageously moved ahead, leaving his clothes and venturing into the unknown, fully prepared to embrace whatever came his way.

A refreshing coolness fills the air. The gentle wind rustles through the trees, creating a soothing melody. With the perfect weather in place, Joey's plan is ready for success. Domino City holds no secrets for him, as he is intimately familiar with its every corner and neighborhood. It's the prime spot to begin his voyeuristic quest, where he can surreptitiously observe the unfolding scenes around him.

Joey leisurely starts his stroll, thoroughly enjoying the sensation of the wind against his bare skin, while he meanders towards the pathway that encircles the deserted lake. The rush he feels from the anticipation of being caught pushes him onwards, compelling him to stay watchful for any sudden nocturnal wanderers that may cross his path.

Even though ten minutes had elapsed, Joey had encountered no one at all. Not discouraged, he persisted through the eerie stillness of the night, cautiously navigating around abandoned vehicles, his heart racing with every step. The expectation of a potential individual inside the car caused an adrenaline rush, leading to unpredictable bodily responses. Sensing the need for haste, he hastily sought sanctuary in an industrial area, desperately yearning for a moment of relaxation.

Eventually, he finds the perfect hiding spot concealed behind a tall oak tree, where the moonlight filters through the leaves. With a careful balance of openness and seclusion, the environment allows Joey to explore his desires freely without worrying about unwanted attention. Deliberately, he reaches down, his hand encountering the velvety texture and warmth of his manhood, causing a tingle of anticipation to travel down his back. While he strokes back and forth, a euphoric symphony escapes his mouth, blending with the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds, forming a seductive melody in the embrace of nature.

With each stroke, Joey could see the pearlescent pre-cum glistening on the tip of his cock, heightening his pleasure. With each movement, a cacophony of loud, wet sounds filled the surrounding space. Lost in the sensation, he couldn't help but moan audibly as his hand traced the contours of his firm stomach.

Sensing the release was imminent, Joey quickened his pace, eager to reach it. His forehead and chest glistened with perspiration as small beads of sweat formed in response to the heat.

With each moan, Joey became less and less hesitant.

Joey firmly gripped his hands around his throbbing member, his fingers tightly encasing the pulsating shaft. His moans grew more intense and resonated throughout the room with every powerful thrust. The air carried a distinct scent of longing, blending with the intoxicating aroma of sweat. His lips, slightly parted, released a series of breathy exclamations, punctuated by the occasional whispered “oh fuck.”

Joey couldn’t hold it anymore and a sudden exclamation escaped his lips, “Ah, F-Fuck!” To ease himself, he expelled a significant load onto the grass, feeling a sense of relief wash over him.

Before finally going back to get his clothes, Joey lingers for a while, savoring the moment with a hint of reluctance.

[vintageshanny]

Play Something For Me - Part 2 - Reunited and It Feels So Good

Content: Elvis in Vegas late summer of 1973, smut, 18+

Writing Prompt: “Are you always this shy?”

Thank you to everyone who gave me feedback on part one (link at the bottom) and for requesting a second part!

And thank you to these lovely ladies for loving on Elvis with me and always lifting my spirits: @be-my-ally @ellie-24 @whositmcwhatsit @thatbanditqueen @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love @powerofelvis

Ruby smoothed out her sparkly blue dress as she stepped off the elevator at the Las Vegas Hilton Hotel and walked toward the showroom where the concert was supposed to take place.  There were Elvis posters everywhere she looked.  For fifteen years, she had listened to his music and watched his movies while somehow compartmentalizing her own personal experience with him.  Now that she was maybe going to see him face to face, she couldn’t stop her heart from racing.  She felt like that inexperienced 18-year-old girl all over again.  Not that her experiences had been vast since then.  Just a horrible failed marriage and a pathetic attempt at dating every once in a while.  

She wasn’t even sure why she was here or what she would say to him if she got a chance, or the nerve, to speak.  All she knew was that, since Ella had shared that interview with her five months ago, she could not get it out of her mind that he remembered her.  That she had left some imprint on him in that church so many years ago.  Maybe it was just the “what if” that was driving her forward now, forcing her to seize this opportunity.  Ella was spending the last few weeks of summer vacation with her father, so Ruby had decided to splurge on a little trip for herself, including a floor seat for Elvis’ concert.  She hadn’t even told anyone she was coming here, she felt so ridiculous about trying to relive this one moment of passion.

Ruby entered the showroom and found her seat, looking around nervously, waiting for the show to start.  She applauded politely for the opening act, but she could barely focus on anything.  Anxiety was just flooding her brain.  She started thinking that perhaps she should just go, that this was all a mistake, when the lights dimmed and Elvis’ opening music started.  He came striding onto the stage in a bejeweled white jumpsuit.  Ruby’s jaw dropped a little when she saw him.  He had changed a bit of course, filled out a little, but it looked good on him. He was still so handsome, and the same energy still radiated off of him.  She found herself singing along and cheering like a crazed fan as he ran through hit after hit, laughing and joking with the audience.  

When he started singing Love Me Tender, her pulse quickened.  She knew this was her chance.  Propelled by pure adrenaline, she forced herself out of her seat and toward the stage where a line of women were already waiting for a kiss.  Elvis moved down the line, handing out scarves and kisses, until he was right above her.  As he leaned down, she saw him do a double take.  The way he was crouched above her, her face so close to that beautiful bulge between his legs, her eyes staring up at his sweaty face, she was having a sense of deja vu.  She could feel her face flushing red as he leaned in close and pressed his soft lips to hers.  Instead of pulling back right away, he leaned and whispered in her ear, “My red Ruby, I-I-I  knew I’d find you again someday.”  She smiled as she recognized his sweet little stutter, and he winked as he continued on down the line.

After she returned to her seat, Ruby tried to stop her heart from racing.  She could see Elvis looking in her direction every so often as he finished the concert, but she was unsure if he could even see her through the bright stage lights.  She felt a sense of satisfaction that he had recognized her, but she also found herself wondering, Is that it?  Did I just come for a kiss and confirmation that he remembers me?  As she went back to her hotel room after the show, she felt a weird sense of incompleteness.  Maybe this was all a mistake.  You should have left the past in the past.  You can never really go back.  She cried herself to sleep, confused about what she had been expecting from this trip.

The ringing phone next to her bed woke her with a jolt.  She glanced over at the bedside clock.  2:30 in the morning.  Who on Earth?  No one even knows I’m here, she thought to herself in her groggy state as she reached for the receiver.  “Hello?” she answered sleepily.  A deep baritone came rumbling through the other end.  “My little red Ruby.  How’ve you been, honey?”  he asked as if no time had passed at all.  “Elvis?” she whispered in shock.  “That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” he said with a laugh. “I see your sense of humor hasn’t changed any,” she teased, somehow finding herself put at ease by the sound of his voice.  “Well, you haven’t changed a bit honey, lookin’ up at me with those big beautiful eyes and that sweet blushin’ face,” he said.  Ruby could feel her face burning up, realizing Elvis must have felt that same sense of deja vu up on the stage.  “I bet you’re blushin’ right now, jus’ hearin’ me say that,” he joked.  “I guess you’ll never know, will you?” she said, trying not to give herself away.  “I’ll have Charlie tell me,” he said.  “Charlie?” Ruby asked just as she heard a knock at the door.  “Yeah, I sent him down to get ya, honey.  I want ya to come up here so we can…catch up on old times.”  Ruby gulped nervously.  “Oh, um, well…”  “C’mon, honey, don’t ya wanna talk to me?  Ya once said you’d never stop loving me.”  “I said your music,” Ruby clarified, “and I already got to hear that.”  Elvis chuckled a little bit at that.  “Okay,” she sighed, feeling her heart race.  “I’ll come up and talk to you.”  

Ruby quickly put her dress back on and combed her hair, not really sure what Elvis was expecting when he said “catch up on old times.”  She opened the door to find a short man waiting patiently outside.  “Ruby?”  he asked.  “Yes, that’s me,” she whispered nervously.  “Come along with me.  Elvis is expecting you.”  Ruby quietly followed behind him, wondering how often Elvis had his friends deliver women to him from their hotel rooms.  Charlie knocked on the door of Elvis’ suite and then stepped back, indicating to Ruby that she should open the door.  She cautiously stepped in and looked around.  Elvis came walking out of the bedroom dressed in silky navy blue monogrammed pajamas.  “Aww, Ruby, ya didn’t have ta get all dressed up for me,” he walked toward her with a big smile as she closed the door behind her.  “Oh, I didn’t know what to expect up here,” she whispered nervously as he kept coming closer.  “It’s jus’ us here, baby.  I kicked everyone else out so we could, y’know, catch up.”  Elvis wrapped his arms around her and kissed her cheek gently.  

Ruby pulled back a little and nervously mumbled, “Okay, we can catch up.”  She walked over to a chair to sit down, but Elvis pulled her by the hand toward the bedroom.  “W-W-We’ll be more comfortable in here sweet Ruby,” he said.  “Unless ya want me to find a church,” he teased.  Ruby’s face started flaming as he sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to him.  “Ah there’s my red Ruby,” he said with a big crooked grin, and in that moment, Ruby saw clearly the sweet, cocky, self-conscious young man from fifteen years ago.  She kicked her heels off and crawled up next to him, leaning back against the headboard and smoothing her dress out over her legs.  “What did you want to talk about?” she asked.  “Are ya married, honey?” Elvis asked bluntly.  Ruby stiffened a little bit, surprised by the question.  “Um, I’m divorced,” she said, a little embarrassed.  “That’s okay, honey, me too,” Elvis said, as if this wasn’t common knowledge.  “I just feel like I failed at this thing that was supposed to last forever,” Ruby admitted.  She surprised herself with the way she could just open up to him so easily.  As they talked about the difficulties of divorce, it was like no time had passed.  “Sometimes life just doesn’t go how we planned, that don’t make you a failure,” he said, grabbing her chin and looking into her eyes.  “B’sides, he probably didn’t deserve a sweet thing like you.  Selfishly, honey, I’m kinda glad you ain’t married.  I want a clear conscience.”  “A clear conscience?” Ruby questioned, confused.  Elvis shifted a little and looked down at his hands as he spoke.

“Ruby, honey, when we met all those years ago, I was really goin’ through somethin’ difficult.  I-I-I had just lost my mama, I was in a brand new place, and I w-w-was scared.  You don’t know how much it meant that you came along and talked to me like a normal person and made me feel good about myself and, and just made me feel good in general,” he said, blushing at that last part.  “If I’d been thinkin’ more clearly, I woulda asked ya for a way to stay in touch then, but I didn’t even have your last name.  I couldn’t find ya honey, so I’ve been w-w-waitin’ fifteen years to pay you back.”  Elvis ran his hand gently over Ruby’s thigh as she breathed in sharply at his touch.  “So what do ya say, baby?  Can I make ya feel good?” he whispered, lowering his head, looking up at her through his long eyelashes.  Ruby was startled as she realized something that she was too young and naive to notice in Germany.  Elvis was nervous.  She again felt that familiar urge to do anything to please him.  Instead of answering him, she leaned in and pressed her lips against his, pushing her tongue into his mouth the way he had kissed her that first time.  “Is that a yes?” Elvis laughed as she pulled back to catch her breath.  Ruby laughed too and nodded.

Elvis rolled over on top of her and slowly started sliding down to where her dress was riding up her legs.  He lifted the hem and put his head underneath, kissing her thighs.  “Oh, what are you doing?” she yelped, pushing his head gently away.  Elvis looked up confused.  “What do ya mean?  I’m g-g-gonna make ya feel good.”  “Oh, not like that, I mean, you don’t have to…” Ruby’s voice trailed off as she looked away, embarrassed.  “Are ya always this shy, honey?  You were pretty forward with me, as I recall,” Elvis smirked.  “I just, um, I mean, no one’s ever, you don’t have to do that,” Ruby mumbled, wishing she could just disappear.  “Oh, sweet red Ruby, ya mean to say no one’s ever licked your little kitty?” Elvis asked in surprise.  Ruby shook her head, unable to look him in the eye.  “Hey, honey, look at me.  It’s okay.  Just lean back, and I’m gonna show ya the time of your life, baby.  Lemme take care of ya.”  As Elvis returned his lips to Ruby’s thighs, she could hear him mumble, “That man definitely did not deserve you, honey.”  

Ruby tried to keep her breathing even as Elvis slowly slid her panties down her legs and tucked them into the pocket of his pajamas.  “Goddamn, honey, you are so beautiful,” he said as he spread her pussy open with his fingers and looked at it glistening, just waiting for his tongue to work its magic.  Ruby let out an embarrassingly loud moan as Elvis leaned in and licked her most private area.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered nervously.  “Mmm, don’t be sorry, baby, you’re just lettin’ me know I’m takin’ care of ya.  You can scream out as loud as you need to.”  Elvis went back to flicking her clit with his tongue before sticking it all the way inside her while he used his fingers to aid in the pleasure.  In the eight years with her husband, Ruby had never had close to the amount of pleasure Elvis gave her with his tongue.  She couldn’t have stopped from screaming his name even if she’d wanted to.  When he finally pulled his face out from between her legs, Ruby was a bit embarrassed to see her slick all over his mouth and chin, but Elvis did not seem bothered at all.  He pulled her panties out of his pocket and wiped his face.  “Damn, honey, that was a feast,” he teased her as he laid his head on her stomach.  Ruby blushed and ran her fingers through his thick dark hair.  “That feels good, mama,” Elvis said as she gently scratched his scalp.  

“Elvis, I’ve never felt so good before,” Ruby admitted shyly.  “I know baby, it’s cuz we have some kinda special bond.  To find each other again after all these years.  Y’know, I believe there are no coincidences, everything happens for a reason,” Elvis continued, nuzzling his face into her chest.  “And what is the reason for us?” Ruby whispered, wondering if what he was saying was true or if it was just the high of reuniting after all this time.  “I don’ know yet, baby, but I think we should find out.  Come to my show again tomorrow.  Spend some time with me.  Or are you moving to a different country in a few days?”  Ruby smiled a little bit at that.  “No, but I do have to go back home at the end of the week,” she said.  “Okay, so come to the rest of my shows and spend the week with me,” he said, more of a demand than a request.  “I only had a ticket for this one,” Ruby explained.  “That’s okay, baby, I can get ya in.  I know the star,” Elvis laughed.  Ruby giggled at that and leaned down to kiss his head.  “Okay, I guess we owe it to ourselves to see what’s in store.”  

[eikonoklast]

Day 4 (Reticent): With One Hand Behind Your Back

   “The threshold we refuse to cross is a line we draw for ourselves. We fear the consequences, and people suffer for our indecision.”

   Chiteni staggered into the alcove holding a hand to his side. He quickly pulled the dagger out that was embedded within his flesh with a strangled gasp, hand clutching at the wound as he used his other hand and teeth to unbind the bandages he kept wrapped around his palms for the occasion. A shadow emerged from the darkness, its two red eyes locking onto him as it swung a massive claymore his direction. He deftly stepped out of the way, sparks illuminating the dark like fireworks as the blade scraped against the stones. 

   “Another one, eh? And who might you be?” Chiteni smiled through the pain, staying light on his feet. He danced forward, withdrawing the broadsword from his own back and bringing it flying through the air towards his attacker in a graceful, well-practiced arc. The blade cut through the darkness; imbued with a luminescent, violet magic. Steel met steel with a resounding clang. Sparks flew through the air again, briefly illuminating an armored form, helm concealing their identity. The twin swords pressed against one another until Chiteni disengaged swiftly - dipping low and swiping at his adversary's feet with his legs while spinning his top half around in a circle away from his enemy's steel. 

   His foe was a quick study and identically swift; bringing the flat of their blade low to catch his boot and using the force to propel themself upwards in the dark. Their hand glowed orange as they placed their palm on their sword, using the long blade as an arcane focus and swinging it through the air to release a massive fireball at the miqo'te below.

   “Nice trick!” Chiteni laughed, holding out a hand. A cylinder of arcane energy formed around his body; the jagged purples and blues reminiscent of a stained glass window. The fireball connected with the shield, smashing it into a million specks of multicolored light, illuminating the dark stone structure for a brief moment. Chiteni was not where the shield was, however. Blanketed in a sinister red mist, he had appeared behind his opponent in midair, running his sword through their back. Their form faded like morning fog as Chiteni landed on his feet, placing his sword on his back all in the same easy motion. 

   “Born from pain now, too? When are you going to learn that hiding your feelings doesn't make them just go away?”

   Another shadowy, armored figure emerged from the dark, sizing him up.

   “This belongs to you, I take it?” Chiteni sneered, tossing the dagger at the apparition. “You could kill me, you know,” he joked.

   “Oh I mean to do my level best.”

   Chiteni flung himself at the figure, sword drawn before the dagger even clattered against the floor. Their massive weapons connecting in the dark with a flash. The shadow leaned into Chiteni's sword, using it to knock its own helm off and taking him by surprise. His own face stared back at him, red eye aglow with hunger. The being used Chiteni's hesitation against him, driving a hand into his side where he'd been stabbed previously. Chiteni recoiled, gritting his teeth as his shadowy twin's sword took on the same violet aura and came crashing down to the floor. He rolled out of the way just in time, gasping from the pain as his pursuer swung again and again. The greatsword was like a mobile guillotine as it continuously slammed into the floor closer and closer, sending up a whole storm of sparks on the stones. 

   Chiteni thought about the other shadow's trick. He closed his eyes, focusing his aether. Fire began to collect in his palm as the sound of the sword slamming into the stone got closer with every swing. Time seemed to slow down as he placed a palm on his weapon. He rolled to the side, using the momentum to angle his sword tip at his attacker like a staff. 

   “I can't hide anything from myself,” he said, smiling. The room lit up in a flash of heat as the explosion collapsed the whole side of the building, the stones sliding slowly down the cliffside.

Author's Note: Aaaah this never gets easier I swear! Reticence is about feeling a sort've hesitation to reveal things. In this case, I used emotion. I really just wanted to do a fight scene in the dark I guess, but style points are still points!!

These two shadows are based on both Esteem and Anguish from the level 50 DRK quests. If you've never met Anguish, go redo the quest and get down to about 40% hp and you just might! 

[positivelybeastly]

Hey, could we see a story about Hank’s (Grant Morrsion, shortly after his recovery from Cassandra’s beat down) parents showing up to visit him? He tries to hide about what happened, but hide parents see right through him and he can’t hide his tears. But it ends off one a happy note, literally! (Leaving a cause for a brief moment isn’t a crime…)

“You’re going to wear the paper through, doing that.”

Scritch. Scritch. Tear.

“Hank.”

Scritch. Annoyed scritch.

“Hank.”

Annoyed scritch. Tear.

“Ha - ” He threw the pen against the windshield and let out a ragged breath, the new paws flexing angrily as the biro shattered with the force with which he’d thrown it. Jean was quiet. The breathing was hurt, on the verge of tears, and she knew better than to continue.

Hank was a man with more letters after his name than he could write right now. It wasn't a pretty thought.

So they sat like that for a good long while, Hank’s head in his paws and Jean’s knuckles near white on the steering wheel.

“… I can’t use a pen, Jean.” She nodded slowly, drumming a finger on the wheel. He was a little bit scary like this, eerily focused on whomever he was talking to, eyes like lamplights now. He claimed that the blue would return once he settled down, that it was just a case of emotional state and hormonal imbalance, but she didn’t know if she believed him or not. She let him believe it, though.

“I can’t use a pen.”

That belief is one of the few things that he was able to hold on to at the moment.

“I know, Hank.” A hand moved over to squeeze at his paw, and the grip that came back was painful but bearable. She could feel the grip wavering as he shook. That was another thing he’d mentioned - mood swings, inability to express fine motor control … it was going to take a lot of adjustment. But hopefully this would help. Slow and smooth, they pulled up on the end of the road leading down to the McCoy family farm, and Jean turned to him.

“Should I - ?” Already he was shaking his head, letting out a hot breath that exuded tension. Nerves. “I can do it. I need to do it.” He looked up at her and nodded. “Thank you for doing this for me.” She nodded, making a motion as if to say it was nothing, but he was shaking his head already, expressing it really wasn’t nothing.

He couldn’t drive, either, after all.

Easing his new, bulkier form out of the car, he closed the door behind him - carefully, now - and popped the trunk, grabbing his bags, letting the magnetic lock pull the lid back down. He didn’t really trust himself to push it back down, his strength was … he’d broken a few things. Hank waved, moving down the road slowly, hearing the three point turn and trying to keep himself calm. Last chance.

Ask to go back with her. You can’t do this, this is too soon. You’ll scare them.

He kept moving, knowing without looking that she was picking up speed, moving away.

You can catch up, she’ll see you in the rear mirror. You don’t want to do this, you’re forcing yourself. You don’t want to scare them. Please turn back.

His grip was near painful on the luggage handles, feeling like it was sheer hormonal energy propelling him along the road. It certainly wasn’t will or desire doing it.

You can hitchhike back or something, just turn around, wait, call someone, this is an awful idea, they won’t even recognise you, they’ll be scared, they won’t believe it’s you, they’ll hurt you it’ll hurt it’ll hurt please turn back I don’t want to do this I’m scared I’m scared I’m so fucking scared it hurts.

Without even realising it he had staggered over to one of the fence posts, his claws so deeply embedded in it that he could feel wood splintering out around his fingers. That was what was hurting. Sweat - in his eyes - ?

Panic attack. He was having a panic attack, right outside the house.

It’ll be all right. They’ll know it’s you. You’re their son, they’ll know you. They did it once, they can do it again. You aren’t some animal that they’ll shoot to keep the chickens safe, you’re their son.

Absently, his free paw reached out to touch one of the near abnormally large tomatoes that his parents grew here on the farm. He’d done that. Genetic engineering. Snapdragon genes, transcription factors - improved nutrition. Lemon basil genes, geraniol synthase - improved taste. He did that. Years ago.

With a deep breath, Hank very gently pulled his paw from the wood, picked the splinters out, blew out a breath, picked up his bags - it was all very smooth, very calm, one action to another, don’t think about the animality in the way you’re doing it - and walked up the front steps.

“ - I’m telling you, Norton, if you keep up with these small portions - ”

“Edna, I’m a grown man, if I want to slow it down and eat just three pancakes at a time instead of four, then that's what I'm going to - ”

Knock on the door. If the old him were here, he’d have picked up the key under the mat and sneaked inside, only to start reciting Three Little Pigs as he crept up on his mother and father.

He didn’t particularly want to be the Big Bad Wolf today.

He could hear them moving around inside, evidently not expecting anyone - senses were going overboard, picking up so much that was familiar and yet completely new, being seen with five fresh senses - and Hank took a deep breath. Door lock, tumblers sliding out. Turn. Hinges. Focus on the immediate, focus on what’s going on right in front of you. Stop overthinking.

They stood there for a few moments, just looking at him. He didn’t know what threw them off more. The fact that he was dressed from tip to toe in kevlar and leather and cotton, instead of barely clothed? The yellow of his eyes, intelligent, darting, slitted, a stark expression of the fear that was pulsing through him? Or perhaps it was the fact that he didn’t have a nose anymore - he had a snout, and fangs, and little cat ears that he wanted to pin back or tear off or anything to just stop thinking about them - 

“Hank?”

It was his mother who said it, and he felt the greatest weight fall out from underneath him. She recognised him. He was strange and familiar and human and animal and even his voice sound wrong and his own mother recognised him.

And with a trembling little nod, he stepped forward and into the house.

“Hi mom. Dad.” Hank gave them a little smile, a little shade of blue returning to his eyes. They just kept looking at him, not sure what to make of him, not sure of what to say, looking like their entire worlds had been rocked. So he did what he always did.

“… Dad’s right, you know, if he wants to starve on such a small portion, it’s his choice.”

[astarioffsimpmain]

Writer Interview Game

Thanks for the tag, @brabblesblog!!

When did you start writing?

I started writing in fifth grade when one of my favorite teachers I've ever had set a short story assignment, but I didn't truly fall in love with it until sixth grade, when - for a poetry memorization assignment - I discovered a book full of Edgar Allan Poe poems and short stories. I memorized the whole of The Raven for the assignment and pretty much became obsessed with his works. Poe's writing was the spark to my writing flame, and he is my favorite author to this day.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I loooove reading adventure fantasy. I'd love to write adventure fantasy too, but I'm not confident enough in my world building just yet. Eragon, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Inkheart, The Hunger Games, Gothikana, Cirque Du Freak, etc. I love it!

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

As previously stated, I would love to emulate Poe. He's my inspiration and pretty much the reason I started writing for more than school assignments. I haven't ever been compared to another writer before, except in the spirit of spite, so I've got nothing there. haha

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

Anywhere I feel I can tuck away. I have a spot on my couch with a blanket, my laptop, and a spot for my coffee. I have my multiple soft blankets on my bed and a pillow to prop my Kindle on for ambience and music, and my side table - for my coffee, of course. But I've also written curled up in my seat on a bus driving through the Scottish Highlands, as well as in a corner seat in a hotel lobby in York, England, and in a little bookstore nook in London. I write where I feel inspired, however or whenever that may be.

What’s your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Mustering it up myself is not often an option for me. My ADHD brain seeks dopamine where it can, but anyone with a dopamine deficiency will tell you that it's not an easy feat. lol But I always feel my most inspired before and during thunderstorms, or when I go to a location that excites me. I love abandoned places, cozy coffee shops, old libraries or bookstores, and castles/cathedrals. They give me a rush of energy which helps propel me to write. Hopefully once I get my physical health sorted, I'll be able to travel more, and therefore write more as well!

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

I want my readers to know just by reading my writing that I come from my heart. Everything I write is a part of and an extension of me, and I put care and consideration into every word that ends up on the page once I publish. I want them to be able to feel that my work is a labor of love in every word.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I think scene setting and narration is probably my strength. I'm someone who is very detail-oriented in everything I do, and I tend to do more narration than anything else. Over the years I've been forcing myself to write more dialogue-based pieces just so I could practice getting better at it. So uh... hopefully I eventually do. lol

How do you feel about your own writing?

I'm of two minds about it most of the time. When I don't settle into my "writing trance", which is where words are essentially flowing out of me without anything to hinder them, I'm not too fond of it. When I am forced to kind of slug through the words until I have a flow, I usually don't like what comes out or how it sounds, and it takes me much longer. The writing trance happens very rarely, but when it does happen, it's amazing. I usually really enjoy what comes out of those moments.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

It's definitely a mix of both, because often times I garner inspiration from what others get excited by. I know that when others get excited about what I'm doing, I'm far more likely to be excited about it too, and my excitement is essential to me even hoping to finish something. But on the flip side, I will also write things that I feel like will only mean something to me, but they end up meaning a lot to others as well. I feel as though that's somewhat of the human experience: sharing the things we accomplish through the insistence of our hearts. When we share and are received positively, we are inspired to continue sharing.

~

Tagging, Darlings: @senualothbrok @thechaoticdruid @dark-and-kawaii

[fromthedeskofmuffin]

Far Out

Chapter 2: Deadline

“Activating Catalyst Drive in T-Minus Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”

There was a feeling of sudden acceleration, and a sound like a large rock falling into a deep well, immediately followed by stillness. I counted to ten, then slowly opened my eyes. Cold, empty space greeted me. Stars twinkled unfathomable distances away. No planets, no stations nearby. A glance at the navigation console told me we were approximately 5,783 standard units, 42 degrees from the galactic center. That didn’t tell me much. I sat there for a while, staring into nothing.

With only the soft hum of the ship's engines in the background, there was nothing keeping me from reflecting on how many lives I just ended. Tears streamed down my face. I felt sick. This had to be a nightmare. That override code I gave was just something my brain made up, it couldn't have seriously been in a manual, available for anyone to read. The GHU didn't make mistakes like that. I didn't just cause the deaths of so many people. But I should have woken up by now.

“Computer?” I ventured, partially hoping there wouldn’t be an answer.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Why did you jump from inside the station? You… We just killed so many people…”

“I Had Detected Three Active Orbital Cannons Adjusting Their Aim To Fire On Us When We Left The Station, Along With Multiple Self Defense Turrets Attached To The Station Itself. We Would Not Have Survived ‘Slow Boating’ To A Safe Distance, As The Pilots Like To Say. My Priority Was Survival. I Assumed Yours Was As Well.”

I didn't respond. I hated that it was right. We were both complicit, but I was the one that enabled it. The thought of the firepower the GHU readily had on hand had never even crossed my mind. They had always been there, but I never imagined that they would be turned on me, ever. If I had remembered in my panic, would I still have done the same thing? Or would I have chosen my own death over so many others? Right now, I wasn't sure. The guilt still felt cold and heavy in my stomach all the same.

“What… do I do?” I finally asked.

“Analyzing.” There were a few barely audible clicks from the speakers, then: “Remove Your Left Eye. Sooner Rather Than Later.”

That snapped me out of my self loathing. I tensed up. “Remove…?”

“Your Cybernetic Eye, Yes. I Have Been Intercepting Hundreds Of Signals Directed At The Receiver Inside It Since We Warped From The Orbital Station. I Do Not Know What The Signals Are For. They Will Break Through My Encryption In About Five Minutes.”

Even my eye. They could even ruin my eye. The same one I had since I was three. It suddenly felt revolting to have in my head. I remembered I didn’t have the removal tool I usually used when taking it out for cleaning. It was at home. Fighting back more tears at the reminder that I could never go back, I asked, “Does the Benevolence have an EZ-Eye in its medbay?”

“Yes, Captain.”

I waited for a moment, then realized that was it. “Uh, thanks. And could you turn the artificial gravity off as well? Please?”

“Of Course,” the ship replied, and I felt myself  become weightless once more.

As I unhooked my harness and carefully propelled myself out of the cockpit, my mind couldn’t let go of the AI’s response. Another small reminder that it was off its leash. It seemed innocuous, but I’d worked on a lot of ships, and consequently, I’d had to interact with a lot of ship AI. ‘Of course’ is a common phrase, we use it all the time. But it denotes a more equal footing between two individuals, or even an implication that it was doing me a favor. My entire life, AI had been subservient, polite. How much of that had been forced? It was an uncomfortable thought.

Finding the medbay wasn’t difficult. These gunships were mass produced, and one was pretty much like any other. I floated my way inside. After a minute of searching, I found the EZ-Eye™ (Doesn’t pinch or your money back!) in a drawer. The device was effectively four spoons tied together. One could be enough, if you were trying to impress and gross people out at a party, but it really was easier this way. In a few seconds, I held the eye in my hand. Made of two hemispheres, the ‘front’ half looked like any other eye, in order to avoid drawing attention to it. The back was a sterile metal alloy, made specially for cybernetics. A port in the back connected to its pair inside the eye socket, which connected to the brain. I never understood how it worked, but it never gave me any trouble. 

At least, until now. I jerked my hand away as something inside it clicked. It began to smoke in place, floating slowly towards one of the walls as it sent sparks flying from between the two halves and out the back port. Transfixed, I watched as it twitched and spun, turning black with the heat it was giving off. 

“That… That could have killed me…” I breathed.

“Correct,” came the ship's response, causing me to flinch. I kept forgetting it was there. Ship AI never spoke unless spoken to.

“Uhm. Thank you,” I said, feeling a little silly. It was like thanking a drill. Wasn’t it? “You didn't have to do that, but I'm really glad you did.”

“I Did, In Fact,” said the ship. “Without A Captain, I Could Not Obtain Many Necessities Required For Continued Operation.”

“Oh,” I replied. I was a little disappointed, but it made sense. 

“To That Effect, Emergency Rations Are Available To You. Please Note That For Your Current Crew Size, Your Projected Ration Sustainability Is Ten Galactic Standard Days.”

“Wait, ten?” I asked. “Are you telling me that in an actual emergency situation, even a standard crew without passengers only has enough E-rations for two days?”

“Correct,” came the only response.

That came as another serious shock. The weight problem for planetary launches had been solved centuries ago, so it wasn't as if fuel was an issue. Maybe it was easier than I thought to find a stricken ship. I hoped that was the case.

“Due To Your Limited Time, Captain, I Would Advise You To Return To the Cockpit. We Are Constrained To Four Catalyst Drive Activations Per Day, As You Are Aware, And The Next Window Has Arrived.”

I was aware. Catalyst Drives had to rest after use, or else the Catalysts themselves could melt down, resulting in some pretty ugly consequences. If you've never seen what a release of Flux under pressure could do to a ship full of people, try to keep it that way. There’s a reason why no one can get too close to the center of the galaxy, and that reason is Flux. The closer you got, the higher the concentration. Regardless, it made sense to be using the CDrive as often as was safe, to increase our chances of finding anyone to help me.

Once it had stopped sparking, and after missing a few times, I plucked my eye out of the air and inspected it. Definitely fried. There was no way I was putting it back in my skull, but I took it back to the cockpit with me anyways, narrowly avoiding a few doorframes as I went. As I strapped myself back into the pilot seat, I felt the gravity kick back on, which was a bit of a relief and a surprise. It isn't very healthy to stay weightless for extended periods without special exercise equipment. Maybe the computer had a better grasp on my needs than I realized. Did it care about me? Or was it pure utilitarianism? 

“Catalyst Drive Primed. Activating Catalyst Drive In T-Minus Ten Seconds.”

I wasn't sure which I preferred.

< Previous Chapter | Start | Next Chapter >

[cookinguptales]

Okay so... clearly people want to make sure I saw the Hanged Man imagery in 5.05...

Putting aside that I think it's very funny that this is apparently what people associate with me now, the reason I haven't really talked about it is because I'm not really sure what I think about it.

Yes, I saw the post. Yes, I saw the imagery while I was watching. But what does it mean? It's not that I don't have any ideas; it's more the opposite? I'm still not 100% convinced that all this is being done on purpose (though... it's certainly starting to feel more pointed the more it happens) but if it is being done on purpose... god, it could mean so many different things.

I talked about what The Hanged Man means a bit in my WWDITS tarot series, but it's one of those cards with a lot of different implications, and it's hard to know whether these things are being applied to specific characters, the overall narrative, etc.

So... some possibilities that immediately come to mind:

Colin Robinson as The Hanged Man. He was one of the characters I seriously considered for this card, so like. I get it. Particularly in s4 he seemed trapped in a sort of transitional period, and he still doesn't quite seem to have his path figured out. Like he's said himself, he just kinda keeps on truckin'. CR as Hanged Man could be alluding to his feelings of alienation from both humans and the other vampires. It could be a reference to his looping existence that prevents him from ever fully moving forward. It could be a reference to his meditative journey of self-discovery. This could go a lot of ways, tbh.

Many people talk about the Major Arcana as a journey, and The Hanged Man appears about halfway through when a break is needed to self-reflect, reassess, rest, etc. It can allude to feeling "stuck" or like you can't find a place where you fit. It's a highly liminal card, which -- again, it can go a lot of ways. If this is being applied to the overall narrative, is this an allusion to the halfway point? To the last few moments of internality and thinking before everything goes to shit? To the fact that a lot of characters currently feel "stuck"? To the way that no one can quite find a place for themselves anymore?

If anything, in this episode in particular, it feels like The Hanged Man might refer to Guillermo. He's hovering between two states, human and vampire, and he definitely feels trapped there. He feels trapped by his physicality (unable to use and control vampiric powers but still being burned by the symbols/people that used to protect him), trapped by his decisions (The Hanged Man is also occasionally used as imagery about punishment), and feels utterly stuck. He currently cannot move forward and does not know why. He's being forced to reconsider a lot of the driving beliefs and goals that have propelled him this far, and he's not necessarily liking what he's discovering.

Can this refer to the characters as a whole? Most of them feel like they're at a midway point in their current journeys, still feeling out information but currently unable to put it together in a way that makes sense. Nadja investigating her curse/Antipaxon family. Laszlo investigating Guillermo's change. Guillermo living through that change and investigating ways forward. Nandor being deeply suspicious of a change that he can sense but cannot make sense of. He doesn't even know what to investigate. All of them do feel a bit stuck, not just Guillermo and Colin.

Could this be an allusion to the way that vampires are liminal beings in this show? It's made incredibly clear in this episode that they don't really fit in anywhere and have this trauma of knowing that any "home" will last only as long as they keep their secrets. They have this trauma of knowing that there is no place for them, and they exist outside all accepted societal boundaries. They hang between worlds, and the lives that they've built are kind of inherently temporary. They're kind of constantly in a waiting period, aren't they, and they never know how long it'll last. Guillermo is only just now understanding what he's going to have to give up to join them.

Speaking of which, The Hanged Man is also a sign of sacrifice. This is a lesser-used reading, admittedly, but still very common. Is it a reference to the way Colin Robinson wanted to stand and fight, even if he had to sacrifice his life? Is it a reference to Guillermo sacrificing both of his families to his ambition, and really quickly coming to regret that? I worry a little bit about how this particular reading might come back to hurt us all later.

Honestly... these are my initial thoughts, but it's really just the tip of the iceberg. The Hanged Man is a card with a lot of different meanings attached to it, and it could be applied very broadly to the cast and overall events of the season. I have a lot of ideas, but like... it's hard to know where to direct them!

in conclusion

[equallyloyalandlethal]

And what if I said ...... all 5 (only if thy want)

Otherwise Hellebores

You drive a hard bargain. All five it is!

Atlantis:

“Wait a minute,” Liam’s hands flap around as he stops, blinking at him with a pinched face. “Back UP.” He rubs at his temples, still struggling to process what was just said. “You’re telling me that you remember? Like-like you were there?”

The look Theo can’t help but level at him is less than impressed. Supposedly, the guy is smart, knows things about them, but how can he if he doesn’t know the most basic things about them. "Uh, yeah?” he huffs, rolling his eyes for good measure and smirking at the dumb-founded blinks he gets in return. “Of course I was. Thought you knew things about our culture. Some scholar you are."

Hellebores:

“I know. Okay?” He nodded, emphasizing the fact that he did, smiling a little wider as Liam’s jaw softened under his fingers. “I promise, I know. You’ve said it enough times.”

As the wolf slowly nodded too, mimicking the gesture right down to the speed of it, Theo leaned on and used his hold to pull him in. The kiss was gentle, just a chaste touch of lips against one another, a reminder that he was there, and they were a they no matter what, before a groan rang out from behind them. 

“Okay, yeah, no one needs to see that,” Stiles huffed.

Let Them Fight:

Theo narrowed his eyes, waiting. 

Behind him, someone shifted, cracking a twig. His eyes flicked off the blond in front of him. That was apparently enough of a distraction, because he almost missed catching the hand aimed at his face.

Almost. 

He caught the wolf’s wrist on his own forearm and kicked out, aiming for a knee or shin, though he wasn’t quite used to someone as tall as Isaac, so the arch of his foot ended up on the wolf’s calf. Lacking any real reaction, he switched tactics. Rather than go for breaking the guy’s base by forfeiting his own, Theo solidified his grip on the wrist in his hand. It was a bruising grip, one he used to yank the taller off balance, propelling him forward to slide behind him while both getting out of range before Isaac could do anything and in order to continue pushing the guy away from him.

“Cheeky,” the tall bastard chuckled, spinning back around.

El Dorado:

“I would not get that close, Liam.” 

Theo swallowed back a displeased rumble at the shrill volume behind those words. Good Lord, he hated Mason’s inability to modulate his volume or respect when others were asleep. Liam wasn’t much better, but he only had to snap at the blond once or twice before the idiot stopped waking him up. 

Blackness still sat heavy over top of him, like a blanket, warm and safe and soft, or what he could guess a heavy, comfortable blanket felt like. He shifted, curling even more into a tight ball, something shifting against him, making him pause for a moment. There were actually  blankets draped over him, dragging against his own pelt in odd ways.  

Liam’s low chuckle as he muttered, “Really?” was light, completely antithetical to Mason’s sharp fear which, even as far away as his grumping huff sounded, was filling up their room.  

Blind Theo:

Ghosts don’t exist, not the way that movies always make them out to be. They’re not floating around, discorporated and haunting places. He yanks his hand away, forcing his focus away from the sudden chill creeping along his skin and back onto the clothes, pulling out whatever is closest and turning away. They’re the things that are embedded in a person, memories, scars, those are the ghosts. The screech of tearing metal echoing in his ears alongside the squeals of rubber sliding over ice. 

Chi’s head butting into his thigh, her nose into his hand, pulls him to a stop. Her whine has him rubbing between her ears, attempting to soothe her, while ignoring the fact that she’s telling him something’s not right. He knows, already. The second cold had settled on his skin that this morning wasn’t going to be easy. He hates how quick that day comes back, how angry it all still makes him, how his chest won’t stop itching, and he wants to just rip out the damn organ slamming into his ribs and chuck it as far away as he can. 

A low whine and paw batting at his leg brings Theo down to kneel by her.

“I’m okay,” he promises, his hand sweeping under his dog’s chin to hold it up as he presses his face into the side of hers. “I’m okay, baby girl.”

[ikarosxflight]

Reply to X

The affliction that immortals face, regardless of their status or species, results from the relentless passage of time. It's a curse that gradually takes hold when life no longer provides the same exhilarating experiences and sensations that it once did. The only way to counteract this encroaching numbness is for immortals to resort to increasingly extreme measures, no matter how perilous or ethically questionable, to simply feel something, anything at all. This insatiable desperation drives them to constantly seek refuge in various forms of inebriation as they yearn for even a fleeting moment of respite from their unending existence.

Pit was no exception.

The repulsive words from a vile demon stabbed into his ego, thrashing at his human heart and invading the pride of his soul. Captain Pit's divinity rejoiced in their bloody dance while his humanity suffered, longing for the return of his friend who was lost to the Darkness.

As Anti-Aqua's eyes dim and her struggles weaken, Pit feels mixed emotions, but disappointment is predominant among them. Aqua had been a loyal friend and companion throughout his journey under Palutena's guidance. He can't help but wonder if things are too easy; he knows from experience that Aqua is a formidable force to be reckoned with. Seeing her succumb so quickly to this lowly demon is almost insulting. Seeing such a powerful ally overtaken in this way is a tragic waste.

Teeth gnash together, creating a bone-chilling sound that reverberates through the air. The deadly tightening grip never lets up as those Caribbean blues glow in their merciless tides, contrasting their once serene appearance. The sudden transformation of these once tranquil waters into a raging storm is a stark reminder of the immense power within the Captain of Angels. But that's what they were, weren't they? They were more than just soldiers; they were warriors, shaped and molded into weapons, ready to serve as tools in the name of Light.

But even the most brilliant light casts the deepest shadow.

"ARAGGGHH!!"

His pain is an exquisite agony, a searing and electrifying sensation that courses through his entire body, originating from Pegasus's delicate and vulnerable wings. Amidst the chaos and roars surrounding him, there may be hints of laughter amidst his suffering. It's difficult to discern whether Pit simply copes with the situation or genuinely finds humor in their predicament as if it were a cruel and twisted joke. He hadn't been in a good fight in a long time; oh, did this demon play dirty, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Only the divine bled Ichor, and only humans bled crimson. The deepest blues stain his wing and toga, neither human nor divine. And now it stains Anti-Aqua as they roll violently into dark water.

Kiss me deadly is what the lioness's mawful of teeth demand; bloody, raw, violent, and invading. The taste of metal and something so indescribable, foul, and cold crawls into Pit's mouth; it feels alive and hungry, squirming as it forces its way down his throat.

The events unfolded in a blur, each passing moment like an eternity. The initial impact of the water against the Captain's skin went unnoticed amidst the chaos. Desperately clinging onto Anti-Aqua's neck, the Captain realized they were sinking deeper into the chilling water. The cold tendrils of panic wrapped around him as he struggled to keep his head above the surface, his frantic heartbeat echoing in the murky depths.

Are you really going to give up? Is this how it ends? Don't make me laugh. I did not suffer here for the past millennia just to watch us die. This is a trophy worth hunting!

And suffer together they shall.

His hand reaches just in time to grab the back of Anti-Aqua's straps as his mighty wings propel him through the water. With swift and determined strokes, he rapidly swims towards the surface. As he breaches the water, power glistens off his majestic wings, and in mid-air, he arches his arm back, summoning every ounce of strength to fling the other at the shores of the dark beach with unyielding force. As the winged warrior lands ungracefully at the shore, his tattered wings sag with exhaustion, and a gurgling, choking sound emanates from deep within him.

He doubles over, heaving a small portion of bile and Darkness onto the sand, but despite his efforts, he can still feel something squirming inside him. His disheveled bangs overshadow his eyes, and a sadistic grin spreads across his face as he uses the back of his hand to wipe at the corner of his mouth, leaving a streak of viscous, black fluid. He begins to cackle.

"Did you really think you could drown a son of Poseidon? You wretched enchantress, touching the wings of MY beast. These wings were the last gift my father gave to me before I-"

Obviously, he's struggling to fight the poison, his muscles twitching as he battles the venom coursing through his veins. But then, with immense effort, he lifts his head to make eye contact with the other. Instead of the expected Caribbean blues, a swirling color mixed of red and orange like fire gleams in his eyes. His fang grin spreads slowly as he straightens up, a primal and fierce energy radiating from him.

"Hahaha, I've forgotten I must not prattle so much with my prey. Your death will be glorious. Shame, though, for a pretty beast; you were one of the few I actually enjoyed watching be fucked by him. Oh well."

His battle stance changes as he summons his bow sword, but he does not use it as a bow or a dual blade. No, the aura is different; everything is different. Pit (?) keeps the weapon in one piece, wielding it as a double-edged blade, yet his first move is to throw his weapon towards his prey like a spear. Round two begins…

[smutmachine69]

How Bones and All cured my relationship anxiety.

As a 25-year-old navigating through the complexities of life and love, I never expected a film to offer me the solace and understanding I desperately needed. But then (almost like destiny)I stumbled upon "Bones and All," a haunting yet beautiful tale that delves deep into the themes of cannibalism, violence, and ultimately, the intricacies of relationships and how effortless they really are. Little did I know, it would become the catalyst for curing my relationship anxiety and reshaping my perspective on love.

At its core, "Bones and All" follows the journey of Maren Yearly, a young woman grappling with her cannibalistic tendencies and searching for belonging. Her encounters with fellow "eaters" like Sully and the unexpected romance with Lee propel her on a cross-country odyssey, mirroring the unpredictable and often tumultuous nature of romantic relationships.

One of the most profound aspects of the film is its exploration of the parallels between cannibalism and the devouring nature of love. Just as Maren and her companions consume flesh, relationships have the potential to consume us, body and soul. The insatiable hunger for connection can lead to moments of intense vulnerability and, at times, destructive behavior.

Through Maren's tumultuous journey, I found myself confronting my own fears and insecurities about love. Like her, I've often felt like a monster, afraid that my desires and imperfections would drive others away. But as Maren discovers, acceptance and understanding can be found in the most unexpected places, even within the depths of our darkest impulses.

The relationship between Maren and Lee serves as a poignant reminder that love should never be rushed or forced. Their journey is fraught with challenges and uncertainties, yet it is precisely through these trials that their bond deepens and strengthens. In a society that glorifies instant connections and fairy tale endings, "Bones and All" offers a refreshing perspective on the slow, steady evolution of love.

As Maren grapples with her own identity and struggles to reconcile her desires with societal norms, I couldn't help but see reflections of my own journey. Like her, I've faced moments of rejection and self-doubt, unsure if I would ever find someone who truly understands me. But through Maren's resilience and courage, I've learned that love is not about conforming to expectations, but rather embracing our true selves and finding someone who loves us for who we are, bones and all.

In the end, "Bones and All" taught me that love is messy, complicated, and often frightening. But it is also beautiful, transformative, and worth fighting for. By embracing the darkness within ourselves and those we love, we can find the light that guides us through even the darkest of times.

So here's to embracing the complexities of love, to accepting ourselves and others with all our flaws and imperfections. And most importantly, here's to the journey—messy, unpredictable, and utterly breathtaking—that is love.